Title: Eternity: A Promise of Forever

Author: Kaye Austen Michaels

First Posted: October 10, 2001 at Love of Me and Thee

Notes/Warnings/Disclaimer: I don't own Starsky and Hutch, I just love 'em so much I have to write about them. In the Starsky and Hutch fandom this story is AU. This story places "Starsky vs. Hutch" before "The Snitch" and "Targets Without a Badge". "Eternity" is dedicated to all those who believe the love between Starsky and Hutch is powerful enough to overcome any obstacle, strong enough to break timeless barriers, and as infinite as eternity.

***Important to keep in mind: I do not write true main-character death stories. Ever. So if the light dims in chapter one, just know that you'll be smiling brightly again in chapter two. That's a promise!***

Special thanks to Karen-Leigh for the wonderful original synopsis and final beta. I wrote this as a gift-story especially for her and she is an absolute sweetheart who believes in sharing.

****

Eternity: A Promise of Forever

Starsky hastily removed the leather jacket that closely matched the one worn by his partner, and flung it onto the passenger seat of the Torino. When he turned, standing beside the open driver's side door, he took one long look at the silent blond and then said, clearly and emphatically, "Go to hell."

Hutch laughed but the sound had a definite crack in it that was not lost on the seething dark-haired man. "I'm already there, Starsky, don't you understand that? Hell is knowing exactly what you want and then doing the one thing that'll kill any chance of ever having it. Ignorance is bliss, buddy, friend, and you're lucky you've got that market cornered. Be seeing you." He let his eyes, blinking quickly at the sudden onslaught of moisture, drift once more over the tensed body in front of him before he turned in the direction of the LTD. Starsky clenched his teeth, swallowed, and found he could not keep his mouth shut.

"I wanted a best friend who doesn't screw the woman I love!" he shouted at Hutch's retreating form.

Hutch froze. The back alley behind the Pits could have been any western town less than a century ago beneath a deathly still sky where two opponents met in the middle of the main street. Starsky could draw first blood, but Hutch would be damned if he'd not get in a parting shot of his own. He whirled around and was in Starsky's personal space within a fraction of a second, jabbing his index finger into the chest he would sell a vital organ for the opportunity to de-clothe and explore. "Don't you even talk to me. Don't even come near me. Not until you're ready to be honest with me. I screwed up, yes. I'm one lousy sonuvabitch. I have bled inside over what I did to you...and you know it! I've told you. But I will not continue to hang on the cross for it, damn you, not when I know what this is really about."

Starsky could only stand inert on a concrete quagmire while the LTD tore a violent streak out of the alley. He sat limply down in the driver's seat. Finally, he convinced his leaden legs to swing the rest of the way into the car and he closed the door with a slam he would have shrieked at, had Hutch been the perpetrator.

The shower steamed hot enough to produce perfect al dente pasta, but Starsky failed to notice. He allowed the stream of water to scald his skin relentlessly as he buried his face in his arms against the tiled shower wall. Images fought for supremacy in his mind but the one that emerged victorious was not Hutch stepping out of Kira's bedroom looking both sated and guilt-stricken. Oh, no, Starsky banged his forehead on the unforgiving wall. No. The image that seared his brain involved his ridiculous declaration of love for that unholy bitch and the reaction that screamed out of Hutch's wide, blue eyes. Why the hell was he taking a shower anyway? He thought at first to remove the feel of Hutch's accusing finger surgically branding his heart, but he knew he never wanted to erase a single touch from his blond partner, however angry he might be. No, Starsky still felt too much of that woman on his body, in his mind.... That's what he wanted to cleanse. But what did he want to replace the feel of her silky, smooth, conniving hands? Even while locked in the grip of passion, her hands had felt gloved, artificial. What Starsky wanted was something real.

More images flooded the shower stall, as though a movie screen had sprung into existence under the showerhead. Starsky's handcuffed conscience finally wrenched itself free and he watched scene after scene of instances when Hutch's face had exhibited the same pain Starsky's declaration of allegiance to Kira had caused. Such as the time when the words, "You know I love you. And I love your caring," fell on ears as deaf as Emily had been blind. Or during the Fitch case, when he'd let the situation escalate until Hutch's picture with a price tag on the blond head floated around the streets. Sitting on those stairs at the station, lecturing Hutch on his job as cop when his best friend had been silently, desperately pleading for help. Starsky sputtered in the shower spray, astonished at himself. Testing. He'd been testing their reality, probing, pushing...was it any wonder Hutch had broken? For all the whispers around the squad room about Hutch approaching burnout, Starsky suddenly k
new he stood on the same brink. He had been on that identical cliff, with Hutch trying his level best to hold him steady...while holding himself, too. And he'd been testing the strength of Hutch's hold. Reality wasn't always pretty. Reality was someone who acted from the heart even if the reaction was flawed. Reality wasn't silky, smooth, or conniving. Reality was both virtue and fault in plain sight. Reality didn't try to cover up its flaws: "I'm one lousy sonuvabitch. I've bled inside over what I did to you...."

Starsky's head shot up frantically. He wanted real. Honesty--that's what Hutch wanted.

For once, he didn't even care that he was still damp enough to leave a residue of moisture on the Torino's seat. He forgot that traffic lights held any meaning. Stop signs were suddenly written in Mandarin Chinese. Still, Venice seemed as far away as its namesake. When he finally screeched to a halt outside Hutch's apartment, he slammed a fist against the steering wheel and yelled at his inner coward. Honesty. Fine, he'd see if Hutch could handle it in its raw form.

Starsky felt for the key above the door and came up empty. Damn, he meant that about not wanting to see me... After a startled second, he pounded fists ruthlessly against the carved door. "Hutch, let me in, will you? I have to talk to you."

Nothing. Silence. The light streaming through the miniscule crack under the door insisted that Hutch was indeed home and simply being unresponsive. Starsky felt his blood pressure start an uphill marathon.

"Hutch, you wanted me to be honest. That's why I'm here. Please!"

Footsteps. Starsky thought he'd never heard such a beautiful sound. The door creaked open. Hutch's face peered at him. Something in Starsky's facial expression must have convinced his partner of his intentions because the door opened wider and Hutch stepped back with a welcoming gesture. Starsky ducked into the apartment quickly and leaned back against the door as it slapped shut behind him.

He sighed, amazed at the relief that practically strangled him. Another region of his body suffered current strangulation that had nothing to do with relief. He cursed himself for wearing his tightest pair of jeans. Hutch stood oblivious, stone-faced, arms folded across his chest, eyes red and swollen.

Starsky noticed the latter first. "Hutch, you've been... were you crying?"

Hutch averted his face. "Not the first time," he mumbled, mostly to himself. But nothing was amiss with Starsky's hearing now.

"How long has this been going on, Hutch?"

Silence. Defiance. No eye contact.

"Dammit, Hutch, talk to me. How long?"

"Every night since you found me there...with her." A whisper.

"Aw, Hutch." He took a hesitant step closer to his partner and ventured a hand toward the blond's face. When Hutch failed to move out of his reach, Starsky's hand turned insistent, brushing fingertips under Hutch's eyes, and Starsky shivered at the contact. Hutch did not shiver. He full out trembled, eyes closing involuntarily, lips opening slightly. "I--I want you," Starsky breathed.

Hutch's eyes flew open. "What? What did you just say?"

"God, Hutch, I want to forget Kira. I want to forget this whole shitty last year. I want to make you--us--never hurt again. I want you. Okay? That's me being honest."

His partner's face turned into a mosaic and Starsky could not separate one emotion from another. He thought he saw hope. He felt certain there was a smattering of happiness and something akin to passion. Usually so cocky and self-sure in love conquests, Starsky suddenly felt like a fourteen-year-old dialing up a classmate to confess a crush. "Hey, Hutch, you think you could say something specific before I run right back out that door?"

Hutch closed the distance between them and cradled Starsky's chin in his palm, his other hand occupied in smoothing the worried forehead before a solitary finger outlined the dark brow. "I am in love with you, David Starsky. Is that specific enough for you or would my getting down on one knee help?"

Right then Starsky wanted Hutch to loan him that knee because he felt he'd lost both of his own. His legs buckled under the weight of being handed what he hadn't even known he'd been craving, for God knows how long. Starsky knew he must not be rational because the only thing he could get out of his mouth was, "Say... my name...again."

Hutch knew what he meant because his hands tightened their caressing hold on Starsky's face and he breathed, "David." A sharp intake of breath, a pause, almost a whimper. "My David."

Starsky didn't respond verbally. He couldn't. He could only fling his arms around Hutch's waist, pull him smack into his own body so he could lift his face and latch onto Hutch's mouth. Starsky barely registered the sensation of the warm mouth opening over his, but he certainly felt the sudden onslaught of Hutch's tongue. Time ceased to exist, until the tentative movement of a large hand that crept down Starsky's thigh and then cupped his crotch, when it came back and sped up. Starsky pulled his mouth away, flung his head back, and screamed, "Oh, God, Hutch!" His whole body shuddered violently, hips thrusting against the emboldened hand. Then his tanned features flamed with embarrassment, and he pulled away from Hutch, turning his back.

"Starsky?" Hutch walked around until he faced him again, tilting the trembling chin so he could look into the dark eyes, his own baby blues brimming with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry."

"What?"

"That part of me is usually slower than my trigger finger."

"Hey...hey! Starsk, do you know how flattered...hell, honored I am that you want me that much?"

"You've got no idea, Blondie. I threw a rod in the shower and carried it all the way over here. How's that for honesty? I don't know what the hell to do with you, Hutch, but I'm willing to learn. What do you want?"

Hutch grinned. The sheer erotic, blazing joy that expression implied just about knocked Starsky off his feet. Then Hutch moved and Starsky forgot about sticky jeans, adolescent regression, and anything else except that his partner's hands were quickly divesting him of his clothing, lovingly piece by piece. Somehow they managed to walk in zigs and zags back to the sleeping alcove and by the time they arrived at the bed, the trail of clothes on the floor included Hutch's as well.

Starsky traced fingertips down the smooth chest, but his eyes locked on the demanding cock that bobbed pleadingly just under his visual caress. Hutch had apparently lost the last shred of patience. He moaned under Starsky's intent gaze and then murmured, "J-just t-touch me, please, Starsk?"

"Got a better idea." Starsky half-laughed, and yanked Hutch backwards and on top of him as they crashed onto the bed. Hutch took the hint, grabbing fiercely onto Starsky's hips, and thrust his erection wildly against the still-sated groin beneath him. Starsky expected the walls to cave in, volcanic peaks to erupt in the middle of the greenhouse, a meteor to crash through the ceiling. He did not expect the shattering, blinding emotion that gripped his soul as Hutch's body moved over his. He found himself matching those thrusts despite his previous climax. Then the world stood still on its axis and spun violently in the opposite direction as Hutch stiffened, reared forward, and shouted Starsky's name several times staccato as rifle shots.

Starsky found his arms full of a thoroughly contented, limp blond. He knew Hutch was probably seconds away from a deep, cleansing sleep, but he had something to say. Something vitally important. "Hutch?"

"Y-yes?"

"I love you."

A soft, tear-filled sigh, "L-love you, too, Starsky. So much."

"I promise you--" Starsky's voice broke. Hutch managed to lift his head enough to look into the open, amazed features. "I promise you, I'll never need anyone but you. I'll never leave you. I'll never quit loving you. We're going to be together forever, Hutch. You got that? You get what I'm telling you? What I'm asking you?"

Hutch smiled again and it warmed the entire apartment. "Yes, I hear you loud and clear. Forever, Starsky. No one comes between us ever again. No leaving, no being alone. I promise you."

Hutch sat at the bar in the airport lounge waiting for his return flight to Bay City. He was allowing himself a celebratory beer, having slapped the ringlets of silver around Gunther's quivering wrists. He felt ecstatic, euphoric, drunk on dizzying victory. Normally reticent about himself and his personal life, he wanted at this moment to shout, to exult, to tell another human being about his joy. The young male bartender approached him with a smile.

"You look entirely too happy. Makes me jealous. If you don't mind my asking, what gives?"

Hutch could not suppress a grin full of teeth. "I'm going home to my lover."

"She must be a knock-out."

Hutch felt the grin widen. "He is." He waited a beat and then added, "That shock you?"

The bartender returned the smile, glanced around at the surprisingly empty lounge, and pulled up a barstool from behind him, plopping down on it with a laugh. "This is San Francisco. I'm supposed to be shocked about a man loving another man?"

Hutch laughed easily and gulped down another swig of beer. "Add into the equation that we're homicide detectives. Partners, in fact. Shocked now?"

"Nope, but I'm sensing a story. What has you sitting here looking like someone declared you exempt from income taxes for the rest of your life?"

Hutch twirled the glass in his hands and sighed deeply, "He's going to live."

"There was a chance he wouldn't? Okay, now I know there's a story. Spill, Blondie."

"Hey...." Hutch laughed louder and tilted his empty glass. "He calls me that. Tell you what, fill this little baby up again and I'll give you a re-cap."

"Deal." The bartender was back in such a flash with a foaming glass that Hutch wondered for a moment if he weren't some sort of beer genie who just had to tweak his nose for a refill. "All right, you've got my undivided attention."

"We had this informant who could give us details about a crooked federal judge...into all kinds of nastiness. We tried to protect him, practically committed perjury on the stand to shield his identity, but finally we had to give in to pressure and the long and short of it is, our informant ended up dead while in our custody. God, he had a wife and kid. Just about did my partner and me in. Tossed our badges into the ocean side by side. That's when I knew--I really knew! --That he loved me. Truly, forever, beyond the grave and eternal kind of love, you know? I mean, we'd acknowledged our feelings for each other before all this stuff even happened, but that just made it all come home to me. He loved me, more than the job, more than our working partnership, more than anything he'd ever accomplished, more than his badge. Thing is, we ended up staying on the case, without even realizing it, just to help out an old friend of Starsky's from New York and in the end got invited back on t
he force by the mayor himself." Hutch broke off suddenly and gripped the beer glass in a stranglehold. The bartender straightened out of his slightly slumped, relaxed, listening posture.

"I'm sensing a massive 'but' here."

"Yeah." Hutch's voice bottomed out. "The federal judge was just the beginning. He was on the payroll of somebody more powerful than Zeus. I can't lay out names at this stage of the game, though I'm sure the media will have their teeth in it soon enough, but let's just say this guy could have put out a hit on the Pope and succeeded. He decided instead to go after us. Had a couple of his goons dress up like officers and lie in wait for us in the police garage." Hutch swallowed hard and sweat broke out on his forehead. The bartender unconsciously reached out and placed a hand over the wrist that tensed and trembled from the strength of the hand clutching the beer glass.

"Hey, just because I filled your glass doesn't mean you have to live up to your end of the bargain if you can't talk about this."

Hutch smiled. "Has a happy ending. Just the middle part that sucks. Anyway, it all happened like a lightning strike. So quick. I tried to warn him, but I wasn't fast enough. He--he didn't scoot under the car or duck. Oh no, he pulled his gun so he could cover me, and ended up with m-machine gun bullets all t-through his chest and abdomen...Jesus, I thought--at first, I.... He made it to the hospital, but we almost lost him while I was out trying to track down leads on who'd done this to us. But my David is a fighter, a survivor. No way was he going to leave me behind. He promised me. Said, 'Hutch, we're going to be together forever, you got that?' And once he promises, he follows through. He bounced back from the--the--c-cardiac arrest, and then he came out of the coma quicker than the doctors believed possible. Every day he gets a little better. We're going to come out of this. And we're going to live. My God, we're going to live! I've already decided we're going to buy a hous
e together. Damn what the police rules have to say about it. When all the dust settles from the bust I just made this afternoon, we're going to be the poster children for Heroes in Law Enforcement. Just let them try and fire us or split us up. Won't happen. He promised that too, you know? Nothing ever will come between us again."

The nasal voice of the intercom announced boarding for flight number 1123 and Hutch grinned again, fishing in his pocket for cash. The bartender confiscated the glass and waved at him, "Nah. Don't. These two are on me. Not every day I get to hear a story like that one. Go back to your David and live like hell, you hear me?"

"Every second of every day," Hutch vowed and left the lounge.

>>>>>>>>

Hutch had moved over to the open door and crept behind it, shielding himself from view as the nurse and orderlies hustled about cleaning, drying, changing sheets, mopping the floor, and generally cussing silently over the results of their patient's drowned celebration. Captain Dobey and Huggy had vacated the premises almost immediately, not wanting to add to the comic distress of the situation, but Hutch had no plans to spend the night in any other bed but the one occupied by his still laughing, jubilant and recovering partner. Finally, the crowd of white-garbed personnel trailed out of the room murmuring witticisms about policemen being pains in their collective ass, and Hutch waited for the door to close before scooting back across the room.

"Oh, good, H-u-ush--I though' ya lef' or somethin'..couldn' see you."

"That was the point." Hutch laughed at the sound of Starsky stoned on painkillers. He climbed, still fully clothed but minus the damp jacket, back into the bed and regarded his lover thoughtfully. Every day since he had returned from San Francisco, he was continually amazed at the progress Starsky made. Some members of Starsky's trauma team still mumbled about lingering coronary damage, but Hutch smiled as Starsky bah-humbugged them all and called them names behind their backs. Starsky preferred Dr. Albrecht, who believed firmly and stated loudly that Starsky was a miracle and he did not let miracles do anything but walk out of his hospital on their own two legs. Currently the miracle was looking at Hutch with ferocity in those sapphire eyes.

"If you don'--k-kiss me soon...I'm gonna kick you outta this bed."

"On four kinds of painkillers? That would make the headlines." Hutch rolled his eyes but couldn't keep up the joke for long. He took Starsky's face in his hands and held it like Gorham crystal. Starsky was too impatient for that kind of gentleness; he did his best to make his upper body surge forward just enough so that their lips found purchase. Hutch let out a musical, impassioned sound and sucked in Starsky's lower lip eagerly, letting his tongue dance softly under the rim of the upper lip. He had to relinquish Starsky much quicker than he would have preferred due to his partner's temporarily diminished lung capacity. Starsky smacked his lips together.

"Anyone ever tell ya...you k-kiss l-like nobuddy's business?"

Hutch laughed and planted a kiss on Starsky's forehead. "All I care about is that you think so."

Starsky yawned. "I think so, Blintz. I think even with me on four painkillers you could get me hard enough to thrust through a brick wall if you kissed me like that again."

"Yeah, well, that's one hypothesis we're not gonna investigate tonight. You've had enough excitement. Time for shut-eye, Oh Defier of All Odds."

"Anyone ever tell you...you're really weird when you're happy?"

"Good thing you're used to my weirdness. I have a feeling I'm going to be happy a long, long time." Hutch snuggled down in the tiny amount of room left for his body in the narrow hospital bed. Starsky laughed.

"I love you, Hutch."

"Love you too, Starsk. Go to sleep."

Starsky snorted. "Oohh, you're gettin' all masterful. You really are trying to turn me on."

Hutch lightly swatted the top of the curly head. "Starsky!"

As Starsky grew quiet, Hutch thought about the next day with a soft smile. He was scheduled to pick up the newly repaired, miraculously perfect and resilient Torino, thanks to Merle's love of Starsky as a fellow car enthusiast who deserved only the best service. Now Hutch just had to figure a way to spring the surprise on his pajama-clad hero. He closed his eyes, already fashioning his plans and lulled by his beloved's steady breathing.

Perhaps two hours had passed when Hutch woke, instinctively certain that something was very wrong. He turned his eyes and shrank back in horror. Starsky's hand clutched at the left side of his chest and his eyes had rolled back in his head. His mouth hung agape, gasps struggling for freedom. Hutch commanded his brain to get the hell with the program and didn't wait for the nurse's call button to respond. Instead, he bounded out of the bed, practically ripping off the hospital room door in search of help. Fortunately, he found Dr. Albrecht at the nurses' station and he clutched at the man's arm in sheer panic.

"Detective Hutchinson?"

"It's Starsky.he's---Heart, I think it's his heart!--"

Albrecht was no fool. "Crash cart, stat, people!" He pushed by Hutch and disappeared down the corridor. The code team streaked past him in a blur and when Hutch followed, he arrived at Starsky's room just in time for the door to slam shut in his face. A hand latched around his arm and he pivoted to stare into the face of a nurse who looked fifteen years his junior.

"Come with me, Detective Hutchinson. They won't let you in there, and you wouldn't want to be a distraction anyway. I'll get you a cup of coffee."

"I don't want coffee!" Hutch snapped. "I want--" He turned back to the door. "Damn it, Starsky! Don't you do this to me! Don't even think about it, you hear me!" He knew he was storming, railing at the door to no avail. The sounds of frantic resuscitation attempts drifted into the hallway. "How? How is this happening? He's been just fine."

The teenybopper RN pulled him away from the door as though she was used to herding six-foot tall policemen around like recalcitrant puppies. "You have to understand, Detective. Your partner was critically injured. Set-backs do occur, especially with someone who sustained the type of internal injuries Detective Starsky did."

"Set-back!" Hutch shrieked. "You call *this* a set-back!"

"Detective, I know you're upset, but this is a transitional care unit and other patients need undisturbed sleep. Either come with me, or we'll have to ask you to leave."

Hutch buried his face in his hands and followed the nurse against every one of his better instincts over to the nurse's station. He let her sit him down in a nearby chair and waited, gulping in shallow breaths, for her to bring him that cup of coffee. Vaguely he registered her saying to one of the other nurses, "That other telephone number we have on Detective Starsky's contact information sheet? Dial it now."

Moments later he accepted the cup of coffee she held forth and clutched it in both hands without even thinking about lifting it to his lips. His lips still tasted of Starsky and that was the only flavor he wanted right now.

Minutes dragged by for what seemed like enough time for entire glaciers to melt into lakes. When Dr. Albrecht emerged from Starsky's room, Hutch jumped to his feet. Staring down the hallway into the doctor's face, Hutch let the styrofoam cup fall out of his hands and his knees buckled. The second nurse at the station was at his side in a flash, gripping his elbow and steadying him. Dr. Albrecht walked slowly in his direction.

"Detective Hutchinson...Ken, I'm--I'm sorry, we tried everything medically available to us to resuscitate David, but--"

The words continued. Massive heart attack. Underestimated the amount of damage to the heart caused by the shooting. Sudden spike in excitement level. The last four words jerked Hutch's face up and his mind out of the fog.

"Are you suggesting--" Hutch's brain clicked into the right slot and his eyes widened. "Oh my God. Oh God...well, do something, dammit, why are you standing here with me?"

"Ken, we've lost him. I'm sorry, son."

The medical personnel watched with alarm as Hutch's entire body spasmed before it crashed without warning to the floor.

>>>>>>>

Hutch shrugged off the hand on his elbow and stood, back arched, body rigid in front of the grave. He knew the first thing he would do after he left this hellish place. He would strip out of the dress uniform and burn it. Destroy it, his badge, and everything else. Everything but his gun. He needed that. Just a little while longer, he whispered to the open hole into which Starsky's casket had been lowered. Just a few more respects to pay. He might even wait a day, or two. Let the hero's funeral remain fresh in everyone's mind to commemorate Starsky's memory before he--before he--

"Hutch, everyone's gone but us. Let me take you home. The captain tried four times to say good-bye to you before he left with Mrs. Starsky, Edith and the kids. Hutch, you listenin', bro?"

"Go on, Huggy. I'm staying here for a while."

"Hutch, I know you insisted on drivin' here yourself, but you're really in no shape to be behind the wheel, m'man. Please, Hutch, lemme help ya. I--I know what y-you've lost."

The tangible grief in Huggy's voice snapped the last string connecting Hutch's heart to his soul. He whirled on his friend with blue fury blazing from both eyes. "You. Haven't. Got. A. Clue. What I've lost. No one! No one knew...." His mind provided him with a memory and he sat down weakly on the grass. "Except for a bartender in San Francisco. I--I don't even know his name.and he's the only one who knows. Who knows what I've lost....Leave me alone, Huggy, please!"

"Hutch, don't do this to yourself--"

"We killed him, dammit! You think I didn't hear what the doctor said? Sudden spike in his excitement level. That damn party. We just had to kick up a fuss and celebrate. Always jumping the gun and throwing caution to the four winds. Starsky! Starsky, Jesus, babe." Hutch's face crumpled and he flung back his head and let out a murderous yell. He turned his face to Huggy, who had knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Huggy, if you don't leave right now, I won't be held responsible--"

Huggy jumped to his feet, anger flooding his dark face. "All right, have it your way. You think I don't know? You think I didn't figure out that you two were suddenly more than the Dynamic Duo? I was happy for ya, m'man. Happy for you both. I want to be here for ya. I want to help you through this, Hutch. I lost a friend, one of the best I ever had. No one will ever replace him in my world an' I owe it to him not to let you turn into a wreck, ya hearin' me? But, fine. You want to wallow in guilt and crap all over his memory, fine. I'll leave ya in peace."

The minute he was alone, Hutch rose up on his knees and gripped tufts of hair with both fists. "What happened to forever, Starsky? You promised! What happened to not being separated? Nothing coming between us. You--You--Why, Starsky, why...oh, God, it hurts. What am I without you, Starsky? Nothing. I'm nothing. You hear me? Wherever you are, you're not going to be alone there for long. You hear that? You can't keep a promise, well, I will, dammit! I will!"

A dark curly-haired man stood behind the anguished blond and whispered, "Hutch?"

Hutch rocked back and forth, sobs increasing in volume, hands still clutching at strands of hair. The man approached the grieving blond and tentatively grasped the swaying shoulders. He was surprised and elated when he felt the heat of Hutch's body. "Babe, can you hear me?"

Hutch fell silent and rose to his feet. He kissed his palm lingeringly and then doubled over, rubbing his hand on the ground right at the edge of the grave. "I love you, Starsk. I'll be with you soon."

"I'm right here, Hutch!" Starsky jumped in front of Hutch and waved his hands frantically in front of his partner's tear-streaked face. They had said he'd be able to make him see--Didn't think those particular Powers-That-Be were capable of lying. "Come on, Hutch. Focus. Think. Use that famous brain of yours."

Hutch trudged slowly away from the gravesite with his head hanging at an angle of defeat.

Starsky snapped to attention and trailed behind him. "Hutch, turn around, babe. I'm right behind you. Can't you feel me?"

The despairing partner climbed into the driver's seat of the Torino and burrowed his face into the steering wheel. Starsky put one of the other rules in the ghost-physics book to the test and stepped through the closed passenger door. He relaxed in the passenger seat and rubbed his hand up and down Hutch's arm. "Aw, Hutch, you drove my car. Baby, please focus. If you just get real quiet, and let yourself feel--"

Quiet was not what Hutch wanted. He reached out and flipped the radio on full blast before he slammed the door shut, fired up the engine, and screamed out of the cemetery in an explosion of exhaust and sound.

Starsky settled back in the seat. This was going to be more difficult than he imagined.

By the time the Torino sat idling in front of Starsky's apartment, its former owner barely clung to a shred of ethereal sanity. Admittedly, he was new to this whole ghost concept, but his was a special case, The Powers had promised. Starsky wasn't seeing any evidence of being different than the garden variety, invisible spook, and he knew now that desperation packs a mean punch on both sides of the invisible veil. His attempts to attract Hutch's attention by manually switching off the radio fielded absolutely no result. Hutch had swatted at the dial, muttered some half-hearted oath, and continued on his mindless journey. Surely, if I start belting out that country tune he did on stage with Sue Ann, Starsky thought, and proceeded to caterwaul like a rooster on speed. Nothing. Hutch's eyes remained glued to the road, unseeing, uncaring, barely registering the presence of other cars on the highway.

Now Starsky sat beside his partner in silence and tried to remember the conversation with his Eternity Representative. He mentally sifted through the red tape and policies, delving straight into the heart of the matter....

Just a little guidance would have been nice; Starsky grumped to himself, caressing Hutch's slouched shoulders.

Hutch groaned and finally allowed himself to swing tear-swollen eyes over to the empty passenger seat. He should have driven back to Venice and saved himself the combination torture-rack-iron-maiden that going into Starsky's, now permanently empty, apartment felt like to his grief-weary soul, but he could not relinquish the ties just yet. Sighing from his inner agony, he vacated the car and began the trudge to Starsky's front door.

Once in the living room, he stood and looked around, a blind man given a sudden reprieve. The warmth that was his partner washed over him. For a minute that feeling sufficed. Not for long. He clawed at the empty air with fists and attacked the bookshelves, flinging volumes in all the available directions. Then he went after the pottery.

"Hey, Hutch, Jeez Louise, if you're gonna wreck the place why didn't we head for Ocean, huh? I still like this stuff." Starsky yanked a particularly favored piece out of Hutch's hands and set it defiantly back on the shelf. "Now, if that don't reach you, I'll eat one of your tofu-bean sprout concoctions. Well, I would if I could still eat."

Hutch eyed the piece of pottery with acute alarm and then said softly, "I--I'm losing my mind already." He brushed obliviously by a gaping Starsky and made a beeline for the kitchen. Starsky clenched his fists.

"Aw come on, Hutch...when Marcus' dopes had me stashed away and you didn't have a clue that could get you out of a paper bag, you found me, buddy. Now I'm right here pulling all kinds of supernatural junk, and I might as well be in Transylvania. Will you just let yourself feel me already!" he shouted helplessly at the blond, who sat cross-legged on the floor after having located a lone, unopened bottle of wine.

"Not strong enough," Hutch muttered, "but maybe if I drink it down in one continuous gulp...."

Starsky felt realization thwap him upside the forehead with a two-by-four. Hutch did not want to feel. He was running from it--running from the pain. Starsky experienced a slicing sensation in his lower gut and decided that the Eternity Representative knew her stuff. He could feel Hutch's pain, all right. Starsky curled up on the floor in front of Hutch and leaned over, stroking up and down Hutch's lower legs. "All right, Hutch, babe. Crawl right into that bottle if you have to. I'll get to you some way when you're so knocked out, you just gotta feel."

That time arrived sooner than Starsky expected. Hutch opted for bed only two hours later and three-quarters of the wine remained in the bottle. Something internal kept him from drowning his anguish in fermented grape. He dragged himself off the kitchen floor and stumbled in an exhausted, blind haze toward the bedroom. Starsky followed mutely, brain whirling, and watched from the doorway as Hutch shed the dress uniform in a series of violent cloth-ripping sounds that testified to Hutch's physical strength as well as his emotional state. Down to his boxers, he fell on top of the bed on Starsky's side and buried his face in the pillow.

Starsky grinned. "Gotta love some of this ghost stuff," he whispered as he touched his chest and legs and was instantly freed from clothing restraints. With a sigh and the gesture of rolling up imaginary sleeves, bracing for first contact, he clambered onto the bed beside Hutch and planted a kiss behind Hutch's left knee.

"Ummm...."

Starsky practically fell off the bed. Okay, so he hadn't expected it to be that easy. Never one to slam the door on opportunity, Starsky shifted his base of operations and dropped whispery kisses along the length of Hutch's spine. Another heart-felt moan worked its way around the pillow squished against Hutch's face. Starsky gripped those relaxing shoulders and tugged. "Okay, Hutch, turn over for me."

"Star--Starsky...." Hutch murmured, rolling over obediently. He blinked rapidly at the face that laser-beamed a look of distilled adoration into his soft blue eyes. "Oh, babe...sh- sh-should have kn-known you'd show up in my dreams."

"No dream, Buddy. I'm here. Right here with you." He reached down and deftly removed Hutch's boxers with a little cooperation from their wearer.

Hutch sighed and opened his arms. "Ish okay...." he said sleepily, "if it's a dream. I'll take what I can get...come here, gorgeous." Starsky melted into those arms without hesitation and tried to graft his face into the hollow of Hutch's neck. The scent that spoke of life, love, and rebirth assaulted Starsky's heightened senses and he heard the telltale noise of cleansing grief. Hutch's shoulders quaked. "Oh, God...don't know if I can afford this. Waking up is going to be a nightmare."

"Shh, easy, easy," Starsky soothed, his own eyes moist. "Damn, even when you're half-nuts with grief, you're clever with words. But you're not going to have to wake up from this. Let yourself feel everything." He let his hand drift down Hutch's abdomen until it connected with welcome rigidity. "Well, I know you're feeling something." He laughed softly. Hutch chuckled through his tears.

"I might be dreaming, but I can tell you still know how to react, yourself," Hutch bucked up against Starsky's answering hardness.

"What can I say? You always did know how to push my buttons...
especially that little one up inside my--"

"Hey! Hey, don't do this to me. Tempt me with what I can't possibly have..." Hutch's voice still spoke of half-sleep and dreams.

Starsky laughed out loud. "Who says, genius? Shows what you know. That's my Hutch, questioning every miracle he runs up against. Gonna shake your soul apart and put it back together again, lover." He scrambled up out of Hutch's encircling arms and raised himself so that he could brush his cock's crown against Hutch's lips. Those lips, acting on memories of times they'd had together as earthly lovers, opened without a sound and caressed him. "Oh, wow, Hutch, did you go to CSU sometime when I wasn't looking?"

Hutch mumbled around his mouthful, "CSU?"

Starsky laughed again, so happy to be experiencing this. "No, baby, I *don't* mean California State."

Hutch choked in mid-suckle and snorted laughter through his nose. Then all humor fled as passion took the steering wheel and Starsky trembled, rocking, allowing himself to thrust eagerly but with tenderness into the receptive warmth of Hutch's mouth. Somewhere in the near vicinity of the apartment a fault-line opened and Starsky screamed, "Babe! Love you...Love you...Hutch!"

Hutch removed his mouth gently and shook his head, confused, "Hey where's the--"

"Some stuff is different in this state, Hutch," Starsky grinned. "Just think: all pleasure and no mess. Fewer wet spots on the sheets. Don't ask me to get technical and tell you how it works, because I haven't got a clue."

Hutch tossed his head back and forth. "How the hell did someone manage to slip acid in an unopened bottle of wine?"

"You think you're tripping now? Just wait. Got something to show you." Starsky slinked back down over Hutch's body, positioned himself and the erection that awaited his attention, and sank down onto it without a single pause. Hutch jerked violently and screeched. Starsky moaned, "Oh, yeah, like I said...some things about this ghost life ain't half bad."

Hutch groaned and shifted his hips. "Well, move, Casper. I want it hard and wild. Maybe I'll just disintegrate and I won't have to wake up to a world without you."

"Let yourself feel, Hutch. Believe in me." Starsky initiated a frantic rocking, thoroughly pleased with the widening of Hutch's eyes and the sight of his lover's hands gripping tufts of bedspread.

"Oh, Starsk, I want to believe, but it hurts. So real that it hurts. I can feel you...." Hutch gasped out, back arching, pushing up against the weight that straddled him. "So real, warm...tight." His eyes flew open and connected with Starsky's chest--"No, what the--? Wait a minute. I am dreaming. Where are your scars?"

"All gone...bye-bye," Starsky's voice shook from the sheer power and exertion of his pace. "Tell me you're dreaming after you orbit Saturn a few minutes from now."

"Few minutes, hell!" Hutch's upper body thrashed in the grips of almost painful pleasure and then lightning flashed against the backs of his eyelids and he practically dismounted Starsky as he flung his body upward. "Coming...Starsky! Starsk…."

>>>>>>>

Hutch rolled over in the bed, rose groggily, and plodded out of the room without a backward glance. He fumbled around the kitchen until he had a pot of coffee happily brewing. His body felt purified and encased in gold. The lashes of fate's whip against his soul seemed non-existent. "That dream," Hutch told himself as he waited for the wake-up elixir. "Has to be that dream. Never had one so real." He poured the coffee and then stood thoughtfully in front of the counter. "I might just survive this if I could have at least...at least that much time with him every night in a dream."

"Got all the time you need, partner. How about bringing those coffee lips over here? I want a taste."

Hutch dropped the mug and yelped as scalding fluid splashed against his thighs on the way down. He whirled around. "Holy shit!"

"Now, now. Watch your language. We've got to be on our best behavior. After all, we owe it to a Higher Goodness, my being here and all."

The blond backed away, up against the counter, stepping in the hot puddle of coffee without registering the pain. "I'm--I'm still asleep."

"Come on, Hutch. You're awake. Perfectly sane and fixing yourself coffee. I rode you into the mattress last night, remember?"

"Must have been hallucinations! You're not... You're not...." Hutch winced and turned his face away from the agonizingly beautiful sight of Starsky standing nude in the entrance to the kitchen with his hands on his hips and that crooked grin growing larger by the second.

"Touch me, Hutch." Starsky held out a hand. Hutch moaned.

"Sudden death.shock, trauma, grief, denial...." Hutch tried to jar every one his memories from his last university psych class. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross couldn't help him out of this dilemma, though. The hand beckoned, tantalizingly real. Hutch sprang forward, jerked Starsky up against him and locked his mouth down on the one that opened invitingly. "I love you," Hutch breathed against the mouth, against the cheek he suckled gently, around the tip of Starsky's nose. "God, I love you."

"Feeling's mutual. That's why I'm here. I promised you, remember?"

"Starsky, you died! Wh-when they brought me around in the hospital, I--I went in and held your lifeless body for--I don't know, maybe an hour before Dr. Albrecht and Captain Dobey pulled me out of the room--I mean, I could possibly...maybe rationalize your spirit being here, but I can feel you, smell you, taste you! What the hell did we put in the ground yesterday if you're here like this?"

Starsky shivered and touched his chest and legs. Hutch jerked as though he'd suddenly held hands with a transformer. "Wha--what did you just do?" Starsky stood clothed in faded jeans and a dark blue T-shirt.

Starsky sighed. "I was getting cold standing here naked with you talking about dead bodies. Ugh."

Hutch retrieved the mug from the floor and rinsed it out before refilling it. He then gulped down half its contents regardless of his throat's protest. "All right. Somehow, this must be real. I'm just not damned imaginative enough to hallucinate that."

"That'll prove it to you? Okay, here's what we do. What do you most like to see me wear, Hutch? No wait, let me guess. That'll prove our telepathy thing's still intact." Starsky closed his eyes and tapped his chest and legs. He was instantly naked again. "Very funny, Hutch. I mean, your favorite outfit besides my birthday suit." Hutch snickered. Starsky closed his eyes again, gave himself a couple taps, and found himself clad in the same pair of jeans only this time accompanied by a red T-shirt and his favorite leather jacket.

Hutch all but repeated the coffee fiasco. "Starsky--that jacket...where are the holes, the blood?"

"All's new, Hutch. Don't you understand, yet? This is complete freedom for us. I'm with you, I'll be with you forever, but you don't have to worry about me and wonder every second if I'm going to catch a bullet. Been there, done that, and I'm still here. You can relax."

His partner reached out and slid reverent fingertips up one leather sleeve. "How is this possible?"

"Because our love doesn't know any boundaries, Hutch. Never did. Even before we...um...bottled up our own brand of sexual lightning. Promises between us are more'n that. They're...I dunno...some kinda natural law or something."

"What's the catch?"

Starsky groaned. "Gotta latch onto the negative, don't you, Hutch? What happened to that positive attitude you lectured me about?"

"I'm a realist, Starsk. You know that. Nothing's perfect."

"Okay. You're the only one who can see me. As far as everyone else is concerned, I have to remain dead and buried. I--I--can't even show myself to Ma."

Hutch did drop the mug this time. "Rachel! She went home with the Dobeys yesterday. I'm supposed to take her to the airport in--" he glanced around for the clock. "Twenty minutes."

Starsky knelt and picked up the mug, glad it was hearty stoneware. "You know, Hutch, I always did know great sex made you even clumsier."

"Starsky, did you hear me? I have to pick up your mother and take her to the airport."

"Yes, I'm not deaf. I'm also clothed and ready. You're not. Shake a leg, buddy. Don't keep a Starsky lady waiting. I'll clean up this coffee while I wait...and just how bad did you burn yourself? Lemme see."

Hutch ignored all but the implications of one sentence. "Are you insane? You're coming with me?"

"Hey, just because she can't see me doesn't mean I don't want to see her at least one last time."

"How am I supposed to act, carting your grief-stricken mother around, with you hanging out in the backseat?" Hutch demanded, massaging his brow worriedly.

Starsky captured the hand and brought to his lips, sucking the coffee droplets off the fingertips. "Like you're equally grief-stricken or she'll know something's up. Nothing wrong with Ma's brains. Where you think I got all mine?"

"The loony farm if you think I can pull off something like this. I just made love to you last night, Starsky, after thinking I'd have to get intimate with my gun to see you again. My heart feels like it was just given its own private tropical island. How do you think I can hide that from her?"

"Just think of it as an undercover assignment."

"Oh, that's easy for you to say. You're the one who gets to be invisible."

"Get your clothes on, partner."

>>>>>>

Starsky was somewhat subdued when they arrived back at the apartment a couple of hours later. He sank down on the sofa and curled back against Hutch's chest when the blond sat down beside him. "She couldn't even face coming here."

"No, buddy. She left it to me to get all your things together and--and--do something with them. This has hit her really hard. And I'd be acting just like she is if you weren't sitting here like this right now."

"I know, babe. I'm just worried about her."

"I am too, Starsk, but I'll call her every week, I'll send her care packages, and I'll call Nicky and threaten him within an inch of his life if he doesn't look out for her. How's that?"

"I love you," Starsky said solemnly, turning slowly in Hutch's loose embrace and seeking his favorite pair of lips.

Hutch broke away a few moments later and said happily, "Hey, leave my tonsils intact, will you? Damn, there's not a thing ghostly about your tongue."

Starsky regarded his face thoughtfully before he caressed the strip of hair over Hutch's upper lip. "How about we make this ghostly?"

"What?"

Starsky yanked Hutch off the sofa and dragged him into the bedroom so he could force Hutch in front of the mirror. "Look at yourself, babe. I mean, you're always beautiful to me, but you look like you've just given up on yourself and decided to turn fifty before you even hit forty. Before Kira, I was too blind to see it. Afterwards things got so hectic. But now...I want my old, healthy Hutch back. Hmm, think you can handle that?"

"You defy death for me and then you ask if I can handle a haircut and shave?" Hutch beamed at his lover. "How about I re-invest in goat's milk and desiccated liver while I'm at it? Start running again...get back into my yoga--maybe instead of expanding the greenhouse I could build a personal gym onto the back of the apartment? There's this new herbal tea I've been reading about that aids in rejuvenation...."

Starsky grinned at Hutch's enthusiasm. "All right. Sounds good. Just you gotta promise me something."

"Anything."

"You can't go all seaweed and organic on me."

"Why not?"

"You were talking about catches...well, it's weird, and I don't really understand it, but I can't eat for myself. My sense of taste is super strong now, though, so I can taste things off your lips...sort of like I'm eating."

"What are you saying, Starsky?"

"You think you could learn to eat a jalapeno-bean burrito every now and then?"

"That's why you were licking my fingers earlier...for the coffee?"

"Well, I like licking your fingers even when they aren't sticky with coffee, but yeah...you get the picture."

Hutch gave an exaggerated sigh. "For you, Gordo, I will try to grow an extra gall bladder and come to terms with spicy Mexican food."

"Aw, great, Hutch, you're a pal. Say, what's next on our agenda?" As an answer, Hutch snagged Starsky's wrist and pulled him in the direction of the bed. Starsky tried to resist. "Hutch, we've got lots of stuff to talk about."

"Talk later. Bed now."

"Oh, Hutch, when you start spitting out two-word sentences--"

"Call me weird, but the thought of you having to kiss me for nutritional sustenance is shockingly erotic. Come on, Starsky." Hutch tugged again and Starsky relented, laughing, knocking Hutch down onto the bed.

"That's the last box," Hutch breathed deeply and plopped down on the sofa, stretching his legs out and pushing a smaller box over on the round coffee table to make room for his feet. Starsky frowned and stood behind the couch so he could work on Hutch's tensed shoulders. Hutch relaxed into the soothing sensations of the massage. "Oh, that's nice."

"Said I should help you. Won't listen to me," Starsky grumped.

"We're splitting the labor. You packed up most of the stuff at your place and I did the loading. Now here, I've unloaded and you'll do the unpacking. Fair's fair."

"Yes, but your back, Hutch. You could have taken Huggy's offer to help out. Or since it's the middle of the night, I could have--"

"I didn't let Huggy get in on the act because I wanted to be able to talk freely to you while I worked. And even if it is the middle of the night, do you think we could really risk someone driving by and seeing cardboard boxes floating on thin air behind me into the apartment building?"

Starsky nodded slowly, face darkening. He moved in front of Hutch and looked down into his open features as though trying to see if their relationship's new limitations bothered the blond.

Hutch grinned up at him and said, "Hey, it's not a perfect set-up, but I'm not complaining. I'd rather be able to do this--" he reached out and grabbed Starsky's hand, pulling him down and across his lap, "than have you carrying boxes any day." Warm lips set about nuzzling the skin underneath the curls around Starsky's ear.

"Hutch, no offense, buddy, but you smell like I do after I've given the Torino a wax job in a heat wave."

Hutch laughed. "Yeah, and--? We always work up a sweat when we--"

"Yes," Starsky agreed, laughing too. "But that's in the middle of the moment. Shower, hotshot."

Hutch sighed. "Heightened senses thing again, right?"

"Bingo."

"All right, picky. Think you can hang onto the mood long enough for me to get clean?"

"Make it fast." Starsky looked for a moment like he might reconsider the necessity of the shower. He stared at Hutch's face, caressing every feature separately with his eyes.

Hutch groaned. "Starsky, don't look at me like that and then put me off. Up!" Starsky didn't move. Hutch shifted his weight and dumped Starsky unceremoniously on the other end of the couch. Starsky flung an end cushion at his partner that landed square against Hutch's moving rear end. Hutch swung around. "You're asking for it, Starsk."

Starsky's face took on an angelic light. Hutch could practically see the halo. That finished him. He dashed back around the sofa, grabbed his partner by the shoulders, and hauled him up, pushing him in the direction of the bathroom.

"Hutch?"

Hutch grinned evilly. "Hush. You're gonna supervise my bathing."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, I have a couple of parts tailor-made for your expertise."

"Just a couple?"

Half an hour later Starsky stood in the living room scanning the piles of boxes with a calculating glint in his eye. He turned around and smiled at Hutch, who stretched lazily on the couch, a beautiful gloss shining in his eyes. "Did pretty good, Hutch. I think we'll be able to squeeze all this stuff in here. Did good for other people too. Clothes to the thrift store, furniture and kitchen junk to the homeless shelter...."

"But you couldn't live without your books, knick-knacks, and records," Hutch finished.

"Nope," Starsky grinned. "Anyway, it's okay. I mean, Huggy seemed to think it was natural that you'd want to keep some of my stuff for sentimental reasons."

Hutch suddenly sat up straight. "Starsky, he's pretty understanding, but I think he's going to pose a problem before it's all said and done." He fingered his clean-shaven upper lip. "For one thing, my sudden change in appearance knocked him for a loop. Maybe I should have waited longer--I mean, just a little over a week has passed since you--since-- Yeah, maybe the haircut and shave should have waited."

"But you just couldn't resist doing something that would make me happy, you oversized softie." Starsky knelt in front of the sofa and ran his fingers joyfully through the shorter cropped blond hair. Hutch shivered. Starsky laughed. "I think it's a good thing we've got a few days left of your compassionate leave. Gotta wear you out a little so you can go back to work."

"Well, I haven't seen you resisting my advances--at least, when I'm not smelling like reconstituted garbage." Then the rest of Starsky's statement rattled around in his brain and Hutch jerked away from Starsky's seductive fingers. "Work, Starsky? You--you...you really want me to go back?"

Starsky blinked. "You're a cop, Hutch. That doesn't have to change."

"But--but I don't have a--" Hutch swallowed the remainder of the sentence but not quickly enough. Starsky jumped up and turned his back.

"A partner."

"Starsky, I didn't mean--Damn."

Starsky whirled around, the pain in Hutch's voice ripping through him. "Hey, babe, it's okay. I know what you meant."

Hutch looked away. "I'll probably be stuck with some drooling infant detective; every time I walk in that damn parking lot, I'll re-live the whole nightmare--"

Starsky dropped down onto the sofa and draped an arm around Hutch's shoulders. "Buddy, I understand, but you're too good a cop to just drop it. People out there need you, Hutch. Believe me, if I couldn't--if I couldn't be out there with you, even if it's like this, I wouldn't want you back on the streets either. But I'll be there with you every step of the way. Hutch, part of the reason I'm here may be so we can keep making a difference out there, you know?"

Hutch shrugged off the comforting arm and stalked into the kitchen. He returned with an open beer. "Starsky, that damn job has taken everyone I've ever loved, everything I hold sacred, and put 'em through a meat-grinder. If we hadn't pushed and pushed, you might still be sitting here...Okay, so you're still sitting here, but you know what I mean! Starsky, what kind of life is this for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Being here like this. Some kind of half-life. You're not really in this world; you're not really in the other one. Some damn limbo. Starsky, am I worth that? What are you really missing out on that you're not telling me? Got to be a much better place for you than being half-stuck in this crazy world."

"You don't want me here with you?" Starsky's eyes widened and misted simultaneously. Hutch bit down hard on his lip, set the beer down on the coffee table, and opened his arms. Starsky hopped up and filled them immediately.

"Oh, Starsk, I'm sorry. I can't say anything right for some reason. Jesus, I want you here. I want you close by all the time, so badly, so constantly that it scares the hell out of me. I'm just worried that you're...it's just not natural for you to be here like this. Things that go against the grain can have nasty consequences. Are you sure you're not gonna get thrown some cosmic curve ball when you aren't looking?"

Starsky burst out laughing. "Hutchinson, your guilt complex should have its own zip code. I had a choice! I made my choice. 'Sides," Starsky grinned, "this is gonna be a hoot."

"What?" Hutch's tone grew wary. Starsky had that twelve-year-old-imp expression complete with miniature pitchfork and tail. Hutch reflected that he must have left the halo in the shower....

"I've just got all kinds of ideas how I can play with Dobey's head! You thought the plumbing service telephone gag was a riot? You just wait! Metro won't ever be the same."

"Oh, no," Hutch breathed, but he crushed Starsky against him and laughed just the same. They clung to each other for a moment bonded by the shared humor.

>>>>>>>

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Hutch said the following night as the Torino left whirlwinds of dust in the background. He glanced over at Starsky who was practically making love to the steering wheel in his ecstasy at driving again. "I'm surprised you're even doing this. What happened to not taking the Torino off-road?"

"Special case. We're not really off-road. Anyway, this'll give me an excuse to wash and pamper her later--with you helping, of course, so what I do won't look obvious to any passers-by."

"Speaking of passers-by, would you slow down? If anyone sees us, we're--"

"Shaddup, worry wart. We're in the middle of the desert. Who's gonna pull us over, a tumbleweed?"

"Funny. Very funny, Starsky. You're not the one who'd have to explain to Dobey how I got caught speeding in a driverless vehicle."

"Hmmm, now that sounds like an idea. Maybe I oughta crank this baby to a hundred--"

"How about I crank you?" Hutch gave Starsky a look that pushed the dark-haired man's foot down on the brake pedal of its own volition. When the Torino screeched to a halt, Starsky shifted gears and turned in the seat, reaching for Hutch. He did not have to reach far. The blond was already halfway there. Mouths met, hands bumped into each other as they dashed wildly over chests, shoulders, through hair. Starsky pulled back. Hutch sat trembling, breathless, and then leaned forward again.

"Hutch, why are we like this?"

"Hmm?" Hutch asked from somewhere beneath Starsky's Adam's apple.

"Can't keep our hands off each other. We were pretty hot and heavy before the shooting, I know, but now--jeez, I feel like I should grow an extra dick to keep up with you. And I'm what they call 'hot-blooded!' What gives?"

Hutch mumbled, "Do we have to analyze it?"

"Okay, now I know something's up and I don't mean just below your waist. You, Mr. Brain-in-Overdrive, don't wanna analyze something? Talk to me, Hutch."

"I think--it has to do with what you said about relaxing. Before you.before the shooting, I--I think I may have held back. If you give every ounce of your soul to someone and then something goes wrong--You already had all of me in so many ways, but now I--I don't have to be scared of having you die in my arms in an alley somewhere." Hutch looked not at Starsky but out the window at the expanse of sky and desert terrain. A light brushing of fingertips on his shoulder turned his face. "I'm not saying I didn't love you before."

"Aw, Hutch, I know you did. You showed me all the time."

"Not in one important way."

"What? I can't remember anything missing."

Hutch stared at his lover. "What, did they tweak your memory up there? A partnership is supposed to be about fair-play, but I kept putting off my end of the bargain and then--then it was too late."

Starsky's eyes widened. "Hutch, oh, buddy, don't think like that. Took us awhile before I wanted that, too. We did a lot of building up to that point. Yeah, I wanted it first, but that doesn't mean you were lacking somehow. And, hey, that book we read said some couples like us don't even do that at all, remember?"

"You just wanted to be ready. I was putting off on purpose, Starsk. That's different."

"What are you saying?"

Hutch's entire face tensed, jaw to furrowed brow. Starsky knew that look. This was Hutch's I-should-admit-something-but-I-won't expression.

"Look, just hold that thought. I know where this is headed, Hutch. We talked about this. Hell, we drove all of two hours outside our jurisdiction to that gay bookstore so we could go into this with our eyes open. And what did we decide?"

"Starsky--"

Starsky slammed a hand against the steering wheel. "No, Hutch, you're not getting off the hook that easy! After that first night, you practically tied me in a chair and sat on me to make me talk out all my feelings. And before I threatened to smack you if you didn't quit drowning me in your Freudian stuff, what did we decide?"

Hutch sighed and said in a child-like voice of repetition, "That we loved each other as friends first and foremost and it didn't matter how we chose to show that love physically because our friendship would always be intact. And that's where our love is. Our friendship. There, almost a direct quote. You happy?"

"Hey, after keeping me handcuffed to your version of a shrink's couch for two days, you ought to be able to quote whatever I said, dammit. Anyway, you got it right. So quit beating yourself in the head about not wanting that."

"I want it. I want you. I'm just--I don't feel right about wanting it now when there's nothing to lose. I should have wanted it before, even with the risks, like you did."

"Holy God, Hutch, doesn't your conscience ever get tired of running a hamster wheel? We are not going to even talk about this if you can't want it just because you want it."

Hutch latched his eyes onto Starsky's and cupped Starsky's chin in his hand. "I want it. I want it now. If I thought we could manage it, I'd want it right here in this car."

>>>>>>

"Come on, Starsky. I'm not going to shatter in a million pieces."

"No, Hutch! Just because you broke every traffic law in the book getting us back here does not mean I'm going to speed behind this wheel, got it? We're taking it slow, nice an' easy."

"You didn't take it slow your first night back with me." Hutch's libido stretched and bared its fangs at the thought of that once-in-a-lifetime lovemaking he'd thought only a dream.

"That's me. I'm kinda special now. But my equipment is still perfectly solid when in contact with you and you have a fully human body, comprende? Back when we did this before the shooting, you were just as careful with me."

"Starsky, if you keep this up, we'll own stock in the company that produces Vaseline after we've done it a few times. How many damn fingers do you have, anyway? Did they give you some extra?"

"Laugh it up, Hutch. I want this to be a beautiful experience for you, okay? Great, now you're making me get soapy. Just cool it and lemme get you ready."

"You're driving me insane!" Hutch moved yet again under the loving onslaught of two fingers that rotated within him, gently stretching the opening. Starsky smiled and removed them.

"Yeah, well, trip's gonna be short because I'm coming back with three," Starsky said, voice husky, and suited the action to his words. Hutch burrowed his face in the pillow and emitted a growling noise that lit every one of Starsky's erogenous nerve centers.

"One, two, three...tired of counting, Starsky. If you say you're going to try four fingers, I'll throw you off this bed."

"Promises, promises. All right, buddy boy, I'm getting ready to give you the real article."

"Finally."

But the anticipation and rush died out of Hutch when he first felt the breaching of his body. Instinct demanded protest. His brain said to get up and run away. His heart wanted more. His own intimate organs thought the jury was still out. Trapped within the dilemma, he simply moaned. Starsky stopped immediately; the sound had not been all pleasure. "Hutch, how you doing, babe?"

"I don't ever want to hear you call me a 'big boy' again, Starsk," Hutch ground out, voice still carrying more than a hint of pain.

"Try to relax."

"Easier said than done when someone's shoving the Washington Monument up your ass." Sarcasm mixed with a soft groan.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Hell, no." Hutch breathed in deeply, quoted something to himself in ancient Phoenician, not even wondering where he got the Phoenician, and breathed out. "All right. Try again."

Starsky warily complied. Hutch's face relaxed and some of the tension between his shoulder blades dissipated. Starsky could tell and managed further entry. "Don't have to go all the way in, Hutch, you know that."

"Want all of you, partner. Even if I don't walk for two days."

Starsky granted his wish, slowly, surely, until their bodies connected. He felt more like their souls were touching. "Hutch...oh, man, this is incredible."

Hutch sighed, relieved to have the hard part finished. "Movement would be nice, Starsk."

"Where's the fire?" But Starsky gave in to the mounting passion he felt in his own body and eased back, carefully listening for any hitch in breath or sign of distress from Hutch. A soft sound drifted from the vicinity of the pillow. More sexual than pained, the whimper was a mainline of aphrodisiac to Starsky, and he initiated the back-and-forth rhythm they both wanted.

"Oh, damn, Starsky...." Hutch breathed almost reverently.

"Y-e-es…." Starsky agreed, voice catching with the attack of intense sensation. The pace quickened, and Starsky attempted to maneuver a hand around so that he could pay Hutch's cock equal attention. Hutch squirmed at the contact.

"Just let yourself go, Starsk," Hutch urged.

"Just too good...oh, OH! Hutch!" Starsky thrust forward in a jagged motion and flung his head back, rattling the headboard with his yell. He melted over Hutch's back and whispered, "Sorry, babe."

"For what? I think you took me to Paradise with you."

Starsky fondled Hutch's less insistent hardness. "Not quite all the way. You'd think I'd have more lasting power in this state.

"Doesn't matter, Starsk. I loved it. Improves with practice, they say. I want us to get in lots of practice."

"Well, we're gonna do something about this guest who's still at the party," Starsky said, sliding carefully free of Hutch's body and attempting to roll Hutch over. The telephone blasted through the passion-filled silence. "You've gotta be kidding," Starsky said, reaching without thinking for the phone on the night stand and snapping, "Yeah? Hello?"

Hutch grabbed the phone with a wild look at his partner, who turned bright pink and shrugged. But the mistake proved to Hutch that no one else could hear Starsky because Dobey's voice bellowed, "Is anyone there? Hutchinson?"

Hutch commanded his voice to sound neutral. "Yes, Captain?"

"Hutch, I'm--Son, look, I know your leave isn't up until Monday, but I think you really want in on this one."

Hutch looked at the clock. Two a.m. "What's going on, Captain?"

"Dead girl in her early twenties. Strangled."

"Special circumstances?" Hutch held the phone away from his ear far enough so that Starsky could listen. Dobey gave a long sigh.

"Yes, Hutch. Just get down to The Pits. I'll fill you in there."

Hutch rubbed his eyes, shaking his head, "The Pits? Huggy's closed, Captain."

"That's the crime scene, Hutch."

Captain Dobey greeted Hutch with an uncharacteristic handshake of open fondness, and tried hard not to stare at his grieving detective's face. He had expected thrown-together clothes, vivid dark eye circles, and slumped shoulders. When Hutch showed up looking like a flashback to 1976, Dobey had to exert every ounce of self-control not to spew the coffee he sipped out of his mouth.

"What have we got, Cap'n?" Business-like, concerned, eyes flickering back and forth no doubt in search of Huggy Bear. Hutch confirmed the captain's guess. "Where's Huggy?"

"Dispatch fielded a call about forty-five minutes ago. Young woman in distress, yelling about some guy trying to kill her boyfriend. From dispatch transcript, we've identified Huggy as the boyfriend. When the officers arrived on scene, they found Huggy out cold on the floor beside the murder victim. He's at Memorial, Hutch. No word yet. When they realized who we were dealing with, the officers got hold of me immediately. Everyone knows Huggy is attached to you and Star--" Dobey bit down hard on his tongue and looked away. Hutch felt a warm hand caressing his back just between his shoulder blades and had to force down a smile at the comforting sensation. Every step of the way, Starsky had said. Hutch grinned inwardly and stepped imperceptibly back into the warm hand as a way of saying silently, "You do keep your promises."

"Give me a quick run-down; I want to get to Memorial as quickly as possible."

Dobey pointed at the medical examiner who was bent over the body sprawled on the floor directly in front of the bar. "Get it from the source, Hutch." Hutch nodded and moved briskly across the room. Dobey stood back fidgeting and glancing repeatedly at his watch. He suddenly stilled and rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he snagged the elbow of an officer walking just within his reach. This particular officer had been present at many of the crime scenes Starsky and Hutch investigated during their partnership.

"Hey, Burnham, over there. Look familiar to you?"

Burnham turned his eyes obediently to the scene of Hutch conversing with the ME. His face paled. "Ah, Captain, that sight'd make a man cry, lemme tell you. It's the way he's standing."

"Yes, exactly," Captain Dobey sighed, the sound almost broken under the weight of his weariness.

"Leaning slightly to the left, head tilted to the side--Almost as if Starsky was still--" Dobey coughed, cleared his throat, and glanced at his watch again. "Where is Detective Saunders?"

"You're gonna--" Burnham clamped down on his question. Dobey threw up his hands.

"Got no choice. Chief's office is screaming at my heels."

Burnham nodded slowly and sidled off to complete the task Dobey had interrupted. Hutch approached the captain just as a young man in a remarkably clean and pressed suit barreled to a stop right beside the portly black man. "Sorry, Captain Dobey," the newcomer said. "Horrible wreck on the freeway and I'm still new to the drive in. Takes more than a few days to learn the roads in this city, I'm finding out."

Hutch heard a hearty snort just behind his right shoulder, but he did not have an answering smile to smother this time. Cold hands clutched his heart at the words his detective's instincts supplied with meaning. Dobey nodded with understanding at the new arrival and then turned to Hutch. "Hutch, let me introduce Ray Saunders. Just made Detective Sergeant with homicide division in Sacramento, but he's transferred here because his fiancée has moved to Bay City with her job. Wasn't going to have him come in until Monday so you two could start together, but this mess came up, so you're going to get a trial run before the pairing becomes official. Saunders, this is Ken Hutchinson, one of our homicide veterans. He'll teach you more than you ever wanted to know about the job. Right now he can start by filling you in on this situation."

Without thinking how his actions might look, Hutch grabbed the captain's elbow and pulled him over to the side, ignoring Saunders' quirked eyebrow. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Cap'n, you've got to be kidding. You're going to saddle me with a newbie while I'm trying to solve this case? This is Huggy, Cap'n. I want to get to the bottom of this yesterday and I can't be bothered with some kid-in-diapers hanging around while I do it."

Captain Dobey pulled himself to his full height and huffed, "Hutch, let me spell things out for you. I knew how you'd feel about a new--about pairing up with another detective, but neither one of us has a choice. The chief thinks you're too volatile right now. He'd like nothing better than to tie you to a desk for an indefinite amount of time until some department shrink thinks you're over--thinks you can work without Starsky. The only way the chief'll hear of you handling a case is as part of a team and he's not too thrilled with that. So are you going to give me some cooperation or am I going to have to hand you over to Minnie in Records?"

Hutch felt warm hands slide around his waist and latch together. Stronger warmth pressed up against his back briefly before those hands pulled away. Hutch sighed, feeling the cold melt away from his chest. "Yeah. Cooperation." He walked back over to Saunders and held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Saunders."

Saunders smiled and returned the handshake enthusiastically. "Looking forward to working with you, partner."

Captain Dobey winced and braced as though expecting a lightning strike. Hutch dropped his hand immediately, but his face remained neutral. "Caucasian female, early twenties, death by strangulation. ME says the wound looks like a garrote. Weapon of choice for professionals. No visible signs of a struggle. Cash box in the register still full of the night's profits so I think we can wash out an ordinary robbery motive. I assume Captain Dobey's informed you about our other victim?"

Saunders glanced quickly between the captain and his new partner. "Yes. Friend of yours--named...um, odd name. Huggy?"

"Right. He's also served as an informant in many of our--my previous cases. I'm headed over to Memorial now to check on him. You're free to have a look around and get a feel for the crime scene. We can compare notes later."

The well-dressed detective bristled at once. "Look, Detective. Friend, informant, or whatever. He's also a material witness in a murder investigation. We'll both be going to Memorial. Together."

Dobey slapped both detectives on the back. "I'd love to stick around and see how this plays out, fellas, but I'm going home to Edith. Hutch, you keep me posted on Huggy's condition. If--if it looks worse than what the officers reported, you call me and I'll be over at the hospital soon as I can. I want something resembling ideas about this case by noon today." He flung one last astonished look at his stone-faced blond detective, shook his head slowly, and turned away.

Hutch faced Saunders with ice crystals forming in his eyes that flowed down and froze his smile. Saunders did not flinch. He was Hutch's exact height, almost willow thin, with a face that could have been anywhere from seventeen to twenty-four years old.

"Looks like he ought to be in tights and one of those velvety cape thingies on a stage somewhere. You know, playing Hamlet or something," Starsky laughed. Hutch choked and had to turn his face away from the soft brown eyes probing him. "Appearances can be deceiving though," Starsky continued. "Betcha he can bench-press a house. 'Course, I prefer your talent. Bench-pressing me, I mean."

"Detective? Hutchinson, are you all right? Your whole face is red. Need a glass of water?"

Hutch shook himself free of the seductive images Starsky's comment conjured and stepped back with a foot directly onto his lover's toes. Hutch ignored the indignant yelp behind him and said, "No, Saunders. I'm fine. It's late and I've got a friend in the hospital. Let's go."

When they neared the LTD, the third and perhaps rattiest of all the Fords Hutch had owned and given complete loyalty, Saunders cleared his throat and said, "Why don't we take my car?"

Starsky burst out laughing. "Maybe you should have kept that little toy car you had for a while, Hutch."

Hutch donned a glare that both men could share. "There is nothing wrong with my car." Saunders threw up his hands in surrender and climbed into the passenger seat without another word. Hutch would have preferred Starsky claim his appropriate place in the car, but he caught himself before he asked Saunders to sit in the back. Explaining that quirk would have required more creativity than he had at almost three in the morning. So, after Hutch cranked the engine, he looked casually behind him as though checking traffic and made brief, glorious eye contact with the man who ruled his personal world. "Didn't know Huggy had a new girlfriend. With Huggy, by the time they earn the title 'girlfriend,' it's pretty serious."

"You just buried a lover, babe. Huggy's not the kind to crow about his success when you're grieving."

"Excuse me, Detective? I didn't quite catch that. You didn't know what?"

Hutch pulled onto the road. "Just thinking out loud. According to dispatch records, the murder victim is Huggy's girlfriend. I hadn't met her before."

"You two are *that* close?" Saunders voice teetered between sympathetic and professional. "This won't compromise your ability to--"

Hutch swung dangerous eyes in his passenger's direction. A mumbled "Uh-Oh." drifted from the back seat. "Saunders, let's get one thing straight. I've solved more murder cases with painful, personal associations than you've seen cases period."

"I know your former partner--"

Hutch pulled into a convenience store's parking lot and killed the engine. He turned in the seat and ignored the, "Go easy on him, lover," that whispered in his ear. "I don't have a *former* anything, Saunders. That's the next ground rule you need to learn. You know *nothing* about Starsky; so don't dare think you can talk about him like you do. I'll work with you; I'll show you the ropes and I'll even, God help me, try to be nice about it. As long as you stay out of my personal life and my face. Clear enough for you, or should I write it down in a notebook for you to have handy?"

Saunders flushed and looked uncomfortable for the first time that night. "Captain Dobey didn't tell you anything about me, did he?"

"No. Just the basics. Where you've been, why you're here. And I can live with both of those, so you needn't elaborate." Hutch started the car and resumed their journey to Memorial.

Saunders' lips turned into a thin line and he shifted in his seat to look out the window. "Fine. We'll leave it at that, *Detective* Hutchinson."

"Good."

"Would you like some ketchup with all that hide you just chewed?" Starsky asked calmly.

"And you just--" Hutch smacked his lips together before he could spit out the "knock it off, Starsky." He glanced sideways at Saunders, but the young detective still stared out the window seemingly oblivious to the aborted comment.

The rest of the drive was silent. Even Starsky refrained from comment, perceptive enough to realize that Hutch was nearing the end of his tether. When they pulled into the parking lot at Memorial, Hutch swallowed hard and repeated a mantra of strength before he exited the car. The mantra failed. By the time the trio neared the Emergency Receiving entrance, Hutch halted in mid-stride and swayed slightly, shaking his head. "I--I can't," he whispered. Saunders whirled around, eyes questioning.

Starsky walked around and faced Hutch, stroking his cheek. "Hutch, hey, listen to me. No, just keep looking straight ahead, but listen. You didn't lose me here. All right? Our relationship just changed, that's all. I love you. I'm here with you. Damn, you ought to know I'm here with you, I'm wondering how you're sitting down so well. Now walk on in there like it's just any old hospital, okay? Huggy needs you."

Hutch wanted desperately to kiss the face staring at him with such open kindness and understanding, but he reminded himself that he would not have allowed himself that luxury while on duty with Starsky when things were normal. They had known that their professionalism had to be completely above reproach to preserve the other aspect of their private relationship. Hutch pushed wisps of hair from his forehead and rubbed his eyes. Saunders waited, silently.

They ran into immediate opposition in the form of a sturdy, screech-voiced ER nurse who regarded them both like leftover carrion on a road. Both men flashed badges, explained the situation, attempted calm reason. She turned into a cement roadblock. Finally, Hutch lost his famous blond temper. That solved nothing. Her voice grew screechier and Saunders visibly flinched. He waved a hand, silencing her tirade.

"Look, see if you can get hold of Dr. Augustano."

The nurse eyed him thoughtfully and left. Moments later, a tall, olive-skinned brunette, wearing scrubs in the color reserved for trauma surgeons, appeared and brushed a kiss across Saunders' lips. "Hey, hon. Thought you were home fast asleep."

"Was. First case, darlin'. This is my new partner, Detective Hutchinson. Hutchinson, my fiancée, Bev."

Starsky whistled in surprise. "Well, well, he must be older'n he looks if he's engaged to a trauma doc."

"Beverly Augustano, Detective Hutchinson. Nice to meet you. Ray tells me you're a legend. He's been practically high on the opportunity to work with you."

"Bev--" Saunders' tone screamed embarrassment. Starsky draped an arm over Hutch's shoulders and squeezed. "That's my Blondie. A legend in law enforcement." Hutch flushed vivid pink.

"Ray's a very lucky man," Hutch said to the doctor, shaking her hand with a bright smile.

"Great, what is it, the scrubs? He's nice to you," Saunders commented, but the words were couched in a teasing tone.

Beverly laughed at her fiancé. "I have what they call a non-abrasive personality, hon."

"We're actually here on business, Bev. Having trouble getting through to a patient who came in here oh, little over an hour ago."

"Hm. I'll see what I can do. Who is he, what's he look like, what were his injuries?"

Hutch took over and provided the necessary information. She disappeared and a few minutes later a much nicer nurse ushered them into a curtained area where Huggy rested in apparent peace despite the IV stand and monitors. Hutch approached the bed and looked down on his friend. The nurse whispered, "Make this fast, gentlemen. He's still not considered stable enough to move to a floor."

Huggy's eyes fluttered open at the increased activity and struggled to focus. When they connected with Hutch, they wavered and then remained still, and a smile danced on the chiseled features. "Hutch, bro...you're lookin' good, m'man. Curly's gonna do a back flip over the new style when we surprise him with that 'picnic' tonight. Hey.where'm I anyhow?"

Hutch jumped back from the bed. "Huggy, what's the last thing you remember? Describe today."

Huggy frowned and rolled his eyes around, taking in his surroundings. "Jus' a normal day around the bar...'til you called and told me they're gonna spring Starsky from the sick-house in a week. Speakin' of sick-houses, looks a lot like the Bear has decided to pay a special visit. What the hell's goin' on, Hutch? And who's Banker Dude over there?"

All the color drained from Hutch's face and Starsky plopped down on the floor, head in his hands. "Aw, nuts! Give it to him easy, Hutch. He's just lost his lady on top of not even remembering about me."

Saunders looked like he wanted to melt into the privacy curtain. He stepped forward, and said simply, "I'm Detective Saunders, Hutchinson's partner."

Huggy managed a weak laugh. "Yeah, right, no offense, but when you can ice-skate in hell, maybe. Hutch, tell me what's happenin' here, bro?"

But Hutch just leaned forward and patted Huggy's shoulder reassuringly. "Bump on the head, Huggy. You just lie back and go to sleep. I'll come back and see you as soon as I get off duty."

"What abou' the party?"

"We'll talk about it, Hug. Gotta run right now. Nurse is gonna kick us out in a minute."

Huggy yawned and nodded. "'Kay. Feelin' drowsy anyway. See ya."

The nurse entered the curtained-area and said softly, "He's still in and out of consciousness. We have more tests to run before we determine the severity of his condition."

Starsky walked over to the bed and leaned over, cradling Huggy's forehead with his palm. "Be well, my friend." He glanced up at Hutch. "I know he can't hear me, but I had to say it."

Saunders stood in front of the passenger door of the LTD and looked over the top of the car at Hutch. "You didn't even try to jog his memory about tonight--"

Hutch paused halfway into the car. He rose slowly. "No, I didn't. Think about it, Saunders. The man doesn't even remember that my--that Starsky d-died. Huggy was even closer to Starsky than he is to me. Hitting him with that on top of breaking the news to him that his lover is dead could very well jeopardize his recovery at this point."

"We're policemen, Hutchinson. We have to think first and foremost about getting a dangerous criminal off the streets. For that matter, we can't rule out Huggy's involvement. A distress call could have been forced and Huggy wouldn't be the first person to injure himself to strengthen an alibi."

"Well, isn't he just Ellery Queen," Starsky observed in a rare moment of sarcasm. Hutch sputtered for a few seconds without producing words. When words surfaced, they were hurled across the car in a controlled shout.

"Whoa, you just wait a minute, Saunders. Let's leave personal feelings out of this for a second. For one thing, any weapon that produced the kind of severe injury Huggy suffered, if self-inflicted, would still be lying in close proximity to where he was found. And if you're going to suggest next that Huggy's faking amnesia and he's not really that injured, guess again. Huggy wouldn't do that to me. Especially not bringing Starsky into it. He'd sooner shoot me in the chest. Those are just facts. More importantly, as personal feelings go, I know Huggy. Have known him for years. He's got a less than flawless past, but he has a better-tuned sense of outright honesty than even I do. He really should have been a cop, actually, and a fair number of the dangerous criminals Starsky and I took off the streets we owe to Huggy's well-timed information. So I'm not going to risk his health by interrogating him and trying to force his memory just to make our job easier."

"All right. You've got all the answers, what's our next step without our prime witness?"

Starsky rolled his eyes. "ID the girl, question friends and family, work on the origin of the murder weapon.... Quit thinking like Sherlock Holmes, Saunders, and act like a street cop."

"Well said," Hutch approved before he caught himself.

Saunders gaped at him. "Excuse me?"

Hutch had to refrain from slapping a hand over his mouth. He smiled instead. "Well said, Saunders. I do have all the answers. Get in and I'll teach you a few of 'em." He descended into the car and bit back a laugh at the slam of Saunders' door.

Starsky leaned forward from the back seat and ran the fingers of his left hand through Hutch's hair. "Wow, Blondie, you're in rare form tonight."

"He's--He's--" Both adjectives and nouns failed Hutch. He thought about swatting the hands away from his shirt buttons until he could get a coherent thought past his lips, but his heart refused to let his hands budge from their gentle grasp on the sides of Starsky's face.

Starsky laughed. "He's you."

"What? That is undoubtedly the meanest--"

"Oh, come on, Hutch. He is. Saunders is you the first week at the Academy before I got my hands on you--"

"Starsky, if you think you had your hands on me at the Academy, you must have been having some vivid fantasies."

Starsky flushed bright red, and paused in his task. "You wish, Hutchinson."

Hutch grinned, pulled his lover closer, and blew tantalizingly on the moist lips waiting for him. Starsky quivered. "Had to get you back for all those ill-timed come-on lines in front of Saunders," Hutch teased.

Starsky tried to pull back and act nonchalant. "Yeah, whatever, Hutch. My point is that Saunders--" His sentence died under the onslaught of Hutch's lips. He made one more attempt. "Hutch, I'm trying to make a point here--" Open mouth, probing tongue on the attack, hands tangling in his curls. Starsky pulled away and said shakily, "Screw my point. Come 'ere, lie back, and close those beautiful eyes."

Hutch let himself be pulled down into the warm circle of Starsky's arms. "Oohh," Hutch breathed in a sigh that came from the bottom of his soul and crept upward. Starsky's arms strengthened their grip, the fingertips of his left hand dancing lightly on the smooth, taut back.

"Tense, babe. What's running around that mind makin' you this uptight?"

"Nothing," Hutch said in his back-off tone.

"Right. You only say that when you want me to pry something out of you."

Hutch turned his face against Starsky's shoulder and mumbled something.

"You speakin' Spanish again?"

"Starsky, leave it alone!"

Starsky bent his head and brushed lips across Hutch's hair. "Nope. 'Fraid not. If I wasn't a huge pain in your backside, you wouldn't recognize me."

Hutch let a hand wander down Starsky's chest. "You could try being a pain in my backside another way."

"Are you out of your mind? Hey, I'm loving the humor we've got in this new trio, babe, but even I'm not crazy enough to want to see you explain to Saunders why you walk like you should be in some weird kind of traction. 'Sides, I know what you're doing. You don't fool me one bit. You just don't want to open your mouth and say what's bothering you. You don't mind picking away at my brain, but buddy, I better not turn the tables--"

"That's not true."

"The hell it ain't."

Hutch lifted his upper body so he could look down into Starsky's determined face. He traced each feature with his forefinger. "I--I love you."

"Same here, Hutch, but you're not gonna distract me that way, either. We only have a few hours before you've got to be back in that squad room and I want to clear the air."

Hutch let his head fall so his eyes could find a safer focus on Starsky's throat. "This is harder than I thought. I--I didn't realize just much I depended on having you by my side out in the world."

"Still by your side, Hutch."

"I know. I...I'm talking about visibly, acknowledged. Starsky, the way I talk, act...so much of that I've developed just by playing off you all these years. I learned that tonight, when I had to pretend for all intents and purposes that you didn't exist."

Starsky just stared up into the troubled eyes. Finally, he placed three fingers against Hutch's lips.

Hutch closed his eyes for a minute. When he opened them, he moved his lips against those fingers and said, "Starsky?"

Starsky's hand dropped. "Sorry. Just thinking how easy it is to be all hung up on you, Blondie, when you love me that much. Don't worry, Hutch, we'll find our way. You won't be able to talk to me, sure, but otherwise, just keep being you."

"Yes, but what about you? How are you going to feel while I have to interact with Saunders the way I used to with--" Three fingers pressed against his lips again, this time halting speech. Starsky's eyes shone.

"Hutch, I'm gonna tell you this until you start understanding plain English again. I'm so happy to be here with you, I'd have come back if they told me I had to wear a purple tutu around the whole damn time."

Hutch flung back his head and laughed, the mental image smoothing the patch of uneasiness.

Starsky grinned. "Oh, man, Hutch what you do to me when you laugh like that...."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Do? We're going to nail this guy in his tracks. Not just because of what he did to that girl, but also because we can't let it get out that it's safe to mess with Huggy, either. Not when he puts himself in the middle for us all the time. Gotta put the word on the street that Hutch is standing strong and in control."

Hutch smiled softly. "I agree with all of the above. But what are we going to do?"

"Not following you."

"About what my laughter does to you." Hutch yawned and looked instantly sheepish.

Starsky pulled Hutch's face down against his chest. "Dream about it sleepy-head, and we'll act it out tonight after work."

>>>>>>

"You look refreshed," Saunders said, when Hutch entered the squad room. Hutch mumbled something about a good nap. "Autopsy report," Saunders extended the file and walked over to the coffee maker. He stopped in mid-stride and glanced around the squad room. Officers turned heads back to their desks quickly.

Starsky followed Saunders' eyes and chuckled. "They're shocked you haven't pummeled him into the floor yet, Hutch."

Saunders filled a cup of coffee, paused, and then fixed another one that he brought over to the desk and offered like an olive branch with a bright smile. "Is it just me, or...."

"It's the suit," Hutch said absently, accepting the coffee and already concentrating on the report in front of him as he relished the feel of Starsky's leather jacket brushing against his arm when the curly-haired detective leaned in close to read with him.

"What about the suit?"

"The fact that you're wearing one."

"Huh?"

Hutch glanced up. "We're street cops, Saunders, in a very casual part of town, understand? Around here the only guys who wear a suit and tie are Dobey and the IA goons. And believe me, you don't want to be mistaken for one of the latter."

"Hutch, I think he's gonna faint."

Saunders did indeed look like someone had struck him in the gut with a lead pipe. He turned away and sat down in the nearest chair. Starsky's chair. Hutch opened his mouth but a hand slapped against his lips. "Just a chair, Hutch. You've got bigger things to worry about. Read that bottom line of the report. And why's our new team member acting like someone yanked the floor out from under him?"

Hutch ducked his eyes first to the bottom line Starsky indicated. "Cancer?"

Saunders did not turn around. "Yeah. Ovarian. Highly advanced with uterine involvement. Extremely rare for her age. I...um...took the liberty of calling Bev and asking her some off-the-record questions. At twenty-two, Carla Froman having cervical cancer might have made more sense if she'd led an extremely promiscuous lifestyle...but ovarian cancer sends up a red-flag."

"Any luck reaching her parents?"

"Yeah. Her father's on his way now to make a positive ID. She lives with her sister, apparently, in an apartment close to Jameson College where both girls are students. Sis called parents this morning and said Carla never showed last night."

"Hmm. No sign of a purse at the crime scene but we know from the hospital personal effects that Huggy's wallet was intact and all the money was left in the cash drawer. I don't know about you, but that tells me something," Hutch speculated.

Saunders shifted in the seat and shrugged. "She may not carry a purse."

Starsky laughed out loud. "Girl like that? Perfect hair, perfect make-up. Oh, yeah, she carries a purse with compact and lipstick, guarantee ya."

Hutch smiled. "Something to confirm with her family, but I think you'll find she does. And if so, then that purse being missing says a lot about this case."

Saunders scratched his right eyebrow thoughtfully. "Not adding up, I'm afraid. Care to turn the light on for me?"

"Well, it just makes me wonder about that dispatch call."

"I said last night the dispatch call might have been forced--"

Hutch shook his head. "Not forced. Genuine, just mistaken. From the transcript, you'd think Huggy was the intended victim, but he comes out of it with a bump on the head and Carla ends up with a permanent necklace. Then her purse turns up missing but she's still sporting all her jewelry."

"Add it all together and you get Carla as a possible target, but she didn't know that when she made the call," Starsky summed up neatly, tapping Hutch lightly on the back of the head.

"Oh, so you're saying Carla may have been the target all along, but she didn't realize it."

"Well, whaddaya know," Starsky smiled. Hutch waved the folder in a vague gesture that spoke volumes to Starsky. "What I want to know is why a killer skilled in the use of a garrote would take any chances leaving a witness around to talk." Hutch frowned as he turned his attention back to the ME report.

"Maybe the guy had to subdue Huggy to deal with the girl and then got interrupted finishing his work by the arrival of the first responders?"

"Would fit with the distress call, so that's possible," Starsky conceded, motioning for Hutch to put the coroner's report down on the table so he could read it without being obvious. "Although it would have been just as easy to go on an' subdue Hug permanently." Starsky shivered.

"We've got to hope for a return of Huggy's memory, although it's not going to be fun for him," Hutch said.

"Yeah, something about that distress call just bothers me." Starsky plunked a fist down on the file and shook his head.

"Me too," Hutch agreed instantly.

"What?" Saunders lowered his coffee mug. Hutch cleared his throat. "Um, tell the truth, I can't seem to get a feel for how the crime went down. We've got a girl who calls in from The Pits reporting a violent crime in progress. First of all, how does she manage to make that call? Not in full view of the assailant, obviously. So that leaves the phone in the kitchen. But then, does she come voluntarily back into the front section of the bar? Instinct would tell her to hide away out of sight. But that's not where she was killed. And if she was the intended target--"

"Merry-go-round," Starsky said, nodding. Hutch nodded too.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're having a conversation I'm completely absent from--Oh, I'm sorry," Saunders said with a look of sudden comprehension. Hutch focused on him with his full attention for the first time that morning. Saunders turned his face away. "Guess it's true what they say about you and your--about you and Starsky."

Alarm raised Hutch's voice, "What are you talking about?"

"You're used to talking to someone who knows what you're saying without you actually putting thoughts into sentences. Habits are hard to break." Saunders' tone spoke of personal experience...and pain.

Hutch flushed and exhaled a sigh of relief. "Holy Jeez, I thought--I don't know what I thought," Starsky sputtered. Hutch was saved from having to frame a reply by the entrance of a tall, heavyset man with thick gray hair. Impeccably dressed, he carried an air of privilege and the squad room fell silent at his appearance.

"Detective Saunders?"

Saunders jumped to his feet and was across the room in several strides. "You must be Mr. Froman. I'm Detective Saunders and this is my partner, Detective Hutchinson."

Hutch extended a hand and shook the trembling one offered him. "We're sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Mr. Froman."

"Thank you, Detective Hutchinson. Can we--can we just g-get this over with? My wife and oth--other d-daughter...." His voice cracked audibly as he stared at the tops of his shoes. "They're waiting in the car for me. Wanted--wanted to be here wi-with me, but couldn't face--"

"Certainly. Come with us." Saunders pushed open the squad room doors and led the way into the hall. Hutch turned around halfway to the morgue because he felt a sudden chill. He recognized the cause immediately: Starsky was nowhere to be seen. "Hutchinson?" Saunders' voice wavered with uncertainty and concern. Hutch frowned, shrugged, and followed Saunders and Mr. Froman into the most hated section of the police department.

Hutch never could deal well with the bucklers. The parents, loved ones, and friends who took one look at the lifeless face revealed by the discreet partial lifting of the sheet and suddenly shed both kneecaps. Saunders was quicker and grabbed Froman under the arms to lift and steady him.

Out in the hall, an ME's assistant having been sent for a cup of coffee, Hutch gently patted Mr. Froman's cheek as Saunders maintained his supportive grip. Finally, the older man showed signs of alertness just as the young aide rushed over with the brimming styrofoam cup. Hutch helped steady Mr. Froman's hand as he lifted the cup to his lips.

"That--that's Carla alright. Oh, God! My baby...my little one. She is--was my youngest. Wh--where di-did you say you found her?"

"A bar called The Pits," Saunders answered before Hutch could part his lips.

"Is that close to Jameson?"

"No, pretty far removed actually," Hutch answered. Froman gripped his head and threatened to slosh coffee with the other hand.

"I just don't understand. We were so careful with Carla. Wouldn't let her move out on her own unless she lived with Libbie. Some of our friends said we were too careful.but we just--just worried that she couldn't manage otherwise in such a big city. Be-because of her disability."

"Disability?" Hutch asked, eyebrow lifting.

"She's--she was deaf."

Saunders backed up against the wall and snatched his helpful hands away from Froman's shoulders. "Deaf? Born deaf?"

"Yes. Her only form of communication has been sign language and lip-reading. We were so happy to find that Jameson offers special classes for--what? What did I say? Is something wrong?"

"Mr. Froman, let me be absolutely clear on this. Carla could not speak? At all?" Hutch had to force words through a sudden constriction in his throat.

"She could make noise. Unintelligible, mostly. Not words. Why?"

"Your daughter was found when officers responded to a distress call placed from The Pits by a young woman," Saunders said quietly. Mr. Froman shook his head frantically.

"Wasn't my Carla who made the call, I can promise you that. She couldn't have formed words if her life--" he choked on the rest of the familiar saying.

"We realize this is a difficult time for you, Mr. Froman, but while we have you here, do you feel up to answering a few questions? We'll need to speak to your wife and daughter, too--"

"I'll do whatever you need," Froman flung his head back and stood up straight, visibly steeling himself. "But leave Lauren and Libbie out of this right now. They're in no shape--"

"Mr. Froman, in a lot of these cases, time is the deciding factor in whether we actually bring a criminal to justice. I think you do want us to find the person responsible for this tragedy...." Saunders voice found the perfect tone that mingled authority, compassion, and detachment. Hutch stared at him like his head had sprouted a unicorn's horn. Mr. Froman fell under the voice's spell and nodded slowly.

"I'll go get them.where do you want me to--"

"We'll wait for you just outside the squad room," Hutch spoke up, not sure he could handle another dose of the Saunders' audio-hypnotism. Froman handed over the empty styrofoam cup and turned down the hall. When he was out of earshot, Hutch whirled on Saunders. "Where the hell did you get that--that little mind game?"

Saunders smiled somewhat sadly. "Just a little trick I learned from my--just something I picked up along the way. Works every time."

"Not exactly a newborn, are you?" Hutch found himself having to cram some respect into the words. Saunders' smile widened and brightened.

"Nope. Not an old man like you, though."

Right then Hutch did not feel like an old man. His eyes caught sight of his personal miracle and his entire body jumped to life. He cleared his throat. "Look, Saunders, I'm gonna swing by the john before they get back. Put the parents in Room 4 and the daughter in Room 3 with a female officer. You know where--?"

"Yeah. I've had the cook's tour. You're thinking we'll get more out of them separately?"

"That's what I'm counting on," Hutch agreed, smiling at Saunders for the first time that morning. He marched down the hall and fixed an intense stare on the approaching curly-haired man, who read the look with the ease of much practice and followed the blond immediately.

Noting an empty hallway in front of the men's room, Hutch snatched Starsky's wrist and pulled him into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. He investigated the stalls, satisfied himself that they were alone, and then shoved Starsky against the wall just as Starsky's lips found his in an intense, almost forceful kiss. Hutch's left hand found a perch in the soft curls and his right hand crawled slowly down Starsky's upper body to stroke hard against his lover's groin. He pulled his lips away long enough to whisper, "Come...come against my hand. Like you did our first time."

Starsky laughed happily and batted Hutch's hand away. "I'd love to oblige, Romeo, but I think if I do, you're gonna end up with wet cords, and you are still visible." Hutch stepped back abruptly and buried his face in his hands. Starsky's laughter disappeared and he gripped Hutch by the shoulders. "Hey... hey, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry...I don't know what's gotten into me. I've never acted like this before. I mean, a young girl is dead, and her family's out there--I shouldn't be in here with you like this.... It's just that you--you were suddenly gone and I got this taste of what life would be like if you weren't--you weren't--here."

Starsky pulled Hutch into his arms and clung tightly. "Hey, buddy, lighten up on yourself, already! This is your first homicide case since I--I--since things changed. Makes sense you'd need to reassure yourself. Don't ever apologize for loving me, Hutch. Or needing me."

Hutch swallowed hard. "I keep telling myself to treat you like everything's normal. Then, the next minute I'm having to convince myself all over again that you're really still here. And I'm clutching and clinging...acting like a teenager who's just eaten a pound of oysters."

"Aw, Hutch, it's okay. It's not a normal situation. Bound to make us act differently sometimes. Look, soon as we have some time to ourselves, I'll prove to you, however I can, that I'm not going to just up and disappear one day. How's that?" Starsky kissed the sweat-dampened blond strands just above Hutch's ear and stroked the back until he felt the strong body grow calm and still in his arms.

Hutch pulled out of the embrace and smoothed down his hair and clothes. "Where were you anyway?"

Starsky grinned. "Decided to go sit down for a few minutes with the rest of the Froman family and see if I picked up on anything useful."

"You--" Hutch shook his head and waved both hands in resignation. "You're a complete nut."

"Hey, gotta make use of this ghost stuff, or else you'll start thinking I'm just here to be your invisible sex slave."

"All right, *Detective* Starsky, what did you hear?"

"Well, Libbie--I think her name is--'fessed up apparently for the first time to her mom that Carla and Huggy were definitely a hot number. Not earth shattering because we already knew--"

"No, that's important to us now. You were right, Starsky, about the dispatch call. Something screwy is going on, that's for sure. Carla Froman was born deaf and couldn't speak. No way is she the one who made the call. Now we've got confirmation of her relationship with Huggy and we also know some other woman was at the scene of the crime."

Starsky whistled. "I can tell you something else. All is not sweetness and light in the Froman family. Ma Froman got so pale at the news, she'd make your socks look yellow. That saying about 'if looks could kill'? The sister would be fertilizer. Then they shut up and after awhile I figured I'd better come find you."

"Think she's got something against Huggy?"

"Yeah. Dunno if it's race or 'wrong-side-of-the-tracks' kinda thing, but something turned her stomach about the whole deal."

"God, we've been in here at least five minutes. Saunders is going to send out a search party. Every few minutes he looks at me like I'm going to self-destruct right in front of him. You noticed that?"

"He's jumpy about something, I'll give you that. Go be top cop, Hutch, I'm right behind you."

After a few minutes consultation, Saunders and Hutch decided to question Carla's relatives simultaneously. Armed with Starsky's special information, Hutch opted for quizzing the older Froman daughter. Libbie was a beautiful girl with startling raven hair and impressive green eyes that stood out against her fair complexion. The combination was potent when topped off by her obvious fear and vulnerability. The female police officer sat at the table with her and gripped her hand comfortingly. Hutch cleared his throat, pulled out a chair, and sat down quietly.

"Miss Froman? I'm Detective Hutchinson and this is--" he broke off suddenly, realizing what habit was trying to push from his mouth. Salvage the blunder, his brain snapped at him. "This is a horrible tragedy and I'm very sorry for your loss."

Libbie sniffed, dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, and nodded. "Yes."

"How long have you and your sister had your own apartment?"

"Two years. Carla didn't start at Jameson until she turned twenty. Mom and Dad were very worried about letting her out of their sight."

"Does she have a lot of friends?"

"A couple. Hearing girls. Carla got along fine with other deaf people, but she had a knack for finding hearing girls who also knew sign language for one reason or another. So she could live in both worlds, she said to me. Marcie Dodd and Kelly Cooper. You need their telephone numbers or something?"

"Yes, that would help us. Did she have a boyfriend?"

"She--" Libbie's face turned into a mask of granite. "No. No one."

Hutch felt a hand clutch his shoulder as Starsky reacted to the denial. Hutch lowered his voice and that soft determined tone usually packed more wallop than a yell. "Miss Froman, your sister has been murdered. We need to know everything we can about her in order to figure out who did this. I can promise you that we're not going to run everything you tell us by your parents. She didn't have a special someone?"

"No, I told you."

Hutch sighed, "Can you explain how Carla ended up in a bar called The Pits? Are you familiar with the place?"

"No to both questions, all right!"

Hutch locked eyes with the female officer. Officer Callie Bern. She tightened her hold on Libbie's hand but flashed an understanding smile at Hutch, knowing as well as he did by the tone in Libbie's voice that the young woman was hiding information.

"Miss Froman...Libbie. We have reason to believe she was involved with Hu--with the bar owner. If you have more information about that relationship, we might just be able to make the person who took Carla away from you and him pay for it."

Libbie jumped away from the table and turned her back on Hutch. "Yes, okay! Marcie introduced them. Huggy something. Lord, I didn't even know it was serious--until she came home two days ago wearing this--this rock on her left ring finger."

Hutch felt the hand fall away from his shoulder abruptly. "Oh sweet Jesus," Starsky breathed. Hutch seconded the sentiment. But Libbie hadn't unloaded her entire burden. "I couldn't tell Mom and Dad anything about them. I just couldn't. They'd never understand. You have to know them. They--they think--thought Carla was their perfect princess. Some classy, white, smart guy was going to come along and rescue her from her poor, deaf, sheltered life and take care of her for the rest of her days. A black guy who dresses weird and owns a bar did not fit into their plans. Oddly enough, they probably wouldn't have cared if I'd marched in the house one day and announced that I was tying the knot with some guy named Huggy." Libbie fell down into the chair and dropped her face down onto the table with a thump that caused all three other people--including Starsky--to flinch.

"Did she say she was going to The Pits last night? To see Huggy?"

Libbie lifted her face. "No. But then I didn't see her last night at all. I went out around six to meet my friend Monica and didn't get back in until about three a.m.. I figured--"

"Pardon me. Monica?"

"Monica Harden. I suppose you'll want to talk to her, too?"

Hutch nodded. "Just routine. You were saying?"

"I figured Carla was out with Kelly and Marcie. If she went to see Huggy, she usually left me a note so I knew not to be shocked if she didn't show up until the next morning. Since there wasn't a note, and I woke up at eight and found her bed hadn't been slept in, I freaked and called Mom."

"How did you feel about Carla's relationship?"

Libbie managed a smile. "He's not my type. Not because he's a different color. Just--I guess you could say I prefer collegiate and sophisticated. But Carla and I never gave each other fits about our differences." She looked away and stared at the wall, murmuring, "If she was happy, I was happy. Simple as that. And vice versa." She must have decided the wall had been examined thoroughly because she turned her eyes back in Hutch's direction.

Hutch scratched his forehead. "Um...Libbie, I have to ask you a difficult question. Did you know that your sister had cancer?"

Libbie dropped the tissue and the blatant shock chilling her green eyes answered the question without her having to say, "Wh-What? C-cancer? What are you talking about?"

Hutch glanced up as though trying to compose his next sentence, but what he really needed was visual connection with his partner. Starsky's compassionate dark blue eyes lavished him with feather-soft caresses and then he said, "Go ahead, Hutch. She's tough. She can handle it. Gotta find some answers in this somehow."

The blond detective turned his eyes back to Libbie. "The autopsy showed signs of ovarian cancer, Libbie. Fairly advanced."

Libbie gasped, and slapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh, my God! I thought--I thought when she...she suddenly got an appointment with a gynecologist that she might be...I mean, I thought maybe she was marrying him because--"

"Because she was pregnant? No. Afraid not."

Libbie started to shake violently. "So we were going to lose her anyway?"

Hutch sighed. "I'm not a doctor. I don't know how many options she might have had. But ovarian cancer is highly unusual for a girl Carla's age. She never said anything to you?"

"Nothing! Even if she didn't tell me how serious they were, she did tell me about Huggy. I--I can't believe she wouldn't tell me.. Oh, God. If she didn't tell me, I know she didn't tell Mom or Dad--She used to say, 'I filter stuff through you, Lib. If it totally knocks you off your feet, I know I can't tell them.'"

Hutch reached across the table and patted her hand. "I think that's all the questions I have for you right now. I may need to talk to you later. Let Officer Bern take you back out front where you can wait for your parents. I really appreciate your talking to me, Libbie. I know it wasn't easy."

Libbie's face convulsed and the tears started in earnest, but she allowed Callie Bern to help her up from the table and out of the room. Hutch sat back in the chair, wiped his mouth with an unsteady hand, and then smiled when that hand was grabbed by two warm ones and stroked softly. "Did good with her, Hutch. Real good. You still got your soft touch."

"Yeah, well, what I want to know is where was the engagement ring?"

"Huh?"

"Think, Starsky! You and I both had a good look at the body. Knowing she might be Huggy's girlfriend, don't you think we'd have noticed a slab of diamond on her left hand? But it wasn't there. Why not?"

Saunders paced the squad room waving a pen in the air. "Nothing! Not a damn thing about Huggy. Nothing about the cancer. It's like they had this image of Carla and magnetically repelled anything that didn't fit."

"Wait a minute. Even Mrs. Froman never admitted to Carla's involvement with Huggy?"

Saunders ran a hand through his short, fine brown hair. "Why should she? She didn't know about the relationship. I believe her. Not all parents know what's going on in their children's lives."

Starsky said firmly, "Hold that thought, Hutch, I am *not* a reliable witness in this situation."

"Saunders, Hutchinson."

The soft tone jerked Hutch's head around. Far too accustomed to hearing his name shouted along with that of his partner, Hutch froze in the seat. Saunders reached over and tapped Hutch's arm. "Hey...I do believe that's our superior officer standing in his doorway. Hutchinson? Earth to Detective Hutchinson?"

"Hutch, shut your jaw and come on, will you? You're starting to worry me, even." Starsky was already halfway to the captain's office. Hutch remained glued to the chair. "Hutch, dontcha get it? He can't shout it anymore...it's too much like--Hutch? Do not make me stand here and get sniffly. You'll have the whole squad room bawling in a minute."

Hutch jumped to his feet, glared at his lover, and practically flew into Dobey's office when the captain stepped away from the door. Saunders, shaking his head at Dobey, followed suit.

"What is it, Cap'n?" Hutch managed, hoping his voice didn't squeak.

"Just got a call from Memorial. For the last twenty minutes Huggy has been screaming for you, Hutch. Would not rest quiet until the nurse promised to get you there pronto. Wanna tell me what that's about?"

Hutch shared a look with Saunders. "Captain, we've just interviewed Carla's immediate family. According to her sister, Carla was engaged to Huggy. Last night when we went by the hospital, he was completely out of it and had lost his memory past the day of--of--Starsky's hospital p-party. I'd say his memory's returned. We've got to get over there ASAP."

"Well, then, why you still standing here?"

That sounded more like Dobey. Hutch grinned and looked at Saunders. "We'll take your car. It's--um--faster."

"The point is, it's *actually* a car," Starsky blurted out in a chuckle, trailing behind the two detectives.

"I don't know that he'll talk in front of you," Hutch said calmly as he stopped Saunders a few feet from Huggy's hospital room with a hand on the suit sleeve.

Saunders eyed the hand and then frowned. "We can't give him special treatment, Hutchinson. You know as well as I do that we're liable to lose any hope of conviction if the least little thing goes wrong just because of your personal relationship with this witness. I am your security measure."

Hutch removed his restraining hand and leaned up against the corridor wall. "Saunders, did you sleep on the police manual every night and suck all this in by osmosis, or were you just born a sheep?"

"Ouch, Hutch! Slapping him around would be kinder. Your sarcasm ought to be issued as a police weapon." Starsky leaned against the wall right beside Hutch and folded his arms across his chest.

Hutch rolled his eyes and Saunders seemed to snap, grabbing the collar of Hutch's plaid overshirt with a swift move that startled even the feline graceful Starsky. He then pushed Hutch's shoulder back against the wall and growled, "Listen to me, Hutchinson, and file this away for future reference. I have learned a hearty respect for staying out of IA's path. Nor do I want the DA screaming down my throat. We're going to go in there and interview this witness as close to the book as we can because I want the bastard who killed a beautiful twenty-two year old cancer victim to spend the rest of his life fending off the advances of large guys named Lover Boy. Got it?"

Hutch let one eyebrow climb an inch. "What if the killer's a woman?"

Saunders released the collar in abject shock. "Wha--at?"

"The woman who made the dispatch call? Relax, Saunders. I got your message loud and clear. Anybody who has the guts to grab my collar deserves an open ear. Come on." He turned back toward Huggy's room and glanced behind him just in time to see Starsky throw an arm around Saunders' shoulders. "I kinda like this guy, Hutch. He'll be okay once we get him outta these stuffy threads." Hutch had to cover his mouth and cough to hide the laughter that Starsky's actions spawned. Watching Saunders trudge down the hallway completely oblivious to Starsky's companionable arm was more than a little humorous and did a lot to relieve the tension Hutch felt about approaching Huggy under the circumstances.

Surprisingly, Huggy seemed fairly calm. He was propped against a mountain of pillows and flipping restlessly through a magazine. The door shutting behind his visitors distracted him from the nervous page turning and he looked up with wide eyes. "So it's true. Hutch, m'man, I am so sorry." He looked Saunders up and down. "Sorry wardrobe friend, but ya didn' deserve me laughin' at ya last night. You work with Hutch, you're okay in my book."

Saunders shook the hand offered him with a grateful smile. "Yes, I think this suit has been officially declared a felony." Huggy laughed.

Hutch gave Huggy a quizzical look. "Huggy, you know why we're here? You were screaming for me, the nurse said."

Huggy had the grace to look embarrassed. "Oh, that. Just woke up all disoriented and realized what kinda stunt I pulled last night while I was outta my head. And I wanted real bad to know why I'm dressed in a gown with no back having stuff shoved up my veins."

"Huggy, what do you remember about last night? Anything?"

"Yeah. I closed up the bar just like every night and sent everybody home. Then I went back into the kitchen to fix myself a late night snack. Just finished the sandwich when I heard something out front. I thought it was Coppy."

"Coppy?" Hutch asked.

"Oh, you don't know about him. He's a new street guy who hangs around The Pits. Comes by sometimes, right after I close, for a bite to eat. I been trying to talk him into this job I found, but he really likes 'life on the road', he says. I thought he was knockin' on my door, so I went on up front and then wham! The lights went out, bro, lemme tell ya." Huggy lifted a hand to his forehead and winced. "I thought those dudes...who'd they work for? Bagley? I thought they did a number on the Bear. This is in a whole 'nother league."

Hutch and Saunders--and Starsky by virtue of the fact that he stood directly behind Saunders--consulted via eye contact. Before Hutch could fashion a question, Saunders looked at Huggy and asked, "You saw no sign of Carla Froman?"

Huggy's mouth fell open. "Why would I? How do you know about Carla?"

Hutch approached the bed and grasped Huggy's other hand. The gesture was so unusual that Huggy openly flinched. "Hutch, whatever it is, I suggest you just spit it out, all right? No silk gloves."

"Huggy, when you were found, you were lying beside Carla's body. She'd been strangled. I am--I am--sorry. Huggy."

"Carla?" Huggy's voice cracked. "Carla--d-dead? No. No way. Aw, man, Carla. She's...she's such a class act, ya know? Was... Oh, man. Oh, man."

Hutch sat down on the edge of the bed and focused a look of intense sympathy on his injured friend. "Huggy, I can't even tell you how sorry I am...you--you know--" Hutch's voice was unsteady too. "You know I understand what you're feeling."

Huggy blinked. "Come again?"

Starsky walked up behind Hutch, placed hands on his shoulders, and leaned his chin down on top of the blond head. "Hutch, I'm starting to think we've been fed some false info. Huggy is not acting like a man who's lost his one-and-only."

"Huggy, we were told that Carla Froman is your--" Saunders suddenly resembled a kid having to ask his parent an awkward question. Huggy noticed the discomfort and frowned.

"My what?"

"Your fiancée, Huggy," Hutch finished.

Huggy yanked his hand out of Hutch's grasp. "Bro, I am ashamed of you. Do you honestly think I'd be gettin' ready to sign the dotted line with some lady an' not tell you? 'Course it would serve you right for not tellin' me...um, leavin' that thought behind," Huggy broke off, fielding Hutch's glare and casting a glance in Saunders' direction.

Starsky choked on a giggle and kissed Hutch's golden crown. "Cat's gonna be out of the bag sooner or later, babe. Don't tear Huggy a new one."

"Libbie, Carla's sister, confirmed that you two were involved in a relationship and that Carla showed up two days ago wearing a diamond," Saunders, more confident now, spit out in a rush. Huggy snorted.

"Well, Libbie was jumpin' to some twisted conclusions. Carla is--
w-was--a very good friend of mine. We hung out. Sometimes she'd come over and we'd spend the whole night exchangin' recipes and teachin' each other magic tricks. Her friend Marcie introduced us. Marcie is Lisa's sister. My waitress," he explained for Saunders' benefit.

"How did you communicate?"

"You mean, 'cause she's--she w-was deaf? The Bear happens to be an A-1 sign language expert. My cousin was born deaf."

Hutch groaned. "Should have known one of your cousins would come into play somewhere."

"What about the ring?"

"Wasn't even real, Hutch. It was part of a trick she was teachin' me.... Girl coulda had her own magic show--"

Hutch waved a hand and interrupted the enthusiastic conjurer-wannabe. "Huggy, you're saying that Carla was not a romantic interest of yours at all?"

"No, Hutch. I--I cared about her, okay? She was one very--and I mean very!--special lady. But we were just friends. 'Sides, she--she wasn't lookin' to get married any time soon. She--she'd been diagnosed with cancer."

Starsky sucked in his breath. "Okay, this case has got more twists and turns than a roller coaster. You want to explain how Huggy knew about the cancer and none of Carla's family did?"

"When did she tell you about the cancer?" Saunders asked.

"Oh, about a week ago. We spent the whole night drinkin' and commiseratin'. Hit me like a foot in the gut, I'll tell ya that. She didn't deserve that.young as she is...was. Her doctor couldn't even give her any kinda explanation. Apparently that kinda cancer is all but unheard of in someone her age. And to happen that fast. Didn't make any sense."

"Outside source?" Saunders mused out loud. Hutch turned his eyes, questioning. Saunders flushed under the scrutiny. "Direct exposure to some kind of carcinogen? Just a thought."

Hutch snapped his fingers. "You might have something, Saunders."

Starsky flexed his fingers on Hutch's shoulder. "What were you yappin' about a few months ago, babe? That newspaper article about the woman who was being given an experimental drug for asthma and ended up with lung cancer? You said she'd have been better off getting a cabin in the country with fresh air and telling her doc to go to hell."

"I think a visit with Carla's doctor is in order. Hug, did Carla ever say anything to you about having trouble with someone? Any enemies that you know of?"

"I think Carla--I think she had some kinda built-in shield against developin' enemies, Hutch. You'd have to be a nasty piece of work not to get along with her."

"Huggy, did Carla ever give you the impression that she wanted more than friendship? I mean, before the cancer diagnosis? I'm assuming she was diagnosed just prior to telling you." Saunders formed a steeple with his two index fingers and propped his chin on it thoughtfully.

"Yeah, she came straight over to the bar after her doctor's appointment, actually. And no, she never put out any signals. We were pretty in tune. I think I'da noticed. Not sayin' I wouldn't have taken her up on it. I just didn't think of her that way on my own. But she--she was beautiful, you know? Inside and out."

"Which I'm starting to think makes her different than that centerfold sister of hers. I want another chat with Miss Libbie. Or, you to have another chat with her," Starsky commented wryly. Hutch tilted his head back ever so slightly as acknowledgment and agreement. Starsky grinned. "Gotta figure some new kinda sign language of our own, don't we, schweetheart?"

The typical Starsky endearment in that Bogey voice combined with the ever-moving fingers on his shoulders sent shivers down Hutch's extremities. He closed his eyes involuntarily for a brief moment and trembled. When his eyes flew back open, he found Huggy regarding him with a strange expression. "If you don't like sittin' right under the air vent, Hutch, feel free to move. You're takin' up my leg room anyway." Hutch jumped off the edge of the bed like it had turned into a crawling vat of snakes.

Saunders surprised everyone by bursting into laughter. The sound was an overly pleasant one, but Hutch was too embarrassed at his faux pas to revel in it. Starsky had slunk away into a corner of the room as if frightened of immediate reprisal. Huggy merely grinned slyly. Saunders finished in a snort and huff and smiled at Huggy. "Is he always like this?"

"Like what?" Huggy shrugged. "Intense, strange, and in a world of his own? Yes, to all of the above."

Hutch silenced them both with a stare of such unadulterated malevolence and offended dignity that Huggy cringed against the pillows. "Chill, Blond Terror. Got to make the poor guy unfortunate enough to be saddled with you at least feel welcome."

"Huggy, what have the docs said about your condition?"

"Lucky, is all I hear, Hutch. One of those deals where an inch in a different direction and I'd be learnin' a new musical instrument on a fluffy white cloud. They're keepin' me for a coupla days, though I'd feel just fine about scrammin' outta here now. Observation, they said. Hutch, you gotta find who did this, m'man. C-Carla was one of those rare people whose feet never seemed to touch the earth. I--I can't be-believe she's really dead. And me right beside her an' didn't even know it."

"Hug, your brains were fairly efficiently scrambled. It's nothing short of miraculous that you've regained consistent consciousness much less your memory this fast. Don't be laying any blame where you shouldn't, all right?" Hutch's voice lost its flustered quality and turned into verbal compassion.

"Don't you say nothin' to me about guilt, Hutchinson," Huggy half-snarled. "I'll do my best, though."

Hutch nodded, shaking off the implicit challenge in Huggy's words. He and Huggy had still not had a heart-to-heart about the scene at Starsky's gravesite. Huggy was obviously still waiting for Hutch to come and lean on his shoulder, not realizing, of course, that Hutch's number one source of comfort had been restored to him. Starsky reflected these thoughts in his bright, flashing eyes as he walked past Hutch to the door Saunders had opened. "We'll be back to see you later, Huggy," Hutch said.

Saunders glanced at his watch in the hospital elevator. "How about lunch before we take the next step?"

Hutch patted his stomach, remembering that he'd skipped breakfast. "Yeah, I could go for that."

Saunders' hands jarred on the steering wheel when Hutch requested they stop by a fast-food Tex Mex place. "I--I heard you were a health nut."

"Saunders, just who's been giving you all this info? I feel like you've had me under surveillance for the last six months or something."

Starsky guffawed. "Now that would have been a riot! Would have put your legendary reputation with the ladies in a whole new light."

Hutch had to count to ten in Spanish to keep from swinging around and wagging a finger at his exasperating lover. But Saunders' next words sent shock waves through the car. "You were teasing Huggy about cousins? Well, I have to 'fess up to a cousin of my own. You've worked with her. Linda Baylor. She's my mom's niece."

"L-Linda?" Hutch squawked. He and Starsky had indeed worked with the spunky female detective, who had just recently transferred back east.

"Yeah. She visited me a couple of times in Sacramento and whenever we'd talk shop, all I'd hear was Starsky and Hutch this...Starsky and Hutch that... I wanted to get down to Bay City and meet you guys, but it never seemed to work out. Her schedule and mine were always at loggerheads." Saunders face turned contemplative. "When I--when I called her to tell her what assignment I was being given with my transfer, sh-she tried to talk me out of taking the job. Told me to go somewhere else."

"Oh, that was nice of her," Starsky growled, but Hutch sensed something else in Saunders' tone. "Why?" he asked quietly.

Saunders sighed. "She said something about me trying to fill shoes that couldn't ever be filled. I told her I didn't want to fill 'em...just wanted to be different shoes you'd let in the same closet."

Hutch managed an inconspicuous glance at the back seat. Starsky's eyes were glistening, his jaw tight. Hutch swallowed hard. "Gonna have to thank Dobey, buddy boy. He was using all his brain cells on this little set-up," Starsky said shakily.

"Bev likes this place called Paco's Tacos. I think we found it our first day here," Saunders suggested in a more cheerful tone.

"Fine," Hutch managed past the lump in his throat.

Lunch was a fairly friendly affair. Saunders discussed Sacramento and bragged about Beverly's medical accolades, but Hutch noticed that any train-of-thought leading to Saunders' experiences with the Sacramento homicide division quickly faded into other topics. Finally, Hutch stood and excused himself, looking for the restroom. Starsky bounced behind him. "I hope the john's empty because I could use lunch myself. That pepper-jack enchilada you had looked damn good."

Hutch scanned the facilities and finding the coast clear, ended up in Starsky's eager arms. "That was the point," Hutch said softly before Starsky latched onto his mouth with enthusiasm. After a thorough kiss, Starsky pulled back and murmured, "Ummm...tasty."

Hutch laughed. "Come on, Ghostly Gourmet. Saunders'll be honking the horn."

"Coulda used more paprika," Starsky said with the air of an expert on the way out of the restaurant. "Tell you what, though, I'm starting to get fond of bathrooms."

Saunders tapped the steering wheel, "'Spose we've got to go through Carla's things. Always hate that part."

"Yeah, couldn't hurt to have another chat with Ms. Libbie Froman. I want to know how she explains being so wildly mistaken about her sister's love life."

Libbie seemed affronted by the implications of the question. "All right, so I assumed some stuff. She told me she'd met this Huggy through Marcie and seemed to really like him. She'd go over there and not come home until morning. We get our annual exam every year at the same time but she suddenly gets a GYN appointment three months early. Then, she comes home one morning wearing this ring. What was I supposed to think?"

"You never actually discussed details about her relationship with Huggy?" Hutch asked.

"No."

"Your sister comes home wearing what you think is a diamond ring and you don't ask her if the date's been set or anything like that?" Saunders' voice contained a fair amount of incredulity.

Libbie turned a steely gaze on him.

"I was shocked. When she didn't make an announcement herself, I figured I'd better wait until she felt comfortable enough to talk. Now to find out she hadn't even bothered to tell me about the
cancer--" Libbie plopped down on the sofa and covered her face with her hands. "I--I feel so angry! I don't know how to react. And Mom and Dad are acting like I'm some kind of cretin because I didn't protect Carla. Protect her from what, from whom?? What the hell happened?"

Hutch sat down on the sofa and placed a hand on the girl's quaking shoulder. "That's what we're trying to find out, Libbie. Every question we ask just might be the one that helps us solve this case. I know this is very, very hard for you."

"Oh, yeah? Do you? Really? Since when have you lost someone close to you?" Libbie's words dripped bitterness.

Hutch felt his legs turn to water. He tried to open his mouth but couldn't force his lips out of their thin line. Saunders fixed Libbie with a piercing stare. "You don't read the newspapers, do you?" Libbie blinked at him. "Detective Hutchinson is the police officer who lost his partner--his best friend--after that recent assassination attempt in the--"

"That's enough, Saunders!" Hutch snapped, jumping up from the couch and walking down the hall where Libbie had indicated they would find Carla's bedroom. He was glancing over the books on her desk when Libbie appeared in the doorway. "I apologize, Detective. I didn't know-"

"No harm done. Looks like your sister was enrolled in several chemistry classes."

"Yes. She wanted to be a chemist. She never believed her deafness would hinder any of her plans. Always setting goals. When we were kids she made herself learn one magic trick a week for an entire year. I think she remembered them all."

"Chemist. Chemicals. Cancer?" Starsky chanted.

"Where to?" Saunders asked when they had completed their perfunctory sweep of Carla's room.

Hutch rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes.

"I don't know why, but I really think Carla's cancer has something to do with the case."

"Not just because it's so unusual that it's a red-flag?" Saunders started the engine.

"Or because your brilliant lover thinks it ties in, too?" Starsky teased.

"It's more...I don't know.something to do with the fact that Carla felt comfortable telling Huggy about her disease but couldn't face any of her closest relatives with the news. Does that seem normal to you?" Hutch opened his eyes and noticed that Saunders was waiting for a suggested destination. "Work our way down the list. Doctor, friends, university professors."

"Forgetting something, Hutch? Mr. Max?"

Hutch sat up straight, feeling like a prize idiot. "Of course!"

"Um...haven't gotten out of Mind Reading 101 yet. Fill me in?" Saunders raised both eyebrows.

Hutch's triumphant expression turned rosy pink.

"Er...uh...tracing the origin of a garrote. There's a shady character down in the Porno district who calls himself Mr. Max. He runs an adult video place, but he's been known to supply people with an unusual weapon or two on the side. Never had much luck pinning him to the wall."

"I'm ready to do some pinning," Saunders said, pulling away from the parking spot and barreling out of the apartment complex.

By the time Hutch stumbled into Venice Place late that night, he felt like he had aged a decade. Starsky dragged him over to the sofa and forced him to stretch out. Starsky's next move was to fetch both a beer and a warm washcloth. He dumped the warm wash cloth over Hutch's eyes, lifted one of the limp hands and wrapped it around the beer, and then raised Hutch's feet so he could sit under them. Hutch's feet, now minus shoes and resting in Starsky's lap, soon fell victim to a massage.

"You are a god," Hutch said.

"Immortal, yes. That high up the list, not by a long shot."

"Have I told you yet today that I am so in love with you it hurts?"

"You'll get anywhere you want to go with words like that, babe."

"I want answers!" Hutch groaned. "Dr. Fuller is so above board it isn't funny. Mr. Max acted like we were speaking ancient Greek and no threats or persuasion opened his mouth. Can't find hide nor hair of Marcie or Kelly. Nothing unusual going on at Jameson. Everybody just loves Carla, Huggy said. Yeah, well someone loved her so much that they strangled the life out of her! Why? Where's the motive? Where's a shred of a motive? There wasn't a rape, so it probably wasn't just some sicko looking for an opportunity. And what the hell is up with that dispatch call?"

"Hutch, what if we're going at this all wrong?"

"Huh?"

"What if that dispatch call, the missing purse...Carla being there period...are all supposed to make us think she was the target. Instead of Huggy."

Hutch snatched the washcloth away from his eyes. "Run that by me again."

"Well, think about it...one of the things that got us going about the case being twisted around in the first place was how phony that dispatch call sounded--"

"And the fact that Carla is the one who actually ended up dead, Starsk."

"Yeah, but what if it's because of her relationship with Huggy?"

"She didn't have a relationship with Huggy."

"Uh huh. That's not what her sister thought. What if someone else got the wrong impression, too?"

"You mean...someone's trying to get to Huggy? Get at him? Make him suffer?"

"It's happened to us often enough. Huggy doesn't have a spotless past, Hutch."

Hutch pulled his feet out of Starsky's warm hands and practically fell off the sofa in his grab for the phone, just barely managing to set the beer on the coffee table in the process. Starsky heard his frantic dialing and then a pause. "Cap'n, it's Hutch. Look, I'm glad I caught you. I want a uniformed guard outside Huggy's hospital room. I'm on my way over there now--What? Captain, of course they'll let me when I explain the--because he might have been the intended target after all! Cap'n, what's all this about? Any other time you'd be chewing my-- Aw, Cap'n-- All right, fine! Fine. I'll wait 'til morning. But I want an armed guard. Okay. Thanks."

Hutch fell back on the sofa wearing a mask of confusion. "I don't get it. Has someone replaced Captain Dobey with a look-alike robot programmed to treat me with kid gloves? He practically threatened me with suspension if I show up at Huggy's room before the crack of dawn tomorrow."

"He's gonna put the guard there, though?"

"Yeah. Said he'll get the best man available. Still, I feel I should be over there."

"Much as I like going against a direct order of Dobey's," Starsky smirked, "I gotta tell you to lay low on this one, buddy boy. Dobey's getting a lot of pressure from upstairs and wouldn't take much before he'd jerk you off this case...and you know we want this case. I'm worried about Huggy, too, but if we're going to solve this thing we can't have you being stuck in Records and given a shrink evaluation."

"No-o-o," Hutch drawled, talking himself into accepting Starsky's advice.

Starsky inched across the sofa until he was snug against Hutch. "And you're not going to worry all night, because I've got plans for you. You need some uninterrupted, deep sleep and I know just how to help you achieve that."

"Oh, yeah?"

Starsky tilted Hutch's chin and leaned forward until their lips touched ever so softly. Then, holding Hutch's face gently in place, he dropped miniature kisses along both of Hutch's lips, lingering over each one. "Damn, you taste so good."

"Left-over pepper-jack enchilada?" Hutch managed to speak around the teasing mouth.

"Nope. Pure Hutch. Best flavor in the whole damn world. They ought to make ice cream out of it. Hutch-chip cookies. Oh, yeah. Hutch icing on chocolate cake. Now, there's the ticket."

Hutch pushed Starsky back onto the sofa and crawled over him, lowering his lips to the developing bulge in Starsky's jeans. "Oh, no.got a better flavor right here."

>>>>>

Starsky stood beside the bed and watched the sleeper. "Well, mission accomplished," he whispered, petting Hutch's bare shoulder. "Hopefully you'll sleep straight through 'til morning. Meanwhile, Dobey can't put me on suspension. I'm going to go check on Huggy, and I'll be back here before you even open those baby blues tomorrow. Promise."

Hutch woke with the intoxicating scent of Starsky's hair filtering through his pre-conscious senses. He flung an arm over his lover's muscular upper body and relished the feeling of his smooth skin mingling with the delightfully tickling chest hair. Contentment flowed through Hutch like a rush of warm sunshine on an overcast day and he yawned, resembling a feline on a windowsill more than a weary street cop. The phone blared and practically knocked Hutch out of the bed. Starsky thrashed around and sat bolt upright, eyes wide. "Huh...what the--?"

"Phone, Starsk, go back to sleep."

Starsky ignored the suggestion, choosing instead to rub Hutch's back as the detective leaned over and confiscated the offending piece of technology. "Hello?"

Starsky could hear the annoyed voice on the other end of the line. "Thank you for letting me know about crucial decisions regarding our case, Hutchinson. Makes a guy feel good that the LPN on duty at the nurse's station knows more about our security measures than I do."

"Uh-oh," Starsky mouthed, his massaging hands increasing their intensity. Hutch tensed immediately. "Saunders, what are you talking about?"

"Called the hospital this morning just to see how Huggy is doing and found out that an armed guard had been posted on his door. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but you had to be in on that little move and there had to be something that prompted your request. Am I sounding remotely logical so far?"

Hutch noted that sarcasm could be an effective weapon when turned on a frequent practitioner. "Saunders-- I--"

"Hey, I don't mind the guard. Probably should have done it to begin with. Would have made me feel just the slightest bit more worthy of my shield if you'd bothered to consult your partner--"

"I di-" Hutch's mouth closed as a finger poked him in the ribs. "Hutch, saying 'you did' would not be a good way to improve team relations right now." Hutch shook his head to remove the early morning cobwebs and Starsky soothed the jab with a caress. "Saunders, I'm--Captain Dobey didn't call you?"

Starsky shook his head. "Cop out, Hutch. That's gonna sit real well." The dark-haired detective's comment was prophetic.

Saunders' voice increased in volume. "Oh, that's great, Hutchinson. That would have made me feel even better. My superior officer calling to relay information to me that my supposed partner can't be bothered to share. Gee, I'm liking this set-up more and more."

"All right!" Hutch shouted, feeling double-teamed, out of patience and frustrated with himself. "You've got a point, okay? It was late, I was bone-tired, and I didn't think."

"Okay." Saunders' voice calmed like the stilling of a windstorm. Hutch had to hold the phone away from his ear and dangle the receiver to see if something was malfunctioning. "I'll be over there in half an hour to pick you up. Enough time?" Equally soft tone.

"Yeah," Hutch answered, still shocked at the sudden death of the recriminations.

"See you then. Eat breakfast."

"Yeah," Hutch repeated.

Starsky removed the phone from Hutch's hands and hung it up with a broad smile. "I think that was a crash course in partner management, *partner*," Starsky said, planting tiny kisses around Hutch's neck in a loving necklace. He lingered on Hutch's Adam's apple, opening his mouth over it.

Hutch stroked the dark curls with a deep sigh. "Yeah," he whispered.

Starsky laughed. "Oh, now I know Saunders is a genius. He's gotten you down to a single word. Even in the heat of passion with me, you usually manage sentences--even if they're short. And loud."

Hutch gasped. "You're going to hear some of those short, loud sentences if you keep doing that." He stroked Starsky's hand that had curled itself around his morning erection, sufficiently strong in Starsky's presence to remain undaunted during the unexpected phone call.

"Um...that a threat or a promise?"

"Thirty minutes, Starsk. He's going to be here in thirty minutes."

"Yeah...and? Think I can't get you off quicker'n that?"

"Oh, babe, I know you--Starsk! Oh, y-yes!" Warm lips mapped his most sensitive area, tongue bearing the precision of a skilled artist's brush. "Come on, S-St-Starsk...that's to-torture... what are you doing down there, painting the Mona Lisa?"

"Lie back and hush," Starsky commanded.

"Thought you wanted to hear some of those short, loud sentences?"

"Screamin', yeah. Words're optional."

>>>>>

Starsky beamed with pride at Hutch's satisfied, well groomed, and relaxed appearance when Saunders knocked on the door. Dressed in properly fitting jeans and a cream T-shirt under a dark, green overshirt, Hutch looked good enough to eat, the dark-haired detective decided, and healthy! he mentally added, pleased with the blond's return to his better habits.

Hutch opened the door and admitted a casually attired Saunders who sported jeans and a California Angels jersey under an open denim jacket that hid his gun and holster. "Well? No suit. Do I pass inspection, Detective?"

Hutch grinned. "Yeah, maybe now you won't scare away our snitches."

"Shame he picked a wimpy team like the Angels," Starsky grumped good-naturedly on the way down the stairs behind the blond. Hutch, trailing Saunders, flung a soft, amused smile back at his own baseball enthusiast.

Huggy was impatient with the nurse trying to monitor his vitals when the "trio" of detectives arrived in his room. Hutch snickered at some of Huggy's more caustic remarks--a true sign that he was antsy to leave the confines of the "sick-house"--and Saunders fought back a smile. Starsky stood behind the nurse and mimicked all of her high-pitched protests, batting his eyelashes and wiggling his hips provocatively. Hutch had to take refuge at the window and stare down at the parking lot to avoid making an idiot of himself laughing. Finally, the nurse left and ended Starsky's sideshow. Huggy huffed, harrumphed, and issued a litany of curses about hospital food. Then his eyes saddened.

"Been thinkin' a lot about Carla. I just don't understand, Hutch. Tell me, how--who?"

Starsky flinched at almost the exact words Huggy had used when confronted by the sight of Hutch suffering an enforced heroin addiction.

"Huggy, have you received any threats lately? Had any trouble with anyone in the bar--any disturbing phone calls?"

Huggy stared at Hutch and then jerked a thumb at the door. "I'm guessing these questions have something to do with that uniform dude outside my room?"

"Yes," Saunders replied. "We don't want to take chances."

"No, no trouble. The usual loud mouth or so who thinks his chick's steppin' out on him with some other guy...or some guy who don't wanna pay his bill...nothing big."

"Since you and Carla weren't dating, are you involved with someone right now? Recent break-up?"

"You're sayin' you think a woman's behind all this?" Huggy sounded shocked.

"We're not sure, but a phony distress call does indicate the presence of a woman at the crime scene--" Saunders was interrupted by the door opening and a hospital volunteer announcing a phone call from Captain Dobey. Saunders nodded at Hutch and left the room. Hutch sank down in the visitor's chair.

"Naw, I'm unattached right now. Takin' 'em as they come. No messy separation or anything like that." Huggy smiled with bursting confidence. "The Bear is entirely too smooth with the female persuasion for that. Even when I ditch 'em, they leave satisfied."

Starsky rolled his eyes at Huggy's lecherous wink, and leaned against Hutch's chair arm. "Ask him about this Coppy, Hutch. We should try to find him. Could be he might know something."

"Hug, about this street guy Coppy. Got any idea where he hangs out during the day?"

Huggy frowned. "He moves around a lot, dig? But ask any o' your usual contacts, Hutch, and you'll stumble on him soon enough. He's gettin' to be kinda well-known in the neighborhood."

Saunders re-appeared, looking over a scrap of paper in his hands. "Dobey was calling in with the results of the university voice-analysis of the dispatch tape. The guy's best guess is that the caller is in her late-twenties to mid-thirties, Caucasian, and possibly a secretary/receptionist."

Hutch whistled. "That specific? Is he sure?" Hutch knew the voice-analysis could be highly useful, remembering the benefit it provided during the first encounter with George Prudholm.

"Yeah. He says that women or men, but mostly women, who have been in that type of job for some time tend to use what he calls a 'secretarial dialect'. He also said the caller exhibited genuine signs of fear."

"Ring any bells, Hug?"

"Not a one, blond brother. Sorry."

"Did Carla ever mention anyone who fits that general description?" Saunders asked and received another headshake from Huggy. Hutch scuffed a boot on the floor and slapped his sides in resignation at not finding an immediate lead.

"All right, Hug, we're gonna track down this Coppy of yours and we'll keep in touch. Branson out there is an A-okay cop. You're in good hands."

"Not worried, Hutch. I really don't think there's some nutcase after me."

"Hope not," Saunders said fervently. Starsky echoed the statement, favoring Saunders with a smile despite its invisibility to the detective.

Finding Coppy turned out to be a Herculean effort. Hutch introduced Saunders to Mickey and probed the alcoholic informant over a steady stream of beer. Meanwhile, Starsky took the initiative of prowling around alone on foot close enough to catch up with Hutch before they departed the neighborhood. He found himself in front of The Pits just contemplating the building and trying to visualize the crime with his mind's eye. Not normally dependent on thorough analysis like Hutch, Starsky squinted his eyes and tapped his foot restlessly. Something was just out of place. Something did not ring true. He approached the main entrance of the bar, staring at the door. He threw up his hands: that was it! Point of entry! Huggy had said something about thinking Coppy was at the door. If point of entry was the public entrance.. Starsky knelt and examined the door thoroughly from the bottom upwards, concentrating around the lock. Nothing forced. The likelihood that someone laid in wait after Hu
ggy closed the bar was minimal. Far too risky with the lack of decent long-term hiding places the front of the bar offered. Huggy would have heard something entirely different had the killer used the back entrance....A glistening spark in the dust at the base of the door drew Starsky's attention. He went down on his knees for a closer look and then swiveled and pelted away in search of Hutch.

Hutch was trying to convince a different snitch that they had no intention of harming or "throwing the book" at Coppy. Saunders stood to the side looking faintly amused and Starsky couldn't decipher if the street person or Hutch was responsible for the quirky expression. Starsky placed a hand against Hutch's back and said, "Turn it over to Saunders, babe, gotta talk to you. Now."

Hutch noted the urgency in his life-partner's voice and stepped back, shrugging, and said, "Saunders, see if you can talk sense into this guy. I've had it. I'm going around the corner to see if I can locate Queenie." Hutch folded his arms across his chest and stalked off around the said corner where he ducked into a convenient alley. When Hutch turned back to Starsky, the shorter detective could practically see the ears perked beneath the wisps of blond.

"I found a key over by the entrance to The Pits, Hutch."

"What? The crime team went over the place with tweezers and a magnifying glass--"

"I don't care if they went over it with a microscope, they missed something! Ain't nothing wrong with my eyes just because I'm dead, Hutch."

Hutch frowned. "Could you *not* refer to yourself that way? Please, for my heart's sake?"

Starsky gulped, "Oh, sorry. Anyway, that has to explain the point of entry problem. There wasn't a break-in, Hutch. And Huggy's keys were with his things in the hospital. Five'll get you ten that's a copy, and the only person who dropped it there-"

"Yeah, I'm following you."

"So you're gonna have to figure a way to drag Saunders back over there and find it, 'cause I can't exactly volunteer my information."

"Hutchinson?"

"Show-time," Starsky said, pushing Hutch out of the alley. Saunders spotted him and approached with a proud smirk.

"There you are. Found...what was her name? Queenie?"

"No," Hutch answered truthfully.

"No loss. I cracked Jones. He's going to locate Coppy and meet us in front of the Pits."

"Terrific," Starsky crowed. "Damn this is a fine team we got here."

But Hutch just stared open-mouthed at his new partner. "How the hell did you manage--?"

"Well, seems Jones has been suffering from a lesion that won't heal on his upper arm. I told him I'd bring Bev by on her day off tomorrow to have a look-see." They turned and started a brisk walk back in the direction of The Pits.

Hutch groaned, "What's the world coming to? I'm willing to pull out a fifty-dollar bill and Jones acts like I've got the bubonic plague. You offer him free medical care and he folds. Jesus, if we set up a charity clinic in return for crime information, we'd clean up every criminal in the city."

"Oh, admit it, Hutchinson, you're thrilled."

"I'm shocked. Shocked and thrilled are not one-and-the-same."

"You're a hard ass, you know that, Hutchinson?"

"Better than being a pain in one," Hutch retorted.

"Actually, I think your ass is kinda soft, Hutch. It's your head that can be hard as a rock."

"Star--" Hutch coughed violently and then jumped nearly three feet in the air when a loving hand clutched at a fistful of the ass in question. Saunders whirled around.

"Hutchinson, do you have a problem?"

"Nothing that three weeks vacation, without a nosy new partner, wouldn't cure."

Saunders grinned cheerfully. "Sorry, can't oblige, Mr. Personality. You're stuck with me for the long haul. No way am I giving up the most sarcastic, cranky, thoughtless mentor this side of the Rio Grande."

"Don't look now, Hutch, but I think he just complimented you."

Hutch breathed deeply and prayed to whatever deity might listen that he would survive the trek to The Pits without genuinely losing his sanity or at least convincing Saunders that his "cranky mentor" was certifiable.

Coppy did indeed make an appearance just after Hutch "stumbled" onto the spare key Starsky indicated. Hutch's sense of honesty balked at the admiration in Saunders' eyes. This was Starsky's find. His clue. His determination to plug away at the crime scene because something didn't fit right in that sharp brain under those dark curls that people had often taken for granted while he walked the Earth. To allow credit to fall at his own doorstep made Hutch feel almost queasy. But Starsky grinned like a proud parent and planted a slurpy kiss against his blond's cheek.

The bum's name had to originate from his eye color, Hutch decided at first glance. An odd, copper color, they practically glowed in his chubby, cheerful face. He had graying, ash blond hair that only added to the mystique of the irises. He wore what amounted to rags but somehow they looked appropriate and chic on this man. Perhaps because he wore them with absolute pride and seemed to radiate complete contentment with who he was in the world, in society. He leaned against the building, traced circles on the sidewalk with his sneakers, and shot quick speculative looks at both detectives.

"Jones said youse guys wanted to ask me about Huggy," Coppy began in a strong Chicago accent.

"Huggy tells us you stop by his place after hours some nights for a quick bite. That true, Coppy?" Saunders dived right into the heart of the matter.

Coppy grinned. "Ain't nobody, but nobody, can do this sida Chic-cahgo what that man can do with corned beef an' rye, my friend. He lets me stop by, I stop by."

"Did you happen to stop by night before last?" Hutch asked.

"Yeah, so mebbe I did. So what of it?"

"Coppy, Huggy was nearly killed night before last."

Coppy grimaced. "And youse thinkin' mebbe I'm the rat in the wall?"

"No, Coppy," Hutch reassured. "We're not here to accuse you of anything. We hoped you might have valuable information that would help us nail the person responsible for hurting Huggy--and killing a young girl."

"How young?"

Saunders eyed Hutch and pulled a photo of the deceased from his jacket pocket. "Twenty-two."

"Don't know nothin' about her, but mebbe I seen this other lady."

"'Bout to hit paydirt, gents," Starsky said with enthusiasm.

"What other lady?"

"See, I'm just hangin' round outside here 'gainst the buildin' waiting on my usual time to roll around when this Betty walks by me like I'm not even here. People like me, we's invisible, you know? But she wasn't. Not the kind to be in this part of town all alone at night. So I paid close attention. She walked right up to the door and let herself in. Seemed harmless enough. Not a bad looker. I figured Huggy was havin' onna his private little parties, know? So I skedaddled. Coppy does not interrupt somebody's lovin'. Bad form."

"It was dark, Coppy," Saunders said gently. "You got a good look at her?"

"I got eyes like some kinda bat. And with these streetlamps round here, oh yeah, I could call her face to mind for a personal fantasy iffen I was so inclined."

Saunders smiled in spite of himself. Hutch was all business. "Coppy, would you mind coming with us to the station to give us a description of this lady?"

"D'pends. Worth a meatloaf dinner to youse?"

"Meatloaf, dessert, beer, and a movie ticket. How's that sound?"

"You strikes a hard a bargain, gent'men, but I guess I can be gen'rous."

Meatloaf 'brunch' concluded, movie ticket tucked away in Coppy's ratty jacket pocket, the streetwise drifter settled down in the squad room and looked through mug books while chatting away with the composite artist. Hutch dropped the key off at the crime lab and had just finished a conference with Dobey and Saunders when the composite artist appeared in the doorway and announced the completion of the project.

"Guy coulda been a cop." The sketch artist beamed. "Attention to detail, proportion, knowing what's important and what's not. I've got a face you could put in a museum, fellas."

Hutch snatched the sketch and devoured it with his eyes. He snapped his fingers, "I--I swear I--I know this woman. From somewhere. Some--where."

Starsky peered over his shoulder. "Nope. Drawing a blank, Hutch. Where'd you know her from that I wouldn't?"

"Secretary.... Something about.... Oh, God. Maybe? We've got to get this sketch to Huggy." Hutch's voice wobbled. Starsky could sense the attack of less than pleasant memories.

"Hutch, what's going on under all that blondness? What's got you shaking? Talk to me."

Fortunately Saunders gave him the opportunity. "Looking kind of disturbed, Hutchinson. She a wanted felon? Somebody you've tangled with in the past?"

"Not exactly. Look, I don't want to say anything until Huggy gets a look at this sketch. Cap'n, we'll fill you in soon as we know something definite."

"Got something to do with Gunther, doesn't it, Hutch?" Dobey asked in that new, unusually quiet tone. Hutch rubbed his brow, stroked his chin, and turned anguished eyes on his captain with a curt nod.

Starsky wrapped arms around Hutch's waist in much the same manner he did at the scene of The Pits' crime. "Hold tight, Hutch. 'S gonna be okay."

They dropped Coppy off at the movie theater and made a beeline for the hospital. Hutch sat quietly the entire time, clutching a copy of the composite sketch and lost in his own thoughts. Starsky watched him from the backseat with a worried twist to his brow.

Huggy noticed immediately at their arrival that Hutch was battling personal demons. "Whoa, deep breath, Hutch. Have a seat before you fall over. Dr. Bear's orders. What's goin' down?"

Hutch didn't answer. He stomped over to the bed, dropped the sketch in the patient's lap, and jerked back. "Look long and hard, Hug. Recognize her?"

Huggy picked up the drawing and his face took on that wide-eyed, deliberate expression he'd worn in Captain Dobey's office while trying to figure out Marcus' riddles. After a minute he let out a slow whistle, "Hutch, I could be way off base here, but I think.I mean, only gotta quick glance at her that day, but isn't this that receptionist--secretary chick who worked for that fancy schmancy legal eagle. Gunther's crony?"

"Wells? Yeah, Hug, that's what I think, too."

"I don' understand, Hutch. Why would she--I don't even know her!"

"I know. I'm baffled myself. But we're going to track her down and pull her in, Huggy, and when we do, I for one am not going easy on her."

"Make that two of us," Saunders echoed, patting Hutch on the arm.

"Betcha a steak dinner with fine, red wine that we'll pull a print off that key," Starsky added softly, feeling the intense pain that highlighted Hutch's face.

Finding Cathy Winston proved a more difficult task than locating the man who fingered her had been. Starsky's hunch about the fingerprints was now a proven fact. Digging through the files related to the case against Gunther provided the detectives with a last-known address that didn't match the DMV records, so Saunders and Hutch left the station late that afternoon to check out both possibilities.

"Yeah, she lived here until about a week ago. Just up and terminated her lease one morning. Cost her a bundle in early-termination fees, so I tried to talk her out of it. Wondered if something was wrong with the place that I could fix. She seemed good tenant material. Not enough of those around so I didn't want to lose her." The apartment manager flipped through a drawer of files and pulled out a long sheet with carbon copies attached. "Here's her rental agreement. Let me see...that other address you got? It's listed in my records as her prior residence. She lived there until May 20th."

"Kind of odd for her to leave her prior residence around May 20th and less than a month later pull out of her lease with you," Hutch commented.

The apartment manager wrinkled his nose thoughtfully and then lowered his voice in a conspiratorial whisper, "Since you guys are the authorities and such, and I guess you got a legal right to be askin' these questions, I'll give you my educated hunch. Can't explain her packing up out of here so fast, but I have a theory about the last place. Let's just say I think something changed in her personal life. Seashine Gardens is a ritzy establishment, fellas. So far outta my league it ain't funny, and I pride myself on having a pretty nice place. I think whatever helped her afford having those kinda digs suddenly melted away, you catch my drift?"

"Loud and clear," Saunders said with an unusual mixture of distaste and appreciation. The former for the gossipy, almost gloating tone in the manager's voice and the latter for possibly valuable information. Hutch had to raise an eyebrow in admiration of Saunders' ability to convey both meanings to the apartment manager, who suddenly looked uncomfortable but didn't seem inclined to stop talking.

"She definitely made a mad dash outta here. I'm surprised she managed to handle the paperwork. When I went in to have a look at the place before the cleaning crew came in, I found several pieces of jewelry. I don't know how to reach her to return them, but I've kept them in my locked desk drawer just waiting in case she showed back up."

Hutch snapped back to the present from his temporary mental excursion into the days immediately surrounding Gunther's arrest. Just as Saunders handed the manager a card with their contact info, Hutch noticed Starsky's absence. He left Saunders requesting a phone call at any hour should Cathy return to claim her missing jewelry.

Starsky perched on a boulder overlooking what appeared to be the apartment complex's rose garden, replete with the earliest blooms. "Spotted this on the way to the office and thought you and Saunders could take care of business."

"Something wrong, babe?" Hutch asked softly, sitting down in the tiny space remaining on the rock. Starsky did not shift his gaze.

"Just because I want to look at some flowers?"

"No, you know I didn't mean that. You've been quiet ever since we left the hospital."

Starsky stared straight ahead. "Just thinking. I really didn't want this thing to be about Gunther. I don't want you facing shit left over from that mess without me around."

"You are around."

"Not what I mean, Hutch! I'm not around. Not in some very important ways that count. Where's my gun to cover you in a firefight? I like Saunders. He's a helluva guy. But I'm realizing I just don't know if I trust him to shield your body under the bullets...like I would...like I have. Bullets would just go through me now...and hit you just the same."

"Oh, this is bullshit!" Hutch had to suck in sharply to keep his voice to an inconspicuous whisper for the sake of any sudden passers-by. "Think, Starsky. You're more here for me like this than you would be if you were 'alive', however much I wish you still were. And, God, though I'm grateful for every second I have you here like this, I still do wish you were here in 'flesh and blood' so to speak--at least, 'flesh and blood' everyone else can see, too. That's what I regret. I've been given the most amazing gift in the world, but all the other people out there who care have been stripped of your special presence. Still, as a partner, you're more effective in this state, if that's what's eating you."

"What do you mean?"

"Starsk, your body was riddled with bullets. You had a lengthy, agonizing recovery ahead of you. There was no guarantee you'd have even been allowed back on the force--even to work in Records, for God's sake. And if you had managed to work your way back into police work, odds are the re-certification board would not have even looked twice at you until nine months from now. You certainly would not have been allowed to tag along behind me, and my temporary new partner, while I worked to help us pay for whatever continuous care and physical therapy you required. Dobey's continually facing manpower shortages so there's no guarantee I'd have been put on desk-duty. I might well have been out on the streets while you waited for me at home, wondering if I'd walk through that door in the evening. Now, I'd give a lung or my liver to have you alive and facing those issues, but if you're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself and thinking you're no good to me, just can it."

Starsky smiled softly, "Soon as you can, Hutch, take me somewhere and love me 'til I break."

>>>>>>>>

They ended up at a secluded cottage with a sufficiently private and remote beach that they had no fears of interruption or observation. Saunders had not even questioned Hutch's perch on a rock by a rose garden when he left the manager's office. Nor did he question Hutch's obvious preoccupation during the remainder of their shift. His frequent sympathetic side-glances told Hutch that Saunders probably guessed the tie-in to Starsky's assassination could claim responsibility. The minute Hutch hit the stairs at Venice Place, he took Starsky's hand in a sudden move and dragged him back down to the Torino parked behind the building.

"Where we headed, Hutch?"

"Doing what you requested," Hutch answered, the unusual fit of spontaneity making him breathless.

"Huh?"

"At the rose garden. You asked me to take you somewhere and love
you--"

"Here would be just fine, Hutch."

"Not tonight it won't," Hutch said firmly.

"You still haven't really answered my question."

Hutch took his turn at saying, "Huh?"

"Where are we headed?"

"Sit back, close your eyes, and relax. You'll find out soon enough."

Starsky heard the inherent order in the soft words and did as he was told.

Some time later when Hutch opened the passenger door of the Torino and extended a hand, Starsky allowed himself to be gently pulled, like Hutch's date, from the vehicle and savored a long look at his surroundings. He felt bereft of air, guided into a new reality. "What is this place, Hutch?"

Hutch's face suddenly resembled a vanilla sundae with strawberry topping. "Well, actually, it belongs to Kate. Hope you don't mind."

"Kate?"

"Remember? Kate Larrabee? We re-negotiated her self-imposed death contract."

"Oh, oh, yeah. Got you."

"She moved to England on a modeling job and told me if I looked after this place, I could use it as much as I liked. I've only been here a few times, though. Times I needed to get away, to think. Once right after Kira...before we--"

"Why didn't you ever bring me here, Hutch?" Starsky interrupted, rolling his eyes over the tiny quaint cottage, the elaborately landscaped front garden with the swaying palms, the hint of ocean visible around the side of the house.

The strawberry topping spread. "I wanted us to...I didn't want to bring you here until I could bring you as a lover. Everything went to hell in a hand basket on the job after we got together, there just didn't seem to be time, but I dreamed about having you here with me. I--I...this place is so private. I wanted to make love to you right out on the beach, in the sand--"

"Hey, fine by me, lover, I can whisk away all the earthly inconveniences, but you're gonna itch for a month...in all the wrong places."

"I--believe me, Starsk, what I've envisioned makes the sand in awkward places worth while! I want to--"

Starsky touched a finger to Hutch's lips and then leaned in close, replacing the finger with his own open mouth. Hutch sighed deeply into the kiss and wrapped his arms around his beloved, feeling the muscles in Starsky's back respond to the embrace. When Starsky shifted his mouth, he whispered, "Don't tell me your fantasy. Show me."

Hutch nodded and laced their fingers together, lifting the joined hands to his lips, sucking the tip of Starsky's ring finger into his mouth and feeling his jeans tighten at the bliss that overtook his partner's face. He shed shoes and socks and then reclaimed Starsky's hand, leading him onto the shore.

The sunset had turned the sky just above the water to the same mauve-gold hue that had attracted Starsky's attention in the rose garden. Hutch stood behind Starsky and wrapped arms around the brunet's waist, massaging his stomach with loving fingers. His lips found a home against the hairline at the base of Starsky's neck. Starsky murmured something.

"Hmm?"

"Own me, Hutch...I want to fall to pieces tonight...scream to the stars."

Hutch twirled Starsky around and crushed his mouth over the eager one his partner offered, thrusting with his tongue in a passionate foreshadowing. Starsky sucked leisurely on Hutch's gift, hands tangling in the short blond hair, tugging, massaging, until Hutch moaned long and deep and bent his knees, pulling them both to the sand. Then Hutch came to his senses, "No, not here... I want--"

"Dammit, quit blushing like a sixteen-year-old girl, Hutch. Whatever you want with me tonight, I'm game. I'll love it."

Hutch grinned. "You'd think I've been around the block enough that I wouldn't get flustered. Thing is, I've never felt like this about anyone else. No one. What do you do when your heart's not big enough to hold it all in?"

Starsky stroked down Hutch's nose with two fingers and then traced his eyebrows, smiling. "You take somebody else's heart and put some in theirs too."

"Would you mind my--my carrying you?"

Starsky snorted, "Like a bride across the threshold?"

Hutch forgot his partner's ban on blushing. "I--I don't want to make you feel less like a man, Starsk. You're all male."

Starsky burst out laughing. "You nitwit! I'm as male as they come. I was just teasing you. Carry me to the moon and I'd still have a dick on the other end of the journey."

"Real crude, Starsk. Your way with words leaves me speechless."

"Make *me* speechless, Blondie. Save your psycho-analysis for another time."

"Fine," Hutch exerted his strength and managed to haul Starsky into his arms bride-fashion. Starsky knew then what prompted Hutch's urge to carry him. They were washing away yet another bad memory, replacing it with something beautiful. Instead of a dimly lit back room in a restaurant and a couch of fear and pain, Starsky's destination this time was nature's soothing bed for a fantasy. Hutch managed to carry him to the beginning of the tide and placed him gently like a slumbering child in the lightly lapping waves. Starsky grinned slyly and tapped his chest and legs so that he lay nude in the foaming breakers. Hutch gasped, "Oh, my God, Starsky, you have no idea how you--how you look."

"You gonna just look at me all night?" Starsky opened his arms, beckoning. Hutch knelt between the spread knees and leaned over his partner, just barely allowing their lips to meet. Starsky took the initiative and in a swift move rolled them over until Hutch sprawled in the wet sand. "Um...like you wet... Wet all over." He removed Hutch's overshirt with deliberation, but the look on Hutch's face vanquished his patience and he fisted Hutch's T-shirt, ripping it down the center. Hutch groaned. "Oh, yeah..." Starsky murmured appreciatively, cupping saltwater and dribbling it over Hutch's chest. "Wet, wet, wet."

"You're going to have me wet somewhere you don't want yet if you don't do something besides taunt me, lover boy," Hutch thrust his hips, indicating the straining bulge that demanded freedom from the jeans.

Starsky laughed. "Oh, right, forgot you can't do the whole two-tap get-naked thing." Starsky went to work immediately on the jeans and with cooperation from Hutch soon flung them up onto the dry sand. "I see somebody couldn't be bothered with underwear this morning."

"Maybe I was planning on bringing you here tonight even before the rose garden talk," Hutch grinned.

"Devil," Starsky accused.

"Angel."

"We always were opposites," Starsky murmured, seizing Hutch's mouth. Hutch took a page out of Starsky's book and flipped them over. Starsky flung his head back and laughed, declining to stay still. They rolled in the tide like beached whales refusing to give up life on the sand. Finally, breathless, Starsky begged, "All right, Hutch, enough foreplay. I'm all yours."

"But--but...." Hutch sputtered, "I wanted--"

"No way, Hutch. No lube. I'm not taking you dry. Or even with spit and saltwater. I'm the special case, remember? We won't take a chance hurting you."

"Is it just me, or do you have the most tender heart in the whole world?" Hutch stared down into pools of deep blue that flashed and sparkled with love and desire.

"I think you're biased."

"I think I'm in love."

"Oh, really?"

Hutch lifted Starsky's legs, positioned them both creatively without the benefit of pillows, and slid slowly into the welcoming warmth.
"R-really," he breathed jaggedly watching Starsky's eyes flutter and close under the overwhelming sensation. "S-Starsky...."

"Gimme all you got, Hutch. Remember I want to fall apart."

Hutch pulled back tantalizingly slowly and then when Starsky's eyes sprang open, widening, mouth opening, he pushed forward and grabbed at Starsky's erection. "Something to be said for synchronicity," Hutch whispered, pumping the eager cock as he matched his thrusts to the rhythm. Starsky tossed his head back and forth in the lolling tide and shivered at the sensation of the lapping wetness accompanied by the passionate movement of sex.

"They ought to make this into a drink," Starsky sighed.

"W-wh-what?" Hutch gasped, increasing the speed of his thrusts.

"Sex on the beach. It's intoxicating, oh, Jeez, Hutch...Yes, yes, please! Harder, faster, now! Lemme feel you, dammit!"

Hutch reared his head back and screamed as he gave in to his partner's demands, "Not gonna hold out much longer, Starsky.... D-David! R-ready to fly? Now?"

"Yes...!" Starsky shouted. He opened his mouth wide and roared, "I--I love you, Hutch! So much! C-come, baby, ready for you!" Starsky's impassioned reaction finished Hutch's efforts. He pushed forward deep into Starsky one final time and surprised the dark-haired man by crying out almost in pain as he slipped into the realm of ecstasy.

Starsky wrapped limp arms around Hutch and rocked him. "Hey, hey, babe...what's this? You okay?"

Hutch weakly lifted an enraptured face. "I just have to say it, Starsky. We never really said the words. You'll think it's silly, or mushy, but after we've just shared that...please can I at least say the words? I know we can't act on them, celebrate them in front of the world, but they'll mean more than just words to me."

"What words?"

"Will--will you marry me?"

Starsky choked and let out a whimper, "Aw, Hutch, how could you think that would ever sound silly to me? I love you. I'm here with you now because I believe in forever for us...yes, I'll marry you, lover."

Hutch sighed contentedly and buried his face in Starsky's chest.

>>>>>>>

"HUTCHINSON, GET IN THIS OFFICE NOW!"

Hutch dropped the coffee carafe and watched in horror as it bounced on his boots and shattered against the floor. He yelped and jumped back from the flow of liquid.

Starsky glanced warily at Dobey's office. "I think the fit has definitely hit the shan, babe. For what, I don't know."

Hutch did. Waking up in the cottage's bed, he'd suddenly realized with acute embarrassment that he'd broken one of the primary rules in partnership and after yesterday's gaffe with Saunders, the young man had probably complained to the captain. Now it was his turn to face the firing squad.

Hutch left the coffee disaster in the hands of a sympathetic fellow officer and plunged into Dobey's office, surprised to find him alone. Where was Saunders?

"I tried to call you last night!" Dobey roared, obviously having forgotten some previous decision to walk and talk softly around Hutch. "Several times. Then I called Saunders and he didn't have a clue where you--" Dobey looked down at his desk, "Where's my donut? My donut was just here...." His eyes connected with the pastry on the floor just beside his desk. Hutch grinned across the room at a Starsky feigning the picture of innocence, twiddling his thumbs, eyes in the sky, whistling softly. "How the hell--" Dobey scratched his head. "Like I was saying," Dobey began yelling again. "What did they teach you at the Academy? Macrame? You do not go away and leave your partner without--"

"My fault, Captain," Saunders said suddenly from the open doorway. Hutch whirled around, eyes wide. Saunders retrieved a scrap of paper from his denim jacket pocket--the same scrap on which he'd written the voice-analysis report at the hospital--and waved it confidently. "I completely forgot like a damn fool that Hutchinson gave me a contact phone number. Stuck it in my pocket in the heat of the investigation yesterday and didn't give it a second thought."

Dobey's bluster died like a campfire under a dousing of water. "I don't pay my detectives to forget things, Saunders."

Saunders looked sufficiently contrite, but his eyes were on Hutch when he said, "Yes, Captain. Won't happen again." His eyes asked Hutch, Will it?

"What did you want, Cap'n?" Hutch asked quietly.

"What?"

"You said you called me. What did you want?"

Dobey wagged the pencil and then stuffed it behind his ear, mumbling, "Not important." His voice deepened again. "But it might have been! You two had better get your acts coordinated. I want you knowing where to find each other at all times. Especially now that this chapter on Gunther might not be closed. Got it? Or do I have to give you both an extra shift of traffic duty to pound the point home?"

"Understood," they said in unison.

Starsky smirked and blew on an imaginary whistle. "Aw, Hutch, this is so sweet. He called you just to see how you're doing but the big lug can't admit to it."

Hutch reflected that Starsky wouldn't think it was so sweet if he were still capable of facing the realities of traffic duty as anything but a bored bystander. "Phone call, Detective Saunders," an officer yelled into the office. Saunders glanced at Dobey and apparently felt he had permission to field the call. Hutch remained in the office, deciding he had not been dismissed.

"How're you doing, son?" Dobey asked suddenly.

Hutch could not answer truthfully--that he'd just affirmed wedding vows with the love of his life and felt positively high on the world in general. He tried to assume a stoic, grieved expression and said, "Taking each day at a time, Cap'n."

"You're--you're doing good, Hutch. I mean that. I-I think Starsky would be very proud of you-"

"He don't know the half of it," Starsky interjected boastfully.

Hutch nodded at his captain, "Hope so."

"Sure of it," Dobey said kindly. Then, gruffly, "Now get out there and find this damn secretary--I want answers!"

Hutch collided with Saunders in the doorway. "Got her, Hutchinson. Cathy's sister called the apartment complex this morning asking about the jewelry. Manager got the impression that Cathy's staying with her, although the sister didn't say that explicitly. Anyway, I've got an address because the manager was smart enough to ask for a phone number. Told her he'd call her if the jewelry turned up."

"Let's go," Hutch said.

"Thanks, I owe you one," Hutch said as Saunders climbed warily into the LTD. Starsky lounged in the back seat and grinned, "You owe him several, buddy. Dobey was getting ready to rip you a new one."

Saunders shrugged. "Yeah, well, I figured you'd taken a hike to clear the debris. But you take off next time without a word, and I'll kick your ass myself."

Hutch could not refrain from throwing a glance at Saunders' lithe, less-than-muscular physique. Saunders sat up rigid straight and frowned. "Don't look at me like that, Hutchinson. I damn well could!"

Hutch laughed out loud. "'Betcha can bench-press a house,'" he quoted. Starsky broke into a fit of snickers. Saunders looked outraged for half-a-second and then convulsed with mirth, too. "All right. Enough. We've got a prime suspect to haul in," Hutch said as he cranked the car.

A pretty and very pregnant dark-haired woman opened the front door of the half-timbered duplex at Hutch's knock. At the flash of his badge, the woman turned and called over her shoulder, "It's the police, Cath. Maybe they have some information about your missing jewelry."

"Oh, No! No!" A second female voice screamed from the recesses of the living room, "I told you not to call the apartment manager. I told you to let it go."

"Please come in," the woman at the door invited with a strange look, "I don't know what's gotten into Cathy. Some of that jewelry belonged to our mother. You don't just forget about family heirlooms."

"Ma'am, we're not here about the jewelry," Saunders spoke first. "Although, the apartment manager does have it in his possession and will be happy to turn it over to you at the earliest convenience."

"I don't understand--If you're not here about the... what's wrong? My husband? Tom? Has he been in an accident?"

"No, no," Hutch rushed to reassure the suddenly pale, trembling woman. "We're here to speak to your sister."

"I'm not saying anything to you," Cathy spat. She raked a hand through her bouncy brown curls and managed to cram more defiance into her pert, girlish features than her words.

"Yeah, right," Starsky huffed, arms across his chest. "Heard that line before."

"What do you want with Cathy?" The other woman demanded, arm around her sister's shoulders, squeezing tight.

"Just--just leave it alone, Leah! You don't want to know. You just don't...." Cathy broke down, sobbing, and sagged against her sister.

"I think you better tell me what this is all about, right now," Leah asserted calmly, only the trembling of her lips revealing the depth of her surprise and worry.

"NO!" Cathy shouted. "No, she doesn't need to hear any of this in her condition. T-take me where you need to...."

"Cathy, if you're in some kind of trouble, not knowing how to help you is going to worry me even more," Leah protested, hand unconsciously straying to her swollen abdomen.

"Oh, Leah, I shouldn't have come here. Then you wouldn't have known--or at least, maybe not until--Oh, God."

"You're here to arrest her," Leah said in a whisper, swinging her eyes between the two detectives. "I'm coming with her."

Within a few minutes of her legal counsel's arrival, Cathy told her lawyer to shove his advice. Hutch found this particularly amusing considering Cathy's former employment. Minnie had taken charge of Leah immediately upon arrival at Hutch's request. Now, Hutch and Saunders waited patiently across the table from the lawyer and Cathy in the interrogation room. Starsky took up a post in the corner of the room, bracing one foot against the wall, bent-legged, fingers curled in his belt loops.

"I didn't kill that girl," Cathy began, lifting a hand to silence yet again her lawyer's protest.

"Ms. Winston--"

"No, Charles. I was stupid. Stupid! The whole thing was sheer lunacy and the only way I'm going to come out on the other side is to cooperate."

"Considering the evidence we have against you, Ms. Winston, that's a wise choice," Saunders agreed icily. Hutch shivered involuntarily, re-evaluating Starsky's belief that Hutch was the master of freezing politeness.

"You know about my former employer," Cathy said directly to Hutch. "You--you spoke to him that day."

Hutch nodded silently, eyes narrowing in almost oppressive distaste at the memory of sitting in front of the slippery, well-dressed man more concerned about his lunch dates than the assassination attempt on police officers.

"We were involved. He took care of me. He--he was going to leave his wife for me."

"That's got to be the second oldest story in the book," Starsky commented from the corner. "How many times does that actually happen?"

"But he--when we discovered my appointment book had been tampered with--he hit the ceiling. Fired me on the spot for being away from my desk at any time that you were in the building. I--I'd seen you and your--friend at the elevator, but I didn't think.... In the aftermath of Mr. Gunther's arrest, I lost everything. I--I didn't know what was happening around me, but I had to answer questions, say things, reveal things I didn't even know were important just to protect myself. And I've been told to expect more of the same because his trial is still ages away. What hurt worst was losing--" Cathy choked up and looked off into space for a moment. "I had to move. I was suddenly nothing to him. Nothing. Do you have any idea how that feels?" She received only stony stares. "No, I suppose you don't. I was angry, all right? I wanted to make someone pay. I kept hoping you'd come back so I could yell at you, scream into your face, but you never questioned me."

"It was out of my hands by then," Hutch answered, biting down on his tongue to limit the fury in his tone.

"I--I was too scared to come looking for you. When the story was released about your going to San Francisco and personally arresting Mr. Gunther, I--I decided you were too dangerous--Oh, I don't know. Maybe--Maybe I went a little crazy. I decided I'd--"

"Go after Huggy," Hutch supplied when she froze in mid-sentence.

"Y-Yes. Seemed easier. I wasn't going to do anything but mess up his bar. Once I found out who he was and where I could find him, I stopped in there several times for a drink. I only went during busy times so I could blend with the crowd. I-I managed to get hold of his keys one day. He made things easy: labels on the keys and everything. All I had to do was get the bar's front door key copied and brought the originals back before he even knew they were missing, I think. I thought I had everything so well planned. When I made my mind up to do what I wanted, I terminated my lease and moved in with my sister until I could figure out where to go afterwards. I knew--I knew I'd need to leave Bay City."

"Why didn't you leave the following morning? Why are you still here?" Hutch asked.

Cathy sighed, "Because of Leah. She's not doing well. Baby's coming any day now. I--I just couldn't abandon her."

"Interesting view-point from someone who just left a homicide crime scene. What happened that night, Ms. Winston?" Saunders shrugged off the nasty look he fielded from Cathy's attorney.

"Like I said, I watched his habits. So I waited until I knew Huggy Bear had closed the bar and I let myself in with my spare key." Cathy leaned her elbows on the table and rested her forehead against her palms. "At Leah's, in the spare room, you'll find a little pistol. Just the size for carrying in a purse. I--I had it with me that night. I planned to smash things up a bit and then when Huggy Bear came out from the back, I was going to use the gun to force him to let me tie him up so I could leave him there all night in the mess. That's all I wanted to do."

"Quite an itinerary," Hutch snapped, mouth tight with anger.

" 'All she wanted to do'," Starsky mimicked, equally unkindly, hands out of the belt loops and balled into fists now.

"Something obviously went wrong. Everything in the bar's intact." Saunders sounded impatient to get to the facts.

"Except the bar stool I used to hit him--This is not easy for me...."

"Ain't easy for her? Any easier for us to listen to someone's plans for re-decorating our friend's business and leaving him tied like an animal for a night?" Starsky approached the table and caressed Hutch's shoulders comfortingly.

"He must have heard me somehow, though I tried to be very quiet. I didn't think he'd hear anything until I started breaking glasses or overturning tables. When he--he was suddenly there. I don't know what happened. I just panicked or something. I felt so angry--just out of nowhere I was furious! Where I was standing, he didn't see me. I grabbed the nearest stool and slammed it up against his head as hard as I could--and I'm strong. I don't think he ever saw what was coming. But there...was blood on one of the legs, so I carted it out back and threw it into a dumpster down the alley. When I came back inside to--to get my purse and leave--" Cathy's voice changed and she stared at her own hands. "I saw this girl come into the bar. I found a hiding place and tried to figure out what to do, but before I could even think, this man entered the bar just behind the girl.like he'd been following her, you know? He--he grabbed her and--oh, please don't make me talk about it. It was awful!
Odd thing is, I don't think he even noticed Huggy Bear. He just let--let her fall down and then turned around and left...."

>>>>>

"Would you believe that?" Saunders waved the coffee mug around like a flag. "She's just witnessed a homicide. What does she do? Doesn't even think how damn lucky she is the guy didn't see her. No, she drags Huggy's unconscious body over to where the girl is lying, making sure, mind you, to keep his head wound from bleeding all over the floor on the way over. Cleans up the floor where he'd fallen, makes a phony dispatch call hoping that we will link the two crimes and think the same guy attacked Huggy, too. Then she takes her purse and leaves to go back to taking care of her pregnant sister. It's friggin' madness and it might have--might have! Worked. We wouldn't have even questioned the call if it hadn't been for Carla's deafness. Jesus H. Christ, if a damn girl-next-door legal secretary can put together a smoke screen like that, I'm gonna quit the force before I have to deal with any really bright criminals. Hutchinson? Are you even listening to me?"

"The purse."

Saunders slammed the coffee mug down. "Are you still hung up on that purse issue?"

"Careful, Saunders," Starsky laughed, wishing the cop could hear him. "When my Hutch gets into dog-on-a-bone mode it's usually a good idea to follow him wherever he goes. He's onto something. What are you thinking, babe?"

"We've been morons!!" Hutch shouted abruptly, startling half the men in the squad room. Even Dobey peeked his head out of the office. "Ought to have our badges shoved up our--"

"Hey!" Saunders exclaimed. "Whatever you're thinking, leave me out of it. I like my badge right where it is, thank you."

"The purse, Saunders. We confirmed with the Fromans that Carla never went anywhere without it. We thought the killer removed it, but no, not according to Cathy. Cathy herself didn't mention removing a purse except her own, and she was giving us a detailed play-by-play. Where the hell is the purse?"

"Who the hell cares? If it wasn't removed by the killer then it probably--"

"Uh-uh-uh, Saunders. You wouldn't believe what you'll find in a woman's purse. You ever take a peek in Bev's? Carla's could be the key to this whole thing. And you better hope we can scrounge a lead from somewhere because we're back to figuring out a motive for doing away with Carla Froman, and I've been fresh out of ideas on that one for a long time."

Starsky grabbed Hutch's wrist for emphasis. "We've been double idiots, Hutch. What the hell were we thinking? Transportation!"

Hutch snapped his fingers. "That's right!"

"Run by me exactly what's right?" Saunders asked quietly.

"Just thought of something. How did Carla get there?"

Saunders raised a dismissing hand and then dropped it, "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh. We've known since day before yesterday that Carla was not at The Pits before Huggy's assault. So she arrived later. How? Based on Cathy's testimony, we can rule out that she came with the person who killed her, or they would have walked in together. Carla's disability prevented her from operating a vehicle. She may have been dropped off, but not by her two closest friends--we've confirmed that with Marcie and Kelly. So?"

"Public transportation of some kind," Saunders jumped onto the train of thought.

"Get on the phone to Libbie Froman. See if she knows how her sister got around town by herself. Save time that way before we start randomly questioning cab companies and bus lines. God, we should have asked her this at the beginning!"

"Why me?" Saunders practically whined, obviously not fond of tackling the said Ms. Froman again.

"Because she likes you. I just get under her skin."

"Oh, that's ridiculous. With your sparkling personality?" Saunders grinned.

Hutch smacked him over the head with a file folder.

Starsky noticed that several of the squad room officers watching the exchange smiled broadly. He made a gulping noise and turned and walked out of the room. Hutch found him staring at the candy machine like a long-lost lover. Fishing in his pocket for change, Hutch noticed wetness under Starsky's eyes. He produced the correct amount of money and selected Starsky's candy bar of choice. Candy in hand, he decided the roof of the station might be the safest bet. Risky continually using the john. Starsky followed meekly in silence. By the time they reached the roof, Hutch had devoured the candy bar. Standing in the burnishing sun, Starsky lifted Hutch's hand and traced the insides of the blond's lips with the long, slender index finger before he brought that finger to his own mouth, sucking on it gently. Hutch had to control his instinctive physical reaction. Even the roof wasn't sufficiently safe to pull his lover into a passionate embrace, however invisible Starsky might be. Hutch
fought back a sudden laugh at how he might appear to an observer as his seemingly empty arms clutched at air with enthusiasm and his mouth moved against nothingness. Not nothingness. His heart, his soul, his reason for breathing.

"Thanks. I needed that. Been wanting a candy bar all morning."

Back to reality. "What's this for?" Hutch asked, indicating with a slight nod the tears brimming under Starsky's thick lower lashes.

"Aw, nothing. Just happy. Things're getting back to normal in there, Hutch. You and Saunders... you're good together. That's good for the department."

"You'll never be forgotten, Starsk. By any of them."

Starsky grinned. "Wasn't thinking that, Hutch. I know that. But it's dangerous when you got cops going around like zombies and looking over their shoulders. They were all pretty spooked by the crap with Gunther. You being in there, looking okay, looking like you're gonna make it, working with your partner... it's bringing 'em all back up to speed. And that means they'll be in top form out on their beats. Safer."

Hutch felt a tidal wave of pride and admiration. "Sometimes I wonder if I really ever understood what an amazingly good person you are. You don't have a selfish bone in your body."

"Not true. I am the world's most selfish person when it comes to you, babe. I want you all to myself. I wish I could erase every time you ever screamed while making love to someone else. That's pretty selfish. You deserve to have a past just like anybody else."

"You re-wrote my whole life story the first time you said you wanted me."

"We'd better go back down now. If we continue this line of conversation, I'm gonna make you do something to shock the pigeons."

Hutch laughed. "Yeah, and Saunders isn't going to be lenient about a disappearing act after last night. But as soon as I get you home, I'm going to make sure you haven't already forgotten what it's like being married to me."

Bay City Yellow Cab turned out to be Carla's favorite transportation. Libbie told Saunders that their special phone for the hearing impaired allowed Carla to make phone calls through an intermediary operator. She then described Carla's method of arranging transportation when away from home. Saunders concluded the phone call feeling overwhelmed by the deaf woman's resourcefulness and independence. Hutch appeared in the squad room just as Saunders hung up and the young detective smiled. "Tightening the noose, Hutchinson. We're on track."

Mike Fowler leaned up against the grill of his cab and said sadly, "Yeah, I picked her up that night. One of my frequent customers. Sweet girl. She'd get in and hand me a note with her destination and when we got there, I'd jot down on the note how much she owed me. But I always check after a shift to make sure nothing's left in my car."

"Think hard. How did she pay you? Did you see her reach into her purse, pull out money, and hand it to you before she got out of the cab?"

Starsky crawled into the back seat and thoroughly investigated the cab for signs of the accessory. He came away disappointed, shaking his head at Hutch.

Mike squinted and rubbed his brow, "Well....I seem to remember her having a purse when she got in the cab, tell the truth. But, no, I think she just handed me a wad of bills. Wait a minute! Bobbie!"

"Bobby? Who's he?"

"B-o-b-b-i-e. Short for Barbara. She's seven. Daughter of the company manager. When I came in that next morning after being on all night, she was already here. Talked my ear off the whole time I tallied my receipts. She might--naw, well...I don't know... Bobbie's kind of special, know what I mean? She might not understand the difference between finder's keepers and--ya know?"

"Is Bobbie here now?"

"Yup. Over in the office."

'Kind of special' turned out to mean Down's Syndrome, Hutch and Saunders realized when the little girl's father brought her out from the back room of the office. She blinked at them with more than a little fright. Starsky almost laughed at the race between the two detectives to get down on one knee and at the girl's eye level first. Under the spell of blanketing gentleness, the little girl warmed immediately to both men and with the help of her father, soon gave every indication of understanding the question put to her. She pulled away from the hand on her shoulder and ducked back into the room from which she had come. She returned carrying a small, pink cloth bag with a carved wooden handle.

"Pretty," she said, offering it for inspection.

"Barbara May," Mr. May said with shock. He looked at the police officers. "I saw the purse back there with Bobbie's other things and just assumed her mother had bought it for her. It's very small for a grown-up pocketbook."

"Pretty. Took care of it," Bobbie said with a bright smile and a giggle.

"You sure did take care of it, little one," Hutch said with an answering smile. "We're so glad you've been looking after it for us."

"Yes, well, we're going to have to have a little talk about 'taking care of things' that don't belong to her." Mr. May appeared enormously relieved at the detectives' response.

Saunders grinned and said, "Yes, but in this case Bobbie might turn out to be a little heroine. If a cab customer had made off with the purse instead--"

"I see your point," Mr. May conceded. "Chances of finding it would have dwindled considerably. It must have fallen under the seat or something. Bobbie's quite the little explorer." He hugged his daughter close to his side. "She's my special little angel. Aren't you, dumpling?"

Hutch delved into the purse looking for identification but he almost dumped the contents on the floor when the little girl spoke again.

"Who's your friend?" Bobbie asked.

"What friend?" Saunders queried.

Hutch felt his entire lower body liquefy. Bobbie pointed directly to Starsky, who was propped against the glass door. He jerked to attention and flung an astonished look at Hutch.

"Honey, there's no one else in here," Mr. May said softly.

Bobbie pointed again, "But--"

"Um...Mr. May, thank you for all your help. We'd better get this back to the station. It's Carla's all right." Hutch pivoted on heel and fled the office, Saunders following at a more leisurely pace and shaking his head.

"Hutch!" Starsky shrieked when they were on the road to Metro. "She saw me."

"Innocence," Hutch said, thinking aloud.

"What?" Saunders asked.

"Nice to find such a special kind of innocence," Hutch answered, but his words were aimed at Starsky.

"Yes, refreshing," Saunders agreed.

Starsky whistled. "I get it. Now I know I'm right to believe in those Santa Claus sightings. Wonder if all little kids can see me.or maybe just special cases. Her father did say she's--his special angel. Hutch, you think?? *Angel*?"

Hutch could not answer for more reasons than just Saunders' presence. He felt an irrational rush of comfort that threatened to break his heart. He was not insane, trapped in some beautiful, physically stimulating, enduring hallucination in which donuts fell off the middle of desks and keys suddenly appeared in the dust beneath doors. His Starsky really was here, loving him, living with him, breathing his air. The last little nagging voice of doubt in the farthest recesses of his mind fell silent. *Angel* indeed.

>>>>>

"I think I've got something, Hutchinson," Saunders wagged a business card. Hutch relinquished the change purse/organizer that he had been emptying methodically and seized the card from Saunders' hand.

"J.R. Rikard, Attorney at Law. Specializing in Clients with Disabilities," Hutch read. "Yeah, I smell a lead all over this."

Saunders snatched the card. "I'm on it," he said, grabbing the phone.

"Hey, don't even think about getting out of this car yet. I've been dying for some of that lasagna all night," Starsky protested. "Bring those lips over here."

"Starsky, if someone walks by--"

"They'll think you're a harmless fruitcake. Come on, Hutch, be a pal. You act like kissing me is a chore or something," Starsky used his best pleading whine, this time encased in a seductive silk. The new version blew away all of Hutch's hard-earned immunity in less than a second. He managed to tackle Starsky in the front seat of the LTD, pushing his lover against the car door and giving him all the time in the world to explore his mouth.

Starsky pulled away after a lengthy silence in the car. "Now that," he said with appreciation, "is *lasagna*. It ought to be a crime to be that smart and that good a cook."

"Yes, I guess it's easy to see why Saunders is so proud of her," Hutch smiled.

"Proud? He worships the dirt under her feet, partner. Kinda how I feel about a certain someone."

"Oh, and who might that be?"

"I've never been the kiss-and-tell kinda guy. Got standards, you know. Some things're private."

"Oh, that's an outright lie."

"Who are you calling a liar?"

"Mister-- Hey, Hutch lemme tell you about this girl, she had these--" Fingers pressed against his lips and Starsky slowly decorated his face with kisses.

"In the past, Hutch. I'm a one-man man now--what's so damn funny?"

"You. Are you ready to go inside?"

"You sound like a man with a plan," Starsky said.

Softness eased the lines in Hutch's forehead and seemed to wash away five years. "I just want to hold you and watch you fall asleep in my arms. Do you remember--?" Hutch's face threatened to vanquish the softness with pain but the moment passed and he smiled. "After the heroin scare, when we'd booked Forrest and went back to your place? You were so exhausted from running around, watching me, carrying the load. I sat there on your couch and just held you so you could sleep. That's the only way I could get you to close your eyes. You wouldn't let me out of your sight, but you thought that, if while holding you I moved enough that I might be going out looking for junk, you'd wake up in time to stop me."

"Hutch, why are you thinking about that now?"

"Just remembering that night in the desert when you made me repeat that bit about our loving each other as friends. You were right: our friendship has always been the most important part of who we are. I want you to know...I'm not just grateful to have my lover back. You're more to me than a sex partner, Starsky. Even more than a spouse. I couldn't make any sense out of life without your friendship either."

Starsky half-growled, coughed, swallowed hard, and looked out the window.

"Starsky?"

"Aw, come on inside, Hutch," Starsky said with that telltale choked-up gruffness. "I'm gonna call Bev and make sure she didn't slip some detergent flakes into the lasagna."

"She wouldn't hear you."

"Smart ass."

Hutch stood over the bed and watched his slumbering angel. He felt like an utter sap thinking that way about the man who lay sprawled in a senseless tangle of covers with one leg half-hanging off the bed. Despite a sense of contentment with his life, Hutch had not been able to fall asleep as quickly as Starsky, who ironically in his present state required no sleep. Leaning over and placing a kiss in the tangled curls, Hutch smiled fondly and left the sleeping alcove.

He ended up spending much needed time with his plants and thinking through the events of that evening. Saunders had only succeeded that afternoon in reaching J.R. Rikard's personal secretary, who informed them that Mr. Rikard would return the following morning from an overseas business trip and should be available by eleven o'clock. The remainder of their shift had been uneventful and just as Hutch and Starsky reached the car to leave for Venice Place; Saunders had pulled into the parking lot with Bev in the passenger seat. Hutch had done a double take and then remembered Saunders' promise to have Bev look at Jones' upper arm wound during her day off from the ER.

Saunders rolled down the window and shouted, "Hey, Hutchinson! You have any problems with good, authentic Italian food prepared by a beautiful lady?" Saunders pointed at Bev, who blushed and ruffled her fiancé's hair.

Hutch heard a gasp behind him and then, "Hutch, if you say 'no' to what I think is a forthcoming invitation, you're sleeping on the couch tonight, you hear me?"

Hutch laughed at both comments. "I'm sure I can be talked into whatever you've got in mind."

"How does Tuscany seafood lasagna sound? Chilled Pasta Fagioli salad, good vintage wine," Bev responded.

Starsky placed a hand against Hutch's back and made an orgasmic sound.

"I think I've been persuaded. I'll follow you?"

"Sure, I'll try not to lose you, Geezer," Saunders laughed.

"Dream on, small-fry. I should tell you about the time I drove a dune buggy across half-of the middle of nowhere in pursuit of a gangster who's practically a direct descendent of Capone."

"And just about introduced me in an intimate fashion to a very large cactus," Starsky muttered.

Hutch investigated one particularly troublesome African violet and smiled. The dinner had been excellent, the conversation comfortable. He had wished fervently that Starsky could contribute and heard Starsky's commentary on certain topics mentally even before his lover spoke his mind out loud, if only for Hutch's benefit. Finally, Hutch found himself inserting some points of Starsky's into the conversation as a means of having his best friend's ideas heard--even though as Hutch's own opinions. Starsky thought this utterly endearing and Hutch had to endure several kisses on his shoulder blades at odd intervals. Yes, all in all, a good night. And tomorrow... tomorrow they would crack this Carla Froman case wide open. Hutch just had a feeling. He yawned, bid goodnight to his leafy friends, and ambled back over to the bed where he crawled in behind Starsky and pulled the limp, snoring body back against him.

By nine-thirty the following morning Hutch had that uneasy, "missing partner" feeling. Only Starsky's hand on his arm eased the impact of horrible memories: blood scrawled on a bathroom mirror, a jack-in-the-box bearing a certain police badge. Hutch shuddered, covered the hand on his arm with his own clammy fingers and then reached for the phone. No answer at Saunders' home number. Hutch drilled his fingers on the table.

"Could be car trouble," Starsky said soothingly.

"He's always been here before me," Hutch whispered as if thinking aloud. None of the officers in the room paid the least bit of attention.

"First time for everything."

Hutch shook his head, grabbed his jacket, and left the squad room before Dobey could pounce on Saunders' absence. "Where to?" Starsky asked as he kicked back in the LTD's passenger seat.

"Memorial," Hutch answered. "Bev's on already. Maybe she knows something."

"You're worried."

"Yes. I've got this--this feeling."

"Don't have to tell me about that feeling, partner. How many times have we been down that road?"

"Too many, and I don't want to go down it this time either." Hutch grabbed the mike, "Zebra-3 to dispatch."

"Come in, Zebra-3."

"Mildred, log Zebra-3 unavailable."

"Roger, Zebra-3."

Hutch fretted and fumed for about ten minutes before Dr. Augustano rushed out to the main nurse's station, loose scrubs and lab coat flapping in her haste. She pulled up breathlessly and swallowed hard. "Ken? Ken, what's wrong?"

"Hopefully nothing, Bev. I'm sorry if the nurse I sent alarmed you."

"No.... Where's Ray?"

"That's why I'm here. He didn't show up at the station this morning. I called your place, but got no answer. I didn't want to hang around long enough to call you from the station and give our captain a chance to build up a head of steam. Have you heard from him?"

Beverly's eyes darkened and her mouth sagged in dismay. "Oh, no...I thought he was making such progress....Last night he seemed so happy, so--There's a park here in town. We went there the day we moved in. Has a pond with swans. Ray likes swans. They calm him. I'll bet you my lifesavings he's at that park...what's the name?"

"Bev, hold on a minute. Progress? What do you mean?"

Dr. Augustano took an involuntary step back and her hand slipped off the nurse's station counter. "You--you don't know? About what happened? Why Ray's here?"

"Something tells me we're going to find out why Saunders has been so jumpy," Starsky breathed, worry invading his tone.

"Bev, I'm sorry. I'm pressed for time. We have an appointment at eleven o'clock. Could you just spell things out for me?"

"Four months ago today Ray's partner died. S-shot down in the line of duty. Y-you'll have to hear the rest from him."

Hutch felt the floor quake beneath him. The ER ceased to exist. Beverly might as well have been miles away. Hutch was in the LTD parked in front of a darkened convenience store. "Captain Dobey didn't tell you anything about me, did he?" "No. Just the basics. Where you've been, why you're here. And I can live with both of those, so you needn't elaborate."

He did not even realize he was running down the hall until he heard a voice yell, "Ken! Ken, do you even know what park I'm talking--" Hutch waved a hand back at her and disappeared through the double Receiving doors into the sunlight. Once in the car, he said, tight-lipped, "Remind me when I have a chance to choke Dobey."

"I'll hold him down for you," Starsky responded.

Saunders had managed to lure at least five swans halfway to his bench. He doled out the breadcrumbs with a soft smile, watching two of the swans tangling their curved necks in an attempt to keep the other from snagging the prime pieces. Sudden noise and the birds protested the intrusion and backed away to the edge of the pond. Saunders turned. "I'm sorry. I climb on your case about vanishing without a trace and then do the very same thing. Hypocrite."

Hutch sat down on the bench on one side of Saunders and Starsky plopped down on the young detective's left, "'S okay," he replied, adopting a phrase of Starsky's. "I'll let it slide this time, but you pull this stunt again and I'll kick your ass myself."

Saunders managed a laugh before his voice choked and he turned his eyes to the pond. "H-how did you find me?"

"Talked to Bev at Memorial."

"Oh, fabulous." Bitter irony hung in the air like a sour smell.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," Saunders rasped. "But, I know Bev's probably let at least half the cat out of the bag, so you deserve the tail, too."

"How did it happen?"

Saunders' jaw tightened and his eyes closed so tight that the tears could barely squeeze through and rest in his lashes. "I--I shot him."

"Oh, Christ," Starsky murmured.

"We'd only been partners for six months. We'd each just made detective. We got into police work later than a lot of guys. Second careers for both of us. He was in Search-and-Rescue and I was with local Emergency Management. He was a good friend. We didn't spend a whole lot of time together off the job because I had Bev. She's my life, any time I got away from work I tried to give her. But we got along really well. Mark--Mark was a great guy. Damn good cop. Ran circles around me." Saunders bent forward and rested his face in his palms, his entire back shaking. Without thinking that the hurting cop could not feel his efforts, Starsky rubbed soothing circles just under his shoulder blades. Hutch grasped Saunders' upper arm.

"How did it happen?" he repeated.

Without lifting his face, Saunders coughed and said, "We responded to a 2-11 within a block of where we were tracking down this lead in a homicide. One person at the scene was already dead. Turned out to be some kind of gang assault rather than a regular robbery. We weren't even used to fielding gang related activity in that part of Sacramento. Heavy fire. We'd gotten really comfortable with each other's movements in tense situations, so we thought we could handle the heat. But Mark took a bullet in the arm and went down. I yelled for him to stay down, that I was coming to him and I was under fire at the time. Backup had arrived by then but it was taking all of us. Oh, God...."

"Shh.… If you can't do this--"

"No. You've got a right to know. Just as I was about to get to Mark, I noticed one of the gunmen had an officer dead-to-rights. I raised my weapon, yelled again for Mark to stay down, and--Oh, Jesus, he was just all of sudden there, right in the path. Once you've pulled a trigger, there's no going back. Happened so fast. So fast...." The words dribbled into racking sobs. Hutch looked over Saunders' back at Starsky for any hint of wisdom in how to deal with the agonized detective. Starsky's face only reflected the anguish Hutch felt settling in the pit of his gut.

"Saunders? Ray, listen to me. It was an accident. Terrible, tragic, but it sounds like you followed procedure--"

Saunders lifted his face and stared blankly at the pond. "Yeah, they cleared me of any wrong-doing. Accidental shooting. Even in the chaos at the time there were enough witnesses who saw what happened. I--I thought I could manage. It--It hurt like hell. I mean, we didn't have the kind of bond that you and Starsky had, but we--we were still close. I missed him everyday. But then--I don't know how--word surfaced that Mark was gay, and some cop in our department started this rumor that I hated gays, that I had said they should--should all be put out of their misery. Next thing you know, people were whispering that maybe the shooting wasn't as accidental as it looked. I was blindsided. IA swarmed over it like flies on road kill. If my captain and even my chief hadn't gone to bat for me, IA would've hung me out to dry....For a couple of months it was all I could do to hang onto my badge. What really hurt is that most of the guys in the department did have a thing against gays. I'm one of the few who didn't and I got body-slammed into a wall because of a spiteful rumor. I--I just wish Mark had told me. Trusted me. Hell, Bev has a cousin who's gay. We both attended his commitment ceremony. If--If Mark had told me, I'd have invited him to bring his boyfriend over for dinner with Bev and me or something. Wouldn't have mattered. Wouldn't have changed how we worked together. I--I never got the chance to show him that."

"I--I am so sorry," Hutch murmured, feeling the inadequacy of the words.

"Don't feel guilty, babe," Starsky said, reading his beloved's mind. "I can't think of anything else to say either...even if he could hear me. What do you say to all that?"

"I could have stayed in Sacramento, but--once it has been even hinted around a department that you may have purposefully killed your own partner, there's no peace, no getting back to normal. Finally, I asked for a transfer and when Bev got a great job offer at Memorial, things seemed to just fall in place. Well, the cards are on the table. If you want Captain Dobey to reassign me, I'll understand--"

"Are you out of your mind? No other cop in that department has the guts to push me against a hospital wall and take me chewing him out at the slightest provocation. You think I'm giving all that up?" Hutch grinned.

"Not to mention that if you did give him up, I'd kick your blondness all the way up Ocean and back," Starsky stated with only a hint of humor lightening the firmness in his voice. "If this guy has come through all that crap and is still the cop we've seen the last few days, then I can trust him to protect your beautiful ass out on the streets."

Saunders bent forward again, cradling his face with his hands. "How do you manage so well? I've only made it because I have Bev. Who do you--is there a special.... I'm sorry. None of my business."

Hutch gulped and cast another desperate glance across Saunders' back. Starsky smiled. "Trust him, Hutch. Go ahead. I know what you want to say. Better put it in the past tense, though, or you're gonna sound like a loony bird."

Hutch sighed and whispered, "Starsky was my life, Saunders."

Saunders sat up straight. "I know you two were tight. That's what I'm asking...who helps you over losing your best friend--I'm trying to figure out how to get over just losing a partner and that's hard enough."

"No, you don't understand. He was my *life*, like Bev is for you. There isn't anyone else for me. Won't ever be."

Saunders' mouth opened and his lips moved without producing a syllable.

"Saunders?"

"You--you and he...Man, how long were you guys together? Seven, eight years, was it?"

"We were best friends longer than that. We didn't realize we loved each other that way until not long before he was--was shot."

"Linda said--you'd been married before. She told me the whole story about Starsky standing by you when your--ex-wife was killed."

"Yeah, I was married. And Starsky came close to tying the knot himself. Both of us had our fair share of female companions. Took us awhile to realize we should just put the friendship, love, romance, and passion all into one package and reserve it for each other." Hutch flushed at the sentimental words he heard slipping from his own lips and Starsky laughed out loud.

"Have you been reading romance novels behind my back, Hutch?"

"How--how do you get up out of bed every morning?" Saunders asked, awed. "Much less put on a gun and holster and come to work? Where do you get the strength? If something happened to Beverly I'd-
I'd--" Saunders fell silent, face strained.

Hutch contemplated his options. Telling the truth was out of the question. Some cop-out or lie wouldn't work either. He decided to try and fashion a partial truth. "Starsky's my strength. He's--he's with me everyday. I feel him close. I know he wants me to keep living."

"Damn straight, bee-yoo-ti-ful. Living and loving. Good combination," Starsky hiked his eyebrows and his lips split into a mischievous grin.

Hutch had to smother a laugh. Saunders just blinked his eyes rapidly.

"Look, Saunders, I--I--"

"Just spit it out, Hutch," Starsky urged. "Saying 'you're sorry' will not cause your molecules to blast apart one by one."

"I'm sorry about that first night...the things I said--"

"No sweat. I was being a prick myself. Questioning your procedure, acting like a first-class jerk about Huggy."

Hutch grinned. "Apology accepted."

Saunders laughed.

Starsky beamed with pride and benevolence.

"Okay, now that we've had a session of partner-bonding, are you ready to go clamp a lid down on this case of ours? I have a feeling J.R. Rikard is our key."

Saunders rose to his feet and crumpled the near-empty bag of breadcrumbs. "Yeah, let's get to work."

"Uh, make it fast, will you, Hutch...those swans are looking awful antsy. One of 'em's staring at your ass more intently than I do."

Even with the time they spared dropping Hutch's car by the station, the detectives arrived at J.R. Rikard's office just ten minutes after eleven. His practice resided in a Victorian house that had long passed the border of quaint into the realm of antiquated. Hutch stood on the front sidewalk battling queasy memories of Ezra Beam. As usual, Starsky tread firmly on the same wavelength, "If there's a goat's head in the front room, I'm leaving."

"Ram's head."

"Whatever."

"Did you say something?" Saunders turned and peered down at Hutch from the top step.

"No."

"Well, then get the lead out, Hutchinson, I want to pick this guy's brains."

"This is the guy who just got back from an overseas business trip?" Starsky ran a finger over the back of a ratty chair in the client waiting area. Hutch agreed with the question and its inherent meaning as he took in the various pieces of bargain basement furniture that formed the receptionist's workspace. Hutch had to silently admit with a sideways grin at Starsky that the receptionist herself was the sole bright spot in the drab interior. Tall and buxom, she sported wavy, strawberry blonde hair that flowed almost to her waist and a set of remarkably flashing hazel eyes. Starsky caught Hutch's teasing, sympathetic eye and gulped loudly, red spots mingling with the tan in both cheeks. Hutch's grin broadened: he had just acquired enough ammunition to bait his lover into any number of passionate favors later.

"Window shopping doesn't mean you fork out the cash, Hutch," Starsky mumbled, sheepish. Then he realized that Hutch's grin had just about split the blond's face in half and he relaxed into an answering grin himself. "You're entirely too secure in our relationship, babe. Couldn't even make you jealous if I tried. 'Course I guess it helps that you know she couldn't see me even if I wanted to flirt."

But Hutch had to swallow the grin because both Saunders and the receptionist turned around and included him in the conversation. "Ms. Lymon says we'll need to wait for a few minutes. Mr. Rikard arrived late this morning--"

"He was in a state," Ms. Lymon interjected and her beauty crumbled under the curse of a twangy, grating, fingernail-on-chalkboard voice. "Apparently he'd seen the newspaper article about Ms. Froman."

"In a state" did not do the man justice, Hutch and Starsky telegraphed to each other when the trio finally reached the main office, opulently decorated compared to the downstairs portion of the house.

"What year is this, Hutch? 'Cause I feel like I just stepped into a '40's flick." Once again Hutch thought his best friend's take on the situation a bull's eye. Even Rikard's suit smacked of Cary Grant more than Brook's Brothers. And, when Mr. Rikard attempted to stand at his desk upon their entry and wobbled on his feet, Saunders completed the '40s Hollywood illusion by rushing over to grasp the lawyer's elbow and saying in perfect Ray Milland fashion, "Steady yourself, man."

Rikard was also movie screen handsome, in his early thirties perhaps, and soft-spoken, practically mumbling a phrase of gratitude to Saunders. Starsky leaned against an antique sideboard that contained '40s era decanters of various liquors and remarked, "Strong, silent type with the brassy-beautiful secretary. This can't be 1979, babe."

"I--I apologize. I returned from Italy late last night and this morning when I retrieved my reserved newspapers from my neighbor...I read...." Rikard broke off, teeth chattering, and sank down in the vast, ancient swivel chair.

"Just how long has Carla Froman been your client, Mr. Rikard?" Hutch began the questioning, anxious to swing the pendulum back to late twentieth-century Bay City.

"Client? Carla is not a client, Detective Saunders."

"I'm Saunders; he's Hutchinson," Saunders corrected.

Starsky burst out laughing and just about knocked over the whisky decanters in the process. He jumped away from the sideboard with mild alarm and choked down the last giggle.

"Pardon me. We found one of your business cards in Carla's purse." Hutch strained to keep any sign of humor at bay, but his nose still twitched and his lips itched to mimic his Starsky's grin.

"Oh," Rikard achieved a weak smile. "I gave her one of my cards from the first batch I ever had printed about three months ago when I left my former firm to set up my own practice. She must have left the card in her purse and just forgot about it."

"Pardon our having to ask, but what exactly was your relationship with Carla if she wasn't a client?" Saunders still seemed trapped in the body of Ray Milland.

"I am a close family friend of the Fromans'." Mr. Rikard responded with stiff shoulders and offended sensibilities. "Carla was--was like a--a younger sister to me. As was Libbie, of course. We played together as children."

"I didn't know people spoke that kind of English anymore," Starsky observed, finding a more secure post over by the wall of bookshelves.

"So Carla has never consulted you about a legal matter?"

"No, I'm sorry. Carla led a very sheltered life, I'm sure you know by now. Watching her cope with being deaf inspired me to form a practice that caters to the blind, the hearing impaired, and any number of other disabled groups."

A soft knock on the door preceded Ms. Lymon poking her head and upper body into the office. "Mr. Rikard, Derek Welch has arrived for his eleven thirty appointment."

"Thank you, Sandra. Tell him I'll only be a moment."

Hutch caught Starsky's gaze and was startled to find the dark-haired man's radar on high alert. Something had registered in that finely tuned detective's brain. But Saunders had resumed the questioning, "You say you just returned from Italy. How long were you over there?"

"I left six days ago. A key witness in an on-going medical malpractice suit has taken a faculty position at an Italian university and I was graciously invited to visit him and take a taped deposition. Made a bit of a vacation out of business while there. I wish--I wish I'd returned sooner. Perhaps I could have been some comfort to Carla's family...."

"The guy sounds like Gary Cooper trying to sound stuffy," Starsky announced, this time without a trace of humor. In fact, Hutch had to will himself not to swing his attention over to his lover's face because he'd heard the telltale Starsky bullshit alarm ringing in the words.

"Do you have any idea why Carla would have been the target of a--" Saunders' question drew the ire of Rikard, whose faded blue eyes suddenly sprang to life.

"Absolutely not, Detective Hutchinson!" At Rikard's interruption, Saunders opened his mouth obviously to correct the lawyer yet again and then thought better of it. "Carla was a wholly decent, loving person. She did not invite violence or unsavory people. I think you'll find this atrocity is just a random act of malevolence indicative of our society's overall decline in moral--"

"Yes, well, thank you for your assistance, Mr. Rikard. We won't keep you from your next appointment," Hutch nodded imperceptibly at Saunders and they beat a hasty retreat.

"That was a complete waste of time," Saunders smacked the steering wheel with a fist. "I was hoping--"

"Medical malpractice? Me, too," Hutch agreed quickly. "Anything that remotely resembles a motive. Even malpractice would have been slim pickings because the doctors have enough insurance to pay off God these days. They don't settle their mistakes by murdering patients. But Carla keeps sounding like the modern day version of the Virgin Mary. Who wants to kill someone like that? Why? Much as I hate to admit it, maybe Rikard's got a point. Maybe this is a random--"

"No, Hutch. I'll eat tofu and sprouts off your lips for a month if I'm wrong, but I think this is a definite targeted killing. Somebody, for some reason, wanted Carla Froman out of the picture. And I'll bet you another month of shared protein shakes that Rikard is somewhere behind all this mess." Starsky leaned his elbow on the armrest of the car door and stared through the window at the Victorian house.

"What next?" Saunders shoved the key in the ignition.

Hutch sighed. "I'm going to introduce you to a totally un-likeable person named Fat Rolly."

"Oh, really? And why do I warrant this honor?"

"You sound like Rikard. God, I hope that's not contagious. Fat Rolly has an uncanny talent for recognizing other sewer rats. Since the computer didn't spit anything out regarding Cathy's description of the man in the bar, I'm hoping Rolly might be able to shed some light."

"And some lice along with it," Starsky muttered. "Better keep Saunders at a safe distance; he hasn't had his rabies shots yet."

Fat Rolly greeted Hutch without a single sarcastic remark or displeased look. For a minute Hutch had to reassure himself that he was in the correct sleazy pawn shop/ fencing operation. Rolly's quick, uncomfortable glances at Saunders solved the mystery even before the rotund, loudly dressed man said,"Don't seem right."

"Excuse me?" Saunders looked to Hutch for guidance, but Hutch was trying too hard to swallow the lump that had formed around his tonsils.

"No offense, pretty boy, but you ain't a match. Aw, come on, Hutch, I don't know if I can do this without Starsky gettin' in my face. That was half the fun."

"With my stronger senses, I wouldn't get near your face now," Starsky commented with deep feeling.

"Oh," Saunders said quietly.

Hutch frowned at Rolly. "Yeah, and you're the same guy who was trying so hard a few years back to see that neither of us ever got in your face again."

Rolly groaned and chomped into an over-sized deli sub. Mouth full, he said, "Hutch, ya ever gonna let me live that one down? Henderson was the bad apple--I was just the--what's the word?--inter--inter--something inter--"

"Don't strain yourself, Rolly. Middle man will do."

"And they weren't even tryin' to kill you fellas, just make it seem that way, remember? Big difference."

"Fine line," Hutch disagreed. "So just swallow all that fake grief before I knock it back down your throat."

Rolly choked on the bite of sub and coughed into a napkin. "Damn, you're gettin' to be a cold, unfeelin' bastard in your old age, Hutchinson. Where's your respect for the dead? And to think people on the street were startin' to say you two were--"

Hutch had one hand on the man's tie and another in the greasy black hair, pulling the man out of the rickety chair and shoving him against the wall before Saunders could move a muscle. "You can evade my questions all you want, Rolly, but you're not going to tap-dance over Starsky to do it, you clear on that? I'd like nothing better than to make you eat that sandwich through a gastro-tube, you poor excuse for--"

"Hutchinson!" Saunders voice cracked like a whip, but everyone in the room knew the fury focused solely on Fat Rolly. Shocked, Hutch let his grip slide and Rolly slunk away to the chair and his abandoned sandwich. Saunders approached the chair and batted the plump hands away that were straightening the atrocious, crumpled tie. "Now, listen up, Rolly. I don't have a history with you like Hutchinson and Starsky. I don't give a damn about you. I see five violations of city code in this room alone and I will make your life a living hell with that as just my jumping-off point if you don't act a little more cooperative. Capische?"

"What he ain't got in muscle he makes up for in speech," Rolly admitted, favoring Saunders with grudging respect. "Okay, pretty boy. What do you want to know?"

But Hutch took over, "Heard of anybody in town lately specializing in death by garrote?"

"You mean a paid guy?"

"Yeah. Mr. Max is completely tongue-tied on the issue, so I'm wondering if the guy isn't imported. And you are so gifted at knowing the movements of imported nasties, Fat Rolly. Try this one on for size," Hutch extended the sketch.

Rolly gave the drawing his best speculative frown. "No...nope. Nothing. Never seen him before."

"Look hard, Rolly."

"Don't havta. Listen, Hutch, to prove I'm bein' straight with ya, there is a guy in town with a gig. One of the pimps over in Porn Row is gettin' too big for his britches and is poachin' on some drug dealer's territory. That's all I'm gonna say. But the guy on that job looks nothin' like this. And don't ask me when the job's goin' down, 'cause I don't know."

"Better get on the horn to Vice and Narco, Hutch," Starsky said, picking up on Rolly in a rare moment of honesty.

Hutch was still trembling from the encounter with Fat Rolly when he climbed into the passenger seat of Saunders' Dodge. Saunders sat quietly for a minute and then whispered, "How about something to eat? My treat."

"I'm not--" but Hutch let the sentence hang as he remembered that he was now in charge of supplying Starsky with food. Starsky sighed, "I'm not hungry either, Hutch. Not after that little sideshow. Rolly could put a guy off food for a week." "I'm not hungry, Saunders," Hutch finally said.

"Maybe later," Saunders agreed and turned the car in the direction of Metro.

When they arrived at the station to look over the Carla Froman file and re-group before going the rounds on their "beat," Hutch remembered another order of business left unfinished. He took advantage of Saunders' trip to the john to slip into Dobey's office.

Dobey looked up from his cheeseburger and grumped, "Knocking is a nice habit, Hutch. Can't you see I'm eating? What do you want--and it better have something to do with the Froman case, because I'm getting irate phone calls about an unsolved murder involving a poor, little deaf girl. Like it isn't a tragedy when anybody dies that way. Well?"

Hutch waved a hand that cut through the tirade. "Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what, Hutchinson?"

"Don't give me that, Cap'n. You know what I mean. Why didn't you give me the scoop on Saunders? His partner."

Dobey dropped the cheeseburger on the plate and knocked some fries onto the cafeteria tray. "Where'd you pick up on all that?"

"From the man himself."

"Is he--Is he a problem for you, Hutch?"

"A problem, Cap'n? A problem? Hell no, he's not a problem. I just want to know why I didn't know my new partner had lived through that kind of misery before he got here. Granted, that first night things were hectic. But you've had plenty of time since then to pull me aside and fill in the particulars. Why didn't you?"

"Hutchinson, I do not have to explain my every decision to my detectives, however much you might think--" But Dobey's storm blew to pieces at the look on his senior detective's face. "Sit down, son."

"Oh, terrific." Starsky propped on Hutch's chair arm. "When he pulls out the 'son' it's not gonna be pretty."

"Did Saunders tell you the whole story? About his partner's--er--lifestyle...the tussle with IA?"

"Yes, every detail. Why?"

Dobey looked acutely uncomfortable. Scratching his head, pushing the plate away, settling back in the chair, and looking at the file cabinet. All signs that he didn't know how to broach a topic.

"Just spit it out, please, Cap'n. Saunders will be back in the squad room in a minute looking for me."

"I--I wanted you to get to know him for himself, Hutch. Saunders is a first-rate man, I think. I didn't want your--your relationship with Starsky and what happened with Saunders' former partner to immediately hinder your working as a team. Even though Saunders was innocent, the implication that he didn't care for--um...men of that type--"

"My--my relationship....Type? What the hell do you mean by--"

"Told you, Hutch. Some cats just will not stay in bags." Starsky patted Hutch's knee.

"Hutchinson, I--How long have we known each other? You think I didn't notice something different not long after that Vietnam vet case? I've been married for almost as long as you've been alive, Hutch. You think Edith hasn't looked at me too many times to count the way Starsky looked at you...and vice versa? I might be getting old and I eat too much, but I'm not blind or stupid."

"You never said anything," Hutch whispered.

"You never gave me cause. The two of you went about your jobs the same, kept cleaning up the streets.what was there to say?"

"But your--your beliefs?"

Dobey smiled. Known for his devout religious upbringing, the captain folded his hands almost prayerfully under his chin and said with unusual softness, "I won't say I understand the situation, Hutch. But I'm no one's judge and jury. You two formed the best team of detectives ever to walk through those squad room doors--that's what mattered to me. I'm hoping you can at least care about your job again with Saunders as a partner. He looks up to you, Hutch. Clear as day." Dobey dropped his hands. "So, get out there and solve this damn case before I have the commissioner and the press breathing down my back!"

Hutch knew a patented Dobey dismissal when he heard one. He rose unsteadily and had to avoid leaning on Starsky's arm as he approached the door. Just as he was about to open the door, Dobey's voice resumed its special softness, "And, Hutch...if you ever need to
talk--"

Hutch waved a thank-you and left the office.

>>>>>>>

"Penny for your thoughts, genius?" Starsky pleaded, fitting his body against the tense back of his brooding blond. Hutch stood in the middle of the greenhouse, staring into the night sky.

"Just thinking. All that tough talk we tossed around about not trying to hide and taking whatever would come--Now to find out that people really did already know.... Huggy, Dobey--"

"You're not sure how you feel about that?" Starsky guessed.

Hutch turned and wrapped long arms around his mate. "Oh, babe, I don't mean that in a negative way. I guess I just don't understand how--What did we do, say? Dobey says it's the way we looked at each other, but I don't think I looked at you any different than I did years ago."

"Hutch, you ever think maybe these feelings go back a long ways? Long before that night after we told Kira to shove off?"

"What do you mean?"

"What we feel now. Maybe we were walking around in some kind of fog. Think about it, Hutch. Even you accused me of never understanding Gillian. Maybe I didn't. I always felt weird around you and Abby. And not just because she had you on all those kooky diets, fasting and stuff. You rolled your eyes at girls like Sharon and Laura so many times I thought you were gonna damage something up there. You tried your damndest to talk me out of falling for Rosey. I hated breathing the same air as Vanessa. Think all that don't add up to something? I've never wanted a guy before in my whole life, but I'm starting to think maybe I wanted you the first time I laid eyes on you."

"Soul mates are soul mates regardless of the plumbing, hmm?" Hutch smiled, kissing Starsky's forehead.

Starsky's breathing quickened under the delicate pressure of the lips on his face. "And you think I'm crude, Hutchinson."

"If what you say is true, why didn't people think something all along?"

"Got a theory for that too, smart guy. Maybe what Dobey and Huggy picked up on is that we were finally happy. You know? After we got our acts together. We were pretty down on the job for a while after losing Lionel. But with each other, we were right on target. Maybe for the first time. Hard to hide that kind of connection."

"You are a hopeless romantic," Hutch whispered into a curl-framed ear.

"I'm not a hopeless anything with you around, babe," Starsky turned his face so he could take the tip of Hutch's nose into his mouth. Hutch tightened his hold on the teasing bundle of love in his arms. Starsky stepped back and twirled his finger in the blond hair just above Hutch's forehead. "Hutch? Can I ask you something?"

"Oh, brother. Whenever you ask permission to ask a question, I end up in trouble."

Starsky yanked on the hair.

"Ow. That's attached."

"Well, lemme ask my question."

"Who's stopping you?"

"Fine. I guess I should have asked you this at the beginning. I know I was pretty much blind until that first night together, but you--you had to be feeling something before then, right? I mean, what you said in the alley at The Pits--"

Hutch winced at the memory. He had not enjoyed being alone with his thoughts after that incident and before Starsky turned up at Venice with his brave honesty and healed his heart. "Yes, I was."

"When--when did you--" Starsky tripped over his tongue and just smiled. Hutch felt his cheeks growing warm.

"I didn't really admit to myself what I was feeling--or accept what I wanted--until right before the mess with Kira. But the first time I realized it was possible to--want you...." Hutch couldn't continue. He turned away from Starsky's probing eyes and wanted to climb into one of his plant pots and hide. Starsky massaged his shoulders and kissed the nape of his neck.

"Just tell me, Hutch. What's the harm in talking about it now?"

"Because it's humiliating!" Hutch half-screeched. Starsky laughed.

"Damn, this must be good. Come on, babe. You don't want me to pull this out of you with twenty questions."

Hutch groaned. "Pine Lake," he whispered.

"Huh? Got to speak up, Hutch. Heightened senses don't mean I've got dog's ears."

"Pine Lake!"

"Wha'??"

Hutch whirled around, entire face flushed. "When you grabbed me outside the cabin...don't tell me you don't remember that."

Starsky looked for a minute like he was trying to dredge up a long-forgotten memory, but then his eyes sparkled and his mouth quirked. "If memory serves, you begged me to let you go."

"For good reason. Another minute and we'd've been having a discussion about why it suddenly felt like I had shoved half my damn tackle box down the front of my jeans!"

Starsky doubled over and held his mid-section, convulsed in laughter. Hutch's face turned as forbidding as a tombstone. Starsky ended up sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth, cackling. Hutch made a sound of exasperation. "Thanks, Starsky. I didn't think I could ever feel more foolish about that memory, but you've just proven me wrong."

Starsky swallowed his laughter and lifted eyes full of love. "Oh, Hutch. Nothing to feel foolish about. It's just...funny, I dunno. I can still see your face clear as day--and to think it was because--Oh, man. I wish you'd--"

"No," Hutch said seriously. "Don't start thinking something might have happened between us then. I was not ready. Took me a good deal of meditation not to end up on a shrink's couch after that weekend."

"What happened to Mr. It's-No-Big-Thing? You made me feel like I was some kind of backwoods ignorant boob after Johnny died. And you almost ended up at a shrink's after getting hard from hugging me?"

"That wasn't a hug, Starsk. That was a full-body press with your mouth just a few short inches from mine. Besides, it's one thing to be open-minded about a subject in general and another to come up hard against your own personal reality. Out of the blue. No warning. Just boom! Especially when I believed you'd hop the next 747 bound for anywhere if you figured out my little predicament. That scared me far more than those sideshow Satanists!"

"So, what made you start accepting what you felt?" Starsky was concentrating now, eyebrows drawn together, and Hutch sat down on the floor next to him.

"After I got shot, after that disaster with Marianne, I realized that no matter how bad my life seemed to be, how tired and pissed at the world I felt, I still got up every day just to see your face. One smile from you meant I could sleep at the end of a day, after a shift. That was a revelation, let me tell you. And then I almost burned all my bridges going into an outright panic over your relationship with Kira--"

"You kept me from spinning out of control, Hutch."

"What?"

"During all those shaky times. That's what made me understand how I felt. You were falling apart and trying to hold me up at the same time. And I realized I wanted to put you back together again."

Hutch extended trembling hands and cupped Starsky's face. Starsky brushed fingertips over those loving hands. "I thought I was making your life a living Hell," Hutch said, eyes roaming Starsky's face for confirmation of his admission. Starsky shook his head and smiled. They sat in silence, staring at each other, locked in a moment.

Sometime in the middle of the night Hutch woke with the unpleasant sensation of cold, empty covers where his spouse should be. He waited a few minutes, letting his eyes adjust to the lighting, in case Starsky had just gotten up to the--He sat straight up in bed. No, Starsky didn't need the use of those facilities anymore. He pushed the sheets back trying to calm his immediate alarm with various excuses for Starsky's absence. He's reading a book, he's--He was nowhere in the apartment. Hutch eventually migrated to the kitchen without any logical reason for doing so and found a note pinned to the fridge. "Couldn't sleep. Thinking about case. Gone to poke around Rikard's home. Don't worry about me."

Hutch clenched the note into his fist and pounded it against the freezer door. "Don't worry! Don't--Deep breath, Hutchinson. Deep breath. He's a grown-up, streetwise cop. He's also a ghost, dammit!" Hutch flung the note in the trash and vanished into the other room to fling on the nearest set of clothes. Holster on, badge in hand, halfway to the door, Hutch paused.

"Home," he said out loud again in the semi-darkness. "He said home.does he mean?" Hutch ordered himself to slow down long enough to find his telephone directory. Starsky had made that an easy task: the book lay open on the coffee table. Hutch ran a finger over the page of relevant R's until he found "Rikard, James Robertson, Residence." Hutch repeated the address in his head until he felt it stick and then slammed out of the apartment.

Hutch parked a respectable distance from the condominium in question and sat in the car debating his options. He slammed a hand against the door handle, panicked for a second that he'd trigger the horn, and then exited the LTD, creeping inches at a time toward the dark condo. Hutch cautiously approached one lower level window unimpeded by an entire garden of sticker bushes like the other main window and peered into darkness where he thought he detected movement. His lover was slipping cat-burglar fashion through what appeared to Hutch's adjusting eyes to be a home office or study. Suddenly in the process of shutting a desk drawer, Starsky's heightened senses must have kicked in because he glanced up and then made his way to the window. Hutch could only imagine what expression he displayed for Starsky because the gorgeous snoop offered a wobbly, I'm-in-deep-crap grin in return.

Two minutes later Starsky greeted Hutch on the condo's front walk and took the blond's arm, escorting him silently in the direction Hutch indicated. Only when they reached the car, did Hutch's bloody-finger nailed-grasp on control fail. "Are you out of your mind?" he bellowed.

Starsky raised a finger to his lips. "Hutch, ya wanna wake the dead--uh, sorry, bad phrase. This is a highly residential area and you don't want to explain why you're shouting into thin air--"

"Don't you evade the issue, David Starsky. I repeat: are you out of your mind?"

"Well, if you want to get technical, I suppose--"

"Starsky, you were in there plundering through the personal belongings of a man who was actually at home and sleeping, right?"

"Yes, he's home and sleeping. Good guess. You're forgetting the tiny detail of my invisibility, Hutch. I could steal the Hope Diamond in this state."

Hutch leaned on the roof of the LTD, index finger aloft. "And you're forgetting that you're a cop! For God's sake, that was an illegal search, invasion of privacy, breaking and entering--"

"I didn't break a damn thing, thank you! Just walked through the door. Literally. Besides, will you listen to yourself? You sound like a whole gaggle of Saunders's on his first night as your partner. How many times have you and I bent the rules--"?

"Bent them, yes. Ripped them to unrecognizable shreds? No."

"Hutch, get in the car."

"Starsky--"

"Get. In. The. Car."

Hutch got in the car.

Starsky sighed, rolled his eyes heavenward, and slid through the door into the passenger seat. He turned and lifted a hand, caressing Hutch's pale cheek. "Easy, Hutch. I'm fine. Nothing bad happened."

"I wake up and find you're gone." Hutch stared straight ahead and didn't even show response to the hand stroking his cheek.

"Gotta deaden that protection impulse a little, Hutch. I love you being loving, concerned, caring, everything you've always been, and I know we've always watched each other's backs, but I'm not gonna handle being smothered well, babe. I'm not in any more danger like this than I was before--In fact, I'm probably better able to avoid trouble."

"How the hell did you even get here? Wiggle your nose like Samantha?"

"That's a witch, Hutch."

"What?"

"Samantha. From 'Bewitched.' She'd wiggle her nose and make stuff happen."

"Okay, so I'm no TV expert. Answer my question."

"It's true that I haven't figured out the whole ghostly just-wanna-be-somewhere-and-boom-you're-there thing. I took the good old-fashioned route. Slipped onto a bus I knew was headed in this direction and walked over from the stop."

Hutch let out a rush of air and sucked back in deeply. "Fine. You're independent. You're invincible. I'm a nanny on steroids. That does not give you the right to suddenly quit acting like a cop--"

Starsky reached out and grabbed Hutch's face in both palms, turning the rigid neck so they could lock eyes. "News flash, schweetheart. I am not a cop. I won't ever be a cop again."

"Nonsense--"

"Hutch, listen to me! When would I ever be able to testify on a stand? Or any dozen other things cops do everyday and take for granted. I'm locked out of that world now."

"That's not true. I thought we talked about this in front of that rose garden--"

"You precious blond idiot, I'm not griping and whining anymore. Can't you tell? I've come to terms with what I am--and I know now I can be something much better for you than a cop."

"Hmm? What are you talking about?"

"Your ace in the hole, Hutch. Your secret weapon on the streets. Without doing anything that would hurt anyone, I can go places we never could, see things, hear stuff, help you and Saunders put pieces together a helluva lot faster. You understand?"

"Kind of like a ghostly private investigator? I guess I could live with that," Hutch said as he felt the beginnings of a grin tug on his lips.

Starsky produced an almost lewd smile. "If I'm the hard-boiled P.I., I guess that makes you my beautiful associate--"

"Whatever you've got in mind, it better not entail my putting on a low-cut dress," Hutch countered fiercely.

Starsky laughed, pulled the stern face close and licked at Hutch's lower lip. Hutch expelled a whimper, said nothing about their sitting in plain view, and opened his mouth invitingly. Starsky wrestled those wide lips into submission and bathed Hutch's inner lips and the roof of his mouth, sliding the tip of his tongue like a dental diagnostic instrument over each separate tooth with precision. The sensation verged on narcotic and Hutch pulled away with great reluctance. "Whoa, Starsk, you keep doing that and I'm going to--" Hutch's face changed and Starsky's eyes widened.

"You're serious? I could push the eject button just by kissing you? After all this time?"

"Oh--Oh, yes." Hutch held up both hands in mock surrender and backed against the driver's door. "You just about did. But we need to take care of business. Just what did you accomplish in there, David Starsky, P.I.?"

Starsky grinned and made up for the absence of a working dome light. "I had a good thirty minutes at least to prowl before you showed up at the window. Found some interesting things about that Rikard character, Hutch."

Hutch cranked the car. "Let's continue this as we go. I don't want to draw too much attention. This isn't even our normal beat and we don't have a shred of a reason to be staking out Rikard's condo."

"Could you handle picking up a pizza on the way home? There's that all night place over on 7th."

"Starsk, this is how you know I really love you. I'm actually willing to ingest pizza at three in the morning just to please your completely unchanged appetite. Tell you what: we'll save the debriefing until we get home. How about some music?" Hutch flipped on the radio and smiled as the strains of a particularly romantic song heated the atmosphere of the vehicle.

Starsky slid over and fondled Hutch's ear lobe with his left ring finger. "I wonder just how powerful that tapping activity gets." He tapped his finger with his other hand and then gave an exultant shout, "All right! I'm on a roll. Maybe I'll get the hang of that other ghost stuff yet."

Hutch risked a glance away from the road. "What did you do?"

Starsky held up his left hand for inspection. The ring finger boasted a solid gold band.

Hutch assessed their surroundings and pulled the car off the road behind an abandoned gas station shielded from the prying eyes of traffic. He didn't bother to kill the engine before he turned and opened his arms. "Want to try pushing that eject button?"

An hour later Hutch wiped his mouth with a napkin, swirled the root beer in the bottle, and patted his stomach. "Got to admit, that pizza actually hit the spot. 'Of course I'll probably have my head buried in the Alka Seltzer box by morning, but right now I'm feeling good."

Having received several pizza-flavored kisses, Starsky too felt replete. He lounged against the sofa cushions; feet propped on the coffee table, and folded his hands in his lap. "Umm...."

"Oh, no, you don't," Hutch tapped the dark head, recognizing Starsky in sleepy wind-down. "I want to know what you turned up at Rikard's."

"Oh, yeah." Starsky snuffled, snorted, and rubbed his eyes with both fists. "Okay. Where do I start?"

"What perked your ears at Rikard's office earlier? I saw your alarms going off, but I couldn't say anything and then later I--um--got distracted."

"I wonder how that happened," Starsky teased, words wrapped in huskiness.

"Easy. I have a super-human lover who takes advantage of the fact that I'm addicted to his every breath. Now, fill me in on Rikard. I need sleep to function at work tomorrow."

"Well, you saw Rita Hayworth, Rikard's secretary. Now, from what I've seen, guys like Rikard tend to get all flustered about women like that--I mean, not just lust but really head over heels-- but when she peeked in to tell him about his appointment, I watched him real close. Nothing. Not a hint of chemistry. That combined with his gushing about Carla Froman gave me an itch that maybe something more than just family friendship is going on here."

"Following you so far. And the verdict?"

"That's what's strange. Rikard's study is chock full of Carla's pictures. All in fancy schmancy frames. Practically a shrine to the woman and some of 'em look several years old. But when I dug around in his desk and such, I didn't find letters from Carla or anything. I found a couple letters from Libbie."

Hutch raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really?"

"O-o-h, really. If you wrote that stuff to me I'd suffer spontaneous combustion."

"That heated?"

"Buddy boy, you got no idea."

"No wonder you were in a tizzy when I got you in the car." Hutch grinned.

"With you I'd be in a tizzy on a glacier."

"You too, Starsk," Hutch said gently, fingertips caressing the new addition to Starsky's left hand. "Back to the case. What's your best guess about Rikard?"

"Best guess? He's lying through his perfect teeth about his relationship with both of the Froman girls. Hutch, you should have seen that study. There's probably two-hundred dollars worth of picture frames alone."

Hutch stroked his chin, nodding in slow motion. "Our problem is going to be how to use this information."

"Right. I couldn't remove any of the 'evidence'. You can't just show up at the station tomorrow and tell Saunders, 'Guess what, Libbie Froman sends written fantasies every month to Rikard, who has a ton of Carla's pictures all over his desk and bookcase'. "

"We could go back through Carla Fromans' belongings. See if we can't scrounge up some evidence of a connection between her and Rikard. Might rile the family, but if Dobey is so pressed for us to solve this case, we'd have his backing."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that. Maybe we've overlooked some hiding place for 'sensitive material'. T-Terry had this box she used to keep her special jewelry and a small coin collection, but the bottom had this little trap door thingy that opened a small hidden drawer...and she kept some of the stuff I wrote there."

Hutch stroked a hand softly through dark curls, offering wordless support before he said, "Sounds like we got a plan, partner."

>>>>

Saunders shoved a paper bag across the table to Hutch's side of the desk while he tapped his other hand restlessly against his leg. He had the phone receiver propped on his shoulder. "Somebody there? Yes, this is Detective Saunders of the Bay City PD. I was talking to Lieutenant Spears about--yes, that's right. Thanks. Spears? No problem. You were saying?"

Hutch delved in the bag and pulled out a bagel breakfast sandwich that consisted of cream cheese and strips of avocado and fresh cantaloupe. Hutch's mouth watered but Starsky grimaced. "Uhh. He's got your tastes pegged solid, pal, and you can keep all of that to yourself. I'm gonna sit here and fantasize about a jelly donut."

"...Thanks, Lieutenant. Have a good one." Saunders hung up and groaned, stretching.

"Thanks," Hutch mumbled around a mouthful. Saunders smiled.

"You never did let me buy you lunch yesterday. Figured I'd sneak a meal in some way."

"What have you been up to and just how do you manage to get here before me every day?"

Saunders took a gulp of coffee and laughed, "It's called having a fiancée who gets up before the roosters when she has day shifts at the ER. I've gotten trained to match her schedule. Boring hanging around in an empty apartment, so I get here as quick as I can. As to what I've been doing, I've been on the phone with some other California police departments digging for any hint of professional mechanic activity. Just in case our guy left BC for a gig elsewhere close by. San Diego looked a possible positive hit, but Lieutenant Spears dashed my hopes. They've got a guy in custody who specializes in strangulation and took out a lower level political figure just two days ago, but he doesn't come close to matching our description."

"Hmm....Hell of a thought, though. Here's one for you: want to face down Libbie Froman one more time?"

"I just bought you breakfast. What do I do to make you *really* dislike me?"

"You do not like that girl, do you, Saunders?"

"Frankly, no. My nerves find her as corrosive as acid. Why?"

Hutch outlined some of Starsky's feelings about J.R. Rikard from their office visit, wishing yet again he could give credit where credit was due. Then, he suggested searching Carla's room. Saunders nodded approval. "Yeah, I'll go for that. Think we need to swing this by Captain Dobey in case we start taking heat from the Froman clan?"

"Be a good idea," Hutch said. "Ounce of prevention and all that."

"I can't believe you are here again. She was killed in this city, not Lithuania. Why can't you solve the crime without continually disrupting my grief process?" Libbie shot daggers at both of them with her sharp green eyes. Saunders raised a hand and opened his mouth, but Hutch rushed into the gap.

"Miss Froman, I would think our actually solving the crime no matter what it takes could only help your 'grieving process'."

"Now what are you insinuating, that I don't care? Of course I care, but my parents agree that I need to try to resume a normal life as soon as possible."

"Murders have a way of making that difficult," Saunders answered, voice chilled.

"You know, I need to wear those red long johns under my clothes around him when he gets like that," Starsky commented, a smile lighting his face.

Libbie stepped aside. "Come on in, do what you want. I'm starting summer session today so I have class in an hour."

"Shouldn't take that long," Hutch soothed, brushing past her.

After half an hour, Hutch and Saunders were exchanging looks of disappointment when Starsky stepped through the closed closet doors and hustled up to Hutch. "Mother lode, Blondie. She's got one of those...whatchmacall'em--dainty lingerie bags. You need to have a look."

Hutch abandoned his inspection of a miniature curio cabinet and flung open the closet doors. Libbie appeared at that moment and said, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Just what we told you we'd do. Have a look through Carla's belongings."

"Including her clothes? Do you think she was killed for her fashion sense?"

"Ms. Froman, I've had about enough--" Saunders fell silent at Hutch's headshake.

Hutch made a show of rifling through clothes, peeking in a shoe bag, and finally stumbling across the lingerie bag. He lifted it down from its hanger and brought it over to the bed.

Libbie smirked. "Oh, you're that kind."

"Libbie, I suggest you let us continue our search undisturbed. You're coming awfully close to interfering with a police process. Ring any bells to a pre-law student?" Hutch used his best no-nonsense face.

Libbie paled and stammered a few incoherent syllables before she left the room. Saunders winked at Hutch. "Not that it would ever stand up in court, but I applaud your creativity, partner."

"I wanted her out of here before I threw something at her and ended up with a police brutality charge," Hutch said, grinning.

"Too bad we know a man killed Carla Froman. I'd be willing to plunk down hard cash on a bet that Libbie Froman could wield deadly force," Starsky added.

Hutch looked up from the lingerie bag for a moment and then shook his head. A fleeting thought flashed through his brain, simmered, and fizzed out before he could grasp the meaning. His eyes fell on the part of the bag that caught Starsky's interest. A small velvet zippered bag attached to the inside bottom. He unzipped it, fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, and carefully extracted four incredibly delicate pieces of onionskin stationary.

"What have we here?" Hutch breathed.

"Something worth my giving up on this jewelry case?" Saunders asked hopefully. Hutch unfolded one of the papers and read aloud:

"You are my destiny.
Though I may falter and in life fail.
You are my memory
Of happy times before I grew frail.
Weak from needing,
Desiring what only you can give.
Starved and bleeding,
My soul only in your hands may live. --James."

"Well, and didn't I see on Rikard's very impressive framed degrees that J.R. stands for James Robertson?" Saunders smiled. "Quite the Alfred, Lord Tennyson."

"No kidding," Hutch indicated the other pieces of stationary. "These are all poems. And each has To: Carla written at the top."

"I think we have enough to go knock on Rikard's door one more time," Saunders' smile broadened.

"Don't get overly excited. Rikard may be sickeningly sweet, but that's not motive for murder. Besides, he doesn't fit the description of the killer and can you see Rikard forking over liquid capital for a paid hit?"

"Are you kidding? That poem has 'unrequited love' written all over it. Maybe he got tired of seeing her walk the Earth a free woman but never his. He's old-fashioned enough to think up a ridiculous, 'if I can't have you nobody can' kind of scenario. He's also the kind not to get his hands dirty himself."

"Gotta admit, Hutch, the man has a point," Starsky piped up. "Even though we can't tell him that there's a weird piece of puzzle missing. Those letters from Libbie."

Hutch smacked a fist against his other palm. "If it was unrequited love, why did Carla keep the poems in her lingerie bag? I'm starting to feel like we're peeling an onion."

"Yeah, and only three layers down. Let's go see what Ms. Fashion Sense has to say about her sister's relationship with Mr. Rikard."

Libbie treated the poems with disdain and contempt. "Oh, James can be such a softie. He pitied Carla a few years ago when it looked like she wouldn't be able to attend school. The pity developed into this slight infatuation that lasted a few months. Then he came to his senses."

"He sent her these poems when she was just nineteen?" Hutch looked over them one more time and found that they were indeed undated.

"Yeah. Carla's always seemed more mature than she is in years."

"What do you think of Mr. Rikard, Libbie?" Saunders asked.

Libbie bit her lower lip, flashed her eyes, but did not change facial coloring. She finally shrugged. "He's a nice guy. One of Dad's favorite people. We've known him forever."

"Yeah, and her letters sound like she's known him in more ways than one," Starsky snorted.

"So," Saunders drawled. "We go see a man about a girl?"

"You ever consider a career in law enforcement?" Hutch grinned.

Starsky groaned, "New partner means time for some new jokes, babe."

Ms. Lymon broke into a pearly smile the minute Saunders and Hutch approached her ramshackle desk. Today she wore a chiffon-lace confection that looked straight off the rack at Frederick's of Hollywood. Even Saunders faltered in his steps and rubbed the back of his neck. Hutch whispered, "Saunders. Shame on you." That produced a vivid shade of red on his cheeks that matched his Cleveland Indians T-shirt. Starsky wondered out loud just how many baseball teams Saunders supported.

"We need to speak to Mr. Rikard again," Hutch informed her while Saunders regained composure.

"Oh, I'm sorry. He's in a very important meeting right now."

"We'll just wait until that meeting concludes," Saunders said.

"Oh, but it could take a long, long time."

"We just might interrupt that very important meeting, then," Hutch smiled.

Ms. Lymon turned into a strawberry-blonde puddle. Starsky sidled up to Hutch and placed a possessive hand on the well-shaped corduroy-encased rear. "You still got it, Hutch. Even if it doesn't matter anymore, you still turn heads."

"I'll just go see how long he's expecting...yes, I'll be right back." Ms. Lymon turned after a lingering look at Hutch and prissed over to the staircase.

Saunders nudged Hutch with an elbow. "I think you've acquired a fan."

Hutch smiled and shrugged. Saunders' face assumed a tenderness and Hutch instinctively knew he was remembering Hutch's assertion by the swan pond that he would never try to replace Starsky. They were interrupted by the re-appearance of Ms. Lymon who promised an interview with Mr. Rikard in five minutes. She was true to her word. Perhaps four minutes later Rikard escorted an elderly man, with a leg brace and crutches, down the stairs and to the door. When he finished his farewells, he turned and greeted both detectives with a polite but tepid smile.

"Gentlemen? Shall we go upstairs? No interruptions, Sandra."

"Nice to know we've got the guy's full attention," Starsky said, sneering and following the trio up the carpeted stairs.

"Now, what can I do for you, Detectives?" Rikard began immediately after offering beverages. At their polite refusals, he said softly, "Oh, yes, you're on duty. How silly of me."

"Did they put this guy in a time machine in 1947 and drop him down here a couple of years ago?" Starsky inquired as he leaned against his favorite part of the bookshelves.

"Mr. Rikard, we're here because we've discovered a discrepancy in some of the information you gave us yesterday and we'd like you to clear it up for us." Saunders must have had a finger on the pulse of Rikard's sensitivities because the statement did nothing to cause the lawyer discomfort. His smile only widened and he offered whatever help he could provide.

"We think you may have had a closer relationship to Ms. Froman than you indicated yesterday," Hutch said.

That put a crack in the mask of congeniality. Rikard's lower lip pulled down in surprise. "Which--" He cleared his throat. "You're referring to Carla, I presume? Who has been telling you about any supposed relationship I may have had with Carla?"

"No one has been gossiping, Mr. Rikard. In the course of a more thorough search of Carla's belongings, we discovered a set of poems written to Carla and her sister confirmed that you sent them."

Rikard sighed. "Yes, I--I know what you must have found. I do apologize that I was not more forthcoming yesterday, Detectives. I--I have far too much respect for Carla to discuss intimate parts of her life in the current situation. And the--the relationship of which you speak was very delicate."

"Perhaps you'd better explain 'delicate.'"

"You must understand, we were promised each other."

"Oh, man, I did not just hear that," Starsky gasped. "Does he mean what I think he means?"

"You're saying you--had some kind of pre-arranged betrothal?" Saunders' brown eyes silently asked Hutch to tell him he was hearing things.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. It has always been her father's fondest wish that we would marry. Carla was uncertain of her feelings about this 'arrangement' so I was allowing her plenty of time to seek her own way. I felt certain that she would consent in the end."

"What damn century are we in? Forget 1947. 1847 maybe," Starsky's tone expressed open disgust.

"By allowing her to seek her own way, what do you mean exactly?" Hutch's eyes narrowed, an eyebrow quirked, nose picking up the scent of a turning point.

"Well, I knew she'd developed a friendship with this--this shady character with a ridiculous name. He owns a bar in a completely unsavory part of town. I heartily disapproved of the situation, but I did not put my foot down. I--I wish I had now that events have taken their present course. I did, however, mention some of Carla's activities to her father. At least I can salve my conscience with that. Though I hope this Mr. um...Bear doesn't have an easy conscience."

Saunders had a hand lightly pressed against Hutch's chest but no one restrained Starsky. He bounced directly into Rikard's line-of-sight and then stuck his face right up next to Rikard's ear and snarled, "If I thought for a second you'd feel it, I'd make you eat that little speech."

Hutch spit his next question through clenched teeth, "You informed Mr. Froman about Carla's friendship with Huggy Bear?"

"Yes, about two weeks before she was killed."

"Let me ask you something else, Mr. Rikard," Saunders took over with a concerned glance at his partner. "Why didn't you just know we referred to Carla earlier? Why would there be any doubt? Is there a reason we might have meant Libbie? I'd advise you to answer as truthfully as possible; you've already withheld information from us once."

"Bulls-eye!" Starsky grinned. "Go get him, tiger!"

Rikard swayed on his feet and gripped the edge of his desk, "I--I protest. What can this possibly have to do with Carla's murder? Explain the relevance?"

"The relevance is that we have a homicide on our hands. And if we want to find out who killed Carla Froman, we have to understand the relationships immediately surrounding her. We can't afford to overlook any source of a motive. They did teach you about the burden of proof in law school, Mr. Rikard? We can't get that proof without asking questions."

Hutch's lecture withered Rikard's resolve. He sat--almost fell--down in his swivel chair and leaned on the desk. "Libbie was a temporary insanity of mine. For six months, ending about three months ago, we shared an--an intimate relationship. I was uncomfortable with the situation from the beginning, but I had grown weak in my belief that Carla would--c-care for me. Eventually, I ended the dalliance. Not one of my finer moments, gentlemen, but Carla was--was so understanding. She never once used my mistake against me."

Starsky threw up his hands. "Does this guy have a single clue how he sounds, for Chris'sakes?"

"How did Libbie feel about the break-up?" Saunders asked.

Rikard's mouth twisted into a frown of distaste. "Libbie fancied herself wronged, of course, for quite some time. Strained our friendship, I'll admit, but she's a very strong, self-assured young woman and in the end she came to see the sense in our going our separate ways."

"When did you send these poems to Carla, Mr. Rikard?" Hutch folded his arms across his chest and looked almost queasy.

"Oh, a few years ago. I--I wanted to write more, but Carla asked that I not send her any until she felt free to respond to them properly. Of course, I could never refuse any of her requests."

"Get me outta here," Starsky pleaded, "before I lose the lunch I haven't had yet."

Once outside, Starsky stretched out his arms, breathed deep, and pounded his chest. "Fresh air. Jeez, I thought I was going to suffocate in that place. May be a year before I can watch an old movie again."

Saunders tapped his keys on the roof of his car. "Thoughts?"

"Besides the fact that if I've ever seen a more self-righteous sonuvabitch, I don't remember when?"

"Agreed. Does that make him a murderer?"

Hutch squinted in the blazing sun. "Much as I hate to admit it, I don't think he's the brains behind this killing. He just rings true in too many ways. Not that I won't plead for a warrant to get at his bank records. But look at his office. He's just getting his feet wet in his own private practice--the furniture in there is worse than mine. He probably got the house at bargain prices because no one else in his right mind would want the damn thing. Not the ideal candidate for contracting a hit."

"Yeah, and I noted that he didn't pull the typical 'that sounds like an accusation' stunt on you when you hit him with the burden of proof. I can believe his excuse for not leveling with us about Carla yesterday. He's just the kind of guy to let his feelings about Carla's so-called privacy override his good judgment as an attorney."

"I want five minutes of Mr. Froman's time. Why was he so careful to conceal that he knew about Carla's relationship with Huggy? Speaking of Huggy, we're due to pick him up at the hospital this afternoon."

Saunders laughed. "I'll enjoy that. Someone very present-day after all that nineteenth-century syrup in Rikard's office."

If polled, all three detectives would have probably agreed that Mr. Froman had aged fifteen years since the day he identified Carla's body. He settled them into his office on the thirty-fifth floor of his executive building. A contractor turned real estate mogul, he lectured them for a few minutes on initiative, in effect implying that they had not shown enough in the pursuit of Carla's murderer. Starsky sat on the arm of Hutch's chair and stroked a hand across the fine blond strands resting on Hutch's right ear. The caress calmed Hutch, who had slipped for a minute back in time and heard the echoes of similar lectures delivered by his CEO father.

"I gather you have some questions for me?"

Hutch felt a rush of gratitude at the lecture's end. "Yes, we've just left J.R. Rikard's office. Have to admit I'd like to know why, when you were questioned by Detective Saunders about Carla's close friends and even acquaintances, his name never came up. Libbie also failed to mention him to me."

"Simple, Detective Hutchinson. James had absolutely nothing to do with this atrocity. He was in Italy at the time of her death. Why drag him into the fray?"

"You know, I have to say, Mr. Froman, I get really tired of murder victims' families withholding important information from us because they don't deem it vital to our case, and then they whine when we have no criminal in custody within what they deem a proper amount of time."

"Detective Hutchinson, I don't like what you're implying--"

Hutch had enough. He jumped to his feet, ignored Saunders' look of dissuasion, and held up a silencing hand. "And I don't like your thinking you're the expert here, Mr. Froman. We have reason to believe this may have been a paid killing committed by a professional. If so, then Mr. Rikard's trip to Italy does not prove his innocence in this crime."

"Oh, that's ridiculous. James loved Carla. He had every hope of making her his wife someday."

"Really?" Saunders asked. "From what we've heard, Carla may not have supported that hope."

Mr. Froman frowned. "Carla is--w-was one of those young women whose kind and loving heart is not tempered enough with good, old-fashioned common sense. She had this belief that she had to prove her independence as some kind of role model for other deaf people."

"Did that belief lead her to develop a friendship with Huggy Bear?" Saunders moved imperceptibly closer to Hutch when he asked the question. He need not have worried: Starsky already had a hold on the blond's arm.

"Exactly. Case in point. Sheer rebellion against better judgment on her part. My poor princess thought that fraternizing with people completely out of her class might prove that she was somehow normal."

"Is that something Carla actually said or are you supplying her words just like you and Rikard would like to have run her life?" It was Saunders' turn to flinch in the artic blast of Hutch's accusation. Mr. Froman slammed a hand down on his desk.

"Your captain is going to hear about this ill treatment, Detective Hutchinson. I have friends in this city at high levels of influence. You just might find--"

"If I thought it worth my while, I'd tell you where you could put those friends, Mr. Froman. All I care about is putting away the person responsible for cutting a life pitifully short in a brutal manner. You didn't have to see your daughter's body up close right after the deed, Mr. Froman. I did. So, excuse me if I don't give a damn about treating you nicely. How would you like your high-placed friends to hear that you're considered uncooperative in the investigation? Take for instance how you insisted to Detective Saunders that you knew nothing about Huggy, but Rikard told us that he informed you of Carla's friendship at least two weeks prior to the murder."

"Hutch, I think I love you," Starsky sighed, laying his face against his blond's quivering shoulder.

"All right!" Froman thundered. "You don't understand. I'd just lo-lost my baby. My little girl. I didn't want to talk about the part of her life that may well have gotten her killed--especially in front of my wife, who didn't know about that aspect of Carla's new independence. Then I come home and find out Libbie's told her mother an even more worrisome version of their relationship which, I am infinitely pleased to find, was inaccurate. I don't buy this nonsense about a professional killer. I--I think one of that Huggy Bear's thug friends is responsible. Carla w-was pr-probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you're wasting your time sniffing around James Rikard. Our families have been friends for years. Early on it was decided that he would take care of my little girl and I'd sponsor his legal practice after they were married."

"Don't tell me you mean...a dowry?" Saunders' eyes widened. Froman had the grace to look away from the detective's astonishment.

"In essence, I suppose. In any case, Rikard has no motive for wanting my baby girl dead."

"What did you plan to do about Carla's friendship with Huggy?" Hutch demanded.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Mr. Froman. You're a man of action. Initiative. Are you saying you weren't going to try to exert your influence? What if Carla's feelings for Huggy had shown signs of deepening and becoming more what Libbie believed them to be?"

"Carla and I had several heart-to-heart chats about the situation. I think she was beginning to see the sense in distancing herself from that unwise connection."

"Good God!" Starsky plopped down in the chair Hutch had vacated. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. What twilight zone are we in?"

"You want to know what I find strange?" Saunders approached the desk and stared directly into Froman's face. "I have such a hard time understanding how a girl so chummy with her dad, her sister, her mom--so easily persuaded--didn't mention in one of these heart-to-heart chats that she's possibly dying with cancer."

Froman paled. "I--I h-have a hard time sleeping at night when I think of h-how much she suffered alone without our help. I can only guess that she thought we'd--make her quit school and come back home. She wanted so much to--to be normal."

"Smart girl. Sounds like the only sane, rational member of the bunch," Starsky said.

"We won't take any more of your time, Mr. Froman, but we may be back. As you said, we have to exercise initiative," Saunders said as he backed away from the desk and gestured at Hutch.

Hutch could not resist a parting shot. Just as he and Saunders moved to the door, Hutch turned around and said, "She didn't suffer alone, Mr. Froman. She had a real, true friend down to the last. She confided in Huggy about the cancer." The look on Froman's face made up for every minute of their interview. Hutch walked to the elevator with a much lighter heart.

"If I didn't think it'd give Saunders heart failure, I'd push you up against this elevator wall and kiss you into next week for that little stunt. Huggy would have been proud of you." Starsky had to satisfy himself with dragging a fingertip down the bridge of Hutch's nose.

>>>>>

"Well, Dr. Fuller rests securely on the side of the angels." Saunders hung up the phone and propped his feet up on the table.

"Hmm?" Hutch flipped through his notes and scratched his head.

"That was the top-notch OB-Gyn specialist Dr. Fuller told us about. The one Carla consulted for a second opinion about her options. He just got back in town from a research conference. His expert take on the situation is that Dr. Fuller had done everything medically possible to make an earlier diagnosis. No mess-ups, no missed signs. Carla's cancer was just highly unusual and voracious. No explanation for it. Not that we were counting on that anyway. As you said, doctors don't go hiring hit men to keep their patients from filing medical malpractice suits."

"What makes us so sure that this guy is professional?" Hutch looked up from his notes.

"Great minds, Hutch. I was just thinking the same thing."

"What?" Saunders pondered the question. "Well, the MO for one thing. Weapon. An eye-witness description of the killer doesn't match anyone in Carla's acquaintance or close circle...have I covered all the bases?"

"Something just doesn't sit well with me about this whole damn thing!" Hutch flung his notebook down on the table and jumped up, plodding over to the water cooler.

"HUTCHINSON!"

"Guess Froman made that phone call after all," Saunders winced.

Hutch drank down the water, crumpled the cup, and tossed it over his shoulder without looking. Starsky draped an arm over his shoulder. "Two points, Kareem. Now, just go in there and hold your head high. I'm right beside you."

Saunders trailed them into Dobey's office. Captain Dobey stood up behind his desk and put his hands on his hips. "Will you tell me just what you thought you'd accomplish by raking Donald Froman over the coals, Hutchinson? You do know--or maybe you don't--that he plays golf with the commissioner every other Friday! The commissioner!"

"He was withholding information vital to the case, Captain Dobey," Saunders spoke up.

"And you!" Dobey swiveled. "I've heard about your dragging Mr. Froman and his family straight from the morgue to an interrogation room. If we don't all lose our heads over this--Hutch! What is so damn funny?

Hutch coughed, sputtered, and choked. He could not tell Dobey that the humor stemmed from Starsky's having carefully sprawled on the top of Dobey's desk in a seductive pose and tapped his chest and legs. The sight of Starsky's proud nudity on the unwitting captain's furniture blasted away Hutch's resolve to hold in any expression or emotion that might give someone a clue to Starsky's presence. "I'm--I'm sorry. I--"

"What, Hutch? You think you've got some kind of guardian angel looking out for your badge? There are more sharks out there than just IA, you know."

"I've got a Patron Idiot," Hutch murmured with a glance at the desk.

Starsky sat up, stuck his tongue out at Hutch, and clothed himself, muttering, "Jeez, Hutch, I try to take your mind off Dobey's tongue-lashing and that's the thanks I get?"

"What was that, Hutch?" Dobey hollered.

"Nothing, Captain."

"Now, listen, men. We're blessed by the Almighty that Froman doesn't realize how close a connection Hutch has with Huggy Bear. Watch your steps with this case. I want it solved yesterday, but I want every i dotted and t crossed. I want a case so airtight the Good Lord himself couldn't poke holes in it. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain," said three voices in unison.

Dobey looked around the room. "Is there an echo in this office? I could have sworn I heard--I have got to go home early tonight. Get out of here and give me some peace!"

They didn't wait for a second dismissal.

Huggy stopped just short of falling on both detectives with kisses and declarations of love when they appeared at the hospital. He had already been wheeled down to the main lobby and sat tapping hands restlessly on his knees. The nurse with him looked haggard. Of course, a male, two-hundred-and-fifty pound nurse probably wouldn't get the red carpet treatment from Huggy Bear, Hutch and Starsky agreed with each other silently, vying between them for the largest smirk. Saunders just put his hands on his hips in an imitation of Dobey and when the male nurse left, said, "Well, Huggy, how did you and Sweetie-Pie over there get along?"

Huggy crooked a thumb at him and looked at Hutch. "This guy thinks he's a comedian already? Who injected him with humor serum?"

"He has his moments," Hutch answered, stone-faced.

"I have to because Hutchinson sure doesn't," Saunders retorted.

"And neither of you can top my knock 'em dead personality," Starsky laughed.

"Can we have a debate on your comedic talents, my two fine gents, somewhere else? I'm starting to feel like a sterile specimen." Huggy cast disgusted glances around the medical surroundings and shuddered.

"You would have been out of here two days ago if you hadn't spiked that sudden fever, Huggy. What gave you the bright idea to do that?"

Huggy glared at Hutch. "Not my choice, Blondie. Thank ya kindly. And I didn't exactly ask to get my ears more intimately acquainted with each other thanks to a barstool, either. Damn, what does that Cathy woman do in her spare time? Kung fu?"

Hutch wagged a finger at him, suppressing his laughter at Huggy's face. "Now you've had a taste of what cops have to face every time we walk the streets."

"Yeah, yeah, you're all heroes. Granted. No argumento. Can we leave now, plee-ase?"

"You didn't find even one pretty nurse to make your stay worthwhile?" Hutch asked sympathetically, gesturing for Huggy to vacate the wheelchair so they could find Saunders' car.

"One, yes. Also found out she has a boyfriend who makes that nurse look like Tiny Tim. No, thank you, fellas. Don't wanna end up back in here with only half my head next time. The Bear takes great care to keep his pretty face and what little hair he has in place."

Saunders cracked up. "Yeah, Bev would kill me if she had to patch up your bloody pieces." He glanced at Hutch. "Huggy always rhyme like that?"

Hutch rolled his eyes. "You'd be amazed."

Huggy shrugged. "It's a gift. What can I say?"

"Nothing you haven't already said so much I can quote it," Starsky grinned, obviously thrilled that their friend had recovered enough to sound just like his normal self.

"Drop me by The Pits, fellas, I want to see how much I have to do to turn the place back into its previous party-riffic condition."

"Yes, sir." Saunders pulled out of the patient pick-up bay and Huggy reclined in the back seat. Hutch glanced back and spit out the mineral water he was gulping.

"Glad you think this is funny, babe," Starsky glared at him. Huggy's instinctive positioning for comfort threatened to land his head straight through Starsky's lap. Huggy could not feel the ghostly presence, but Starsky was trying to fold himself into a paper doll to avoid the awkward contact. Hutch found the entire scene priceless. Saunders let one eye stray from traffic.

"What's going on in this car?"

"Uh, nothing, Saunders. Just laughing at Huggy taking a 'bear' nap."

"Now, see what I mean? If we have to depend on you for the humor in this partnership, we're in deep cow-dung."

"Got to agree with Saunders on this one, Hutch." Starsky delicately tried to shove Huggy's head a few inches to the side. His efforts at inconspicuousness failed miserably. Huggy raised his head and groaned.

"Can we limit the potholes, Saunders m'man? My head still does not like excessive movement."

"What potholes?" Saunders asked.

"All units in the vicinity of Berrill Avenue," the radio crackled.

"Zebra-3, dispatch. Hutchinson here."

"Zebra-3, 2-11 in progress. Sammy's Kwik-Stop, Berrill Avenue, cross-street Denton. Officer down, officer requires assistance. Repeat, officer down."

"Just a few blocks from here," Hutch said to Saunders. "Do a U." He lifted the mike. "Zebra-3 we are responding."

"Roger that, Zebra-3."

"With a civilian in tow?"

"With this particular civilian, yes," Hutch said.

Huggy snorted. "Thanks, Hutch. So glad you're willing to protect the Bear's skin."

Starsky resisted shoving Huggy's shoulder. "Aw, come on, Huggy. He's praising your well-known fearless nature." Hutch smiled, oblivious to the pained expression developing on his other partner's face. Saunders clenched the steering wheel as though clinging to a helicopter's rope ladder.

When they arrived at an appropriate parking place, Hutch turned in the seat and gave Huggy his most stern glare. "Stay here, Hug. No matter what. Stay here and down in the seat."

"Hey, don't have to tell me twice, Mr. America."

"Yeah, really," Starsky laughed, stepping through the door to join the detectives and lusting after anything that resembled a gun.

"What have we got?" Hutch asked the officer they found trembling behind a squad car while he cradled the still form of another cop. Hutch got down on his knees and shook the man's shoulders. "Martin? Talk to me. It's Hutch." He placed two fingers on the fallen cop's neck and lowered his head.

"Hutch? B-Barry's gone, Hutch. The store clerk--he's down, too. Lucky--no customers. Three of 'em in there, just enjoyin' themselves. You're the first back-up to arrive."

Saunders grimaced, fingers curling and the nails cutting into his palms. "Barry's his partner?" Hutch nodded, and then light dawned. He grabbed Saunders lightly on the forearm.

"Hey, pal. You're gonna be okay in there?"

Saunders pulled away. "I'm a cop, Hutchinson. What, you think I'll stand back out here and let you go in alone?"

"I'm not--"

"Don't finish that thought, however much I appreciate it, babe," Starsky smiled tenderly.

Hutch changed course. "I'm not implying that, Saunders. Just want to make sure you're ready for this."

"That store clerk could be alive. We've got to get him out."

"Then how do want to play it?"

Saunders flung Hutch a half-grin, eyes thanking him for trusting his capabilities enough to ask his opinion on the matter.

Starsky didn't give him a chance to answer before he outlined his own definitive game plan."Here's how we're gonna play it. I'm going in there and do something to distract their attention," Starsky said. "And you two do the split front-and-back."

Before Hutch could say a word, Starsky walked calmly through the glass storefront with a final wink back at his lover. Hutch motioned for Saunders. "Down," he said, and got down into a crouch-walk, approaching the building. He wagged the Magnum, halting Saunders' approach behind him, and peered one eye into the store. He heard a sudden shout.

"What the hell! Carmichael, are you doing that? Tossing chip bags around?"

"You kiddin'? I'm over here by the porno mags."

"Sick, sick puppies, both of you. We weren't supposed to hurt anyone," wailed a feminine voice. "Let's just get the stuff on the list and scram!"

"Shut up, Monica. Somebody's tossing potato chip bags."

"Are you strung out, Dietz?"

"I know what I saw!"

Hutch turned to Saunders. "Now. Down low, around to the back entrance. I'll give you two minutes and then I'm going in the front."

Saunders clasped Hutch's shoulder in a 'take care' gesture and took off in a crouch until he reached the side of the building where he rose into a dead-run. Hutch ticked off the seconds and after the proper interval, he readied his gun, breathed deep, thought of Starsky, and pushed open the store's door. He rolled into a defensive position with as much cover as he could find and yelled, "Police! Weapons down, hands high, people!" He noted the entrance of Saunders right on time.

Caught in the middle, one of the burglars dropped his gun immediately, flinging both hands in the air. A second masked individual, smaller than the rest and unarmed, also surrendered, screaming. The third decided to take matters into his own hands and raised his weapon, aiming directly at Hutch.

"Don't do it, man. Not worth it. You're going down one way or another. Got you on both sides." Hutch steadied his arm and stared into the eyeholes.

Starsky rushed to the previously armed burglar and stood over the gun, ready to do whatever necessary to keep the guy from changing his mind and reaching for the weapon.

The remaining gunman faced Hutch down with a visible tremor in the arm controlling his gun-hand. Saunders held his breath. Starsky leveled his eyes on the face that kept his spirit tied to the earth. After an interminable pause, the masked man lowered his arm and let the gun fall with a clang on the floor. Saunders lowered his weapon and sprinted behind the counter.

"Clerk's dead, Hutchinson."

"No!!" screamed the female, who pulled off her mask and sat down hard on the floor.

"Well, would you looka there," Starsky breathed. "Remember that face, Hutch?"

Hutch looked up from cuffing his guy and murmured, "Monica Harden?"

Monica wouldn't look at Hutch. She just buried her face in her hands and tossed her long red hair back and forth in silent hysterics.

"You want to tell me what Libbie Froman's best friend is doing robbing a convenience store this side of town?" Starsky asked, stepping aside so Saunders could cuff the criminal in his phantom custody.

Sirens broke the silence and Saunders groaned, "Explain to me why back-up always arrives after it's needed?"

"ABCs of police work, Saunders," Hutch said.

"Yeah, then tell me something else. Just who was tossing around the potato chip bags?"

Hutch shrugged and made his way over to Monica.

Huggy greeted both men with a broad grin and a relieved sigh. "Had me worried for a minute, dudes. I was just about to formulate a plan of attack and ride in with Huggy's Cavalry."

Hutch sighed, knowing his friend's tendency to break out in hives around direct violence. "Yeah, and I'd have arrested you on general principles and thrown you in the slammer for the night."

"Hutch, I'm going to seriously reconsider letting you keep up a running bar tab," Huggy grumped, folding his arms.

"Oh, how many times have we heard that empty threat?" Starsky smiled, high on the sight of his healthy blond in the front seat.

"The Pits, Huggy? We're in kind of a rush to get back to the station now."

"Yeah Saunders, thanks. So, did everything go down without a hitch?"

Hutch frowned. "No, Huggy. Not quite. Dead clerk and a cop lost his partner."

Huggy fell silent.

>>>>>>>

Saunders yanked the chair away from the desk and dropped into it with a thump. "Can you believe that story? I thought I'd heard my fair share of eye-poppers."

"One of these days we'll swap stories and see just how virgin you are," Hutch teased.

Saunders wadded a piece of paper and flung it across the table. "Yeah, right. You're all of three years older than I am, Hutchinson. Get over yourself."

"Been a cop longer."

"Point taken. But rich kids putting on masks, sporting guns, and going on a convenience-store robbing scavenger hunt all to get into some exclusive college club at Jameson? Can't wrap my brain around that one."

"It's called-- they get handed everything from birth and nothing means anything after awhile. Suddenly, they have to find a new way to get kicks. Or else, some turn away from it all and try to find something to do with their lives that has meaning."

"Sounds like some personal experience coloring that explanation," Saunders said.

Starsky wrapped arms around Hutch's chest from behind and buried his face in the creamy skin of Hutch's neck, drawing in a deep breath. "Oh, yeah, my Hutch is one of the rebels with a good cause."

Hutch closed his eyes briefly, wishing he were anywhere but in the middle of a squad room. "Yes, I have some experience. You pretty much met my father this morning, Saunders. Froman and Stephen Richard Hutchinson are cut from the same cloth."

"And you're one of the ones who turned away from it all?"

"Did my best, which made Minnesota too cold for comfort, let me tell you."

"Better than being responsible for a dead police officer and innocent cashier."

"Yes," Hutch's voice cracked and his eyes dimmed. "Barry and Martin have been partners for three years. Barry is--was godfather to Martin's kids. Damn! If they'd just waited for help. Going in two against three without a clue how armed--"

"Hey, we went in two against three. What's the difference?"

Hutch opened his mouth and shut it with a smack of his lips. "Uh huh, Einstein, how are you gonna get yourself outta that one?" Starsky asked with a swat on Hutch's back.

"Well, I--uh--"

"You really do think you've got a guardian angel, don't you?" Saunders accused.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We could have walked into a slaughterhouse in that store."

Hutch leaned forward. "Yeah, maybe. So why didn't you speak up with a better plan?"

Saunders stood. "Because I'd follow you into hell, Hutchinson. You're that good a cop. Don't let it go to your head, though. I'm the brains in this outfit." He turned and left the squad room. Starsky smothered his laughter in Hutch's hair.

>>>>>

"Umm....Love that song," Starsky crooned his appreciation, wrestling the guitar out of Hutch's hands and straddling the now vacant lap. Hutch enfolded him and clung tight. "Oomph. You still weigh what you always did, Starsky."

"Too heavy? Want me to move?"

"Not on your sweet life." Hutch's arms tightened around Starsky's back.

Starsky groaned at the exquisite pressure. "Feeling okay, babe?"

"Feeling grateful."

"Hmm?"

"You made this afternoon possible, Starsk. We owe that bust to you."

"Ah, Hutch. You did just fine yourself. Plenty of times you and me would have done the same thing without someone in there tossing chips. Don't start second guessing yourself. I did learn something today, though."

"What's that?"

Starsky massaged Hutch's scalp with all ten wiggling fingers. "Hasn't gotten any easier watching you stare down the barrel of a gun. Too close, Hutch. Too close."

"Easier for me."

Starsky pulled back, letting his hands cradle Hutch's face loosely. "What?"

"Think about it. Now I know if something happens to me we'll just be completely together.you're my proof of what lies beyond. You. You're my eternity."

"Hutch, don't you dare start thinking like that."

Hutch's relaxed body tightened and he shifted uncomfortably. "What the hell do you mean? You said--What happened to forever, buddy?"

"Hey, wait. I don't mean that's changed. That will never change. But you can't go around feeling okay about eating a bullet, Hutch. Don't you see? You'll fall into the trap of taking chances and you've got someone following you around now who has a lady depending on you to help him come home every night."

Hutch surged forward and blanketed Starsky's lips with his own. One hand kneading the muscles beneath Starsky's left shoulder blade and the other sliding seductively up a strong thigh, Hutch parted his lips and moaned into the talented mouth. Breathless, he pulled away. "I think Saunders is wrong about who has the brains in this team."

"Really?" Starsky gasped.

"Oh, yeah."

"So, who's the genius?"

"Me. For falling in love with you."

"Now you know what talk like that'll do for you."

"Get naked, Starsky."

"Make me."

Hutch grinned and grabbed Starsky's hand, tapping it against the appropriate places on the body pinning him to the couch. Starsky pretended indignation. "I should never have shown you how easy that is." Suddenly, he cupped Hutch's chin with concern. "Hutch? Buddy, why the long face? I'm teasing--"

"No, I just--A cop lost his partner, his best friend today. Hurts. Like a cold spot in my heart that won't get warm...and I feel I shouldn't even try to be happy right now."

"Hurts me, too, Hutch...I share your pain, remember? Barry was a damn good man and one helluva cop. We'll mourn him and miss him. And I could've watched you die today, so my heart's in need of a little soothing, too. Tell you what. How 'bout I go rustle us up some wine that I can kiss off your lips and we'll just sit here and hold each other, huh?"

"I love you."

"Right back at you."

Hutch watched with mouth-watering appreciation as the nude backside bounced its way over to the kitchen. He was still lost in the sight of Starsky, this time bearing a wine bottle and a glass, on his way back to the couch when a remarkable sequence of events occurred. A knock on the door sounded only a second before it pushed open.

"Hutch, you in here, bro--"

A crash and shattering of glass filled the room simultaneous with the inimitable noise of a human body falling to the floor. Hutch was off the sofa like a cannon ball in flight.

"Jeez, Hutch, he saw--he saw me holding the wine bottle. I mean, he didn't see me but he...." Starsky gave up on coherency and rushed over to Hutch, who pulled Huggy's limp body from the floor and hoisted him over to the couch. The obvious reason for Huggy's visit, a covered styrofoam plate of Huggy's Hutchinson specialty, decorated the floor. "Well, between the wine and the food, this has been your floor's night for first-rate service, babe."

"Cold cloth, Starsky."

"Oh, yeah." Starsky dashed into the bathroom and returned with the requested cloth.

Hutch bathed Huggy's face. After a moment, Huggy stirred and blinked his eyes. "Hutch?"

"You fainted, my friend. Sure you should be out of the hospital? What prompted the social call?" Hutch wanted desperately to distract Huggy from remembering what he saw before he turned to dead weight.

"I thought--with that cop losin' his partner today and all.you might want some food and company...but you...Hutch, I saw--Damn it, I know what I saw! He's here. Ain't he?"

"Huggy, I don't know what you're talking--"

"Give it a rest, Hutch. Starsky? Starsky, I can't see ya, but I know you're in here. I knew it!"

"Knew what, Hug?"

"You, Hutch. You haven't been right. Not...not if he was really *gone*. You lost the misplaced side-burn. You wear four-year old clothes again. You act like Saunders is a pleasant addition to your life instead of a curse from the nether regions. You think I'm a complete fool? He's here. I don't know how, but you know I've always believed in the--shall we say--paranormal. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me he's not in this room."

"Hutch, go ahead...."

Hutch faced Starsky. "What about not revealing yourself to anyone? This is different than knocking over some chip bags in a store." He relished the feeling of being able to talk to Starsky in the presence of another human being. Huggy just beamed like a spotlight.

"Accidental, Hutch. I didn't do anything to initiate it. I don't think the Powers-that-Be can blame me."

"Yes, he's here, Huggy."

"You can see him?"

"Yes. See, hear, touch. Nothing's changed...well, nothing important. Some things are even improved." Hutch grinned at his lover. Starsky flushed.

"Oh, yeah?" curious Huggy asked. "What's he wearin'?"

Hutch turned the color of the wine spreading in a stain on the floor. Huggy laughed out loud. "No, do not tell me. Wine, you two, the guitar out....I do not need to know, my man. Point him out to me, though."

Starsky, feeling awkward standing even invisibly nude in Huggy's presence because his existence was no longer a secret, clothed himself and then reached out and snatched Huggy's scarf, tying it around his own neck. Huggy's face should have been made into a poster. "Damn! Damn, damn, damn. This is great! Starsky, God, I've missed ya, Curly."

Starsky felt his eyes water. "Y-you too, Huggy."

"He says, you too, Huggy," Hutch translated. Huggy clapped his hands together.

"Uh, Hutch, you better issue him a warning. Word of this can't spread or I might get yanked out of here."

Hutch knelt in front of the couch and captured Huggy's attention. "Huggy, listen close. You can't tell anyone about this. Absolutely, under no circumstances, can anyone else know. I could lose him, Hug. The Power that's allowing him to be here with me won't tolerate all the rules being flaunted. Do you understand?"

Huggy nodded and crossed his chest solemnly. "I will take this to my grave. Oh, you don't know how righteous this makes me feel, knowin' the Dynamic Duo is still intact. I--I was startin' to seriously worry 'bout you, Hutch."

"What do you mean?"

"I was starting to think maybe you didn' really love Starsky at all. I mean, you weren't actin' like you even missed him."

Hutch stared at both Huggy and Starsky, mouth agape. "You--you think other people feel that way? That I'm somehow cold, callous...not mourning...."

Starsky grabbed Hutch from behind in a hug just as Huggy shook his head and said, "No, no, Blondie. I'm sure most people think you're puttin' on a brave front. That makes sense. But I know you better than that. I was about to sit you down and have a man-to-man with you."

"So, what now?" Starsky asked.

"Starsky says, what now?"

Huggy snapped his fingers. "Well, I don't open the place 'til tomorrow. Why don't we go hang down there tonight like old times? You and Starsky can play pool, listen to tunes.I'll replace the food I just threw all over your floor--"

"That sounds like an offer we can't refuse," Hutch grinned.

Huggy said to the floating scarf, "Get decent, Don Juan. I'll have no streaking cops in my bar. Even invisible ones."

"H-u-u-tch," hummed a husky, morning-lustful voice directly into a blond framed ear. Hutch lifted a hand and swatted at the intrusion. "Ba-a-abe..." Insistent, yearning. Hands dragging fingernails like soft ploughs up and down smooth arms. "Trying to sleep," Hutch murmured, sniffing.

You've just got one more hour before you're supposed to be at work."

"Then I'll sleep forty-five minutes of it. Late, late night at Huggy's."

"Yeah, wasn't it a blast! Never knew how much I missed a damn pool table and pinball machine. But H-u-ut-ch...."

"Leamealonestarsk...."

"I want you."

Hutch rolled over and contemplated the man who sat draped toga fashion in bed sheets like a Roman senator gone insane. He rubbed his eyes, split his entire face with a yawn, and groaned loud and long. "Don't know how much good I could possibly be this morning, Starsk. Really tired."

"Let me just love you. Spent the last four hours just looking at you."

"You did what?" Hutch was wide-awake now.

Starsky hung his head and stared through a veil of lashes. "You know I don't really need sleep now."

"Right, but you've got an apartment full of things you can use to occupy yourself. Or, what about your determination to be an independent spirit?"

"Har har har." Starsky rolled his eyes.

"Sorry. Early morning; bad puns. They go together." Hutch traced Starsky's jaw with a solitary fingertip. "But I meant what I asked. You didn't have to just sit here and watch me sleep."

"Didn't have to. Wanted to. Went for a walk on the beach right after we got back here and you conked out. Came back in and couldn't sleep. I didn't know how much time I was spending looking at you until I saw the clock. You do stuff to me I don't even understand, Hutch. Aw, great. Now that I sound like a worse sap than Rikard, I'm going to go bury my head in a package of salami and pretend I can still eat it."

Hutch grabbed an arm just as Starsky started to vacate the bed. "You're not going anywhere."

"Lemme go, Hutch."

"Not a chance, partner. You want me to match your sap? Would that make you feel better? Okay, I'll try. How about you can't melt a guy's heart and then leave him lying in a bed all by himself."

"You're tired, remember?"

Hutch grinned and broke into a rendition of "Sexual Healing." Starsky laughed and fell back on the bed, covering Hutch's mouth with a strong hand. "Love your singing, beautiful, but Marvin Gaye would howl if he heard you."

"Yeah, everyone's a critic." Hutch ran hands in circles on Starsky's back. Starsky closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Why don't I make you sing something else?"

"Uh huh. What?" Hutch started pulling him down for a kiss.

"My name. Over and over and over.."

"Starsky--" Lips met, mouths parted, fitted over each other, danced silently.

"Yeah, like that, only with more feeling."

"Sta-arr-rsky...."

"You're a quick learner."

Hutch's eyes rolled back. "With your fingers doing that, it's instinct, babe."

"Would you like something else there besides my fingers?"

"Oh, damn you, Starrrrsky!"

"I'll take that as a yes."

>>>>>>>

"Okay, let's go over motive," Saunders set up the portable chalkboard and scribbled motive at the top. Hutch yawned and Starsky snickered.

"Saunders, where did you get that thing?"

"One of the rooms upstairs. Hey, writing ideas down can really make 'em fit together."

"I feel like I'm back in high school." Starsky sat cross-legged on top of Hutch's desk, giving him a particularly nice view of blue jeans put to good use. Hutch found concentrating on the chalkboard a difficult task for more reasons than boredom.

"Now, first question is, of course, who had the most to gain by Carla's death?" Saunders began jotting down names on the board.

"Dear God, I'm trapped in an Agatha Christie novel," Hutch mumbled.

"Oh, thanks, Hutchinson. You got any bright ideas? Any answers to our dangling questions? 'Cause Dobey's only getting more impatient by the minute."

"He's learning," Starsky chuckled. "Said 'Dobey' without the captain in front of it."

"Go ahead, Saunders, lecture me on motive."

"Start with Rikard. Carla's his golden goose, right? Marriage equals no more yard-sale furniture in his law practice, et cetera. But what if she intended to tell doting Papa about his fling with Libbie?"

"Why not two months ago then? Or while the fling was actually going on?" Starsky propped an elbow on his knee and leaned his chin in his palm.

Hutch yawned again. "Timing is wrong," he echoed Starsky. "And Rikard's smart enough to know that in any emotional state Carla was worth more for his interests alive. I think despite his affair with Libbie, he was convinced to the bitter end that Carla would see reason and trot down the aisle with him happy as can be."

"Grant that and who do we have left?" Saunders countered. "Dr. Fuller is a wash-out. No hint of any ethical impropriety going on behind the scenes that he would have needed to cover. We turned up nothing at Jameson. Mr. Froman is a stranger animal--" Saunders lapsed into silence, rolling the chalk around in his hand.

"Chalk him off," Hutch said before he could stop himself.

Starsky snorted. "Drink your coffee, Hutch. If you don't wake up you're gonna kill us all with your bad jokes." Hutch leaned forward in a perfectly normal movement that enabled him to elbow Starsky in the backside.

"Why eliminate him?" Saunders frowned. "In addition to having the means necessary for arranging a killing, he also has a control streak the size of his own executive building."

"Cop's instinct, Saunders. True, we haven't had a go at his records thanks to the cowards responsible for issuing warrants. But I don't need to sift through his financial statements. Much as I hate to admit it, you just can't fake that display of outright shock he pulled in the ME's lab."

"Shock at seeing what he ordered with his own money," Saunders offered, reluctance in his voice.

"No. Genuine grief and incoherency. And his explanation for keeping quiet on the issue of Huggy Bear sounds legitimate. I don't like the man, but I can't question his sincerity. Now, if you want an example of a good stage performance...." Hutch went absolutely still. His mouth opened and his eyebrows crawled up an inch on his forehead.

"Uh, Hutch-- I know that look. What just turned the lights on up there?" Starsky tapped Hutch's forehead with a fingertip.

"Saunders, you're a genius. Give your chalkboard a kiss; I'll be right back." Hutch vanished out the squad room doors. Starsky remained glued on the table smiling at Saunders' blank stare. He said quietly and with a hint of disappointment, "I'd shake your hand, partner, but you'd never know it happened."

Hutch returned with the statement recorder and a tape. He popped in the tape and pushed play. A trembling female voice said plaintively, "So we were going to lose her anyway?"

"I'm missing about half the equation here, Hutchinson."

"The cancer!" Hutch practically shouted. "I knew the cancer had something to do with this whole thing. Saunders, if Carla had told her family about her cancer and just how serious it was, she might--no, I'd bet she would still be alive today. Come on, we're going to pay Cathy Winston a visit."

"You lost me now, Blondie. What the hell does Cathy Winston--?"

In an odd echo, Saunders slipped into his denim jacket and said, "What the hell does Cathy Winston--?"

"We're gonna question her about a phantom hit man."

"Did you slip something in his coffee, Saunders?" Starsky asked as he filed out behind the detectives. "Or maybe I really did blow his mind this morning."

They ended up having to talk to Cathy Winston in the maternity waiting room at Lincoln Hospital where Leah was due to have labor induced within the hour. Out on bail and trying bravely to face whatever the future held, Cathy greeted Hutch and Saunders with a soft, pleasant smile that made her look like an entirely different person. Her smile faded, however, when Hutch pulled her over to the corner grouping of chairs with a stern expression on his face.

"We don't have time to spare, Ms. Winston, so we're going to have to do this here and now. I need you to come clean about that night at Huggy's."

"W-what? What are you talking about? I poured my heart out to you both about that horrible--what more can I say? I even gave you a description."

"Yes, that you did." Hutch pulled out the composite sketch and dropped it in Ms. Winston's lap. Saunders sat back in the chair raking his eyes over Hutch's face as if trying to read the detective's thoughts on a forehead screen.

Starsky grinned. "Hutch, babe, I am impressed. I think I know where you're going with this now and it's a doozy."

"Yes, that's the man--that's.what's the problem?"

"The problem is, Ms. Winston, we have trouble getting that good a description out of people who've had a long look at somebody in broad daylight. Makes me kind of wonder how you managed to be that observant from a hiding place across a dark bar. Didn't dawn on me until just this afternoon because we'd had such success with another eyewitness who helped us find you. But he's an exception to the rule. Plus, you made such a credible witness. Regret, fear, honesty. All very real...and useful for hiding what wasn't real."

"I--I don't know what you're talking--"

Saunders' jaw dropped into his lap. Hutch didn't give him a chance to recover before he pressed further. "Ms. Winston, why don't I tell you what really happened and you can nod if you agree? You told us everything in vivid detail about Huggy's attack. No doubts about any of it. But then you came to the part about Carla Froman's murder. Here's how I think things went down. You'd just come through from dumping the barstool you used to KO Huggy. You're standing in the darkness in that little room with the pay phone when you hear the sounds of someone entering the bar. Now, you're terrified. For one thing, you know Huggy has at least one friend who's a cop and who hangs around him sometimes at odd hours. What do you do? You go for a hiding place like you said. Probably behind the bar because that's the closest place you can duck. But you don't move once you get there, right? You're petrified of being found after what's happened. You wait and you listen and you hear the murder. Prob
ably gasping choking sounds and then a loud noise as the body hits the floor. Only after things have gotten really quiet do you even attempt to come out of hiding. By then, you've got a body on your hands. And you panic, going through all those elaborate motions to set-up a smoke screen to hide your own activities that night. Still, you're worried sick that you're going to be found out. You start regretting that dispatch call, and you're right, that was your biggest mistake. So, what do you think? You think if we nab you for being there that night, we're not gonna buy your story---"

"Yes!" Cathy Winston interrupted, eyes wide and flashing around the waiting area. "I was so afraid. I--I figured if I could make it clear somehow that I didn't have anything to do with that girl's death, I'd have a better chance of staying out long enough to be with Leah. I thought it c-couldn't hurt. I mean, you'd find the real guy responsible for--and then I could just say it was dark and I was frightened...."

Saunders shook his head. "Ms. Winston, to have worked in a legal office, you know nothing about how the system really works, do you? What you've done is willfully obstruct an official investigation. Not only that, but you could have put an innocent man in jeopardy."

"Th-that's s-stupid." Cathy extracted a tissue from her purse and wiped her button nose with undue force. Then she wagged the sketch in the air emphatically. "H-he d-doesn't even exist."

"Nope, you're wrong," Saunders insisted. "That's not how the brain works. At the very least you mixed together a bunch of characteristics, but more likely you pulled someone out of your memory bank. Probably a perfect stranger you've seen around town. So, knowing just how seriously you've hindered our job, would you consider making things easier for us by thinking long and hard about what you actually heard?"

Hutch couldn't refrain from a startled sideways glance at Starsky, who laughed. "He knows how to work 'em, Hutch."

Cathy Winston looked all of three-years old scrunched down in the chair, pulling and tugging on her tissue, her button features screwed into a concentrating frown. "I--I heard a small sound. Almost like a scared kitten screeching, you know? And then like you said, gasping and choking. I--I think I also--yes, there was grunting too. Like when you lift something too heavy."

"Low or high pitched?" Hutch asked.

"I don't understand," Cathy said.

"Put yourself back behind the bar, Cathy. It's quiet; you're listening really close. You hear the grunting. If you had to imagine the person grunting, what would you picture?"

Cathy looked at Saunders like he asked her to produce gold out of granite but after a minute her eyes widened and she blinked furiously back and forth between Hutch and his partner. "Oh, oh no. I--I shouldn't have conjured up a man at all, should I?"

"Where did you get that stuff about the human brain not manufacturing an imaginary murderer?" Hutch demanded when they left the hospital.

"We're a team, Hutchinson. Somehow my chalkboard helped you. Well, you jogged my brain with your Agatha Christie reference. Hit me like a train when you started outlining how she fabricated the killer. When we picked Cathy up at her sister's house, there was only one book on the coffee table. Little too much of a coincidence that it was Christie's The Pale Horse. A variation of what Cathy did takes place in that book--that's probably where she got the idea, but she doesn't remember--only the fabricated 'killer' in that story turned out to be a real, innocent person. So I jump-started her memory of that and then played on her normal, decent tendencies and remorse about hurting people. She has already shown that she's not heartless--"

Hutch lost the battle with controlled laughter. Starsky leaned up against him and they started a symphony of snorts and guffaws. Saunders presented a picture of wounded dignity.

"Just what is so damn funny?"

"Y-you--" Hutch gasped, in danger of swallowing his tongue. "You read Agatha Christie novels?"

Saunders turned the same color he wore in Ms. Lymon's presence. "I--Bev's a big fan. What can I say, she tells me all the plots--Okay, dammit, yes, I read 'em too. What, that makes me unsuitable for law enforcement? What the hell do you read in your spare time, Hutchinson?"

Hutch raised one hand to demonstrate his inability to speak and wiped tears from his eyes with the other. Starsky choked and said, for his lover's benefit, "Oh, Hutch just digs Reader's Digest and National Geographic. I'm not complaining, though. That African Rainforest tribal mating ritual he read about has definite advantages--"

That stopped Hutch from hemorrhaging with mirth. He matched Saunders' facial tone. Saunders cleared his throat. "Point is, the trick worked didn't it? Frightened her into using her brain and giving us something useful. Mind telling me the secret behind your revelations?"

Hutch climbed into the passenger seat and took a deep breath. "Going through motive, you got me thinking about people's reactions when you brought up Froman. Something had been bothering me all along about my interview with Libbie, but I couldn't put a finger on it. Then, like you, I got hit by a train. The only time she sounded legitimately grieved and shocked was when I mentioned the cancer. Same thing with Cathy Winston. The only time she sounded, I dunno, off somehow was when she described how she witnessed the murder and then gave us the description."

"I hate to bring this up, Hutch, but you've still got an alibi to contend with here. I can figure where you're headed with a motive, but a person being in two places at once is a hurdle."

"Zebra-3, dispatch."

"Zebra-3. Hutchinson."

"Stand by for patch-through from Captain Dobey."

"Hutch?"

"Yeah, Cap'n?"

"Get back here ASAP. Monica Harden's attorney is ringing my phone off. Says she's anxious to talk to you."

"Got it, Cap'n. We're on our way."

"What's all that about?" Saunders asked as they pulled away from the hospital.

Hutch glanced in the back seat as he said, "I think that's the sound of our last hurdle falling down."

Saunders slammed the interrogation room door and stomped down the hall, hands in the air waving frantically in disgust. Hutch and Starsky followed him at a slower pace. "He takes things to heart as much as you do, Hutch," Starsky observed in a hushed, concerned voice. "He's cruising for a burn-out."

Hutch tugged at the corners of his mouth with an unsteady hand. "What we just heard in there, Starsky, burns the hell out of me already." He kept his words at whisper level, eyes alert for the sudden appearance of another human being in the hall. "Besides, Bev will keep him grounded. Just like you've always done for me...even before we were lovers."

"I don't care what Monica Harden says. You have to put up more concrete proof before you start slapping cuffs on Libbie Froman!" Dobey exploded. Saunders slammed a hand against the office door and whirled around.

"Captain, her account of her whereabouts on the night in question turned out to be a constructed lie. Her own best friend admits that Bernard Dietz, one of the other young people involved in the Kwik-Stop shootings, loaned Libbie a mercenary magazine just a few weeks before the murder. What do you think someone like Libbie wants with a mercenary magazine?"

"Tell me what you think she wanted with it?"

"Aw, come on, Cap'n," Hutch grunted, leaning palms on the front of the desk. "You can practically order an ICBM out of some of those mags. Where else you think she got the murder weapon?"

"And you just take this Monica Harden's word for it?"

"No, that's why we want the search warrant. Although Libbie's probably already covered her tracks, unless she's more confident than we think. Still, I believe Monica. She'd have kept quiet about all of this if she hadn't found herself in boiling water with no other way to turn down the temperature."

"That's just the point! She's trapped in a corner and suddenly decides it might be bright to make herself useful to the cops," Dobey countered, sliding fully into his devil's advocate role.

"She had motive," Saunders responded, face pleading the cause.

"Really?" Dobey leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. Saunders groaned and flung a desperate look at Hutch, who produced the statement-recorder and set it up on the desk.

"I want you to listen to something, Cap'n."

Hutch pressed play and the room filled with the troubled feminine tones.

"...They'd never understand. You have to know them. They--they think--thought Carla was their perfect princess. Some classy, white, smart guy was going to come along and rescue her from her poor, deaf, sheltered life and take care of her for the rest of her days. A black guy who dresses weird and owns a bar did not fit into their plans. Oddly enough, they probably wouldn't have cared if I'd marched in the house one day and announced that I was tying the knot with some guy named Huggy."

"Do you hear that?" Hutch asked. "It's plain and simple. She was trying to build up another alibi of sorts by leading us to believe she thought her sister in love with Huggy and was trying to help shield her beloved sister's relationship. But she talked too much. It's there right in front of us. Long-term jealousy and resentment. Especially when the guy she's alluding to in this statement--because she can't outright tell us about him without straying too close to her motive--is someone she loved passionately and lost because of her sister. She even told her mother a lie about Carla and Huggy's relationship as extra cover. If we pressed hard enough, we'd have gotten testimony from Mrs. Froman that corroborated Libbie's statement."

"She's been playing us throughout the whole investigation, Cap'n," Saunders took over. "Cooperating just enough, acting angry and grieved at the perfect moments. Means, motive, and opportunity. What else do you want?"

"Something a little more concrete to take to the DA than supposition and pop-psychology!" Dobey pushed back from the desk and stood up. "I'll see what I can do about that search warrant, but if you don't turn up anything, you're back at square one because you can't roll on this. Clear enough?"

"As always, Cap," Hutch said, with a hint of frost. He crooked a finger at Saunders and left Dobey with his early lunch looking far less appealing than before his new team of detectives entered the room.

>>>>>>>

Starsky stood in the pouring rain and contemplated the dark apartment building. He felt Hutch's pain still simmering at low heat in his own heart. Through that entire afternoon, he'd had to watch Hutch and Saunders faced with the twin obstacles of legality and privilege. Blasted by Donald Froman for exercising their official right to search Libbie Froman's belongings, disappointed by finding no hard evidence capable of supporting any charge against her, doubtful about the ability to trace any order from the mercenary magazine Monica described, both detectives had to face Dobey with empty hands and weary shrugs. And Starsky stood silently by, seething and plotting.

Hutch slept peacefully after having released his frustration in a rant and a long jog. He'd returned to the apartment sweaty, his chest heaving, grabbed Starsky in a nearly fatal kiss, and then hopped in the shower. After twenty minutes watching the repetitive breathing of slumber, Starsky caressed the mussed blond strands and kissed his beloved's forehead before he walked out the door.

Now he let the rain pelt down on him in front of Libbie's apartment. "I can't just stand back and watch him bang his head against a brick wall when I can do something to help!" he shouted into the wet darkness overhead, hoping the Powers-That-Be heard and understood. "Don't take me away from him...." Starsky lingered on the wet asphalt and listened intently. No voices whispered in his ear. "Please, just let him sleep until I'm finished here. I can't lie to him and he can't know about this. I'm doing this for him, but he can't know...please...." He set his shoulders and climbed the stairs to 34 C.

Libbie slept in a flowing negligee with covers pulled only to her calves. Starsky watched her sleep. Then he went into the living room and approached the stereo. He flipped through the records until his eyes lit on one selection that brought a sly smile to his face. Within a minute the eerie strains of "Stairway to Heaven" invaded the silence. He moved quickly down the hall to Carla's room and flipped on the light.

His heightened senses picked up the sound of Libbie's bare footfalls before he saw her stumble, rubbing her eyes, into the living room and over to the stereo. She blinked her eyes, lifted the needle from the record, and turned around. "Someone--someone in here?" Her eyes took note of the light in Carla's room. Starsky slipped by her just as she entered her sister's bedroom. He returned to the living room and confiscated the picture he'd noticed earlier of two girls standing side by side, smiling, in front of the ocean. He carried it down the hall while Libbie remained in her sister's room and placed it on Libbie's pillow. Then, he stood in the corner of Libbie's room and waited.

Libbie stopped dead in the doorway to her room and started to shake, covering her mouth with her hand as she stared at the bed. "Wh--what's going on? I--I must be--I'm d-dreaming. Th-that's it. I'm d-dreaming. This is a dream." She removed the picture, placed it face down on her nightstand, and crawled back into bed, turning off her bedside lamp. Starsky waited for a few minutes in the darkness before he strode to the wall and turned on the main ceiling light. Libbie sat bolt upright in bed and clasped her arms around her knees. By the time Libbie made it over to the wall, flipped off the light, and turned around, her bedside lamp burned brightly and the picture perched once more on her pillow.

Two hours later Starsky stepped back into the rain, issuing soul-felt pleas that his actions produced good and not harm. His thoughts were focused on the man who waited for him at home, waited, hopefully, in the unconscious arms of restful sleep. Starsky felt the need to hurry, to climb into that brass bed and decorate that loving body with kisses just in case....

"Thank you."

Starsky froze. She stood in the exact spot where Starsky had finalized his decision to take action. "You can see me?"

"Like kind," she answered with a soft smile.

Starsky felt drawn to her without hesitation. He lifted fingertips and touched her throat. "You can talk now."

"Yes," again a soft smile. "I--I like my voice. I like hearing your voice."

Starsky grinned. "Glad to oblige, darlin'."

"Thank you." Warm brown eyes filled with moisture.

"For what?"

"She needs help. I've forgiven her, but she needs someone to heal her heart. Perhaps after tonight she'll find the strength to ask for that help."

Starsky wrapped fingers around one dangling brown curl over the girl's forehead and brushed it back. "Carla, I'm so sorry...you shouldn't have had to--"

"Should you? Should anyone? I was dying anyway, David. The doctor said ovarian cancer is one of those things that you often don't know you have until it's too late. I didn't suffer nearly as much as I would have the natural way. I'm happy where I am...and now...." Carla smiled broader.

"What, little girl? What secret are you hiding?" Starsky felt himself respond to the cheer on her face.

"She was partially right and she didn't even know it," Carla said. "I'd fallen in love with Huggy. I--I was going to tell him, but then I found out about the cancer. I knew after that I had to leave his life as a friend instead of a lover--less pain that way. For him...and me. Of course," Carla lowered her eyes, "he might not ever have wanted me that way. But...no matter what she ends up saying, I want you to know that I would not have stopped loving him. Even if Huggy never existed, I wouldn't have loved James because of how he treated Libbie. I've had a much harder time forgiving him. But at least I've been given the chance to watch over Huggy."

"Why haven't I seen you around before now?"

"I've chosen to work behind the veil, keeping myself invisible even to others like me. Tonight, I wanted to make an exception. And I may lift the veil and say hello from time to time," Carla chuckled. "Just to scare the bejeebers out of you while you're lining up a pool shot at Huggy's one night after hours. I'm so glad he knows about you, David. I listened to story after story about the great Starsky while I was still alive. Huggy re-really gi-gives himself to his friends." Her face dimmed.

"But he can't see you, either," Starsky said slowly. Carla shook her head, tears spilling just beneath her lower lashes.

"We did not have the kind of bond you enjoy with your Hutch," she replied, voice quaking. "You two are so rare. Haven't you realized yet, David, why you are here? As you are? With him? You and Hutch together are Love. And Love can't be broken."

Starsky wiped the tears away with his fingertips and opened his arms. She came into them with a muffled whimper and buried her face on his shoulder. "Shh... Thank you for watching over my friend. Huggy's very, very lucky."

She laughed and stepped out of the embrace. "I'm a novice at the guardian thing. I'll probably screw up more than I do good."

"Can I ask you something?"

She snuffled and smiled. "Shoot."

"Why--why did you keep the poems?"

"I was a pretty saccharine nineteen-year old. Couldn't bear to part with them even though I told him not to write any more. Tell you the truth: I forgot all about 'em. Now, I'm glad I did if they helped."

"Yes, darlin', they helped."

Carla gave his shoulder a light shove. "Now, go, David. Go home to your Hutch. He'll be waking up soon."

"Oh, Jeez. Gotta run...hope the bus isn't late--"

"David, wait. That little trick you're missing? You cross your hands on your chest and bow your head."

"Huh?"

"Just do it," Carla urged, giggling at his blank face.

He grinned and followed her instructions. The rain, apartments, and Carla vanished. He stood at the foot of Hutch's bed.

Hutch groaned, rolled over, and opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. "Starsk? What are you doing standing in front of my bed dripping from head to toe?"

Starsky tapped his chest and legs and slid under the covers, pulling Hutch close. "Been out in the rain talking to an angel, Hutch."

"Excuse me? Did you find some way to get drunk without me?"

"Nope. Hold me close tonight, babe. Real, real close."

The next morning Saunders ruined the second coffee carafe that week when Libbie Froman walked through the squad room doors. Officer Hanson rushed over, pushed Saunders out of the puddling brown liquid, and cursed under his breath. "I swear, between you and Hutch, we're gonna have to start charging for coffee around here to make up replacement costs."

Hutch walked out of Dobey's office at the commotion and felt fingers gracefully closing his jaw for him. "You act like you never seen her before, Blondie."

Saunders recovered first and managed to say, "What can we do for you, Ms. Froman?"

"I'm here to make a statement." Calm, resolute, no emotion in the voice. Starsky had to rub his eyes and beat on his ears to make sure his senses hadn't gone south. This was not the woman he'd left in a quivering heap of tears during the night. Hutch and Saunders both seemed to have forgotten the function of legs and mouths. Libbie sighed. "A statement, people. Or am I dealing with complete idiots here?"

Hutch snapped out of paralysis. "We have to be clear. What kind of statement, Libbie?"

"I'm trying, Mr. Hotshot Detective, to turn myself in. I spotted Juvenile Division down the hall--maybe someone in there would be better equipped to handle my request?"

"Damn," Starsky said with an odd mixture of respect, dislike, and disbelief. "She's admitting to murder and making you two look like idiots in the process. Gotta give her kudos for delivery."

Saunders looked ready to commit bodily harm. "Ms. Froman, you do know of your right to legal counsel?"

"Oh, that's the irony, baby face. That's why I'm here. I went by Dad's office this morning just in time to interrupt his gathering all the legal brains in one room to gear up for battle. The fight to save the Froman name. That and those horrible dreams--Can't take another night like last night...." Libbie paled and swayed on her feet. Saunders gripped her forearm and glanced at Hutch.

"Room 3," he said.

"Don't suppose either of you two goody-goodies has a cigarette?" Dressed in a vivid purple pants-suit that set off her dark hair and unusual eye color, Libbie brightened the interrogation room and held herself in perfect posture despite the rickety nature of her chair. Saunders left the room to bum a pack of cigarettes off one of the other detectives and received an enormous smile when he returned, pack and lighter in hand. "This is a civilized country," she cooed. "First-class service even for murderers." She leaned back in the chair and focused on Hutch. "Did some research, Hutchinson. My Poli-Sci classes taught me to study my enemy well. Looked through some newspaper clippings in the library. I'm afraid I'm going to be very boring for you after all those 'blaze of glory, shoot-em-up' cases you and your old partner made famous."

Hutch narrowed his eyes. "I'll try not to fall asleep."

Starsky bent and wrapped arms around Hutch from behind, whispering in his ear, "Easy, big boy. She's just trying to keep the upper hand in a losing situation. Inside, she's scared spitless."

Saunders pulled out the statement-recorder. "Are you ready to tell us what happened, Ms. Froman?"

Libbie swung her green eyes his way. "In my own time. Have you ever known what it's like to not really exist?" She waited for an answer and when none came, she took a deep breath. "The minute Carla arrived on the planet, that's what happened to me. I'm not even sure it was all because of her being deaf. Mom and Dad gave her everything and had nothing left over. I'm not whining about a hard life, boys. I had the Froman money, Mom's debutante looks--I haven't exactly been cleaning toilets or digging ditches for years. But I've been an outsider in my own family for over two decades. I'm almost twenty-six years old. I should be graduating with my Law degree this year. But, no, I'm a rising junior at Jameson because I let Mom and Dad talk me into waiting until they decided to let Carla go to school so we'd be in college together the whole four years. That is the story of my life, Detectives. And then, and then came James. Sounds like a novel, doesn't it? Maybe when I write my memoir
s in the sanitarium--because Froman money will buy me an insanity verdict, let me tell you that up front, boys--I'll use that for my title. 'Along came James'."

Libbie's lower lip trembled and she turned her face away from the recorder and the silent detectives. "You know the worst thing? Realizing you've killed your own sister because you wanted something so badly...and then after it's done, you don't even want it anymore. I loved him. Do you know what it's like to love someone and be told in every way except with words that you're perfectly good for the wild, naughty sex but not for love? And to top it all off, the bastard you're giving the naughty sex is head-over-heels for your own sister, whom he's never even touched for crying out loud? Tell me that's not enough to drive you to murder? Problem is...I--I killed the wrong person!" Libbie broke then, covering her face and shaking uncontrollably. After a minute, she found a semblance of composure. "Where'd I go wrong? What made you suspect me?"

"Your reaction to the news of her cancer," Hutch whispered, uncertain why he felt he couldn't speak any louder. "Plus, we'd already started to question the killing's being professional. For one thing, the crime scene. A professional doesn't like a lot of variables and possible messes to clean. So, he'd probably have gone after Carla at home some time he knew you wouldn't be around. Simple, clean, neat. But you--you were too scared to let it happen that close to you. You thought you'd be safer killing her somewhere else. So you chose Huggy's. Then, the murder weapon. There are a few guns-for-hire who make strangulation their trademark, but they're less common. A good, clean shoot is still most effective. But again, you needed something flamboyant to draw the attention away from yourself."

"Yes."

"You're a victim of poor timing, Ms. Froman, and strange circumstances," Saunders added. "Otherwise, you'd probably still be above suspicion. Even so, you've managed to keep us dancing."

"Well, thank you, Saunders. I feel complimented. One good turn deserves another. You were right about the mercenary magazine. Ordered the garrote off an ad on page 35. Sent off cash for it and had it delivered to my father's corporate address. Picked it out of the mailroom and carted it away without a peep from anyone. Dad would keel over and die if he knew."

"Why did you kill her, Ms. Froman? You've spouted a lot of tough talk, but you haven't really said anything specific."

Libbie grinned. "Going to give Hutchinson a run in the brain department, aren't you, Sweet Pea? If James Rikard had had one tenth of the balls you two have got between you... All right. Enough playing around. I killed her because I still thought I'd do anything to have a chance at getting James back. Plain out truth. And with Carla alive, that wasn't going to happen. You have to understand my father. He had this odd form of control over Carla. He was already working on her to give up her friendship with Huggy Bear. Over time, he'd have worn her down, bit by bit, until she gave up and gave in and married James just to keep everyone happy. When he started undermining her thing with Huggy, I knew I had to act quickly. Once I had my nice little hit man's murder weapon, I picked a night and left her a note saying Huggy had called and asked her to come by at a given time. Then I left Monica's in time to get home and follow her over there."

Starsky shook his head, remembering Carla's words in the pouring rain. Libbie's biggest crime, he told himself, wishing he could talk to Hutch about the conversation, was not really knowing her own sister. Not knowing that she would never give herself to a man like Rikard.

"That's why the cancer hit you so hard," Hutch said.

"Think about it, Hutchinson. I've just strangled my own sister and then someone hits me with the news that if I'd just been patient, I'd have probably had her out of my hair without her blood on my hands? Makes for something kind of hard to swallow without a reaction, don't you think?"

"I think," Hutch said softly, "that you've hated your sister for a long time. I think in a way, you are insane. A frightening, cold-blooded, logical insanity. Frankly, you scare me to death."

Libbie burst into tears. "I didn't hate her. For years I loved her to bits, watched out for her, took all the crap Mom and Dad would never dish out at her even for stuff she did to piss them off. I just--I just wanted to be out of her damn shadow. Can you understand that? I was tired of being in a shadow."

"What did you plan to do with Huggy?" Hutch's tone was dead calm without enough emotion to produce even ice. The same tone he'd used on a cult leader in a prison interrogation room.

"I beg your pardon?" Libbie's sharp stare faded into confusion.

"That's right," Saunders jumped in, picking up on Hutch's brainwaves. "You had no way of knowing that someone would beat you to the bar with an agenda of her own."

"Huggy wasn't supposed to be there that night. Earlier in the day, while Carla was at the apartment pool, I called The Pits using Carla's special phone and typed in a message for the intermediary operator to give the waitress on the other line. He was supposed to meet Carla at 1:30 at our apartment--to discuss something important. Left it vague on purpose. I hoped he would think maybe she wanted to talk about the two of them. Anyway, I knew Carla would be out-of-pocket most of the day so I counted on Huggy not being able to reach her for confirmation. Apparently, he never got the message. If things had gone according to plan, you should have confirmed Carla's call coming through at a time when she was in the apartment complex and come to the conclusion that she just changed her mind at the last minute and decided to go see him instead. She had her own spare key, though she didn't need it that night. That scared me a little. When I saw her, from my vantage point in the car, just walk right in the door, I knew...I felt...something was off, but I'd gone too far to draw back. I--"

"You took some significant chances," Saunders said. "Depending on Carla to actually respond to the note you left from Huggy, counting on Huggy not discovering the message was bogus even if he'd gotten it...."

Libbie's face suddenly glistened with a sheen of sweat. One tear fell, mingled with her perfect mascara, and trailed a dark line down her cheek. "When you've decided to kill your own sister...I guess chances start seeming smaller and smaller. It's--all been a front, you know. How I've acted whenever you've come by to ask questions or g-go th-through her things. I should have gone over her room with a fine-tooth comb before you had a chance to search it. Should have found those poems before you did. But I couldn't bring myself to m-mess w-with h-her treasures. I--the minute I left the bar that night," Libbie grasped both sides of her face and shook her head violently, "the minute I left, I wanted her back! Oh, God, Carla!!"

They were escorting her down to Booking when J.R. Rikard intercepted them, face flushed, eyes wide, out of breath. "Libbie! Your father called my office. I hope you haven't let them bully you into saying something you'll--"

Starsky burst out laughing at the thought of anyone bullying Libbie Froman. Hutch and Saunders stood quietly by as Libbie just smiled sweetly and said, "James, I hope there's a special Hell for men like you."

The successful trio of detectives sat listlessly in an interrogation room away from the eyes of the squad room. They should have been feeling a sense of victory, accomplishment, even vindication. Donald Froman might be everything Hutch stood against, but the riches-to-rags detective had to admit that the man knew how to admit his mistakes. In the wake of his daughter's confession, he showed up in person at the station, shook both of the detectives' hands, and apologized for any aspersions cast on their abilities as law officers. He did manage to squeeze in a reiteration of Libbie's statement that she would walk away with an insanity verdict despite her taped confession, but even so his benevolent monologue left both the detectives and Captain Dobey stunned. Minnie, doing her level best to accept Saunders as Hutch's new partner, sought them out with coffee and fresh donuts. But there was no hint of Victory-Detectives Day in the room. Saunders propped his feet on the table and leaned the chair back on its heels. Starsky perched on top of his chair with his feet in the seat. Hutch sprawled on the remaining chair; head flung back, eyes closed.

"I just can't get a grip on it," Saunders said, breaking the silence.

"What?"

"This whole thing. Carla. Libbie. Mr. Froman. Rikard. I feel like I'm trapped in an episode of The Addams' Family meets Peyton Place."

Hutch gave a wounded bark of laughter. "That's why they pay us top dollar."

"Yeah, well half mine must be going to Uncle Sam or something," Saunders grinned.

Starsky smiled. "Yeah, where's your other half going, Hutch? There are a few things I'd like if you've got a money tree in the greenhouse that I don't know about."

Pretending to be gazing at the door lost in thought, Hutch managed to give Starsky a look that said, "Anything. Anything you want. Yours. Always." Starsky lowered his eyes under the intensity of the stare but his smile widened.

"I mean, how did that much.I don't know...hate, misery, hurt build up to the point she could pull a stunt like that?"

Hutch sat up straight and rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess it all goes back to communication, Saunders. If they could have all just talked to each other--a long time ago--maybe met with a family therapist of some kind...who knows? Or maybe Libbie is close to qualifying for the label of amoral. Unable to differentiate between right/wrong, actions/consequences."

"What it is," Starsky said quietly, "is a lack of love. Real, good old-fashioned, gimme-a-hug kinda love. I don't think even Carla got that kind from her parents. She got the attention, but the wrong kind if you ask me. And Libbie got neither. All image and no love will screw anybody up."

Hutch risked another heartfelt glance at the door, wondering if death had somehow increased Starsky's already potent down-to-earth wisdom. Starsky gulped. "Hutch, if you keep looking at me like that, I'm gonna end up in your lap giving you a hug."

A knock on the door interrupted the wind-down session. An officer poked his head in the room and said, "Captain Dobey wants you two in his office. ASAP."

Saunders groaned and let his legs drop from their resting place on the table. "Some kind of music to face, obviously."

"With Dobey it's usually the kind that hurts your ears," Starsky commented, stretching and allowing himself to run a hand up Hutch's back as he walked past.

Dobey was all smiles as he hung up the phone and motioned his new team of detectives into the office. "Just got off the line with the commissioner, boys. He said, and I quote, 'thank the detectives for handling such a difficult, awkward case with poise and discretion.' Hell of a way to start a partnership. What I got to know is can you keep up the pace? You want to make it official? If either of you wants out, now's the time to tell me. I can still shake things up a bit, do some re-assignments."

Hutch and Saunders eyed each other with shy smiles and a hint of embarrassment. Starsky rolled his eyes, flung his hands in the air, and then placed himself between the two men, throwing an arm over each one's shoulders. "This is a damn good team, you dummies. Open your mouths and say something before Dobey starts getting ideas."

Hutch cleared his throat, "Uh, Cap'n, I'm just fine with the--"

"Yeah, I mean, I've learned a lot with Detective--" Saunders interrupted.

"Not like you've got a whole lot of solo detectives around to partner us up with--" Hutch slipped in.

"Bev likes him, so he's got to be worth something--"

"Okay! I get the picture." Dobey held up two hands. "Sweet Heaven, I just had a flash of déjà vu." He blinked at his men, who grinned like ten-year olds with twenty passes to an amusement park. "Don't just stand there gawking. Get out there and do your jobs. You think one case entitles you to special privileges."

Hutch and Saunders jumped to attention and left the office, slamming the door behind them, but Starsky hung back, wanting desperately to say something to the captain, although he wasn't sure exactly what that might be. He stared, dumbfounded, as Dobey opened a desk drawer and pulled out a personnel file. His file. Dobey leafed through the file, lifted the picture, and looked at it for a minute before he sniffed and put it back. "Dave, I've just got to believe you know what's going on and you approve."

Starsky felt his throat tighten and his eyes burn. He walked around to the captain's chair and leaned in close, whispering, "You did good, Cap'n." He smiled at the look of contentment that spread across the captain's features as he shut the file away in his desk drawer and leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his generous middle. Starsky stood back, saluted, and left the office.

>>>>>

"Hey, hey, sit right down and let me draw you up a coupla cold ones," Huggy exclaimed as Saunders and Hutch walked into the bar following their shift. He gave an extra, vague nod of the head and a sly wink in the vicinity of Hutch as an acknowledgement of the third team member. Starsky grinned and felt warmed. He rattled a glass inconspicuously on his way to a stool beside Hutch and Huggy laughed out loud.

"What gives with all the smiles and first-class service, Hug?" Hutch teased.

"Got to take care of the heroes," Huggy shrugged.

Saunders choked on his beer, "You can't possibly--"

Hutch waved at him, "Don't even finish that thought. You'd be amazed at what Huggy knows and when he knows it."

"Ain't that the truth, Golden Boy. I hate things had to go down the way they did, but I'm glad Carla's case is solved."

"Speaking of which, you never received a message from Carla on the day of her murder requesting you to meet her at her apartment late that night?"

Huggy shook his head. "'Course not, Hutch. Don't ya think that would have been one of the first things I bent your ear about? Why?"

"Libbie Froman claims that she called via Carla's specialized phone and left a message with your waitress."

Huggy snapped his fingers. "Must have been Lisa. She left early that day sick as a dog gorged on cat food--some kinda 'flu bug thing. Probably slipped her mind. And we were busy."

Hutch drained his glass. "Then, Huggy, I've got to say that, in a weird way, Cathy Winston did you a favor."

"Not following, Goldie."

"At the very least you might have been stuck facing us with a body on your hands and no real way to explain the situation. Sticky, but not as dangerous as the alternative. If you'd walked in on the crime in progress...Libbie Froman's a strong, healthy woman. That night, she had the added advantage of fear and adrenaline. You could have been in for some rough times if you hadn't been safely out of her hair unconscious on the floor."

"Hutch, Hutch, Hutch. Are you sayin' I mighta been laid permanently low by that prissy li'l--"

"Libbie Froman is not little. She's tall and athletic. And considering how successful another prissy little lady was at laying you temporarily low, Huggy, I wouldn't scoff," Saunders interrupted. Huggy's face stretched a mile long. Then his eyes danced with something else.

"I wish I had been here with all my brains intact. I'da fought for her, fangs bared and claws out. Carla deserved that, ya know? Someone to fight for her."

Starsky found himself staring deep into grieved brown eyes and wondering if Huggy's insistence on having felt just friendship for Carla Froman might be self-delusion. He didn't get a chance to ponder the issue because suddenly another pair of brown eyes were locked on his. This particular set in the face of a young woman who had an arm flung around Huggy's waist and her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. She winked at Starsky, blew him a kiss, and then pulled the veil back down and Huggy stood 'alone' relating one of Carla's many magic tricks.

Hutch raised his glass. "To solved cases. And Carla Froman. May she find peace and happiness."

Saunders clinked his glass against Hutch's. "To teamwork and cranky mentors."

Huggy raised his own glass. "To love being eternal," he said with a glance at Hutch. Hutch flushed and raised his glass higher as an arm slipped around his waist and squeezed tight.

Saunders bounced a look between the two friends and when Huggy dashed off to attend to the needs of an irate customer complaining about an order and hassling a waitress, Saunders leaned over and said, "Hutchinson?"

"Hmm?"

"You're going to think I'm mental."

"Nah, really? Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Stuff it, Hutchinson, I'm trying to say something important."

"Well, spill it, Saunders, I'm aging here."

"You know how you said...that day at the pond. Umm...you said you feel Starsky around you. Every day. Gives you strength."

"Yeah." Hutch's voice fell to a whisper.

"I--I sometimes think I feel him, too. Okay, go ahead, bite my head off and tell me I'm losing my mind."

Hutch smiled softly and slapped Saunders on the back. "No, Saunders. That's why you're my partner."

>>>>>>

"Oh, boy, I've wanted to get you alone for hours now," Starsky murmured against Hutch's lips. Hutch laughed and set about stealing his lover's breath. When he pulled back, he laughed harder at the unabashed expression of desire on Starsky's face. "Anybody ever tell you, you kiss like nobuddy's business?"

"This gorgeous, curly-haired man asked me that same question once upon a time."

"Oh, yeah? What happened to him?"

"He gave up Heaven just for me."

Starsky pulled Hutch's face back down and traced his jaw with loving kisses. "Nope. You're my Heaven, Hutch. Didn't give up anything."

"I want you, Starsky. Now."

Starsky shrugged. "You got me."

Hutch moaned and tugged his lover off the couch. "Quit being a tease."

Starsky laughed, allowing himself to be pulled. "Try being specific."

Hutch stopped short halfway to the alcove and released Starsky's hand. Starsky waved a hand in front of his face. "Um, Hutch, if you've forgotten the way to the bed, I can always take a turn carrying you."

"Dreams...." Hutch said in the tone of dawning realization. He turned a stern face on Starsky, who backed a few steps closer to the couch. "Starsky, you--I'm only going to ask you this once. You persuaded Libbie Froman to confess, didn't you?"

"Hutch, have you been knocking back the hard stuff when I wasn't looking? How the hell am I gonna convince anyone to do anything...except maybe convince you to let me kiss every inch of your--"

"Uh uh," Hutch wagged a finger. "Don't try that little ploy. You did. I don't know how, but you did. You turned up dripping wet in front of my bed in the middle of the night before she comes to the station and spills her guts. Just took me a little longer to put the facts together."

"Hutch, maybe we need to get you an appointment with the doc. You're starting to get these crazy notions and--"

Hutch grabbed a fistful of Starsky's shirt and yanked him into a crushing embrace, mouth settling over an especially sensitive spot on Starsky's neck. Starsky relaxed in the embrace, swayed slightly, and sighed, "Jeez, Hutch, I'm running out of ways to say I love you."

Hutch lifted tear-filled eyes. "Then quit taking risks that might get you snatched away from me. I--I can't l-live without you."

"Hey, shh...I made you a promise remember?"

"Yes, but they gave you some restrictions. You treat them just like you used to treat Dobey's orders."

"Hutch, don't you understand? You fell in love with *me*. And the me you love has always done what he thought his conscience really wanted. That's why I stood up against Dobey and the rest of 'em during the mess with Van. And that's why I'll do whatever I can to still be your partner and not just your lover now. Would you want me any other way?"

"I want *you*, David Starsky. However I can have you. Forever."

Starsky's smile was pure sunshine. "That's how you got me, babe. 'Cause you know what? I have a feeling those restrictions are way bendable in our case. I've got it on good authority that you n' me are Love itself and can't be broken."

Hutch spread his hands across Starsky's chest and initiated a sensuous massage. "Please...show me?"

"Now there's an offer I can't refuse."

Ten minutes later the only sounds issuing from the sleeping area were the soft sighs and impassioned gasps associated with souls converging through physical contact. Hutch clenched fistfuls of sheet and moved back fiercely, swept away in the sheer bliss of Starsky's strength blanketing his body and stretching him internally, increasing the size of his heart with each thrust.

"I--am--so--close--" Hutch gasped out, quickening the pace of his own movement.

"Oh, babe, s'good...so good! Yes!" Starsky tilted his head back, clawed at Hutch's hips, and let his mouth open wide in the overwhelming rush of pleasure.

"Starsky!?" Hutch whimpered.

"'M here, Hutch...I'm gonna get you there, babe. Hang on...."

"Now!"

"Oh, yes...yes...yes...."

The phone rang.

Starsky froze. "I'm not believing this," he panted. Hutch grit his teeth, pounded his fists, and shouted over the ringing, "Starsky, you finish what you're doing or I won't talk to you for a year!"

Two rings later a collective howl and relieved sigh heated the room. Hutch rolled away after he'd managed to catch the nearest thing to a complete breath and grabbed awkwardly at the phone.

"Y-yeah? H-Hutchinson."

Starsky swallowed long draughts of air and then rolled over so he could curl up next to Hutch and listen in on the conversation.

"Dobey's calling us in, Hutchinson. Out of the frying pan into the fire. This one sounds pretty bad. A young dancer found dead--believe it or not, just three blocks from my place. She was still wearing her practice outfit and both her legs were broken-- post-mortem, the ME thinks. Weird thing is, she was clutching two black roses in her right hand."

"Yecch. That has serial killer written all over it," Hutch groaned. "Exact address?"

Saunders said, "220 Cardinal Court."

Hutch sighed, "Be there in twenty."

He hung up the phone and brought his lover's hand to his lips. "You're fantastic, gorgeous. Absolutely incredible. Uh...did you catch all that?" He gestured at the phone.

Starsky nodded. "Yeah. Some sicko with a thing against dancers. But it's gonna be okay, Hutch."

"Oh, really? What's got your confidence level spiked?"

"The Terrific Trio is on the case. Nothing can stop us."

Never Ends