CHAPTER 15

The LAX terminal was busy as usual. Hutch had been lucky enough to find a spot to park close to the main entrance. He grabbed Rachel's bags out of the trunk and followed her across the parking lot. A harried businessman almost collided with Hutch as he started to enter the building, apologizing absentmindedly before he hurried on his way.

“I wouldn't mind flying so much if it weren't for the crowds,” Rachel said as they jostled their way towards her departure gate.

“I know what you mean,” Hutch said, stepping quickly to one side to avoid falling over a young child who suddenly decided to sit down on the floor right in front of him.

“I'm glad David got settled in his new room before I had to leave.”

“Me too. It felt good to have him stay awake long enough to actually talk to us.”

“How do you feel about what Doctor Riley had to say about David's condition?”

Hutch let his mind drift back to their meeting with Doctor Riley that morning. He had been more optimistic about Starsky's recovery; although he pointed out that there could still be unforeseen complications. He had spoken with Hutch and Rachel at length, explaining what they might expect during the rest of Starsky's recuperation.

“They don't know him the way we do,” Hutch said. “I still think he's going to surprise them all and come through this better than they expect him to.”

“But what it the doctors are right? What if David can't be a cop anymore?” Rachel asked in a worried voice. “He'll never be able to accept that.”

“We'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it,” Hutch reminded her. “For now, let's just concentrate on getting him well enough to get out of the hospital.”

Rachel reached her destination and stepped up to the desk to confirm her departure time. Hutch sat her bags down on the conveyer belt so they could be checked and loaded onto the plane.

“The plane will be boarding in ten minutes,” Rachel said as they walked over to a row of plastic seats bolted into the floor.

Hutch nodded, slumping down in one of the chairs, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He found himself wondering if airports and hospitals got a discount for buying such uncomfortable chairs. Rachel settled in beside him, slipping the book she had purchased to read during the flight into her shoulder bag.

“Do you have any idea what they're going to do to Nicky?” he asked, automatically surveying his surroundings.

“The officer I talked to said he's being charged with forgery and theft by deception,” Rachel replied. Her mouth tightened into a hard thin line. “This time I hope they throw the book at him. Maybe it'll teach him a lesson.”

Hutch wisely decided to keep his opinions about Nicholas Starsky to himself. He suspected that the younger Starsky was into more than just forging his mother's name to some checks.

“The bank won't charge you with anything since Nick confessed,” Hutch told her. “Unfortunately, you may never get the money back even if the court does order Nick to make restitution.”

“I'm not worried about the money. I just never thought Nicky would do something like that to his own mother.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the announcement on the P.A. system. “Pan Am flight 267 to New York is now boarding at gate twenty-three.”

“That's me,” Rachel said as they both rose to their feet.

“Looks like it's time for you to go,” Hutch said. “Call me as soon as you get home so I'll know you arrived safely.”

“I will,” she promised. “And I'll be calling every day to check on David's condition.” Rachel gave him a kiss on the cheek and a heartfelt hug. “Goodbye, Ken. Tell David I'll be back soon.”

Hutch watched as Rachel walked over to the check-in point. After she disappeared down the causeway, he turned and left the airport terminal. Before returning to the hospital, he decided to detour to headquarters. He intended to keep a close eye on the Gunther investigation to make sure there were no unexpected surprises before the trial.

Captain Dobey was in his office going over the daily reports from his detectives. He glanced up as Hutch came in without knocking.

“Did Mrs. Starsky's flight leave on time?” he asked gruffly.

“Yeah.” Hutch nodded as he tried to read some of the paperwork on the Captain's desk upside down. “How's the case on Gunther going?”

“Good. Mr. Bates made a deal with the D.A. and he's spilling his guts. We're going to be able to close a lot of cases with all the dirt he's giving us. There's a lot of people running scared right now.” Dobey sounded smug and pleased.

“What about Mae Ling?”

“The Feds are putting her into the witness protection program in exchange for her testimony. The tape that Jenny Brown made of her conversations with Bates helped nail Gunther as the money man,” He looked Hutch solemnly. “He's not going to be able to buy his way out of this. Charges are also being brought about two Supreme Court judges and several other public officials that Bates identified as being on Gunther's payroll.”

“Looks like his luck finally ran out,” Hutch said with a satisfied smile. “I hope the bastard rots in hell.”

“You did a good job on this one, Hutch. The Chief is putting you and Starsky both up for a commendation.”

“I have to get back to the hospital. I don't like to leave Starsky alone.” Hutch shoved himself to his feet and headed for the exit. “Call me there if you need me,” he said over his shoulder.

Hutch left the building through the back entrance to avoid running into any more of his fellow officers than he had to. He knew they were all concerned about Starsky and anxious for news on his condition but he didn't feel like giving anyone an update. Not today.

Hutch pulled in Merle the Earl's body shop where the Torino had been taken after being released from the impound yard. Merle came out of the garage, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag, as soon as he saw Hutch's battered LTD pull into the lot. “Hutchinsky…” he said using his own unique nickname. “What can the Earl do for you this fine day?”

“I just wanted to stop by and see if you were going to be able to fix the striped tomato?”

“Of course I can. Merle the Earl is the genius in car repair,” he said in a cocky tone. “But it's going to take awhile. I'm going to have to replace a lot of parts and give her a new face lift.”

“Whatever it takes. I don't care how much it costs,” Hutch said.

“That's what the Earl likes to hear.” The mechanic grinned pleasantly. “I'm only going to charge you for the parts, the labor is on me. It's the least I can do for the curly one.”

“Great. Thanks, Merle,” Hutch said gratefully. “This means a lot to me. Starsky really loves that car. I couldn't let him see her like that.”

“Just leave it to the Earl. She'll be all shiny and ready to hit the road when he gets better.”

Hutch climbed back into his car and headed for the hospital. He found his mind drifting back to Doctor's Riley's predictions that morning concerning Starsky's recovery. God, buddy, what are you going to do if you can't eat all that junk food you love anymore? Or if you don't regain use of your left hand? They won't let you be a cop if you can't shoot your gun. What are you gonna do if they take that away from you? Hutch sighed, finding no easy answers to the thoughts that kept running through his mind as he pulled into the hospital parking lot.

Hutch stepped off the elevator on the sixth floor and walked through the doors that led to the surgical wing. He stopped at the nurse's station to make sure the precautions he and Dobey had set up were in place.

“Hi, Melissa,” he greeted the nurse on duty with a smile, reading her name from her ID badge. “I'm Sergeant Hutchinson. I just wanted to make sure everyone understands the precautions we want taken to ensure Sergeant Starsky's safety.”

“Yes, Sergeant, I have a list right here. Nobody is allowed to visit the patient except for you, Captain Dobey, his mother and someone named Huggy Bear,” She stated, reading from the paper lying in front of her. “And nobody else is allowed in his room except for authorized medical personnel.”

Hutch nodded, satisfied that the safety measures were being carried out. As an extra safeguard, Starsky was also registered under an assumed name; only those directly involved with his care knew his real identity.

Hutch continued on to room 619.

Compared to the ICU, Starsky's new room was warmer and more inviting. The walls were painted light blue with white trim and sunlight streamed in through a large window that overlooked a neighboring playground. Pictures drawn by Rosie Dobey were taped to the wall beside Starsky's bed where he could see them and a fresh bouquet of daisies sat on the windowsill.

Karen Ames, Starsky's new primary nurse, was taking his vital signs when Hutch entered the room. She was an older woman with carefully styled gray hair and a motherly concern for the patients under her care.

“He just had his pain medication and he's sleeping.” she told Hutch in a quiet voice. “He was awake for almost an hour earlier and it wore him out. He's talking more but his throat is still pretty raw.”

“Thanks.” Hutch pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. Most of the machines had been removed from the room, although Starsky was still hooked up to the heart monitor. There was still two IV's running into his right arm and he still had a nasal gastric tube inserted in his nostril so he could be fed.

As Karen finished her tasks and left, Hutch took Starsky's right hand in his own and held it tightly. “It's just you and me again, buddy,” he said quietly. “Your mom is on her way back to New York. But she's gonna call everyday for a report so you better give me some good things to tell her.”

Starsky eyes opened and he looked around, momentarily startled until his gaze settled on Hutch. It took him a moment to orientate himself and brush away the cobwebs clinging to his brain. “Hey, Blondie…” he hissed, his voice hoarse and raspy from disuse. “Did you get Ma off okay?”

“Yeah. She promised to call when she gets home.”

“Nick's lucky I can't get my hands on him or I'd kick his ass,” Starsky said in a tired voice.

“You and me both.”

Starsky's flashed Hutch that familiar crooked smile. His fingers twitched beneath Hutch's hand and he slowly curved his fingers around, gripping weakly. A grimace of pain crossed his face as he rode out a spasm of pain that clutched at his chest like a vice.

“You scared the shit out of me this time, Starsk…I thought I lost you,” Hutch told him.

“Ain't gonna happen…you wouldn't make it a day out there without me.” Starsky paused to catch his breath. He was still weak and tired easily.

“Do you remember getting hit?”

“No…but I figure that's probably a good thing,” Starsky answered with another grin. “All I can remember is hearing you yelling at me to get down.”

“Well, maybe the next time you'll listen to me,” Hutch teased him.

“You can count on it,” Starsky said, squirming uncomfortably on the bed. “Uh…Hutch…can you give me a hand?”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“To take a piss. There should be a bottle in the nightstand.”

Hutch opened the door and found the urinal. Slipping it underneath the sheet, he discreetly helped Starsky position it properly. He stepped back, noting the look of intense concentration combined with pain that flickered across Starsky's face.

“You okay there, pal?” he asked in a concerned voice.

“I would be if it didn't feel like I was pissing razor blades,” Starsky said through clenched teeth. He sighed in relief, nodding to let Hutch know he was finished.

Hutch took away the urinal and emptied it, returning it to the cabinet. Starsky settled back against his pillows, his eyes growing heavy as he tried to stay awake. As he started to drift back to sleep, he said softly, “Hey, Hutch…”

“Yeah?”

“I'm glad you're here.”

“Me too, Starsky. Me too,” Hutch said with a smile as he watched his friend's eyes close.

CHAPTER 16

Starsky lay back on the pillows, trying to control the trembling in his aching muscles. He'd had a hectic, pain-filled morning and he was exhausted. Still, his mood brightened when the door opened and Hutch came into the room.

“Hey, Blintz,” he said with a smile, trying to hide the pain that still had his muscles in knots. He should have known better. Hutch could see through him every time.

“Hey, Gordo,” Hutch said, pulling up a chair. “You look like shit. Did your day get off to a bad start?”

“You could say that,” Starsky admitted ruefully. “Connie, my physical therapist, came in right after breakfast to do those damned stretching exercises.”

“Those exercises are important, Starsk,” Hutch reminded him. “They're to keep your muscles from contracting until they can start you on the harder stuff.”

“Yeah…well, now my muscles feel like they're tied into knots and it hurts like hell.” Starsky whined. He hoped that Hutch would feel sorry for him but he knew that was doubtful. Hutch could be worse than any commanding officer he ever had in the Army when it came to Starsky's health.

“So what else went on this morning?” Hutch asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

“This chick named Carla came in and did some breathing exercises that are supposed to help my lung heal,” Starsky said with a grimace. “Fuck, Hutch…I couldn't even do any of them right. There was this one where I had to blow into this glass straw and make this ball rise. My chest felt like it was gonna rip apart.” He pouted for good measure. “And she gave me something before we started that made me jittery as hell.”

“Starsky,” Hutch explained patiently. “Doctor Carson told you how bad your lung was torn up by the bullets…it's gonna take a while for it to heal.”

“He keeps saying it may never heal completely,” Starsky said, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. “And even if I do get most of my lung function back…he says I'll always be more susceptible to lung infections…even a cold could turn into pneumonia if I'm not real careful.”

“You're lucky you even have a left lung anymore, buddy,” Hutch pointed out.

“Yeah, I know…I'm stuck back together with bailing wire and duct tape.” He threw back his head and stared at the ceiling. “I hate this, Hutch…I really fucking hate it. I can't get out of bed, I can barely lift my arms and my whole body hurts all the fucking time…even with the drugs.” His voice choked up as he struggled to hold back the tears that brimmed up in his eyes. He hated feeling so dependent on everyone to do the things for him that he could no longer do for himself. “I can't even take a piss without it feeling like my dick's on fire.”

“You need to say something to the doctor so he can check it out…make sure your plumbing is okay,” Hutch said. “ ‘Cause that sounds like another urinary tract infection.”

“Terrific…just what I need,” Starsky grumbled. It had only been a couple of weeks since he'd gotten over a similar ailment. “Another damn infection…”

“I could always have your Aunt Rose bring you some of her chicken soup,” Hutch kidded him.

“I think I'll pass,” Starsky said with a decisive snort. “My stomach hurts enough as it is.”

“I wish there was more I could do for you, buddy, but all I can do is be here.”

“You have no idea how much it helps just to see your ugly mug,” Starsky teased his partner affectionately. Although he said it in a joking tone, he meant every word. Hutch could always soothe his pain better than any medicine the doctors forced on him.

The door opened and Karen came in carrying a tray with tape and bandages. Starsky's face paled and he swallowed hard. It was time for the most painful procedure of all, his bandage changes. His heart started to race and his breathing accelerated.

“Ken, would you mind stepping out for about twenty minutes?” she requested, smiling at the big blond.

“Please…can he stay?” Starsky said, his trembling voice betraying his level of anxiety. “I want him to stay.” He hated to be reduced to begging but he really needed Hutch's support during the procedure. When he'd been in the ICU, he'd been unconscious during the dressing changes. He no longer had that luxury.

Karen paused and then nodded. “All right, as long as David wants you to, you can stay.”

“I want him here,” Starsky said firmly. He reached out for Hutch's hand, gripping it as tightly as he could.

“David, I'm going to give you something to help you relax,” Karen said, picking a syringe up from the tray. Depressing the plunger to make sure there was no air in the needle, she deftly inserted the contents into his IV line.

Starsky bit back a protest and tried to calm down. The dressing changes were so painful that he was always medicated first but it did little to ease his apprehension. He couldn't help flinching as Karen poured some saline over the bandages on his chest and abdomen to moisten them and make them easier to remove from the still healing wounds.

He closed his eyes tightly. He had not seen the incisions on his torso and he wasn't sure he ever wanted to. He felt the cold blade of the scissors as Karen began cutting away one side of the bandages. He caught his breath sharply as she carefully began to remove the strips of gauze first. When she was finished with that task, she began to remove the gauze pads from the wounds and surgical incisions. He winced and bit his lip. There were always a couple of pads that wanted to stick to the tender, healing tissue.

Starsky felt Hutch squeezing his hand encouragingly and he was grateful that his partner was there for support. He felt a chill on his exposed chest as the last of the bandages were removed. He shivered slightly, more from nerves than from being cold.

Now came the most painful part, the part that always left him shaking and biting back a scream. Karen began to examine each wound and incision, checking to see how well they were healing. She probed at each area until Starsky was left clutching the sheets with white knuckles.

“I need to roll you on your side, David…” Karen said gently. “So I can do the wounds on your back.”

Starsky turned gingerly to his right side. He felt Hutch's familiar touch helping him roll all the way over. Karen propped a pillow behind him to stabilize the precarious position. The area on his left shoulder was the most painful. The open wound was packed with medicated gauze. Apparently resistant to healing, the infection stubbornly remained despite two different courses of antibiotics. He'd already had a second surgery on the wound while he was still in the ICU and if it didn't start healing soon, the doctor had warned him that he might have to have a third.

Starsky couldn't help crying out in pain as Karen cleaned the wound and repacked it with gauze. By the time she finally rolled him back onto his back, his whole body was bathed in sweat. Every muscle was tensed up tight causing painful cramping in his chest and abdomen.

“I'm sorry, David,” Karen said sincerely, gathering up the used bandages and gauze pads, stuffing them into a hazardous waste bag to be disposed of. “I know it hurts. How would you like a popsicle or maybe some pudding?”

Starsky nodded as she left the room. He took several shallow breaths, trying to ride out the pain that still washed over his body. He yearned to take a deep, cleansing breath but that was impossible. It hurt too much. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever be able to breath without effort again.

Starsky pasted a phony smile on his face as he looked at Hutch's worried face. He didn't want Hutch to see how much he was hurting, even though he suspected that his friend already knew. “I'm glad that's over,” he said lightly.

“I know,” Hutch said with a gentle smile. A silent communication passed between them as they looked at each other somberly.

I know you're scared. So am I.

Scared hell. That ain't the word for it. I'm terrified.

I'm here for you.

I know that. Thanks, buddy. I couldn't do this without you cause it really hurts like hell.

Starsky yawned; exhausted from the day he'd had so far.

“Why don't you get some sleep?” Hutch suggested. “I can come back later.”

“Hey, I want my popsicle first,” Starsky whined. “That's about all I can eat these days.”

“Okay, okay,” Hutch said with a chuckle. “You can have your treat first but then you need to take a nap.”

“Yes, mom,” Starsky quipped with a grin. “Will you stay even if I go to sleep? Please?” he was ashamed to admit that he felt more comfortable when he knew that Hutch was there.

“If that's what you want, you know I will.”

“Good,” Starsky said in a satisfied voice.

Karen came back into the room. She handed a wrapped Popsicle to Hutch and left the room.

“Hey, look…it's cherry. Your favorite,” Hutch said as he unwrapped Starsky's treat. He held the cold delicacy to Starsky's lips so he could take a bite. Starsky relished the flavor of the treat on his tongue, the cold moistness soothing his sore throat. It was one of the few small pleasures he could indulge in these days. He finished it far too soon. Sighing reluctantly, he let his heavy eyes drift shut as he fell into a healing sleep.

CHAPTER 17

Starsky scowled at the tray on the table in front of him and sighed heavily. He had been put on a soft diet and was getting sick of mashed potatoes with watery gravy, something green that was supposed to pass for a vegetable, and applesauce. Hospital food was always so bland and unappetizing. New foods were being introduced slowly but his healing stomach was still sensitive and he vomited easily.

He glanced up as Hutch came into his room and grinned broadly. The time spent with his best friend helped the long boring hours pass more quickly.

“Hey, Blondie. Did you bring me anything to eat?” he questioned in the little boy voice he knew Hutch couldn't resist.

“How about ice cream?” Hutch said, showing Starsky the bag in his hand. “Chocolate peanut butter.”

“Sounds better than this crap they expect me to eat.” Starsky pushed his tray to one side and waited impatiently for Hutch to give him his treat.

Hutch took the container of ice cream out of the bag and opened it. Rummaging in the nightstand, he found a plastic spoon and sat the dessert on the table. Starsky awkwardly took the spoon in his right hand and began to eat. His left hand was his dominant hand but he still couldn't use it for much.

“So how's it going on the case against Gunther?” Starsky asked around a mouthful of ice cream.

“Starsk, don't talk with your mouth full,” Hutch scolded him. “Things are coming along fine. The deeper we dig, the more dirt we find on the bastard. He's got another list of charges as long as your arm.”

“When's the D.A. gonna take him to trial for hiring the goons that tried to kill me?” Although Starsky kept his voice light and casual, his stomach knotted up with tension whenever he talked about the Gunther case.

“Who knows? His lawyers are dragging things out as much as they can.”

“They're probably hoping he'll kick the bucket before the trial,” Starsky snorted, scrapping the last of his ice cream out of the container.

“I hope not,” Hutch growled. “I wanna see the prick rot in prison for what he did to you.”

Starsky kept silent. He knew how close he had come to dying from his injuries. Hell, he did die for a few minutes. Huggy had told him about that in vivid detail. He could only imagine what Hutch had gone through. He knew how he would have felt if it had been Hutch instead of him. Starsky decided to change the subject.

“Karen said they're going to try and get me out of bed this afternoon,” he said nervously. “Maybe even see if I can take a couple of steps.”

“Starsky, that's great!” Hutch said excitedly, grinning broadly.

“Yeah, you can help keep me from falling on my face.” Starsky sighed softly, his stomach fluttering with anxiety. He had been stuck in bed for over a month, including the time in the ICU which he didn't really remember much about. Although, he was getting stronger every day, his body still felt weak and he suffered from unexpected dizzy spells.

“Might be an improvement,” Hutch joked, with a fond look at his friend. He turned serious. “Come on, Starsky, every step forward is a step in the right direction. You'll be out of here before you know it.”

“Yeah, just in time to draw my pension,” Starsky muttered. Even though every accomplishment, no matter how small, was a reason to celebrate, Starsky was impatient. Things were moving too slowly for him. He hated being dependent on anyone, even Hutch. He no longer had any control over his own body or his surroundings. He no longer had a choice when he wanted to sleep, eat, or bathe. Hardly an hour went by when some member of the medical staff didn't have their hands on him, causing him even more pain and indignity.

“Be a good boy for the nurses and I'll give you a bath and a massage later,” Hutch promised. At Starsky's request, Hutch had taken over a lot of Starsky's personal care such as giving him a bed bath and helping him use the bathroom. He'd sure had enough practice over the years. He felt more comfortable with Hutch doing his intimate care than he did letting some nurse or aide he barely knew do it. At least that way he was able to maintain some measure of privacy.

“Gee thanks, buddy,” Starsky retorted. “You gonna hold it for me while I take a leak?”

“You're on your own there, Gordo,” Hutch replied. “At least they got rid of that urinary infection so it doesn't hurt to piss.”

“Yeah, until I get another one,” Starsky muttered. “Better yet, I'll just let you get it for me.”

“Did the doctor take a look at your shoulder?”

“Yeah…he said it looks like the infection finally cleared up and it's starting to heal. It's gonna leave one hell of a scar…just one more to add to my collection.”

Both men looked towards the door as it opened and Karen came in, accompanied by Connie, Starsky's physical therapist. Starsky took as deep a breath as he was capable of. He knew why they were there. His apprehension threatened to overwhelm him. His heart started pounding and his mouth was dry.

“Hi, Dave,” Connie said brightly. “Are you ready to try and get up for a minute or two?”

“Do I have a choice?” he said, a little stronger than he intended to.

“I know you're scared, that's only natural. You've been confined to bed for a long time. But it's time to get you up and moving around as much as possible so you'll be ready to start more intensive physical therapy,” Connie explained patiently.

“Ken can help us,” Karen said. “That way we don't have to do all the work.”

Starsky smiled faintly. Both women were petite and under normal circumstances, he would have laughed at either one of them trying to get him on his feet. But, he'd lost almost thirty pounds since the shooting, leaving his normally muscular frame gaunt and feeble. He felt like a ninety-year-old man in a thirty-six year old body.

“What do you want me to do?” Hutch asked

“Why don't you stand by David's head?” Connie instructed him. “Karen and I will handle the bottom half. Ken, what I want you to do is to slip your arm underneath his shoulders and help to sit David upright on the edge of the bed while I slip my arm under his left arm and Karen swings his legs over the side.” Hutch nodded to show he understood. Connie looked at Starsky and smiled. “David, you just let all of us do the work for now. Okay?”

“Okay,” he answered in a small voice. Starsky winced when Hutch slid his left arm beneath his left shoulder, accidentally brushing against the healing wound. At the same time, Connie put down the side rail on the bed, leaning over to hook her left arm under his left armpit. Karen pulled back the sheet and slipped her left arm under his knees.

Once they were all three in position, Connie said, “On the count of three. One…two…three…”

Working as a team, and moving in unison, they moved Starsky's body until he was sitting upright on the side of the bed. He moaned and immediately pitched forward as his chest and abdomen protested the upright position.

Instinctively, Hutch threw out his arm, blocking Starsky's forward sprawl and keeping him from falling out of bed.

“I'm gonna puke…” Starsky gasped out. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he vomited all over Hutch.

“Get him back down!” Connie ordered. Quickly, the three of them laid Starsky back down in the bed and Karen started taking his vital signs.

“What the hell happened?” Hutch demanded sharply. “Is he okay?”

“He'll be fine.” Karen assured him. “Sitting up made his blood pressure drop and he got dizzy.” She smiled as Starsky's looked at their anxious faces with a puzzled expression. “See…he's coming out of it now.”

“What happened?” he asked in a confused voice.

“You had a little accident,” Connie told him. “Do you still feel sick?”

“A little,” Starsky admitted sheepishly, noticing the vomit splattered on Hutch's clothes.

“I'll get you something to settle your stomach,” Karen said, turning to leave the room.

“It's okay,” Connie said. “Your reaction wasn't that unusual. We'll try again tomorrow.” She smiled encouragingly. “Don't feel bad about what happened, David. Your body needs to adjust to being up and moving around again. You'll be up and scooting around here in a wheelchair before you know it. Then we can really get down to business…and get you out of here.”

“Terrific,” Starsky grumbled, flushing in embarrassment.

Connie looked at Hutch. “I'll find you some scrubs to put on and I'll take your clothes down to the laundry.”

“Thanks,” Hutch answered, wrinkling his nose at the smelly mess.

Connie left to find something for Hutch to wear just as Karen came back in. She quickly injected some medication into Starsky's IV. “That should make you feel better.” Her task done, she left to tend to her other patients.

“Sorry about that,” Starsky said, eyeing Hutch's stained shirt and pants warily.

“Remind me never to bring you anymore ice cream just before they decide to try something like that with you,” Hutch teased his friend. He went into the bathroom, returning with a cool wet washcloth that he used to gently bathe Starsky's face and neck. Starsky looked at his partner silently, his eyes speaking volumes.

I need you, Hutch.

I know you do and I need you too, Starsky.

I can't do this without you.

I'm here. Me and Thee. Business as usual.

Connie came in with a set of light blue scrubs tossed over her arm. She passed the clothing to Hutch, who disappeared into the bathroom to change. While she waited for him to bring her his soiled clothes, she leaned over Starsky's bedrail and said, “You are getting better, David. It's just going to take some more time. You almost died. Most men wouldn't be doing nearly as well as you are after such a trauma.

“Thanks, Sweetheart,” Starsky said grateful for her encouraging words. “I appreciate everything you've done so far…even if it does hurt like hell.”

“Hey, no pain…no gain,” she said with a laugh.

CHAPTER 18

“What the hell do you mean Gunther's lawyer is trying to say the search was illegal?” Hutch demanded loudly. “That's bullshit and you know it!”

“Calm down, Detective…” Paul Bailey, the District Attorney, replied calmly.

“It's just another tactic to try and stall.” He shuffled through some papers on his desk. “In the end the judge will rule in our favor and allow the evidence.”

“My partner is lying in the hospital because of that prick and I'm going to see him pay if it's the last thing I do!” Hutch growled.

“And he will, I assure you. The charges connected with the attempt on your partner's life are strong enough to hold up against him…no matter how hard he tries to find a loophole to squirm through.”

“I should have put a bullet between his eyes when I had the chance.”

“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that,” Bailey said, arching an eyebrow at the distraught man in front of him. “Let me do my job, Detective, and you do yours. Go take care of your partner. Gunther will have his day in court.”

Hutch left the D.A.'s office, slamming the door behind him. He felt a small measure of satisfaction at the startled look on the secretary's face when he stalked to the elevator and savagely pushed the button.

Hutch had calmed down by the time he exited the building. Climbing into his car, he headed towards the hospital. He was dividing his time between working on the Gunther case and spending time with his partner. There was no time left for him, but Hutch didn't care. Starsky's welfare was the only thing that mattered.

Hutch stopped in the gift shop on the first floor of the hospital. He wasn't sure what he was looking for but he'd know when he found it. He browsed through the various items on display, stopping when he came to a collection of angels. One pair in particular caught his eye. One blond. One brunet. The blond angel was kneeling, cradling a dark haired angel in his arms. The blond's wings were spread, surrounding and the protecting the brunet. The inscription on the base read: The Guardian. Paying for his purchase, Hutch smiled as he picked up the small brightly wrapped package, slipping it in his pocket. Whistling under his breath, he went up to Starsky's room.

He was stunned to find Starsky sitting in a wheelchair in front of the window with Connie at his side. “Hey, Gordo, you're sitting up…”

Starsky looked at him, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. “It's about time you got here, babe.”

“I agree,” Connie said in a mildly scolding tone. “Maybe now he'll lie back down. He insisted on staying up until you got here.”

Hutch carefully placed his gift down on the nightstand. Looking closer at his friend, he saw the lines around Starsky's eyes and the pinched look to his mouth. “How about it, buddy? You done showing off for one day? You ready to lie down?”

Starsky nodded, lowering his eyes sheepishly. “Guess that's not such a bad idea after all,” he admitted.

Hutch helped Connie get Starsky settled back in bed and under the sheet. As Connie turned to leave, she gestured for Hutch to join her in the hallway. “Be right back, buddy,” he told Starsky, rubbing his arm soothingly. “I'm just gonna talk to Connie for a minute.”

“ ‘Kay.” Starsky said in a tired voice, closing his eyes.

As they stepped out of the room, Connie said, “He's been up for almost fifteen minutes…he probably overdid it but he wanted so badly for you to see him sitting up.”

“If he gonna be okay? I mean, he didn't hurt himself, did he?” Hutch's protective instincts kicked into high gear as he thought at potential setbacks to Starsky's recovery.

“He should be fine, just keep an eye on him. If he seems to be in more pain than usual, Karen can give him something.”

“I will. I promise.” Hutch surprised Connie by giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, followed by a big smile. “Thank you for everything.”

“You're welcome,” she said with a blush. “I'm just doing my job.”

Hutch went back into Starsky's room and found his partner sleeping peacefully. Smiling, he pulled up a chair and sat down to watch over him. He was overjoyed that Starsky seemed to be stronger every day, but he still had a long way to go. The guilt still ate at Hutch's mind like a cancer. When Starsky needed him the most, Hutch felt that he had failed him and almost lost him as a result.

Hutch was startled out of his remorse when Starsky said, “stop thinking so loud, Blondie.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Hutch scolded him when Starsky's eyes opened.

“Naw, just resting my eyes.” Starsky gazed at his partner with such intensity that it made Hutch uneasy. “Hey, Blintz, ya know, none of this was your fault. There's nothing you could have done to stop it,” Starsky told him “I didn't have any place to go…I would have still gotten hit even if I did get down when you told me to.”

“But, if I'd seen them sooner…”

“You still couldn't have stopped them,” Starsky said, cutting him off. “You could have ended up on the ground beside me, and Gunther would be a free man.”

“I almost lost you, Starsk” Hutch said, choking back the lump that rose in his throat.

“But, you didn't,” Starsky said firmly. “I'm still here…a little banged up…but I'm still here and I don't plan on going anywhere any time soon.” He grinned to lighten the moment. “Unless it's to the john.”

“I'm sorry, Starsk,”

“Hey, what's the line from that movie?” Starsky said. “Love means never having to say you're sorry…”

“You getting mushy on me, Mush brain?” Hutch asked with a ghost of a smile.

“Hey, I got the right to. I'm the one that died for three minutes,” Starsky said

Hutch felt the color drain from his face at the unpleasant memory. “And I wasn't here when it happened…not like I should have been.”

“Hey, you were here when it counted,” Starsky said. “You were here when I came back…”

“Why don't you get some rest?” Hutch said, deftly changing the subject. “You've had a busy morning.” He grinned at his partner mischievously. “If you take a nap like a good boy, I might even buy you a milk shake later, as long as you don't puke on me again.”

“Promise?”

“I thought best friends didn't have to promise.” Hutch smiled affectionately as he remembered another time, another place and another person who had said those same words to Starsky. From the look in Starsky's eyes, Hutch knew that he was remembering too.

“They don't,” Starsky told him, his eyes drifting to the package Hutch had placed on the nightstand. “Is that for me?”

“Huh?” Hutch was momentarily confused. “Oh, yeah,” he said, remembering the gift. He handed it to Starsky, helping him open it since he couldn't use his left hand. Hutch watched anxiously as Starsky examined the tiny statuette.

“Thanks,” Starsky said in a subdued voice. “Sit it there on the nightstand where I can see it, will ya?” Starsky's eyes remained fixed on the two angels as his eyes slowly closed and he drifted back into a healing sleep.

CHAPTER 19

Starsky wanted to yell. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw something. Anything to release the tension that ran through every muscle in his body. He had just finished his first ‘real' physical therapy session. Muscles he didn't even know he had hurt. His body felt like one big knotted up bruise. In spite of his resolve, the session had almost reduced him to tears.

He couldn't even lift a three pound weight in his left hand and hold it upright for more than a few minutes. The muscles in his left arm and shoulder screamed in protest when he had to take a rubber ball in his hand and squeeze it repeatedly. (I am not really familiar with a lot of the physical therapy exercises that would be used. I had to have some stretching exercises once when I had a frozen shoulder but that is the only therapy I've ever had to have. Any other suggestions?) Connie said he was improving but he couldn't see much, if any, improvement in his mobility.

He tried to keep the pain from showing on his face when Hutch came into the therapy room to take him back to the sixth floor. Starsky saw the concerned smile on his partner's face as Hutch knelt down beside him and gently placed a hand on his knee.

“That bad, huh?” Hutch said softly.

“Yeah,” Starsky said. There was no need for him to say more. Hutch understood as always did.

“Let's get you back to your room.”

“Terrific,” Starsky smirked. “Then Connie can come in and torture me with those damned breathing exercises.”

“That's not until this afternoon,” Hutch reminded him. He straightened up and stepped behind Starsky, pushing the wheelchair down the hall.

Back in his room, Hutch carefully helped him out of the chair and into his bed. Starsky sighed deeply and tried to find a comfortable position without much success. He winced, riding out a wave of pain as his strained muscles cramped up. Pain was his constant companion these days. Even with the drugs, there was a dull ache deep inside that never went away. He often wondered if he'd ever enjoy a pain-free day again.

It had been six weeks since he'd been shot and, even though he was getting stronger, his stamina was limited. It didn't take much to wear him out and he napped frequently during the day. His treatments had intensified as his healing body was pushed to its limits.

of the door.

“You have lots of friends, Starsk,” Hutch told him. “They're all looking forward to coming to see you.”

Starsky shook his head stubbornly. “I don't wanna see anybody but you, Huggy and Dobey,” he said firmly. “Not until I get out of here.” Hutch kept silent. Starsky had been adamant about this and he knew that Hutch would abide by his wishes. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his friends and fellow officers; it was the pity in their eyes that he wanted to avoid. Real or imagined, he didn't want anyone feeling sorry for him. He still had some pride intact. Deciding who he wanted to have visit was one of the few things in his life that he still had control over.

The door opened and a perky aide named Susan brought in Starsky's lunch tray. Smiling brightly, she sat it down on the bedside table and uncovered the dishes. “There you go, Mr. Starsky,” she said with a slight lisp. “I'll be back in a little bit. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Yeah, right,” Starsky muttered, as she disappeared out the door to finish passing trays. He looked at the food in front of him with distaste. He had finally been upgraded to a regular diet but the food was still bland and unappetizing. He tried a bite of the shredded chicken, washing it down with a sip of weak tea. He still wasn't allowed to have coffee, and he really missed his coffee.

“Eat, Starsk,” Hutch scolded as Starsky pushed the food around on his place without tasting it.

“Why? It all tastes like cardboard,” Starsky whined.

“You still have to eat,” Hutch reminded him. “Me sneaking in milk shakes and ice cream doesn't count.”

“Then bring me something besides this, and I'll eat it,” he complained. “Please, Hutch…” he begged in his best little boy voice.

“Don't give me that look, pal,” Hutch warned him, giving him the Hutchinson finger. “Eat at least part of that and I might consider it.”

“You're mean,” Starsky said in a defeated tone. He took a few bites of his tapioca. and made a face as he swallowed, washing it down with a gulp of milk.

“More,” Hutch said firmly. With Hutch's coaxing, Starsky ate his tapioca and most of his chicken, refusing to eat the soup.

“Happy now, mom?” Starsky said, finishing his milk and pushing his tray aside with a flourish.

“It'll do,” Hutch answered with a smug grin. “For now.”

“You know, Hutchinson, you can be a real prick sometimes,” Starsky grumbled.

“And you can be a stubborn ass,” Hutch countered, apparently undisturbed by Starsky's sniping.

“And you wouldn't have it any other way.” Starsky told him with a grin, his good humor restored.

“You got that right, partner,” Hutch agreed with a chuckle. “I'm losing my edge without you around to drive me nuts all day.”

“Hey,” Starsky said, as a sudden thought occurred to him. “What about my car? How bad was she damaged?”

“The striped tomato was almost as banged up as you.”

“Can she be fixed?” Starsky demanded in a worried voice.

“It'll cost more than the car's worth, Starsky,” Hutch said evasively. “Your insurance company totaled it.”

Starsky tried to bite back his disappointment. He loved his car. It was part of him. Losing it hurt almost as much as getting shot did. The Torino had been brand new when he bought it. It was the first really expensive item he had ever purchased. It was his ‘baby' and now he'd lost that too. It was beginning to look like his life would never be the same again. He felt a surge of anger at all the things he had lost since the shooting.

“Come on, Starsk. Cheer up,” Hutch said, trying to boost his spirits. “I'll help you find something just as loud as the tomato when you get out of here.”

“Forget it, Hutch. I've seen your taste in cars, remember?” Starsky growled, still depressed over the loss of his pride and joy.

Starsky scowled when the door opened and Susan came in to collect his lunch tray. Connie was right behind her. It was time for his breathing treatment. He ignored the perky aide as she picked up his tray, watching warily as Connie laid out her instruments of torture for his session with her.

He had a gadget that he was supposed to blow in ten times every hour. It looked like a kid's toy with a plastic straw attached and a scale on the side that showed how hard he could breathe out. He hated the spirometer because it really hurt to do the exercises, but Hutch always nagged him and made sure he did, as Connie had instructed. He wasn't surprised when Connie decided to start their session with the insidious device.

Bracing himself for the discomfort to follow, Starsky took as deep a breath as he could manage and blew into the straw. Immediately, his chest tightened up, feeling like it was on fire. Just blowing the air out of his damaged lungs made the sweat run down his face. Finally, Connie nodded and he stopped, collapsing back against his pillow in exhaustion and pain.

“Good job, David,” she said, as she carefully cleaned off the plastic tubing with alcohol. “You're getting better.”

“It doesn't feel like it,” Starsky muttered crossly. He was irritable enough without everyone constantly reminding him of his limitations. Just the fact that he had been reduced to using his little boy act on Hutch to get his way proved just how low he had fallen. He no longer felt like a man, he felt like the invalid that everyone seemed to see when they looked at him.

“Two weeks ago, you couldn't even get the gauge to move. Now, each time you use the tube, the reading goes higher.” She pointed out with a smile. “I know it hurts but it's important to continue doing the exercises to prevent getting pneumonia again.”

“I know that.” Starsky snapped, giving in to his frustration. “Stop treating me like a kid!” He remembered far too vividly his bout of pneumonia while he was still in the ICU. He didn't want to go through that again, especially if it meant having a tube that felt like a garden hose shoved down his throat just so he could breathe.

“I'm sorry.” Connie said sincerely. “I didn't mean to talk down to you like that.”

“I'm sorry, too.” Starsky answered with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn't have snapped at you like that.” His emotions seemed to shift rapidly from one minute to the next, leaving him on edge and irritable with everyone around him.

“Let's get back to work, shall we?” Connie suggested. The rest of the session progressed quickly as Connie guided him through some other exercises designed to help build up the strength in his injured lung and to improve his breathing. He was relieved when the session drew to a close. Now his chest hurt as much as the rest of his battered body.

As Connie excused herself and left the room, Hutch leaned over the railing and rubbed Starsky's right shoulder comfortingly. Starsky closed his eyes, ashamed at his weakness. He vowed to work harder to prove to everyone that he was stronger then they seemed to realize. He grimaced as he coughed, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. He sometimes wondered if he would be able to gather the strength he needed to survive his ordeal.

“I'm not gonna break, Blondie.” Starsky said, opening his eyes and looking into his best friend's eyes. “I'm not made out of glass…even if it does feel like it most of the time.”

“I'm sorry, Starsky.” Hutch replied. He paused apparently trying to gather his thoughts. “I can't help it, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Starsky said with a ghost of a smile, hoping to take some of the string out of his words. “You're a regular mother hen…but I'm not your chick. You can't make this better, Hutch. It's gonna hurt like hell for a long time…no matter what either one of us does. We both need to remember that.”

CHAPTER 20

A/N : I would like to thank Stacee Phleps for beta reading the remainder of this story. Thanks so much, Stacee.

Starsky grimaced, shifting positions in the wheelchair to try and get more comfortable. Two days ago, he'd had surgery to rejoin his healed colon and to close the incision in his lower abdomen. He was ecstatic to finally get rid of that damn bag on his stomach. He'd hated it. It was one of the most disturbing indignities associated with the shooting.

He was sitting at the window watching the children in the playground across the street. It was one of his favorite pastimes. It was one of the few connections he had to the outside world.

Ten weeks in the hospital had left him depressed and irritable. He was anxious to leave the sterile, secured environment, but, at the same time, the thought of going home terrified him. He knew that he would still need assistance for some time to come with even his most basic needs.

His bladder reminded him that he needed to take care of business. Slowly, he maneuvered the chair over to the bathroom door. He wasn't supposed to move around without someone with him to make sure he didn't fall, but the urge was too strong to ignore. Easing himself out of the chair and slowly rising to his feet, he braced himself against the doorframe as he stepped into the bathroom.

Grabbing the handrail beside the toilet with his left hand, he leaned against it heavily, grateful for the support as he steadied himself to take a leak. It took a moment for his recovering body to obey the commands from his brain to relieve his bladder. Finishing, he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror as he rearranged his clothing. He had been avoiding mirrors as much as possible since the shooting but this time, he took a long hard look at himself. Oh, my god! I look like death warmed over. I'm glad I told Hutch I didn't want any visitors right now.

His face was gaunt, his cheekbones standing out predominately. There were dark smudges under his eyes, mute evidence of the nightmares that had plagued him since the shooting. His dark curls were longer than usual and his healthy tan had been replaced by the pallor of a long confinement.

Starsky started breathing heavily as his fingers slowly moved to unbutton the pajama shirt he was wearing, exposing his chest and abdomen. The worst of his injuries were still covered with gauze pads, the healing incisions still quite painful. His breath caught in his chest, a lump lodging in his throat, as he examined the healing wounds that marred his torso. Raised scar tissue covered his body, barely concealed by the fur on his chest that was slowly growing back. Shit! I look like Frankenstein's monster after they stitched him back together. You may as well face it, Davy boy, no woman is gonna want to be with you now. They'll take one look at your scars and run away screaming.

“Starsk? Hey, Starsk?” Hutch's voice cut into his thoughts. “You in there?” When Starsky didn't answer him, Hutch turned the knob and opened the door. Hutch crossed the room in two steps when he saw Starsky standing there, staring in the mirror with his shirt open, examining the scars on his chest. Starsky felt a warm, comforting hand clamp down on his shoulder. “Starsk?” Hutch asked in a concerned voice.

“I guess I was right…,” Starsky said in a flat tone, devoid of any emotion. “They did put me back together with baling wire and duct tape.”

“Hey, it won't always look like that. The scars will fade so they aren't as noticeable.” Hutch said in a soft, soothing voice.

“But they'll still be there,” Starsky said, his voice breaking unintentionally. “I'll never look the same again…”

Starsky stood there, unresisting, as Hutch slowly buttoned his shirt, hiding the scars from view. But, the image was still burned into Starsky's brain. He let Hutch lead him out of the bathroom and back to his bed. Once he was settled in, he turned his head and closed his eyes, trying to wipe away the picture he had seen in the mirror.

“Starsky, buddy…come on, talk to me.” Hutch said, caressing his friend's arm. The fear in his voice was apparent as he tried to get Starsky to respond to him.

“I never thought it would be that bad,” Starsky finally said, forcing the words out past the tightness in his chest. “I look like some kind of fucking freak.”

“No, you don't!” Hutch told him firmly. “You look like a man who went through hell and survived!”

Starsky snorted. In a bitter voice, he said, “I can still barely use my left arm. It still hurts like hell to even breathe,” He glanced at Hutch, his eyes filled with a deep sadness. “I feel like a ninety year old man with one foot in the grave. You call that surviving?”

“Come on, Gordo…it'll get better. It's just gonna take some more time.”

“I'm sick of hearing that it's just gonna take some more time!” Starsky snapped his patience stretched to its limit. “How much more time? A month, six months, a year…or the rest of my damn life?” He took several slow shallow breathes to calm his ragged nerves. “Everybody keeps telling me how lucky I am to even be alive…” he turned to glare at Hutch as he felt his anger rising. “Fuck, don't you think I know that? But, what kind of life do I have left? Will I ever be a cop again?” His voice grew louder as he struggled to control his emotions. “Will I ever be able to take care of myself again? Or will I just be some cripple that has nothing better to do than sit around talking about the good ole days?”

“I don't know, partner,” Hutch said honestly. “All I know is that you have to keep fighting. You can't give up now!”

“I'm tired, Hutch…” Starsky said in a defeated voice. “I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of hurting all the time. I just want my life back…the way it used to be.” He choked back a sob as the tears began to slip down his face. Tears of pain. Tears of fear. Tears of regret. He was terrified that he would never be the same man he used to. He wondered if he would ever be a real man again or just an invalid that needed someone to care for him.

Hutch reached out and gently brushed away Starsky's tears. Putting down the side rail, he carefully stretched out on the bed beside his partner. Hutch pulled the smaller man into an embrace, offering comfort and support the only way he knew how. Starsky leaned his head against the broad shoulder of his friend and gave in to his emotions, his body shuddering with silent sobs.

Eventually, his breathing evened out and deepened. Realizing that Starsky had fallen asleep, Hutch carefully eased his lanky frame out of the bed and went in search of the doctor for some answers.

“Where's Doctor Riley?” Hutch demanded, stepping out of the room and confronting a nurse who was busy passing afternoon meds.

“He's doing his rounds.” the nurse replied impatiently, as she opened one of the drawers in her med cart. “He should be here soon.”

“Thank you.” Hutch said, determined to find the doctor and talk to him about Starsky's fragile state of mind. As he turned to stalk down the hall, he saw the Doctor stepping off the elevator. “Dr. Riley!” he called out to attract the other man's attention. “I need to talk to you.” Dr. Riley paused, watching as the blond stomped towards him.

“Why don't we step into the family room, Detective Hutchinson?” he suggested, steering the taller man to the room on the opposite side of the nurse's station.

As the doctor closed the door behind them, Hutch turned to him and said, “I'm worried about Starsky. He finally saw the scars on his chest and it really hit him hard.”

“That's to be expected,” Doctor Riley said calmly. “David's been through a traumatic ordeal. The scars are the outward evidence of that. Seeing them for the first time can be very unsettling.”

“He sounds like he's giving up.” Hutch admitted, voicing his biggest fear aside from losing Starsky.

“Some depression is to be expected given the circumstances. I'll have the staff psychologist evaluate him.” Doctor Riley said. “Has David talked much about the shooting?”

“No, not really.”

“Any nightmares?”

“A couple.”

“He will probably experience mood swings, nightmares, panic attacks, and depression as he continues to recover. It's all part of the healing process. Medication can help with some of the symptoms but at some point, David may need to seek professional help to deal with the trauma.” The Doctor smiled encouragingly. “Physically, he's making good progress. As long as he doesn't have any more complications, he may be able to go home in a couple of weeks. Does he have someone who can stay with him when he does?”

“Yeah, he has me.”

“I can arrange for a nurse to come in once a day to do his wound care and check his vital signs.”

“I can do all that.” Hutch said “I've had lots of practice taking care of him over the years. It's what I do when he's hurt.”

“Do you have any idea how much care he's going to need even after he goes home?” Doctor Riley questioned.

“It doesn't matter,” Hutch replied firmly. “I can take care of him better than anyone else can.”

“He'll still have a lot of restrictions. No bending, no stretching, no lifting…and no steps. I don't want him overdoing things and ending up back in here.”

“I'll make sure he follows any instructions he's given.” Hutch replied.

“I'm sure you will.” the doctor said with a chuckle. “I have no doubt that he couldn't be in more capable hands. I believe that a lot of his recovery so far has to do with you.”

“Let's just say that I know Starsky,” Hutch said with a chuckle of his own. “I know when to push him and when to back off.”

“And I've noticed that he sometimes needs a little push now and then,” the Doctor's tone turned serious once more. “I know this whole thing has been very difficult for both of you. But I have a feeling that as long as the two of you are working together on his recovery, things will work out for the best. Just don't push him too hard and don't let him push himself too hard. His body still has a lot of recovering to do. Now, I really have to get back to my rounds.”

“Thank you,” Hutch said gratefully. Doctor Riley nodded and left the room. The conversation had eased Hutch's mind somewhat. He was delighted with the news that Starsky may be going home soon. Hutch knew that Starsky would recover better once he was out of the hospital and under his care. He headed back to his partner's room before he woke up from his nap.

CHAPTER 21

Starsky waited impatiently for the nurse to come in with his discharge papers. After eighty-six days in the hospital, he was finally going home. There had been times when he had thought this day would never come. He was still in pain most of the time, his mobility still severely limited, but he was alive and he was getting out of this prison without bars.

Hutch stood at his side, smiling at his partner's impatience. He was almost as anxious as Starsky was to get out of here. He had a few surprises in store for Starsky and, at least one of them, should lift his spirits.

Finally, the nurse came in with the discharge papers. Hutch signed them for Starsky and took the handles of the wheelchair to push him downstairs to the exit. Following hospital policy, a nurse walked along side them, pushing a cart with Starsky's personal belongings on it. He had left behind the flowers and plants he had been given with instructions to distribute them to other patients.

The nurse waited at the curb with Starsky while Hutch went to get the car. Starsky's eyes lit up in surprised delight when the fully restored Torino pulled up in front of him. Hutch climbed out from behind the wheel with a huge grin.

“You said my car was totaled!” Starsky said as Hutch came around to the opposite side to help him into the front seat.

“According to the insurance company it was,” Hutch told him “But I couldn't let ‘em just haul the tomato off to the junkyard.”

“She looks terrific!” Starsky exclaimed as he settled into the black leather seat. He reached out and ran his right hand across the dashboard with a loving touch. He felt the tears gathering in his eyes at the gift that Hutch had given him.

Hutch folded the wheelchair and put it into the trunk along with the various items Starsky had accumulated over his long stay in the hospital. Safety tucked away in Hutch's shirt pocket was a list of discharge instructions and prescriptions for the numerous medications Starsky still had to take. He also had a separate list of scheduled appointments with Starsky's doctors and physical therapists for his out patient care.

As he slid behind the wheel, Hutch looked at Starsky with a huge grin. “You ready to go home, partner?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said with an answering smile. He shifted positions to get more comfortable. It didn't take much for his battered body to remind him that he still wasn't up to par.

As Hutch pulled out of the drive and turned east, Starsky winced as every bump in the road jostled his recovering body. He ignored the discomfort as his gaze hungrily surveyed his familiar surroundings. He frowned when he realized that Hutch had turned in the opposite direction from either one of their apartments.

“Where are we going, Blintz?” he asked curiously.

“You'll see.” Hutch said with a mysterious smile as he continued to drive. He drove to a secluded stretch of beach, still within the city limits, but fairly isolated from the more populated areas. Starsky frowned in confusion when Hutch pulled up in front of a one story beach house with a wide deck running along the front.

“What's going on, Blondie?” Starsky asked in a puzzled voice, as Hutch slipped out of the car.

Hutch got the wheelchair out of the trunk and unfolded it. Setting the brakes securely, he opened the door and helped Starsky out of the car. “This is where we're going to be staying until you're better.” Hutch told him. “Doctor Riley said you couldn't handle steps yet so that left out both of our apartments.”

“We're going to be staying here?” Starsky asked in a surprised voice, looking around at the peaceful, quiet surroundings. “How'd you find this place?”

“Actually…it belongs to me.” Hutch said sheepishly.

“What do you mean it belongs to you?”

“My parents had it built for me and Van when we moved to Bay City but Van refused to live here. She said it was too far from the city to suit her.” Hutch explained.

“Why didn't you ever tell me about this place?” Starsky questioned, as Hutch pushed the wheelchair towards the ramp that led to the deck.

“It just didn't seem that important. I was going to sell it but I just never got around to it. Now, I'm glad I didn't.”

“What about your place? What about my place?”

“I sublet them both to a couple of guys from work. They know it's just temporary until you're recovered.”

“You thought of everything, didn't ya, Blondie?” Starsky said with a smile.

“I tried.” Hutch said offhandedly; as he reached out and slid open the glass doors, pushing Starsky into the house with a flourish. The interior was cool and well lit by the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

The main room of the house was a combination living area and kitchen, divided by a breakfast bar. Hardwood floors matched the paneling on the walls and there were large exposed beams in the ceiling overhead. Even to Starsky's untrained eye, it was obvious that no expense had been sparred in designing and building the house.

Starsky let out a low whistle. “Man, this is something else.” he said in an awed voice. Setting the brakes, he slowly eased himself out of the chair. Waving off Hutch's helping hand, Starsky took a few faltering steps to the black leather sofa and settled down on the plush cushions. With a sigh, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

He heard Hutch rummaging around in the kitchen and the sound of water running. Starsky opened his eyes when Hutch presented him with a glass of water and two blue pills. “Ahhh, Hutch…” he whined. “I don't wanna take no pain pills. They make me too groggy.”

“You've had a full morning already.” Hutch scolded him, operating in full mother hen mode. “You need something before the pain gets too bad.”

“Yes, mother…” Starsky grumbled as he took the pills and washed them down with a long swallow of water. He handed the glass back to Hutch with a glare. “You gonna make me take a nap now?”

“Not unless you want one.”

“Prick.” Starsky muttered under his breath as Hutch carried the glass back into the kitchen.

“I heard that.” Hutch called back over his shoulder.

“Good.” Starsky called back, adding under his breath, “Asshole.”

Hutch heard the additional comment but chose to ignore it. He was just happy to have Starsky out of the hospital at last. The familiar bantering between them was a sure sign that Starsky was finally on the mend. When he returned to the living room, he wasn't surprised to find that Starsky had dozed off, curled up on the sofa like a little kid worn out from a hard day at play. Grabbing an afghan from the back of the couch, he spread it over his friend and then went back into the kitchen.

He had already stocked the cabinets and refrigerator with all the basics. There were a lot of foods that Starsky still couldn't eat and others that he could eat but only in moderation. Fixing meals that he could keep down was going to be a challenge. He still got nauseated and vomited easily, both from the medications he was still taking and his slowly healing digestive system.

Hutch opened a bag sitting on the bar and took out the bottles of pills, carefully checking each label, as he sat them on the kitchen counter. Starsky was still on morphine for the pain, stool softeners, antibiotics for a lingering respiratory infection, Reglan to aid with his digestive problems, Compazine to help with the nausea , Gas-X to help control the frequent painful gas from his intestinal surgery, Valium to help him sleep at night, and Prozac for his lingering depression. Most of the meds he took every four hours, except for the Valium which he only took at bedtime. Jesus, buddy, all these meds…no wonder you're still out of it so much.

Finishing his tasks in the kitchen, Hutch walked through the living room and down a short hall that led to the two bedrooms in the house. He entered the bedroom that he had set up for his injured friend. Hutch had moved Starsky's own bed into the room, along with all of his personal belongings. He turned back the light blue comforter and plumped up the pillows.

Hutch's bedroom was directly across the hall but he expected to spend most of his time in Starsky's bedroom for a while. There was a cot sat up on the far side of the bed for that purpose. Rachel was returning in a few days for an extended stay now that Starsky was out of the hospital and she would be using Hutch's room.

Hutch let Starsky sleep while he prepared a light lunch. I think I'll heat up that creamed chicken Huggy dropped off. That should be easy on Starsky's stomach. Hutch smiled to himself as he pulled the covered bowl out of the refrigerator and poured it into a pan. And some of Edith's chocolate chip cookies. Starsky loves her cookies. Before long, the aroma of the food aroused Starsky from his slumber.

“Smells good.” Starsky volunteered, as he slowly pushed himself upright on the sofa. He paused to wait out a dizzy spell from sitting up too quickly.

“Stay put. I'll bring it in there.” Hutch told him, picking up two plates and carrying them into the living room. He sat the plates on the coffee table and returned to the kitchen for two glasses of lemonade.

Hutch watched, pleased as Starsky ate most of the food on his plate without any additional coaxing. Starsky was still almost twenty pounds under his normal weight and Hutch was determined to see that he regained it as quickly as possible. We need to fatten you back up, buddy. I don't think that'll be too hard between me, Huggy, Edith and your mom all cooking for you.

“Would you like some more?” Hutch asked when Starsky had finished. He wasn't able to eat as much as he did before the shooting so Hutch always offered him seconds.

Starsky shook his head with a rueful smile. “Naw, let's make sure this stays down first.”

“You wanna watch some TV?”

“No, I've had enough TV for a while. Can we just sit outside for a little bit?” At the hospital, Starsky had often had an aide or Hutch take him down to the courtyard so he could sit in the sun.

“You sure you feel up to it?”

“Hutch, I told ya…I'm not gonna break. Give me some room to breathe, will ya?” Starsky chided him.

“Sorry,” Hutch said, smiling self consciously. He had been protective towards Starsky even before the shooting but he was even more so now than ever. He reminded himself that he needed to back off so Starsky could start to regain some of his confidence and his independence. But it was hard. He had come too close to losing the most important person in his life and he had sworn that he would never take that friendship for granted again.

Hutch carefully helped Starsky to his feet. Ignoring the wheelchair, Starsky started toward the deck. Hutch kept one arm wrapped firmly around him for added support. Although Starsky could walk short distances without assistance, he sometimes stumbled and lost his balance. Hutch wasn't taking any chances. A bad fall could set back his recovery for weeks.

The two friends sat down at the picnic table sitting at the far end of the deck. Starsky was subdued and quiet as they sat there listening to the muted sounds of the ocean and the gulls flying overhead. It was the perfect location to give Starsky the peace and the solitude he needed to continue his recovery.

CHAPTER 22

Friends were gathered at the beach house to welcome Starsky home from the hospital. It was the first time some of them had seen him since the shooting. The breakfast bar was covered with food that the guests had brought with them. Hutch was playing host while keeping a watchful eye on his partner, who was relaxing on the sofa.

Minnie was sitting on one side of Starsky and Edith Dobey was sitting on the other. The two women were busy fussing over him so Hutch knew that Starsky was in good hands. Starsky had been nervous about agreeing to the small gathering of friends who were anxious to see him again, but he seemed to be handling the attention fairly well. He was smiling and chatting with his friends but Hutch could see that Starsky was getting tired. He would need to take his meds and rest soon.

“He looks good,” Captain Dobey said, watching as the dark half of his favorite team laughed at something Minnie had said. “How is he? Really?”

“He has good days and he has bad days,” Hutch answered. “Today's been a good day.”

“How are you doing?” Dobey asked, noting the weary lines around Hutch's eyes.

“I'm okay.” Hutch said evasively, unwilling to reveal just how exhausted he really was. His own feelings and well being were secondary to Starsky's recovery. Getting his partner back on his feet was Hutch's main priority.

“When is his mother coming back?”

“She'll be here tomorrow. She's planning on staying for at least six weeks. By then Starsk will probably be ready to tell us both to go to Hell,” Hutch smiled ruefully. Starsky had only been home from the hospital for two days and he was already complaining about his restrictions and his limitations. “He has a doctor's appointment Thursday and then he's supposed to start physical therapy on Friday.”

“Are you planning to come back to work anytime soon?”

“Not as long as he needs me.” Hutch said firmly. Dobey had already been more than generous with letting Hutch take time off to care for his injured partner. But, Hutch knew that, sooner or later, he would have to make a decision about his future. But, Hutch's future depended entirely on Starsky. If Starsky wasn't able to return to the streets as his partner, if he couldn't be a cop any longer, then Hutch wasn't going back either.

Dobey nodded without replying, not entirely surprised by Hutch's answer. He knew that Starsky would always be Hutch's main concern, even over the job. It had always been that way between the two of them, which was one of the things that made their partnership so unique. Although the big blond was still heavily involved in the case against James Gunther, for all intents and purposes, he was on an indefinite leave of absence.

Rosie Dobey scooted over to the couch and climbed up onto her mother's lap, smiling shyly at her ‘Uncle' Dave. Starsky grinned back, reaching out to tousle the child's black ringlets. He had always been fond of the precocious little girl. No matter how bad he felt, she could always make him smile. And this was no different.

“Are you all better now, Uncle Dave?” she asked

“I'm getting better every day, Rosie Posie.” He said, using his special nickname for the child. He had no intention of telling the child how weak he still was.

“Daddy said I couldn't come and see you in the hospital because I had too many germs.”

“Rosie!” Edith scolded her “That is not what your father said. He said Uncle Dave was too sick to be exposed to any germs that might make him sick.”

“Same thing,” Rosie insisted. “I couldn't go see Uncle Dave because of my germs.” She looked at Starsky with those big brown eyes and an innocent expression that melted his heart. “Are my germs still gonna make you sick? I don't wanna make you sick again, Uncle Dave.”

“That ain't gonna happen, baby.” Starsky reassured her with a gentle smile.

Rosie chewed on her bottom lip. She obviously had something else on her mind. Finally, she said solemnly, “Daddy said some bad men shot you.”

“That's right, honey.”

“Why were they mad at you?”

“I…uh…don't know. I guess I did something they didn't like.” Starsky said, trying to provide a simple explanation that the child could understand and accept.

“Did Uncle Hutch catch ‘em?”

“Yeah…he did.”

“Good,” Rosie said in a satisfied voice. “I hope they get in a lot of trouble for what they did.”

“I'm sure they will…” Starsky said, reaching out with his right arm to give Rosie a hug. She giggled and curled up against him, moving from her mother's lap to his. Edith reached out to stop her but Starsky shook his head, helping Rosie to settle comfortably in his lap. Minnie and Edith both noticed that he kept his left arm folded protectively across his stomach to keep Rosie from leaning back against his scarred torso.

“Rosie, say goodbye to Uncle Dave,” Dobey said, stepping over to his daughter and his wife. “We need to go home now so Uncle Dave can get some rest.”

“Okay. Bye, Uncle Dave.” Rosie said, wrapping her arms around Starsky's neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Bye, Rosie. You come back again soon. Okay?” Starsky said, raising his eyes to meet those of his Captain. A silent communication passed between them, similar to the connection Starsky shared with Hutch.

Let her come back to see me. It means a lot.

I know. She loves you too.

Dobey gathered his daughter in his arms and lifted her from Starsky's lap. She wrapped her arms around her father's neck, burying her face against his shoulder.

“We'll stop by again soon. You take care of yourself, son, and do what the doctor says.” Dobey said gruffly. Even though he would never admit it to his two best men, he cared deeply for both Starsky and Hutch.

“Don't worry. Hutch will make sure of that.” Starsky said with a grunt. He exchanged a faint smile with his commanding officer. They both knew how good Hutch was at being a mother hen when it came to taking care of Starsky when he was injured.

“Goodbye, David,” Edith said, as she leaned down to give Starsky a hug and a kiss. “I'll make a chocolate cake and bring over for you and Hutch tomorrow.”

“Great. I love your chocolate cake.” Starsky said in a pleased voice, his eyes sparkling with pleasure as he looked at the attractive black woman.

“I'd better go too, darlin',” Minnie said, rising gracefully to her feet. “You need your rest.”

“Hey, all I've been doing for the past few weeks is rest,” Starsky objected, but not that strongly. “Stick around, sweetheart…I promise to be good.”

“Starsky, you are a trashy boy.” Minnie told him, laughing. It felt good to hear Starsky's teasing her again. She had missed their easy bantering back and forth. Following Edith's example, she gave him an affectionate hug and a kiss.

Within ten minutes, everyone else had said their goodbyes until the only one left behind was Huggy Bear. Hutch immediately poured Starsky a glass of water and doled out his evening meds. Starsky took his medicine with some reluctance and then allowed Hutch to help him to his bed. After getting him settled in for the night, Hutch rejoined Huggy. The tall skinny black man was sitting at the breakfast bar, nursing a beer. “Is he okay?” Huggy asked automatically.

“He's pretty worn out. He still gets tired real easy and needs to rest.”

“I could tell he was starting to hurt.”

“He hurts all the time. That's nothing new.”

“What do the doctors have to say?” Huggy asked in a concerned voice.

“Same thing they keep saying…it's gonna take time. He was so torn up inside, it's gonna take a long time for him to heal.”

“How's he handling it?”

“How do you think he's handling it?” Hutch asked gruffly. “He's right on the edge, Hug…he's about ready to lose it. I'm just waiting to pick up the pieces when it happens.”

“Starsky is tougher than anybody thinks…he's already proven that by surviving in the first place,” Huggy pointed out. “He'll get through this…” the black man smiled broadly. “After all, he's got you in his corner…makes for an unbeatable combination in my book.”

“I don't know how much more I can take either, Hug.” Hutch admitted reluctantly.

“You'll take as much as you have to take…as long as it's for him.” Huggy said. The black man smiled slightly. “At least his mom is gonna be here to help out.”

“I think he'd just as soon that she stay home,” Hutch said with a chuckle. “But that ain't about to happen.” His voice turned solemn and serious. “I think Rachel feels that this is her chance to make it up to him for sending him away when he was thirteen.”

“Guilt can do funny things to a person.” Huggy said. “Look what it's done to you.”

“Me? What about me?” Hutch asked in a surprised voice.

“Oh come on, Blondie…you didn't eat, you didn't sleep, you almost killed yourself in the beginning until you found out who shot him. And, once you brought Gunther down, the only thing you cared about was Curly. That's still the only thing you care about. You put your whole life on hold just to take care of him.”

“And that's a bad thing?”

“It is if you're doing it because you feel guilty for not being able to stop him from getting shot.”

“Of course I feel guilty for that! I let him down! I didn't cover his back like I was supposed to!” Hutch growled.

“What else could you have done? You were on one side of the car, he was on the other. He was the one who was directly in the line of fire,” Huggy reminded him. “Even if he had gotten down, he still would have been hit.”

“But it might not have been so bad.”

“You don't know that and you can't keep beating yourself up over it. You gotta let it go. For your sake and for Starsky's too,” Huggy squeezed Hutch's shoulder encouragingly. “He's gonna make it…that's all that matters. You need to remember that, m'brother.”

“Thanks, Hug.”

“Hey, somebody's gotta keep you on your toes until Curly is up to it again,” Huggy grinned broadly. “I gotta go. I still got a bar to run.”

Hutch walked Huggy to the door and stood there watching as he drove out of sight. Sighing softly, he turned and began to clean up the dirty glasses and plates left over from the gathering of friends. Leaving the dishes for later, he put the leftover food in the refrigerator and turned out the lights as he went to the bedroom to check on Starsky.

Te dark haired man was sleeping quietly. He had kicked his blanket to the foot of the bed, so Hutch covered him with just the top sheet so he wouldn't catch a chill. Stripping down to his boxers, Hutch sat down on the edge of the cot and just sat there for a long time, watching Starsky sleep. It was a habit he had gotten into while Starsky was in the hospital and one he couldn't seem to break now. Finally, he stretched out on the cot and fell into a restless slumber.

CHAPTER 23

Starsky watched his mother from his position on the sofa as she opened the oven door to check on the meal she was preparing. The tantalizing aroma of pot roast filled the air. He turned away to hide the grimace that crossed his face as a fierce cramp twisted the muscles in his stomach into knots.

The therapy session that morning had been brutal, stretching muscles that didn't want to be stretched and pulling on scars that were still painful. The overtaxed muscles in his upper torso had been contracting into painful spasms ever since. Starsky might whine over a minor injury but when it came to the really painful ones, he internalized his discomfort suffering in silence.

“David,” Rachel called from the kitchen. “Do you need one of your pills?”

“Naw,” Starsky called back. “Hutch should be back soon with the new prescriptions. I'll take one then.” Although he knew the pill would ease his pain, the morphine made him groggy and disoriented. He'd rather endure the discomfort.

“How about a nice cup of tea?”

“I'm fine, Maw. Really.” Starsky said, smirking when he realized he had two mother hens fussing over him now instead of one. He was grateful for his mother's company and tender loving care, but it was Hutch's touch and presence that he relied on.

He muffled a cry of pain as he shifted his left shoulder. The session that morning had concentrated on his left arm, hand and shoulder. He couldn't raise that arm above chest level, the shoulder frozen in place beyond that point. He could do a lot of things with his right hand but his left one was still his dominant hand, the one he instinctively used. If he ever hoped to be a cop again, he had to regain full mobility in that arm and hand.

Starsky closed his eyes and tried to relax, taking slow shallow breathes. A persistent respiratory infection made it difficult to breathe comfortably and he was often short of breath. Pain was still his constant companion, clawing at his insides insistently, leaving him irritable and short tempered. He opened his eyes when he felt the cushions shift as his mother sat down on the sofa beside him.

She smiled as she reached out to brush an unruly curl out of his eyes. “You need a haircut.” she said.

“It's not that long.”

“That's what you always used to say when you were little and I took you to the barbershop.” Rachel said, smiling at the memory. “You argued all the way there, telling me it could wait.”

“I'm glad you're here, Maw.”

“So am I. It's not often I get the chance to be your mother anymore.”

“I'm thirty-six years old, Maw; I've been taking care of myself for a long time.”

“Yes, you have. Too long. You had to grow up too fast after your father got shot.”

“That wasn't your fault.” Starsky said, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation had taken. Even after all these years, he still didn't like talking about the day his father died.

“Your father getting shot wasn't my fault, but sending you out here to live with Rose and Al was.” Rachel said in a sad voice that tugged at Starsky's emotions. He hated seeing his mother upset about things that had happened in the past.

“You did what you had to do. It all worked out for the best.”

“Did it, David? Did it, really?” she said “You were so angry with me for so long.”

“I got over it.”

“I know you didn't understand. You thought I did it because you were bad, because I didn't I want you around anymore.”

“I know that's not why you did it,” Starsky said firmly. “You did it because you were worried about me, because of all the trouble I was getting into after Pop died.”

“I never intended for you to stay. I always thought you'd be coming back home in a year or so…” Rachel's words faded away. She caught her breath at the painful memories of the time she been forced to send her thirteen year old son thousands of miles away from the only home he knew.

“Maw, don't do this to yourself.” Starsky said, pleading with his eyes for her to stop this particular trip down memory lane. But, Rachel was not to be deterred from talking to her son about the rift that separation had caused between them.

“I sent you away because I loved you.”

“I know that.”

“You do now. You didn't then.”

“Maw, if you hadn't sent me out here, I'd have ended up just like Nicky.” Starsky said, gently covering his mother's hand with his own. “Maybe even worse,” a faint smile tugged at his lips. “If you hadn't sent me out here, I would never have met Hutch.”

“And you would never have followed in your father's footsteps or almost died the way he did.” Rachel said, her words coming out harsher than she intended. She saw the flash of pain that crossed her eldest son's face. She knew how much being a cop meant to him and how much he idolized his father's memory.

“I didn't die like Pop did, Maw.” Starsky reminded her, sensing the pain and fear behind her words.

“Only by the grace of God.” Rachel muttered, a single tear running down her cheek. “Do you have any idea how afraid I am of getting a call someday and hearing Hutch or your Captain tell that the next time you aren't so lucky?”

“I don't think you need to worry much about that.” Starsky said quietly, the pain evident in his own voice. “Because I don't think they'll let me be a cop anymore after this.”

Their conversation was cut short by Hutch coming into the house. He took one look at their faces and knew that he had interrupted something private between Starsky and his mother. Starsky forced himself to greet his partner with one of his trademark grins. He was grateful for his arrival. At least it had brought an end to a painful conversation he didn't want to continue.

“Hey, buddy,” Hutch said as he sat a peanut butter sundae topped with whipped cream and sprinkles down on the coffee table in front of Starsky. It had become a ritual between them. Whenever Hutch had to run errands, he always brought Starsky back a treat. Not only was he rewarded with a happy grin from his best friend but it also got Starsky to eat something that he could usually keep down. He was slowly regaining the weight he'd lost during his long stay in the hospital but it was taking more time than Hutch would have liked. It didn't help that Starsky was still nauseated most of the time and didn't feel much like eating.

“Thanks, Hutch.” Starsky said, eagerly digging into his ice cream.

“Don't spoil your appetite, David,” Rachel said automatically as she pushed herself to her feet and went back into the kitchen to finish cooking. “I'm making your favorite for supper. The Paul Muni special.”

“I'll leave room for some. I promise.” Starsky told her. The truth was, he was hungry constantly but it didn't take much to make him feel full and bloated. The doctor had explained that was because of the extensive surgery on his stomach and the resulting digestive problems as his system healed. Combined with the constant nausea from his various medications that often led to vomiting when he did eat, it was difficult to enjoy his food. At least ice cream and milk shakes seemed to be one of the few things he could tolerate.

“Did you take your pills?” Hutch asked, even though he was sure he already knew the answer. He decided not to question Starsky about the conversation he had been having with his mother when Hutch came in. If Starsky wanted him to know the details, he would tell Hutch when he was ready.

“Not yet.” Starsky admitted reluctantly, bracing himself for another lecture from Hutch.

“Starsk, you know you have to take them when you're supposed to even if you don't want to.” Hutch admonished him as he went to the kitchen counter to get Starsky's mid-day medications.

“They make me sleepy,” Starsky complained childishly. “And it feels like there are bugs crawling underneath my skin. It drives me nuts.”

“Take ‘em,” Hutch ordered, ignoring Starsky's complaints, handing him a glass of water and a handful of pills including two pain pills. Starsky glared at him but did as he was told, handing the empty glass back to Hutch with a grunt.

“Happy?” Starsky growled irritably.

“Ecstatic.” Hutch said, smiling indulgently. Starsky could be a difficult patient at best. Hutch understood that he had good reason to be cranky. He was used to that and he would rather see him groggy and sleepy then watch him suffering in silence because he was too stubborn to take his pain pills.

It didn't take long for the medication to take effect. Starsky felt his eyelids growing heavy and his muscles took on that lax feeling he was all too familiar with. The sharpness of the pain faded into the background replaced by a dull ache deep in his bones. He lay on the sofa listening as his mother and Hutch finished preparing supper.

When the food was done, Hutch helped Starsky up from the sofa, supporting him securely with one arm wrapped securely around his waist, and helped him into the kitchen to join them at the table. Rachel had prepared his plate, giving him a small portion of the pot roast and vegetables. She had also given him a glass of lemonade and a cup of coffee fixed just the way he liked it with lots of sugar and cream.

“This is terrific, Rachel.” Hutch complimented her as he took a bite of his food.

“With a little more practice maybe yours will taste just as good, Blintz.” Starsky said with a smile, as he slowly chewed a bite of his meat and vegetables. The two men exchanged a glance, both of them remembering when Hutch had called Rachel for the recipe so he could make it for Starsky to cheer him up after a particularly bad incident at work.

“It was the only way I could ever get Davy to eat his vegetables.” Rachel said with a chuckle.

“It still is.” Hutch said with a laugh.

“Hey, no fair ganging up on an invalid,” Starsky grumbled good-naturedly. “I eat baked potatoes…that's a vegetable. And a deluxe pizza has all the basic food groups, including vegetables.”

“That's splitting hairs,” Hutch reminded him. “Green peppers, onions, and tomatoes on your tacos and your burritos doesn't count either.”

“Come on, Hutch,” Starsky whined plaintively. “You know I can't eat any of the good stuff right now.”

Rachel and Hutch both laughed at the forlorn expression on Starsky's face. His preference for junk food was a basic part of his diet, one that both Rachel and Hutch had tried for years to correct with minimal success.

“Eat.” Rachel told him sternly, nodding at Starsky's half finished meal.

“You heard your mother, pal,” Hutch said in a teasing tone. “Better do what she says or she'll send you to bed without your supper.”

Starsky dutifully finished the food on his plate and declined seconds. His stomach was churning uneasily and he wasn't sure if what he had already eaten would stay down or not. He had learned the hard way not to overdo it unless he wanted to spend time hugging the toilet as the food made a repeat appearance.

While Rachel did the dishes, Starsky and Hutch watched a sitcom on TV. By eight o'clock, Starsky was starting to doze off, so Hutch suggested a bath and then bed. Starsky didn't argue. He still spent the majority of his time sleeping, exhausted by any change in his normal routine. And he was still feeling the residual effects of the therapy session earlier that day.

After helping Starsky with his bath and getting him settled in for the night, Hutch rejoined Rachel in the living room. She poured him a cup of coffee and sat down beside him on the sofa.

“I know David didn't really say much about it,” Rachel said quietly. “But that therapy session this morning was really hard on him.”

“I know it was,” Hutch agreed in a tired voice. “I could see it in his face when I picked him up afterwards how much he was hurting.”

“Does he have any appointments tomorrow?”

“No. He has another doctor's appointment Monday with Doctor Carson and then another therapy session after that.”

“Is that the doctor for his lung?” Rachel asked. David had so many different doctors and therapists still caring for him that she had trouble keeping their names straight.

Hutch nodded. “Yeah, he's gonna run some tests to see how well his lung is healing. So, Monday will be even worse on him than today was.”

“I wish there was more I could do. I hate to see him in so much pain all the time.”

“I know. So do I. And it's gonna get harder before it gets any easier.”

“He's pushing himself so hard. I'm just afraid he'll overdo it and end up hurting himself again.”

“You know how stubborn he is. He wants everything back to normal now instead of six months from now.”

“What if things are never back to normal again?”

“Then we'll deal with that when the time comes,” Hutch said, taking a sip of his coffee. He stood up to take his cup into the kitchen. “I'm gonna turn in. Good night, Rachel.”

“Good night, Ken.”

CHAPTER 24

“EVERYBODY FEELS SORRY FOR ME! MA, NICKY, OUR FRIENDS…EVERYONE!” Starsky yelled, making no effort to keep his voice down or his anger in check. “EVEN YOU, HUTCHINSON! THEY ALL LOOK AT ME AND THINK…OH, POOR STARSKY. HE WAS SUCH A GOOD COP AND LOOK AT HIM NOW!”

“That's bullshit and you know it!” Hutch snapped, struggling to keep his own temper under control and his voice down. “I've never felt sorry for you! I know the hell you've been through! I respect you for fighting so hard to get your life back!” He paused to catch his breathe, glaring at his highly excitable partner. “So, maybe you need to stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself!”

“WHY SHOULDN'T I FEEL SORRY FOR MYSELF?” Starsky continued to rant. “I'M THE ONE THAT HAD MY INSIDES REARRANGED AND PATCHED BACK TOGETHER AGAIN! I'M THE ONE WHO HATES WHAT HE SEES IN THE MIRROR EVERY DAY!” Starsky was breathing heavily, his eyes sparkling with rage as his emotions overwhelmed him.

“STOP IT!” Hutch finally yelled back, grabbing Starsky's shoulders to get his attention. “DON'T DO THIS TO YOURSELF…TO US!”

“Let go of me,” Starsky said in a soft, quiet voice that sent a chill down Hutch's spine. It was the same voice that could send a suspect to his knees when Starsky used it on the streets. He pulled out of Hutch's grasp and disappeared into his bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Hutch's shoulders slumped in defeat as he turned and trudged back to the living room. He was grateful that Rachel was at the grocery store and hadn't been there to hear Starsky's outburst after he and Hutch had returned from Starsky's therapy session.

Starsky had been home from the hospital for almost six weeks and his progress had been slow but steady. He was off most of the meds except for some milder pain pills as needed, the Prozac for his depression and the valium to help him sleep at night. He still had frequent bouts of nausea and his appetite was still dicey at best but he was better.

He had regained most of the weight he'd lost and the grueling therapy sessions had rebuilt his muscle tone and increased his stamina. What worried Hutch was the continuing nightmares, increasing mood swings, insomnia, and panic attacks that Starsky was experiencing. He had been tottering on the edge for days, walking a thin line between solid ground and the abyss.

His emotional breakdown had come about when his physical therapist informed Starsky that he had reached a plateau in his recovery and that there may only be minimal improvement at best in his present level of functioning. He had only regained eighty percent use of his left arm and hand that was not acceptable to Starsky. It was enough, along with his continuing problems with his diminished lung capacity, to keep him from going back on the streets as a cop.

Hutch was sitting on the front deck, staring out at the horizon, deeply lost in his own thoughts, when he heard Starsky step up behind him.

“Hey, Blintz,” Starsky said with a sheepish smile as he leaned against the deck railing, glancing down at his partner on the top step. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come unglued like that. I don't know what's wrong with me lately.” he sighed deeply “It seems like it everything rubs me the wrong way lately and I've been taking it out on you..” He said apologetically.

“Hey, you've earned the right to be a little cranky,” Hutch said with a faint smile.

“But, that doesn't give me the right to take it out on you.”

“That's what I'm here for,” Hutch said offhandedly. “Better me than some poor slob on the street who doesn't know what's going on. They might punch out your lights.”

“That what you wanna do, Hutch? Punch out my lights?”

“Sometimes…” Hutch admitted ruefully “But, not today.”

“Does that mean I'm forgiven?”

“Always,” Hutch said with a genuine smile of affection. He lowered his head and stared at the wood beneath his feet. He wondered if Starsky would want to punch out his lights when he brought up what was on his mind. It was a risk he had to take. “Starsk, maybe you need to think about going to talk to the therapist that Doctor Riley told you about.”

“A shrink?” Starsky said in a stunned voice. “You think I'm crazy, Blondie?”

“Of course not.” Hutch said defensively. “But I do think you need to talk to someone besides me about what happened to you.”

“Ahhhh, Hutch…” Starsky whined “I have to talk to the department shrink before I can go back to work…isn't that bad enough?”

“No. You need to talk to somebody who specializes in dealing with people who've been through the same kind of trauma you have. It can't hurt, Starsk. Will you at least think about it?”

“Maybe…” Starsky said grudgingly. Their conversation was cut short by Rachel's return from the store. Both men walked down to the drive to help her with the bags. Starsky still wasn't supposed to lift anything heavy but he could handle a few light bags of groceries.

The rest of the day passed quietly without any further outbursts from Starsky. Hutch splurged and ordered two pizzas for supper. It was worth it to see the delighted expression on Starsky's face as he ate his first piece of pizza since before the shooting, even if it was missing the more spicy ingredients that could still upset Starsky's digestive system.

Starsky was feeling well enough to stay up with Hutch and watch a movie on TV. They turned in shortly after ten p.m. Hutch was jolted out of a sound sleep around two a.m. by Starsky's screams. Bouncing to his feet, he reached for his wildly thrashing partner.

“Starsk,” he said quietly, gently stroking Starsky's arm as he eased him out of the nightmare. Starsky's eyes flew open, darting around the room frantically, until he focused on Hutch's face. Gasping for breath, Starsky grabbed Hutch's arms tightly as he forced his breathing into a more normal pattern. Hutch ran his fingers through the sweaty curls as Starsky calmed down, the fading images of the nightmare loosening their grip on his mind. “You okay, partner?” Hutch asked in a concerned voice.

“Yeah, just give me a minute,” Starsky panted as his heart rate slowed to a normal rhythm.

“Were you dreaming about the shooting again?” Hutch asked, even though he already knew the answer. Starsky had started re-living the shooting in vivid detail in his nightmares while he was still in the hospital.

Starsky nodded, tightening his grip on Hutch's arms, his physical presence offering support and security to the frightened man. “It's always so real…” Starsky gasped in a ragged breath. “I can hear you shouting at me to get down and then I can feel the bullets hitting my body, ripping me apart.” his voice broke “It hurts so fucking much,” he buried his face against Hutch's shoulder, his body trembling. “I'm scared, Hutch. All the time.”

“I'm scared too, buddy.” Hutch whispered soothingly. “I'm scared that if it happens again, you might not make it the next time. The doctors said your body couldn't handle that kind of trauma again.” He took a deep shuddering breath as he finally revealed his own deepest fears to his partner. “I couldn't go through this again, Starsk. It kills me to have to watch you struggle to just take a breath. When you hurt, I hurt just as much.”

“I'm tired, Hutch.” Starsky said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I'm tired of hurting all the fucking time. I'm tried of not being able to do things that I used to take for granted. Sometimes…sometimes I think it would have easier to just stay dead.”

“Don't say that!” Hutch said more loudly than he intended. “Don't you ever say anything like that again!” There was a part of him that wanted to grab Starsky and shake him but instead, he wrapped his arms around his friend and held him tightly. “Don't you know that I can't live without you? If you had died, then I wouldn't lasted very long by myself.”

“I'm sorry. I fucked up everybody's life.” Starsky said in a muffled voice.

“No, you didn't.” Hutch said, instinctively soothing his distraught partner. “You've been through hell and back but you survived. That's more than most men could have done. Maybe if you talk to somebody about all this crap that's going through your head it'll help make it go away.”

“Okay…” Starsky muttered in a defeated voice, drained of emotion. He was too tired to go on fighting. “Call that therapist tomorrow and find out when they can see me.”

“You're making the right decision, Starsky.” Hutch said in a relieved voice, gently petting the trembling body in his arms.

“Will you lay down with me? Just until I go back to sleep?” Starsky asked in a small voice.

“Scoot over…and don't steal the blanket.” Hutch said with a smile, as he eased Starsky back down onto the bed and stretched out beside him. Starsky sighed softly and curled up against Hutch, closing his eyes and drifting back into a deep, peaceful sleep. Hutch smiled into the darkness as he lay there beside his partner. After one of his nightmares, it seemed like the only way Starsky felt secure enough to go back to sleep was when Hutch laid with him. It had become a familiar routine that offered them both a certain measure of comfort.

CHAPTER 25

Starsky paced the empty waiting room impatiently. He almost wished that he had taken Hutch up on his offer to stay with him for his first appointment with the psychologist Dr. Riley had suggested. But, Starsky had told Hutch to come back and pick him up in two hours. This was something that he had to do on his own. He knew that the psychologist, a woman named April Stewart, had contacted his various doctors and gotten reports on his medical history. She had also talked to Hutch to gather some background information on their relationship.

Starsky wasn't entirely comfortable talking to anyone but Hutch about things that he considered personal issues but the nightmares and panic attacks were taking their toll. He was willing to try anything to make them stop. Even if it meant baring his soul to a stranger. A rueful smile tugged at his lips. Through the years, Starsky had been required to see the police psychologist on numerous occasions so he could be cleared fit to return to duty. He had become adapt at playing word games to keep from divulging too much personal information to anyone.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he started when a soft voice behind him said, “David?”

Stumbling, and almost losing his balance as he turned around, he caught himself in time, flushing with embarrassment at his awkwardness. He found himself facing a woman about his age with warm brown eyes and long chestnut colored hair hanging down the middle of her back in a thick braid.

“Yeah, that's me.” he said self-consciously, his guard instinctively going up now that his session with the doctor was about to begin.

“I'm April Stewart.” the woman said pleasantly, gesturing for him to step into her office. “You can call me April. I hate being called Ms. Stewart.” She smiled warmly. “Do you mind if I call you David? Or would you prefer that I call you something else?”

“Dave or David…either one is fine.” Starsky told her as he entered the neatly arranged office. A large picture window overlooked the city and the only furnishings were a comfortable looking brown leather sofa and matching chair with a coffee table placed between them.

“Please, have a seat.” April said, taking a seat in the chair facing the sofa. She leaned back in her chair and looked at him closely as he sat down on the sofa. “I've read your medical records. You have quite a history, even for a highly decorated police officer.”

“Shit happens. It comes with the badge.”

“This last incident was almost killed you. How do you feel about that?”

“How am I supposed to feel about that?” Starsky snapped, his tone a bit sharper than he intended. “My whole fucking life was turned upside down in a few seconds.”

“And you resent that, don't you? It makes you angry.”

“Wouldn't you resent it if it happened to you? Wouldn't it make you angry?”

“We're not talking about me. We're talking about you and how you feel,” April pointed out in a calm voice that irritated Starsky. “What do you remember about the shooting?”

“Nothing much…just Hutch yelling at me to get down and then the pain,” he paused to compose himself. “Terrible pain…then nothing. Not until I woke up in the hospital two weeks later.”

“How did you feel when you woke up and found out it was two weeks later?”

“It hurt so fucking much I thought I was gonna die. I just wanted it to stop…not hurt anymore.”

“But, you didn't die. Did you?”

“Actually, I did.” Starsky said with a ghost of a smile. “For four minutes, the day after the shooting.”

“How did you feel when you found out about that?”

“Sometimes I think I'd have better off staying dead.”

“Why?”

“Because then I wouldn't have to be here spilling my guts to you.”

“You don't like talking about your feelings, do you?”

“I don't see where how I feel is anybody else's business.”

“Even if the way you feel affects the people around you? People who love you and care about you?”

“I don't wanna talk about this anymore,” Starsky said, starting to rise to his feet.

“Sit down, David,” April said firmly. “Running away isn't going to make things any better.”

“And talking about it is?” Starsky growled as he sank back down on the sofa.

“It's a start.” She smiled encouragingly but Starsky didn't want to listen to what she had to say. His heart was starting to pound and he could feel the sweat on his palms. The last thing he wanted to do was have a panic attack in her office. She said something but Starsky had been too preoccupied to hear her.

“I'm sorry. What?”

“I asked you if there's ever been any other time in your life when you felt the same way you do right now? When you had the same kind of nightmares, panic attacks…depression,” she repeated “Anytime at all?”

“Yeah, everyday when I'm out there on the streets doing my job.”

“I'm serious, David.”

“So am I.”

“It's not the same thing and I think you know that. Was there any other time in your life when you felt the same way you do now?” she repeated patiently.

“Once…” Starsky admitted reluctantly, but refusing to say more.

“And that was…” April probed insistently.

“After I came back from ‘Nam.”

“How long were you in Vietnam?”

“Eighteen months.”

“Did you see a lot of action?”

“Too fucking much. I lost a lot of good friends over there.”

“I'm sure you did. Were you ever injured while you were over there?”

“”Depends on what you mean by injured.” Starsky said evasively. “I was shot in the shoulder once.”

“How else were you injured, David? Besides being shot.”

“I was a guest of the Viet Cong for almost six weeks. You figure it out.” Starsky snapped.

“You were a P.O.W.” April said, repeating the obvious. “Is that why you were sent home?”

“Yeah, they gave me a medical discharge.”

“And you had nightmares, panic attacks, and periods of depression after you came back home? Correct?”

“Yeah.”

“How long did it last?”

“I guess it was almost a year before I finally stopped waking up screaming in the middle of the night…before I stopped seeing pieces of my friends blown to hell whenever I closed my eyes.”

“Those are classic symptoms of what they used to call battle fatigue or combat stress.” April said “There are researchers today who believe that it's not just men who served in the military who suffer those symptoms but anyone who has been through a traumatic life altering event.” She looked at him intently. “I think that getting shot in the chest and stomach four times at close range would fall into that category, don't you?”

“So, talking about it is supposed to make it better?” Starsky smirked. “I don't think so.”

“Did you ever talk to anybody about what happened over in Vietnam?”

“No…I shoved down deep inside, locked it up and threw away the key.”

“Did that make it go away? Did it make you forget what happened over there?”
“No, I just don't let myself think about it anymore.”

“That's important to you, isn't it, David? Being in control. Handling your problems on your own without any help from anyone?”

“What's wrong with that?” Starsky asked defensively.

“There's nothing wrong with it but sometimes people need a little help to deal with the shit that life throws at them. Wouldn't you agree?”

“I've got Hutch. That's all the help I need.”

“Hutch means a lot to you. Doesn't he?”

“He's not just my partner, he's my best friend. I trust him with my life.”

“Was Hutch there the day you got shot?”

“You already know he was.”

“He couldn't save you that day, could he?”

“It wasn't his fault!” Starsky snapped, his eyes flashing with anger, automatically coming to the defense of his partner. “He yelled at me to get down.”

“But you couldn't. There wasn't enough time and you didn't have any place to go. You were caught right in the line of fire. It wasn't your fault either, David.”

“I never said it was.”

“But you think that sometimes, don't you? That if you'd been paying more attention, you would have seen them sooner. If you'd drawn your gun a little faster, you might have been able to shoot them before they shot you.” She paused and then added “And there's a part of you that's glad it was you that got hit and not Hutch.”

“OF COURSE I'M GLAD IT WAS ME AND NOT HUTCH!” Starsky yelled, finally losing control of his fragile emotions at the impact those words had on him. “I CAN HANDLE IT BETTER THAN HE COULD!”

“Why?” April asked, remaining undaunted by his emotional outburst. “What makes you so different? Are you saying that you're a better man than Hutch?”

“NO!” Starsky snarled, giving vent to the anger that was boiling through his veins. ‘THERE AIN'T NOBODY BETTER THAN HUTCH…ESPECIALLY NOT ME.”

“So you think that Hutch is better than you.” April stated, rephrasing his words and throwing them back at him. “How?”

“He's smarter than me for one thing. He always has been.”

“Are you saying you're not smart, David?”

“No, it's not like that.” Starsky said in a frustrated tone, frowning as he tried to analyze his own distorted feelings. “I just meant that Hutch is the one with the college education…not me. I never got the chance to go to college.” His voice turned rough with a hint of bitterness. “I got an invitation to see the world courtesy of Uncle Sam.”

“So tell me the ways that you're smarter than Hutch.”

A thin smile tugged at his lips. “I had to teach him everything he knows about the streets.” Starsky said. “He'd have never survived out there otherwise.”

“So Hutch might have the book smarts but you're the one with the street smarts.” April said. “Doesn't that balance things out?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Starsky admitted, putting a cap on his anger as she forced him to re-examine his unique relationship with his blond partner.

“Are you still scared of dying, David?” April asked, suddenly changing the subject and catching him off guard momentarily. “Or are you more afraid of living?”

“Dying is easy…it's the living that's hell.” Starsky smirked.

“I can help you, David. But, only if you let me and only if you want help. It's all up to you.”

“Does this mean I don't have to come back if I don't want to?”

“It's entirely up to you. But, I hope you'll reconsider and make another appointment to see me so I can help you work through these issues you keep bottled up inside of you. At least give me a chance to help you get rid of the nightmares and the panic attacks.”

“Maybe,” Starsky said, relieved that session was coming to a close. Even though he would never admit it out loud, some of what she had said made perfect sense to him. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to see her one more time after all. “I'll think about it.”

He rose to his feet and reached out to shake April's hand with a faint smile. Turning, he left the office and found Hutch waiting for him in the waiting room, pacing the floor impatiently.

“How'd it go, Buddy?” Hutch asked anxiously as he stopped to look at his best friend closely.

“Okay,” Starsky said evasively. He didn't feel like talking about the session with Hutch, not yet anyway. He was reluctant to admit that she had made him look at his life and the shooting in a different light. Now, he needed time to process the things they had discussed. For the first time since the shooting, he began to think seriously about his future.

CHAPTER 26

Hutch knew the minute he walked in the house that something was wrong. Starsky was sitting on the sofa, staring into space. Mail was scattered on the coffee table and he held a piece of crumbled up paper clutched tightly in his hand.

“Starsky? What is it? What's wrong?” Hutch demanded anxiously as he sat down beside his partner. Starsky didn't respond but continued staring at the wall as if he hadn't heard Hutch's question. Gently, Hutch pried open Starsky's tightly clutched fingers and removed the crumbled piece of paper, smoothing it out so he could read it.

To Detective Sergeant First Class David Michael Starsky

From The Bay City Police Department Review Board

Dear Sergeant Starsky,

Based on reports submitted by your physicians in reference to the incident of May 15th, 1976, it is the decision of this board that you are physically unfit to return to active duty and that this is a permanent condition.

Therefore, effective immediately, your active duty status with the Bay City Police Department is hereby terminated. Your disability insurance coverage will continue for an additional sixty days, at which time, you will start receiving permanent disability pay based on injuries sustained in the line of duty. You will retain full medical benefits.

The department would like to express it's gratitude for ten years of exemplary service to the Bay City Police Department The decision of this board will become final thirty days from today's date unless this ruling is appealed in writing before then.

“Fuck!” Hutch snarled, as he crumbled the paper back into a ball and threw it in the general direction of the fireplace. The news was not totally unexpected. Hutch had realized for some time that it was a very real possibility but he had continued to hold out hope for Starsky's sake. Now that hope was gone, for both of them. He turned his attention back to his strangely subdued partner. “Starsky, come on…talk to me!” he urged anxiously, rubbing Starsky's tense muscles encouragingly.

Finally, Starsky turned his head and looked at Hutch flatly, his eyes lost and devoid of emotion. In an equally flat, toneless voice, he said, “They're not even going to give me a chance to make it back, Hutch. They're not going to let me try and re-qualify for the streets.”

“They can't do this to you!” Hutch declared, immediately coming to Starsky's defense. He knew better than anyone how hard Starsky had fought to get his life back. Hutch had been there every step of the way. He had watched Starsky struggle, curse, and deal with pain that would have destroyed a lesser man just to be able to do things most people took for granted.

“Yes, they can.” Starsky said in a flat toneless voice. “As long as the doctors say I'm not fit for active duty. You know that as well as I do.” he sighed softly and looked at his best friend for answers. “What am I gonna do, Hutch? I don't know how to be anything but a cop. It's all I've ever wanted to do with my life. All I've ever wanted to be.”

“I talked to Dobey today and he had a suggestion.” Hutch said “The Police Commissioner is looking for two men to act as liaison officers between the department and the Academy. To teach the cadets what it's really like out there on the streets, not just what they learn out of books, how to drive, street skills, that kind of thing. We'd spend part of our time at the Academy and part of it back at headquarters working with the rookies. And the best part, we'd still be under Dobey's command.”

“That's great for you,” Starsky muttered, lowering his head to avoid Hutch's eyes. “You're the one with the college degree, not me. I barely made it through high school and I wouldn't have graduated from the Academy if it hadn't been for your help.”

“That's just it…you have all the education you need for this job,” Hutch told him “experience on the streets. That's what they're looking for. It means more than any degree. It wouldn't be official until after the first of the year. That's plenty of time to get you back in fighting shape.” Hutch tried to curb his own enthusiasm. This had to be Starsky's choice and his decision.

“I can't let you give up your career because of me, Blondie.” Starsky said. “You've worked just as hard as I have to get where you are.”

“Don't you get it? I don't give a damn about any of that, not if you can't go back on the streets with me. This way we'll still be partners, have more regular hours for a chance and not have to worry about getting shot anymore.”

“And you've been talking to Dobey about this?”

“Yeah, I have. I knew this might happen. Hell, you knew it too.” Hutch said. “Starsky, the only reason I've stayed on the force this long was because of you. I've wanted off the streets for a long time. I just can't do it anymore.” His eyes clouded with misery. “I can't go through watching you get hurt again. It was too close this time.”

“You really want us to do this, don't you?” Starsky said in a slow, thoughtful voice.

“Only if you do.”

“I don't know.” Starsky said, moving away from Hutch and leaning into the corner of the sofa. “It's all happening too fast…I need some time to think about it.”

“Hey, take all the time you need, pal.” Hutch said. “It's six months until the first of the year. Plenty of time for you to finish recovering and decide if this is what you wanna do or not. Captain Dobey said he'd give us a good recommendation. Hell, even Chief Ryan is all for it because of the Gunther case.”

“Ryan's on our side?” Starsky said with a chuckle.

“Yeah. Ain't that a kick in the ass?” Hutch replied, chuckling back.

Starsky sighed softly and brushed his hand across his face. “Give me some time, Hutch.” he said quietly. “It's all too much to take in right now.” He shoved himself to his feet. “I'm gonna take a walk.”

“Want some company?” Hutch asked

“I'd rather be alone for a bit if you don't mind.”

Hutch nodded, understanding Starsky's need to have some time aone.

Starsky left the house and slowly started walking down the beach with his head down and his hands jammed into the pockets of his cutoffs. His mind was still reeling from the events of the day. As he walked, he let his thoughts drift back over the past six months since he'd been shot. His entire life had been changed in ways that could never be changed back. He had survived but at a price that was much higher than anyone could have anticipated. He'd lost his career and a huge part of his identify in the process. At thirty-six years of age, he was faced with starting over again, rebuilding his life and finding out where he fit in the scheme of things.

He thought back to the conversation he'd had with his mother two days ago, just before she returned to New York.

“You're stronger than you think, David. You always have been. No matter what happens in the future, you will survive. God spared you for a purpose. It's up to you to decide what that is.”

He smiled ruefully. Was this what his mother meant? Had God spared his life so he could teach rookies how to be as good a cop as he had been? How to flaunt the rules to get the job done when they needed to? How to survive out there on the streets? At least he would still be a part of the only world he knew.

When Starsky had not returned to the house after being gone for over an hour, Hutch couldn't wait any longer before going in search of his friend. He followed Starsky's tracks in the sand for almost two miles before he finally spotted Starsky sitting on a rock overlooking the ocean. Starsky glanced up as Hutch sat down on the rock beside him.

“Miss me?” Starsky chided his partner.

“Just figured I'd better make sure you didn't take a wrong turn and end up going for a swim.”

“Water's too cold.” Starsky said with a chuckle. “Besides, I don't like to swim. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I've been sitting here thinking.”

“Don't strain yourself. Don't forget you're still recovering.”

“Yeah, but I'm not an invalid anymore.”

“So, have you come to any decisions?”

“If I can't be a cop anymore, I guess this is the next best thing.”

“Hey, I'd say we've earned the right to give the rookies hell.” Hutch said with a smile.

“Yeah, I pity the ones you end up with,” Starsky said dryly. “You'll have them memorizing every period in the rule book.”

“Naw, I'll let ‘em skip the index.” Hutch shot back, enjoying kidding with his partner once more. “How about you? You'll have ‘em shooting the eye out of an ant at a hundred paces.”

“Hey, even I'm not that good.” Starsky grumbled. “I'll settle for the eye out of a grasshopper.” Both men laughed, as they relaxed and enjoyed just being in each other's company. Against all odds, they had survived the ordeal and Starsky was getting stronger every day. And even if they would no longer be cops working the streets, they would still be the best of friends and partners in their hearts forever.

Update June 31st, 1980.

Starsky and Hutch did accept new positions and quickly became two of the most popular instructors at the Academy. They helped to train some of the best rookies the Academy had turned out. The two friends continued to share the beach house even after Starsky's recovery from his injuries. They had come to love the peace and solitude that the location offered.

James Gunther was eventually convicted of all the charges against him and would spend the rest of his life behind bars. His organization was brought down by two streetwise detectives who were the best at what they did. His biggest mistake was trying to kill one of those men.

Starsky surprised all of the doctors involved with his care by recovering almost completely from his injuries. Two years after the shooting, he had regained 95 percent of the function in his left arm, shoulder and hand. And his lung capacity was at 92 percent. The scars would always be there as a reminder of that dark day in May 1976 and Starsky had been forced to make some permanent changes in his dietary habits. But, he was more fit and in better shape physically than he'd ever been before. Above all else, he was a survivor and he had proved that once again.

THE END

It is with much regret that this story finally comes to an end. I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much.