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Part 2

MAKE BELIEVE YOU'RE BRAVE
Part Three
by
Dawnwind

After Lacy's colorful apartment, the hospital seemed even more drab and dreary than usual. The overcast, rainy weather didn't help. Even with the lights on, all the rooms were cast in semi-darkness. Hutch could feel any happy feeling he'd had draining out as he walked down the long, sterile corridors. His reluctance to have any encounters with Simms made him walk even slower.

"Good morning, Mr. Hutchinson," the desk nurse at the ICU greeted. "Mr. Starsky is awake and waiting for you."

"How is he?" Hutch asked cautiously, cheered to hear that Starsky was looking for him.

"Better, I think he's a little more alert." She smiled hopefully.

"Thanks." He hurried back to his partner's room. "Starsky? How you doing?"

"Hey," Starsky answered softly. The water suction jar for the chest tube bubbled like an aquarium pump, accompanying the steady beat from the heart monitor. Unlike the last time he'd been in the room, Hutch now found the noise irritating.

"Came by t'see if you were ready to come back to work. I'm tired of working by myself," Hutch joked.

"I'm taking days off." Starsky gave him a ghost of a smile, trying not to let the pain in his chest show on his face.

"Hey, it's been a couple of days--I thought you'd be back on your feet by now," Hutch teased, relieved to see Starsky lucid, if heavily medicated.

"How long?"

"Five days. You were in a coma for three. You remember anything that happened?"

Starsky shook his head, regretting it instantly. Flashes of fiery pain shot up and down his body, the room swimming. He closed his eyes to shut out the tilting window and chairs, taking shallow breaths.

"Starsky?" Hutch asked alarmed.

"S'all right..." Starsky continued to concentrate on oxygenating his aching lungs. "What?"

"Should I call a nurse?"

"No, I'm OK." He opened his eyes a slit. Hutch's face bobbed up and down as if he were riding in a boat, but at least he was right-side-up. "Tell me what happened."

"Brenner--The Shadows Killer--shot you," Hutch said, deciding not to tell him about the second bullet for now.

"Brenner," Starsky repeated slowly, remembering snatches of the day. "Brown jacket and pants, a Winchester--came out from behind the...he was too fast f'me."

"Oh, buddy," Hutch laughed. "A cop to the end. All the way to the hospital you kept saying Brenner and I couldn't figure out what you meant."

"He shot me?" Starsky repeated, licking his dry lips. "How bad?"

"Hasn't that fucker Simms talked to you?" Hutch growled.

"Simms?"

"Your doctor?"

"Haven't seen one."

Hutch controlled his anger by reminding himself that Starsky was still drugged enough not to remember if Simms had been in or not. "Between the ribs, they've got to operate on you soon, partner," he said lightly.

"Yah." Starsky tried to keep his eyes open, but he was exhausted. Talking took more concentration than he had energy for.

"This morning Lacy Calhane told me to take vitamin C. I think you're the one who needs it."

"Y'saw her this morning? Early?" Starsky attempted a leer, but missed the mark completely. It probably would have helped to have his eyes open, but that took entirely too much effort.

"Conferring on Brenner's case," Hutch answered straight-faced, enjoying the familiar banter. It made Starsky seem less ill.

"Uh-huh." The sick man lay still for such a long time Hutch began to think he'd fallen asleep. Starsky's soft, shallow breathing created a counterpoint to the mechanical noises in the room, the muted sounds from the rest of the hospital filtering in, leaving a surprisingly peaceful feeling. Even the weather was co-operating; the unsettling wind had given way to a steady rain, which pattered rhythmically against the window. Not sure whether it was the previous night's activities, or the return of Starsky's senses, but Hutch relaxed, no longer charged with anxious energy. He absently watched the luminous green line on the flickering heart monitor, trying to make a decision on how to get rid of Simms.

"Hutch." Starsky's violet blue eyes sought out his partner.

"What?" Hutch pulled himself out of the daydream, focusing on Starsky's pale but intent face.

"Why is Brenner doing this? Shooting?"

"I dunno, Starsk, I think he's trying to kill his former partner Dan Vegas."

"Why? Where is Vegas?" Starsky gritted his teeth against the pain talking cost him, but he was interested enough to pursue the subject. Short sentences worked best, severe shortness of breath preventing anything more. "What'd he do?"

"He killed Brenner's younger brother four years ago." Hutch watched the dark-haired man struggling to breathe. Starsky was weak and feverish, but he obviously had something on his mind. "But Vegas is dead."

"An' Brenner doesn't know?"

"I dunno, Starsk, I think he does. Don't worry about it, huh?" Hutch squeezed his friend's hand; "I'll deal with it. You rest, I gotta go talk to your doctor."

"No." Starsky pulled his hand free, wincing when the IV shifted painfully in his vein, a stinging burn shooting up his arm. He let the arm drop limply on the bed, anxious to make his point while he could still manage coherent speech. "Brenner..." He attempted to collect his fleeting thoughts. "He keeps trying to kill Vegas over and over."

"He's killed a lot of policemen," Hutch agreed.

"He's fooling himself," Starsky said obliquely. "Vegas can't die twice."

Suddenly the line from the 'King and I' song flashed in Hutch's mind--When I fool the people I fear... He almost laughed as a glimmer of a plan started. "Starsky, I saw 'The King and I' last night."

"I saw it." Starsky agreed sleepily, the long conversation had worn him out.

"I know, you told me."

"Make believe you're...brave," Starsky sang, completely out of tune.

"That's been hard." Hutch gently pulled the blankets up around his friend, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Keep trying." Starsky's voice was almost a whisper.

"Time's up, Mr. Hutchinson." The pretty desk nurse appeared at the door., "He has to take a nap."

"He is." Hutch smiled fondly then resolved to find a doctor, preferably the head of the department and not Simms. "Nurse?" He read her nametag. "Sarah, who is the head around here?"

"If you mean the head of intensive care, it's Dr. McGuire," she answered, shaking down a thermometer for Starsky. "But he's away from the hospital today."

"If Starsky needed surgery, who would do it? Simms?"

"Dr. Simms is his physician," she said, slipping the thermometer in the sleeping patient's mouth. "But Dr. Kesselring is head of surgery."

"How do I get Simms off the case?" Hutch asked.

"You having some problems some with Dr. Simms?" She made a face, her opinion of the doctor obvious. "I guess, since McGuire isn't here, you could talk to Kesselring directly."

"Now?"

"I think he's in surgery." Sarah checked Starsky's temperature and wrote the results on his chart, noting the rest of his vital signs from the monitor. "He started this morning at seven--it's nine now. I don't think it'll be much longer." She shrugged. "That's all I know."

"Does he have a temperature?" Hutch glanced over her arm at the nurses' notes.

"Hundred and one degrees."

"Is that good or bad?" Hutch bent down to touch Starsky's forehead. It was warmer than his own, but not as hot as it had been the day before.

Sarah closed the medical chart, a small frown on her face. "Mr. Hutchinson, I'm not really supposed to discuss a patient's case, but he's on antibiotics. His temp should be closer to normal." She adjusted the drip on the IV. "Anything you want me to tell Dr. Kesselring?"

"Could I leave him a message? I'd like to talk with him."

"I can get it to him when he comes out of the OR," she agreed, giving him a blank sheet of medical note paper to write the short request.

"I'll wait here." Hutch scribbled out the message.

"All right." Sarah folded the paper he'd given her, deciding not to remind him that the ICU rules dictated only ten minutes per hour for visits. It really wouldn't do Starsky any harm to have his friend in the room.

"Hey, Starsk." Hutch sat down in the uncomfortable bedside chair, watching the uneven rise and fall of his partner's chest. "Would you believe it? I didn't even ask for her phone number."

"Hutchinson." Dr. Simms entered, a sour look on his jowly face. "He's asleep. You should leave."

"My God," Hutch spat. "What right in the world have you to say that?" His voice never rose above a whisper but the edge of it could have cut steel.

"This is my patient," Simms said with angry dignity.

"And my partner--my friend." Hutch grabbed the doctor's arm, literally dragging him down the hall, out of ICU.

"I will have you publicly removed from this hospital!" the doctor growled. "You will not be allowed to return." He reached for an inter-hospital phone, but Hutch grabbed his hand in a vice-like grip.

"I will have you taken off this case." Hutch caught his breath. "Starting now. If needs be I will have Starsky transferred. Simms, I cannot believe your...pomposity. I haven't seen you lift a finger to care for Starsky."

"You are not here all the time, Sergeant." Simms tried to pull his hand away, to make the call to security.

"I am damned glad of that." Hutch let go of him. "Because I don't have to witness your incompetence."

"Intern..." Simms called to a man in scrubs pushing a patient on a gurney.

"God dammit, Simms, I want to talk to you and Kesselring, not some intern." Hutch waved away the young man. "I want you off the case today and someone who went to medical school and graduated to operate on Starsky."

"Hutchinson, you know nothing about shooting victims. Your partner is very ill."

"Oh, good." Hutch prowled the corridor, slapping his fist in his palm to avoid slugging the man. "I'm glad you know that! And that's the only thing I'm glad about. You get near my partner again and, so help me God, I'll slap a court injunction on you."

"That's illegal--he's my patient and..."

"Try it and you'll find out." Hutch turned. "Where's Kesselring's office?"

"He's not on this case." Simms trotted behind the younger man, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Yah," Hutch agreed, "but he's gonna be..." He took a long step forward, starting down the hall. Coming out of the elevator was a tall silver-haired man in his mid-fifties with a commanding presence, even in rumbled surgical scrubs.

"Mr. Hutchinson," Simms said through gritted teeth, never deigning to give Hutch the proper title. "This is Dr. James Kesselring."

"Good morning." Jim Kesselring pushed his surgical cap into his back pocket, his whole manner exuding dignity. "I've been told you were looking for me. Both of you please step into my office." He led the way past the ICU to a smaller hall, holding open the door to a neatly furnished room with dark paneled walls. One wall was covered floor to ceiling with shelves full of medical texts; another was hung with photos, many featuring racehorses in action. Kesselring pulled on a monogrammed white lab coat, sat down at his desk and intertwined his fingers. "Mr. Hutchinson...?

"Detective Sergeant," Hutch corrected, sparing an irritated glance at Simms.

"Detective Sergeant Hutchinson, you have made it very clear to staff that you are unhappy with Dr. Simms' care of your friend."

"I want him off the case."

"Are you making a formal request?"

"You better believe it. I want to make a formal request, and a formal complaint. I have never met a more incompetent, ignorant..."

"Sergeant Hutchinson is prejudiced," Simms interrupted, his use of the police rank snide. "He's critical of my efforts, but he doesn't have any knowledge of medical science. He doesn't understand how grave Starsky's condition is and what I have to work with. His partner is very unstable, and not responding well to treatment."

"You're repeating yourself," Hutch flung back. "What I haven't heard is what you are going to do about it. I demand another opinion." He turned to Kesselring. "Doctor, I want this bas...man off the case. I have the right to request that, I assume?"

"What is Detective Starsky's opinion?" the head of surgery asked calmly.

"He's never even spoken to this man!" Hutch spat. "I would think it was the hospital's policy that a doctor gets to know his patient."

"Starsky was in a coma," Simms defended himself. "I have examined him numerous times."

Kesselring eyed Simms, whatever opinion he had of the doctor hidden under a professional facade. "I'll talk to Dr. McGuire when he returns and until them I will familiarize myself with the case, unless you have any objections, Sergeant." Hutch gave a negative shake of his head. "I do not usually encourage replacing a physician in the middle of a case, but you and Dr.Simms obviously have a...failure to communicate. I don't want this animosity to interfere with Sergeant Starsky's recovery."

Simms bit off a retort, glaring angrily at Hutch, accepting the pronouncement without a word.

"Victor, I would like to review the charts with you, but first I'll go with Sergeant Hutchinson to his partner's room to meet with the patient." Kesselring dismissed the other man.

"Hutchinson." Simms spoke with pure revulsion as he stood to leave. "Your partner is dying and you just can't accept that fact. He's going to die."

"Dr. Simms, please leave." Kesselring's voice rang with command. "You will be reprimanded for that comment."

The door slammed shut with a bang that sent shivers down Hutch's spine. What if what Simms said were true? He was the doctor. No, Starsky seemed so much better today. He pushed the fearful thoughts into the back of his brain. " Thank you, Doctor."

"I don't like arguments between my doctors and the friends of the patients," Kesselring said quietly. "However, Sergeant, I will admit that we have had some complaints about Dr. Simms."

"Include mine," Hutch spat bitterly. "He ought to be thrown out of the profession."

"Every case is difficult," the older man said enigmatically. "Your partner is in ICU?"

After a quick examination of Starsky, who remained asleep the entire time, Dr. Kesselring frowned. "I'll have to study the chart and x-rays but I think we can perform surgery soon." He made a few notes in typical illegible doctor scribble on the medical chart. "Sergeant Hutchinson, has your partner ever been shot before?"

"Yes." Hutch remembered the past incidents. "A couple times--once seriously. Why?"

"I noticed the scar in his left shoulder." Kesselring stepped out of the patient's room, to avoid disturbing Starsky's rest any further. "He's lucky that his body fights back well. Many people couldn't have lasted this long with a bullet that close to the heart."

"Are you saying Simms delayed so long that it could have killed him?" Hutch demanded, almost afraid to have his own suspicions proven.

"Simms was moving cautiously." Kesselring finished reading the admission notes, snapping the medical chart closed. "I can't say more than that. I will, however, tend to agree with his waiting until Starsky came out of the coma and was more stable medically."

"But he didn't operate," the blond policeman pointed out, taking a look back at his dark-haired friend, sleeping only a few feet away.

"Sergeant Hutchinson, if you want me to tell you that Simms' approach did harm to your partner, I'm not going to." Kesselring pulled off a pair of half glasses, depositing them safely in his chest pocket. "I want to point out that if I do find Starsky stable enough for the operation, so would Simms have. It was and is necessary to wait until a patient is ready for the additional shock of surgery. He needed antibiotics, blood and pressers to stabilize his condition." He nodded. "Sergeant Starsky has improved, his vitals are better and he's regained consciousness. So, Simms was correct in that respect. He may be a difficult man, but he was medically correct in waiting."

"Correct?" Hutch echoed. "He was wrong. Wrong to treat a critically ill patient as if he were already...on a slab in the morgue." He took a short breath. "I have never met a more vindictive..."

"Vindictive, yes, but a capable doctor."

"Why is he on staff?"

Kesselring hesitated before admitting, "He has seniority. Unfortunately, he doesn't work well with the police. Simms is a capable doctor."

"Why vindictive?"

"That is not the subject at hand." Kesselring said sternly. "I will not repeat any of the staff's private business. Now, I'm going to order more x-rays and blood tests done on Sergeant Starsky. Can we talk further this afternoon?"

"Yah," Hutch agreed half-heartedly, trying to rid himself of residual anger. At least Starsky had help. He regarded his still partner, wishing him to a full recovery. No hospital fairy came down to wave her 'get well' wand over Starsky's curly head. Hutch smiled ruefully at the goofy image, strangely at peace. Brenner was still at large, but Starsky had regained consciousness, had a new doctor and a chance for surgery soon. Hutch turned to go when a tiny noise stopped him.

"Hutch?" Starsky asked sleepily, trying to shift his weight without pain rippling through his chest. "Who were you talking to?"

"Your new doctor, Kesselring."

"S'good." Starsky turned just his head so he could see the blond detective. "You been here all day?"

"Awhile."

"Don't you have anything else to do?"

Hutch started to tell him he'd resigned from the case when he realized that he wanted back on the investigation. "Yah, I do. Gotta talk to Dobey."

"See you later."

"Back at ya, partner." Hutch grinned.

~~~

"I thought you took yourself off the case," Dobey observed dryly, watching Hutch pour over the Shadows Killer paperwork.

"I reconsidered and talked to Starsky," Hutch answered absently, making notes on a yellow legal pad.

"How is he?"

"Better I guess, I can't really tell, but I got another doctor to take a look at him, the head of the department." Hutch finally looked up at the black man. "Cap'n, I think I may have a plan to call Brenner out into the open."

"What?" Dobey asked, interested despite reservations.

"Give him what he wants."

"And that is?"

"Vegas, what else?" Hutch held up a photo of the ill-fated policeman.

"And how do you propose to do that?" Dobey frowned, fingers linked over his round belly.

"He'd been going after every dark-haired cop in the city--we find one who bears some resemblance to Vegas, give him a bullet-proof vest and I'll arrange a meeting with Brenner."

"You really expect that to work? Sounds half-assed, to me."

Hutch looked sober. "Captain, it's the only chance we have to catch him, get the Shadow man out in the sun where we can see him."

"Can't argue with you there, but I don't like it at all. It's dangerous."

"So's waiting around for Brenner to gun down someone else." Hutch tapped his pen against the table in a restless tattoo.

"By the way," Dobey put in, "I had some detectives go out with a search warrant to Brenner's place and they found all the files with his fingerprints all over them...and a few of yours, which were a little difficult to explain."

"I thought the judge wouldn't issue a warrant."

"I did some fancy talking." Dobey leaned his elbow on the file cabinet. "The only problem is that according to neighbors, Brenner hasn't been back to that apartment in a day or two, but we got an APB out on him."

"Has his name been given to the press yet?"

"No, why?"

"Could be a way to draw him out, so he'll call again." Hutch pressed the little spigot on the water cooler, hoping the water could cool the fire in his belly. The nervous energy had returned full force the minute he'd walked back into the detective's wardroom. It was like wasps buzzing under his skin.

"Well, I can call a press conference." Dobey stepped into his office, going to the phone, but froze as the black instrument rang shrilly. He lifted the receiver to his ear. "Captain Harold Dobey."

"Piggy Captain!" Brenner greeted contemptuously. "An' I hope my buddy Hutchinson is there, too. I got lots to tell him." Dobey had turned on the room speaker in time for the blond cop to hear the last part.

"What do you want, Brenner?" Hutch asked flatly.

"Read you shot Starsky, Hutchinson! You must have fouled my shot! Vegas got away." He laughed, taunting. "I saw your partner again. He still don't look too good."

"Your concern is touching." Hutch sneered; gripping the back of a chair, white knuckled. "Why'd you call?"

"Just checkin' up on the bastards at the piggy department. You guys ain't doing very well."

"We haven't even tried yet," the blond cop answered, remembering Darryl Washington's vow. "We're gonna nail you to the wall, Brenner."

"So try," the killer on the other end taunted.

"Brenner--we found Vegas." Hutch said suddenly, waving away Dobey's startled protest. "After the shooting."

"What?" Brenner questioned, his guard up.

"Vegas wants to meet with you." Hutch unconsciously crossed his fingers, This was a last ditch effort, but it had to work, or other cops might die.

"He can't...where?" Brenner sounded confused. "No--why?" He regained his composure quickly. "I don't wanna talk to him, I wanna kill him."

"Vegas has been hidin' out, Brenner. He had to change his name, where he lives.... He's not exactly thrilled that you've been gunning for him."

"Good. Got him runnin' scared, huh?"

"Yah." Hutch continued hopefully, stringing him along. "But he'll agree to meet with you if you'll agree to talk things out, stop the killing."

"But Vegas is..." Brenner stopped suddenly. "What are you fuckers tryin' to pull?"

"Nothing, Brenner, we just want to end this before someone else gets shot."

"I'll see Dan Vegas," Brenner conceded with astonishing speed, "at Marshall Park, the barracks to the old fort."

"Tomorrow," Hutch suggested. "Vegas and I will meet you there."

"Hey, no way, pig. Vegas alone or not at all."

Hutch glanced over at Dobey who just nodded slightly. Well, he was a lot of help. "OK, Brenner, Vegas alone. Just as long as this meeting is held."

"At the old fort," Brenner agreed. "Vegas better be there at noon or I'll kill him before he knows what hit him." He cut the connection abruptly.

"So who plays Vegas?" Dobey asked soberly.

"There's gotta be some cop left in this city who could pass as Vegas at a distance."

"What happens if Brenner gets up close?"

"I'll stop him before he does," Hutch promised. "And I don't care if he's jerking me around, get a guard on Starsky's room."

~~~

Pete Brenner stared angrily at the still warm phone. What was Hutchinson trying to pull? Trying to horn in on a meeting which was private between him and that little killer Vegas.

Opening the door of the phone booth, he started down the street to the nearest diner. Damn those pigs. They had his place staked out and he couldn't even get in long enough for a decent meal.

After ordering a meatloaf sandwich on white and coffee, Brenner sat musing. Twelve o'clock at the old fort, huh? Well, he'd get there at eleven and blitz Vegas and whoever else came along--especially if it was Hutchinson.

He had the rifle stashed in a locker at the YMCA and a couple of police files, too. Brenner smiled as he took a bite of the meatloaf. Hutch might think he was calling the shots but Brenner was still holding all the aces.

He rubbed the steady ache in the back of his head, it was getting even harder to concentrate. Vegas was scared of him, huh? He'd known the bastard was hiding, now Hutchinson had just confirmed all his theories. Vegas masqueraded under a variety of names, using his contacts at the police department to gain access to fake names and documents. Vegas's 'death' had been a cover-up, a cover-up to escape the consequences of killing Paul. A teen-aged boy lay in his grave and the man responsible was using the system to get away with it. Well, he'd have pay--and the bill was way overdue.

~~~

"Dr. Kesselring? How'd it go?" Hutch rose stiffly from the plastic chair, having waited for half an hour while the man had been in a staff meeting.

"If you mean the meeting, not well. Malpractice insurance is going up." Kesselring removed his half glasses, massaging his forehead with the end of his thumb. "But I know that's not what you want to hear about. As to your partner, Sergeant, I had the extra tests and x-rays done and luckily the bullet hasn't moved."]

"Does that mean you can operate?" Hutch followed the doctor down the corridor, skirting a cart piled with linen and several haphazardly placed wheelchairs.

"It means we definitely still have a good chance."

"Well?"

"And I have scheduled Starsky for surgery at eleven a.m. tomorrow," Kesselring continued. "I think, now that he's hemodynamically stable, and the antibiotics are hopefully kicking in, the sooner the better."

"Eleven?" Hutch echoed mournfully.

"Yes, is there a problem?"

"Well, I was hoping to be here when he went in, except that I have a...meeting tomorrow at eleven--an important one." Hutch sighed. Damn Brenner, just one more thing he was fouling up. "How long will the operation take?"

"Several hours--perhaps as long as four or more, depends on what we find when we open him up. Although I certainly don't want him on the table for that length of time."

"The surgery's just as dangerous as the bullet?" Hutch asked softly, his stomach tightening with the stress.

Kesselring turned his head to look at the detective, sadness in his gray eyes. "Unfortunately, in some cases, yes." He glanced at his watch. "Well, Sergeant, I'll leave you to visit with your partner for a few moments, but remember, be brief. He needs his strength for tomorrow. And I do hope you will be able to be present when Starsky comes out of anesthesia. It's important that he see someone he knows at a time like that."

"Doctor, you couldn't drag me away from here tomorrow afternoon," Hutch promised. It's just Thursday morning...Walking into the ICU, Hutch remembered Brenner's words 'I saw your partner again....' "Nurse?" Hutch asked. She was a gorgeous blond with almost translucent blue eyes. His eyes flicked to her nametag, lingering on her white clad breasts for a beat longer than absolutely necessary. "Anna Shoberg?"

"Yes?" Anna smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. Hutch nearly gave into the urge to ask her out, but resisted, sticking to the problem at hand.

"Has my partner, Dave Starsky, had any visitors other than me?"

"Just a minute, I'll look." She flipped though the logbook. "I just came on duty--I've been on vacation." She had a voice like heavy velvet, thick and smooth.

"I didn't think I'd seen you before," Hutch agreed.

"Here it is...a man named Huggy Bear?" Anna laughed with a shrug. "And a Captain Dobey, that's all."

"No one else?" Hutch mused aloud, vastly relieved.

"I really couldn't say. I've been gone. Is there anything else I can help you with?

"Yah, honey, I guess--don't let anyone in to see Starsky." Hutch smiled slightly. "Well, Huggy and Dobey are allowed, but nobody else without my say so. The police will be posting a guard on his door tonight."

"OK." Anna made a note of it in the book. "Huggy Bear is his real name?"

"As far as I know," Hutch laughed. As he walked down the hall to Starsky's room, he decided that Brenner must have been lying again--he hadn't seen Starsky. There had been articles in the newspapers about the wounded detective; the 'Shadows Killer' must have read them.

"Starsk?" Hutch called out softly, entering the room. His partner looked asleep, his pale face still tense with pain.

"Huh?" Starsky turned his head. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself." Hutch sat down on the edge of the bed. "How're you doing?"

"Fine, I guess." Starsky looked around thoughtfully. "What time is it?"

"Seven thirty p.m., and it's still Wednesday."

"Things get sort of hazy sometimes," Starsky sighed. "Sort of like a dream only I'm not sleeping. Haven't you been here already today?"

"Yep, but further developments in the case prompted my return," Hutch teased.

"Oh, don't talk like that when I'm on drugs," Starsky groaned, wishing he could turn over to a more comfortable position or do anything to alleviate the searing pain in his chest. He didn't like having to admit to anyone--even Hutch--that it hurt like hell.

"All right," Hutch agreed soothingly. "I came to tell you that we got a call from Pete Brenner--the Shadows Killer--and arranged a meeting with him."

"What kind of meeting?" Starsky asked warily.

"Well...we're setting up a decoy to be Dan Vegas and, hopefully, we'll grab Brenner before he gets the decoy."

"Not exactly foolproof, is it?" Starsky said cynically, taking a slow breath. Every beat of his heart and deep breath intensified the agony in his chest. "What happens if he gets...whoever it is?"

"Starsk, don't say that."

"What happens if he gets you?"

"He won't." Hutch grimaced; he lightened his tone, trying for jocularity. "Why are you so pessimistic?"

"I don't exactly feel optimistic." Starsky moved his left arm so that the fingers dangled off the edge of the bed, although the rest of the arm was held rigid by the tape of the IV.

"Starsk, it'll work out. Did Dr. Kesselring talk to you?"

"Kesselring? Oh, yah." Starsky closed his eyes for a moment. "He's the doctor."

"Yah."

"He's gonna operate tomorrow morning." Starsky sighed.

"The operation's at eleven, though." Hutch said, "So's the stake-out."

"Uh-huh."

"So, I can't be here when it starts." Hutch looked down at his hands, wondering if this was the time to tell his partner about the true nature of the wound in his shoulder.

"Hutch?" Starsky spoke softly. "What happens if I die?"

"Starsky, you won't die," Hutch cried, horrified.

"I could." Starsky stared absently at the blank wall across from his bed. "Hutch, remember when that guy gave me poison?"

"Yah." Hutch would never forget the terrifying, agonizing twenty-four hours they had spent searching for the antidote that would cure the fatal combination of chemicals a crazed man had administered to Starsky.

"I never thought I would die." He paused, fighting for a decent breath, hating the fire in his chest. "Because I knew you'd find the antidote--you did."

"Aw, Starsk."

"I trusted you, but I'm...scared. Brenner killed everybody else. He hit 'em square in the heart every time."

"There's always the exception that proves the rule, buddy." Hutch gently placed Starsky's fingers back on the bed. "Beside, nobody's proved yet that Brenner shot you."

"But we know he did," Starsky added forlornly. "They just have to get the bullet out to prove it."

Hutch clenched his hands reflexively, cracking his knuckles. He had to tell Starsky about the shoulder wound now, or he'd never get up the nerve again. "Starsky, what...what do you remember of the day you got shot? After we got to the warehouse?"

"After we got there, I went around..." Starsky frowned, trying to recall the hazy memory. "Back."

"Of the warehouse," Hutch prompted, a fluttery feeling inside him.

"There was nothing there, so I came 'round the other way. Brenner was there...near a shed." Starsky spoke uncertainly. "I dunno..."

"Do you remember what happened right before you saw Brenner?"

"Hutch," Starsky moaned. "I'm tired." He tried to shift position and was rewarded by a sharp twinge from his right shoulder. He'd completely forgotten he'd been wounded there, too.

"Starsky, please, this is very important," the blond man insisted. "Did you see the kid in the green jacket? In among the oil drums?"

"He kept running between," Starsky agreed.

"I was aiming at him." Hutch swallowed an enormous lump in his throat catching at his words.

"I wanted to tell you about Brenner," Starsky continued. "I saw the kid in the green jacket in front of me. He took a shot at you." He was incredibly tired; this conversation was heading somewhere he wasn't certain he wanted to go.

"Starsk...I shot at him, but..." Hutch realized he was crying, "you were in the way. I shot you...in the shoulder."

Starsky stared at his partner, who had tears of exhaustion and sadness running down his face. "You're not a very good shot."

Hutch attempted a laugh but failed. "I hit you, didn't I?" He squeezed his partner's hand. "Starsk, I am so sorry."

Giving him a weak grin, Starsky said, "I think you saved my life."

"What?" Hutch wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Brenner shot everybody else in the chest." Starsky winced, placing his right hand over his heart. "He missed, cause you shot me."

"Now you owe me your life?" Hutch truly laughed this time. "I think I can handle that."

"I may live to regret it." Starsky closed his eyes with a groan.

"Mr. Hutchinson," Anna Shoberg looked into the room. "Visiting hours are over. He needs his rest."

"I hope you can sleep with a nurse like her on duty, Starsk." Hutch teased gently. "She'd keep me awake nights." He waved a hand, indicating the dark-haired man in the bed, smiling at the nurse. "He keeps falling asleep on me."

Anna dimpled. "I assure you, I wouldn't."

"Oh, honey," Hutch sighed dramatically, "I'd love to take you up on that, but I'm on stake-out tomorrow."

"I'll give you a rain check." Anna slipped around the nurse's desk with a seductive smile.

~~~

Pushing past more than the usual number of officers in the detective's wardroom, Hutch achieved the coffee machine just as Dobey and a man with dark eyes and dark, close-cropped curly hair emerged from the adjacent door.

"Hutchinson, you know Bob Estrata," Dobey said by way of introduction. "He agreed to be the decoy."

"Thanks, Estrata," Hutch said simply. What else could he say? Thank you in advance for putting your life on the line, just in case the next time I see you, you're on a slab in the morgue? "It means a lot."

"Hey, if we can get this guy..." Estrata shrugged, struggling with the fastenings of his bulletproof vest. "Paul Ravelli is...was married to my cousin. I can't turn my back on him--and Starsky."

"We've planted as many undercover men as possible in the area around the fort," Dobey began, "but we can't get them too close without it looking suspicious." He gruffly helped Estrata buckle the vest around his chest. "Estrata will be wearing this under his shirt, but Hutchinson, you're got to get Brenner before he gets too close. Estrata won't fool him for long."

"He's a good shot." Bob sounded as if he were beginning to have second thoughts. "He got every one of them in one shot."

"Right through the heart." Hutch recalled Starsky's words. "You're right. He's a marksman." He didn't really have his mind on the impending stake-out. He'd spent the early part of the morning at the hospital. Despite the pre-surgical drugs, Starsky had been jittery, as Kesselring had explained the possible complications of the bullet extraction. Both detectives had hidden their fear under familiar banter, until Hutch had to leave for the police department.

"Hutch," Dobey said sternly, "you aren't listening." He turned to the dark-haired man, shaking his hand. "Son, this is a brave thing you're doing. I see a citation in your future."

"Just as long as there is one, sir." Bob pulled on a plaid flannel shirt and bombardier jacket, covering the protective vest he wore. "See you out there, Hutch."

"I'll be there, at your back."

The dark-haired young man zipped the jacket shut, nodded and hurried out. It was ten a.m. on a chilly Thursday morning, and Hutch had the overwhelming fear that he'd all but signed Bob Estrata's death warrant.

"Hutch, you've got to have your mind on this job," Dobey interrupted his introspection. "I know you're worried about Starsky, but if one phase of this operation goes wrong-someone--probably Bob Estrata--could be killed."

"I won't let that happen, Cap'n." Hutch consciously let out the tension, cracking the vertebrae in his neck with a jerk of his head. "I'm here. You got a walkie-talkie for me?"

Dobey picked up a small electronic receiver from the desk, handing it over. "Here--red button's for..."

"Captain, I've used one before." Hutch pocketed it, almost amused to note Dobey's obvious case of nerves. "What's the range?"

"That's a small one, so it's not too far but several of the plainclothes men are in range for your signals. Contact Al Jasper once you get into position."

"Al Jasper," Hutch echoed.

"Good luck, Hutchinson." Dobey spoke quietly.

"Yah, I'm due back at the hospital in two hours." Hutch smiled sardonically, gave his superior a salute and left.

Arriving at Marshall Park Fort, Hutch parked his battered brown Ford a half mile down the packed dirt road and jogged up to the back gates. Parts of the old fort dated back to the Civil War, the deserted barracks dark and forbidding, empty rooms full of ancient ghosts and memories. As Hutch hurried along the leaf-strewn road towards the front of the parade grounds, his footsteps echoed eerily through the cave-like buildings. He was glad of his leather jacket, the air still had a decidedly wintry nip in it for the end of February. The rain from the day before had left patches of wet in the dirt, just enough to muddy his shoes and leave obvious footprints. He carefully avoided the puddles, walking along the edge of the path in the underbrush.

He settled himself in a small space between two old trees, surrounded by overgrown bushes above the front gates. It was ten-twenty by his pocket watch. Wind whistled through the narrow avenue between the barracks, scattering eucalyptus leaves across the parade grounds.

"Al Jasper?" Hutch whispered into his walkie-talkie. "This is Hutchinson."

There was a squawk from the receiver, then a man's voice. "This is Jasper. Hutchinson, have you seen any sign of Brenner yet?"

"No." Hutch relayed his position. "I can see most of the fort from here. I'll give you a heads-up the minute he arrives. Ten four."

Slipping his Magnum out of the shoulder holster, Hutch checked the ammo clip. It was full. Nothing to do now but wait. His stomach grumbled unexpectedly loudly, making him wish he'd managed that cup of coffee before Dobey had caught him. He hadn't eaten anything but a small salad the night before and began to wonder if food would have calmed the roiling acid in his belly.

There was a small movement on the path below, causing Hutch to look around suspiciously. Little eddies of debris from the trees swirled through the ground-fall, the deeper puddles had lapping waves on miniature oceans. The wind had risen after the night's rain, and it could make hearing Brenner's approach more difficult.

Hutch caught a glimpse of a dark figure disappearing into the eucalyptus trees to the right of the entrance gates. Straining his eyes to distinguish shape from shadow, he scanned the tree line carefully. He drew in a sharp breath as he recognized a gray head of hair. It was Brenner! Hutch tightened his hand around the gun, finger poised on the trigger. He wanted to shoot that goddamned murderer right now. Just one squeeze of the trigger and Brenner would be as dead as Hidalgo, Collier, and the rest of the dark-haired policemen. Bringing his hand up, he pointed the muzzle at the gray head to blow him to kingdom come. Starsky had almost died. Brenner, you die.

"Hutchinson." Jasper's voice squeaked on the walkie-talkie. "Hutchinson!"

Letting the pistol go limp in his hand, Hutch picked up the transmitter. "Hutchinson, here, what is it?" He wiped sweat off his forehead with a shudder. If Jasper hadn't called, he would probably have murdered Brenner in cold blood. And getting Brenner that way was as bad as the Shadows Killer himself.

"Donovan spotted a blue Ford. It's Brenner's car, we think."

"Yah, Jasper, I just saw Brenner come in," Hutch agreed, watching the wanted man secret himself behind some boulders and deadwood.

"Why didn't you call us immediately?" Static crackled Jasper's voice.

"He was too close, I didn't want him to hear me," Hutch lied, visually searching the area where Brenner hid. The gray head was out of view for the moment.

"All right," Jasper said finally. "We'll contact you when Estrata arrives. Ten-four."

"Ten-four," Hutch intoned. He pulled out his pocket watch; it was ten to eleven. What was happening to Starsky right now?

Pete Brenner hadn't seen Hutchinson. The thought had occurred to him that the blond cop might try to sneak in before the appointed hour, so he was ready with rifle in hand. After he got Vegas, he was going after that dumb Hutchinson. Dad always said a job wasn't worth doing unless it was well done. That's what Hutch would be, well done. Or better yet, rare--still dripping with blood. He laughed at his own joke, toying with the rifle shells. He carefully loaded the weapon; it was all going according to plan.

Taking out a much-folded photograph, Brenner smoothed it flat, filled with loathing at the sight of it. The picture had captured he and Vegas, in their rookie days, arm and arm like buddies. Well, buddy, you turncoat friend, today you die. He crumpled the photo in his hand, vengeance for Paul welling up like floodwaters, threatening to engulf him. "Die, Dan Vegas, just like my baby brother died."

He tried to picture Paul, tried to recall any family holiday that he could hold dear, but time had eroded the memories. He'd resented the baby's birth, but, already an adult, had been responsible for the child. His father had pounded the responsibility into him--you're the older brother--you're the one who'll look out for him. Family was everything--even when your brother was a no-account little punk who took drugs and had beaten up his pregnant girlfriend. Blood never lies.

The ex-cop looked at his wristwatch: eleven oh five and no sign of Hutchinson. Maybe this meeting was on the level? He swept his eyes across the forested terrain in all direction, squinting into the sun almost overhead. A beautiful day to die--wasn't that what those Indians said in 'Little Big Man'? No--a good day to die. Yes, a good day for Vegas.

Hutch slid the ammo clip black and forth in the butt of his Magnum, telling himself he was just checking the bullets. More waiting...like in the hospital, the minutes no longer seemed to advance in a logical progression. Time would drag by without a single movement except the occasional hawk soaring in the wind streams over head, and then suddenly ten minutes had disappeared without the slightest notice. Hutch was drenched in sweat, his T-shirt stuck to his back under his jacket, and yet it was a relatively cool day. His stomach growled, acid splashing like the waves of a caustic sea.

"Jasper," Hutch called on the walkie-talkie. "This is Hutchinson."

"Yah?"

"I'm going down closer to Brenner--any sign of Estrata yet?"

"No, but we got a call from Dobey that he left already." Jasper replied.

"Thanks." Hutch shut off the speaker absently. It was 11:40 by his watch. He'd been in one place for more than an hour and his legs tingled as he stood up. Making his way down the hill he approached Brenner's lair from the left, as silently as possible, although the wind rustling through the bay leaves made it easier to hide the tiny noise caused by his sneakers on the ground. When he was within twenty feet of the older man, Hutch stopped, crouching in some bushes. By gently pushing a spiky-needled branch to the side, he was able to see Brenner's gray head.

A silence settled on the whole area. The air was suddenly stilled as if the cars passing on the nearby streets had quieted their motors and the wind had stopped to wait for the impending action. Hutch froze as Brenner turned his way, but he was apparently not seen. The ex-cop looked slowly around, his rifle pointing menacingly at anything that moved.

Estrata arrived at ten till twelve. He stood by his car, gazing up at the old wooden gates with a fluttery feeling. What if this whole thing didn't come off? He truly didn't want to become another statistic in the files of the Shadows Killer.

"VEGAS!" The name echoed and reechoed around the deserted fort, startling a flock of screeching birds who rose enmass from the barracks roof, wings flapping franticly. Estrata had an irresistible urge to join them.

"Vegas, it's time to die!"

Cold shivers ran down Bob Estrata's spine, goose bumps pimpling his arms as he scanned the tree-covered hill. Where was Brenner?

"Jasper, move in if you hear gunshots," Hutch whispered into the walkie-talkie. He positioned his gun so he could watch both Brenner and Estrata without having to turn. The dark-haired man walked slowly towards the flagpole, swiveling his head to find the Shadows Killer before he found him.

"Pete?" Estrata called, facing the direction he thought the voice had come from. "Where are you? I'd like to talk-about old times." He could feel his heart throbbing against the thick bulletproof vest like it wanted to escape.

"Danny, you killed him, why?" There was a plaintive tone in Brenner's voice that Hutch had never heard before. "He was my little brother."

Watching Estrata stand defenseless and exposed, Hutch had a moment of doubt. Brenner didn't sound like the psychotic killer of six people--he sounded defeated and tired.

"Danny, he was only a little boy." Brenner stood up, braced against a tree. "He didn't deserve to die."

"Pete, I'm sorry, I didn't..." Bob had a creepy feeling, saying words which belonged to a dead man.

But YOU DESERVE to die for it!!!" The violence and hatred in Brenner's voice was like an electric jolt. He swung his rifle up, starting to pull the trigger.

With a swiftness he didn't know he possessed, Hutch took aim and fired. The bullet hit Brenner as his own gun discharged, his aim swinging wide. Estrata dropped to his knees with a terrified gasp. He hadn't been shot but watching Brenner fall to the ground with a red stain splashed across his chest was painful enough.

"You OK, Bob?" Hutch jumped up, running over to Brenner and kicking the rifle away. The Shadows Killer was still alive.

Estrata nodded mutely, getting shakily to his feet. He checked his watch, it was five minutes to twelve, less than five minutes had passed since he'd arrived. It didn't seem possible.

"Jasper, call an ambulance," Hutch called into the walkie-talkie, emotionally drained. "Brenner's been shot."

"How's Estrata?" Jasper asked.

"A little pale. Ten-four, Jasper." Hutch stood limply, the gun so heavy in his hand he could barely lift his hand to place it back in the holster. He clasped the younger policeman's arm, giving his a grateful nod. In the distance, sirens had started up from all around the old fort, wailing like banshees from the past.

~~~

"Mr. Starsky has been in surgery for three hours," the little Asian nurse said quietly. "It will probably be a while longer."

Hutch thanked her quietly, looking around for a place to sit down. The red tape involving Brenner's shooting had taken longer than he expected. The ex-cop was in the security ward of the very same hospital as Starsky, in critical condition, but alive. It seemed perversely apt.

"Hey, Hutch." Huggy Bear stepped out of the second floor elevator. "Heard anything yet?"

"It'll be maybe a couple more hours, the nurse said," the blond cop answered. He sat down in the surgical waiting room, absently brushing at grass stains on his pants. "What time is it?"

"Two-twenty-five." Huggy consulted his watch. "How was he, goin' in?"

"The last time I saw, kinda scared," Hutch answered wearily. "He looked so sick."

"I heard some talk on the street about you gettin' Brenner at his own game." Huggy's almond shaped eyes caught his smile. "Fooled him, huh?"

"Yah, an' fooled myself into thinking that getting him off the street was gonna make everything better." Hutch sighed. "The song was right."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Street gossip picked up on the shooting quick, huh?"

"Yah, ol'Reny bops into The Pits, wham, jam, he grabs a beer from me. The news was eruptin' from him 'fore I could even say hey." Huggy watched a pretty nurse walk down the hall. "Hey, you remember that piece of ice you and Starsky were huntin' a coupla weeks ago

"Yah," Hutch grunted disinterestedly.

"It's on the street. I think Julian's going for a buy."

"We were early." Hutch grinned mirthlessly. He crossed his arms, hands on his elbows, restless. How much longer would the surgery last?

"You aren't still on that case, are you?"

"It's been filed for a while, I guess, I dunno." Hutch sighed, "What time is it?"

"Two-thirty," Huggy answered. "Not much later'n was a few minutes ago."

"It didn't change anything," the blond man muttered. "Getting rid of Brenner didn't change the fact that Starsky is still fighting for his life in that operating room and I can't do anything." He stood angrily. "Starsk could still die and Brenner's record would be intact. "Y'know, Starsky thought he was going to die--he was scared to death..." He paused, surprised at the grim pun. " A little gallows humor to lighten the strain, huh? Starsky told me to make believe I was brave and I'm the biggest coward in the world because I'm afraid of losing him."

Huggy couldn't think of anything to say that would comfort his friend, so he sat silently, remembering the good times he'd had with the two cops. Resting his chin on his hands, he continued to watch the comings and goings of the hospital's female personnel.

A gorgeous girl with long red hair stepped up to the nurse's desk. "Excuse me, can you tell me where..."

Hearing the voice, Hutch glanced across the hall. "Lacy!" he called softly.

"Oh, Hutch." She ran over, throwing her arms around him. "I heard you got Brenner."

"Yah, as much good as it'll do," he muttered into her hair, stroking the fiery softness. She felt warm and solid in his arms, her heart beating in rhythm with his own. Was Starsky's heart still beating strong and steady?

"Hey, Hutch," Huggy chided softly, "Ain't you gonna introduce me to the foxy lady?"

Reluctantly breaking the embrace, Hutch introduced them. "Lacy Calhane, Huggy Bear, a friend of mine. Hug, Lacy is a cop."

"Hey, I pay my liquor licenses!" Huggy shook the girl's hand vigorously. "How do, Lacy, that is one pretty name."

"How do you do, Huggy Bear, that's one unusual name." Lacy returned the handshake, an amused smile playing on her lips.

"A chick christened me many years ago," Huggy boasted. "I just got an affectionate nature."

"I can see that." She glanced over at Hutch. He hadn't joined their teasing, but stood slightly apart, tense and alone. Lacy slid her small hand under his, lacing their fingers together.

"I own a bar, Lacy, called The Pits. If you ever come down I'll give you one on the house," Huggy continued. "Good for business."

"How 'bout if I brought a few girlfriends along?" Lacy asked coyly.

"Sure thing, if they's all as pretty as you. Any night."

"Lacy works undercover most nights," Hutch said dryly, finally entering into the conversation, his eyes still on the operating room doors. "Hooker patrol."

The redhead dug a good-natured elbow into his ribs. "Hutch, you're not supposed to tell everyone."

"Just to friends, ma'am, just to friends." Huggy grinned.

"Sergeant Hutchinson?" A nurse called from the desk. "Telephone call for you."

"Thank you." He took the black receiver she held out. "Hutchinson."

"Sergeant Hutchinson, this is Dr. Levine in the security ward. I was in charge of your prisoner, Peter Brenner." The New York-accented voice paused a moment, "Mr. Brenner just died a few minutes ago."

Hutch felt very cold, a block of ice where his heart should be. "Umm, thanks for telling me, Doctor."

"We'll be transferring him to the police morgue within the hour."

"Fine, I'll notify Captain Dobey," Hutch said lamely, at a loss to say anything. So Brenner was dead. At least, Starsky had outlived him, so far.

"Who was it, Hutch?" Lacy asked as he hung up.

"Pete Brenner just died." Hutch walked limply over to the waiting area, slumping into one of the ubiquitous plastic chairs.

"At last," Lacy said grimly.

"Lace?"

"Hutch, it's much better this way. We're rid of that maniac and he got the best punishment he could have gotten. Same treatment he gave Mike and all the others."

"Except I don't like playing judge, jury, and executioner," Hutch growled.

"You saved that other cop's life." Huggy spoke casually, selecting an ancient copy of National Geographic featuring a photo of bare breasted native girls on the cover. "That's not takin' the law in your own hands, that's doing what you needed to get done."

Hutch flashed on the image of Brenner, sprawled on the parade ground under the flagless pole, shirt soaked red with gore. In his mind, Starsky lay right next to Brenner, but his eyes were open, looking up in horror. Hutch had shot them both. God willing he hadn't killed them both.

"Look." Lacy slipped a comforting arm around his neck, leaning her head against his. "It's bound to be a long time before Starsky gets out of the OR. You can't just sit here. Could you buy a lady a meal?"

Realizing he still hadn't eaten that day, Hutch reluctantly let himself be led away. They invited Huggy down to the cafeteria with them but he declined, insisting he was engrossed in an article on African tribes.

"Call me if anything happens," Hutch urged as the elevator doors slid open, unwilling to get so far away from the OR doors.

"Sure, man, sure," Huggy agreed.

In the now overly familiar cafeteria, Hutch picked nervously at a ham on rye, his eyes fixed on the clock.

"Hutch, stop it, please." Lacy swallowed her bite of chicken sandwich, placing her hand over his. "He'll pull through, I know he will. Isn't Dr. Kesselring the best in the hospital?"

"You didn't see him before he went in."

"I know, but worrying won't help."

"Nothing I do seems to help."

"There you go again," Lacy said angrily. "Stop it."

"Lacy! All you ever do is..." Hutch cut off as he caught sight of Simms standing in the cashier's line to pay for a plate of spaghetti. His jaw tightened "Dr. Simms," Hutch said loudly.

"Hutch!" Lacy grabbed his arm, as several people in the line turned to look at them. "Sit down."

"That's his old doctor--I..."

"Don't." Lacy pushed the ham sandwich towards him. "Ignore him, you don't need to start anything right now."

"I wasn't planning to get into a brawl, Lace." Hutch took a viscous bite from the sandwich. He glanced back at the cashier, but Simms was disappearing out of the cafeteria, tray in hand. "What are you, my conscience?" Hutch muttered only half-angrily. His emotions were all over the place, from raw nervousness to pent up rage and he had no outlet for any of them.

"I don't want to be," she said quietly, slightly hurt. She took a sip of iced tea to cover her trembling lip.

"Lacy." Hutch stroked her hand. "That man--he treated Starsky like death was a foregone conclusion. I don't think he ever..."

"Detective Sergeant Hutchinson." A voice came over the load speaker, breaking through the general chatter in the cafeteria. "Please return to the second floor OR waiting area."

His face pale, Hutch bolted for the elevator. Lacy nearly knocked over her chair in her haste to follow him.

Dr Kesselring, still clad in his surgical blues, was standing outside the OR recovery, examining a sheath of papers.

"Doctor?" Hutch asked tentatively. Huggy had risen from the waiting room couch, his magazine dropping, forgotten, to the scuffed gray linoleum.

"He made it." The older man smiled, removing his half glasses. "Starsky will be in the recovery room in a short while."

Almost giddy with the news, the ice melting in his veins, Hutch grinned foolishly. "It went well?" Simms had to be wrong.

"As well as can be expected." Kesselring folded the papers, placing them in his back pocket. "He'll be sick for a while, but except for unforeseeable complications, I see no reason why he can't make a complete recovery."

Lacy hugged Hutch's arm, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I plan to gloat and say I told you so."

"How long till he comes out of anesthesia?" Hutch asked, cradling the small woman at his side as she slid her arms around his waist.

"In an hour or so." The Doctor smiled. "Your lady-friend, Sergeant?"

"Yah, my lady-friend." Hutch introduced them formally, a broad smile on his face. Huggy clapped him happily on the back, taking his turn to shake the doctor's hand after Lacy.

"I'll check in on him frequently in the next twenty four hours," Kesselring said, "but I'm pleased with the turnout, if I don't say so myself. Bullet was in a tricky position, but I had some steady hands helping me, and your partner has a guardian angel, that I'm convinced of."

"He needs it in our line of work." Hutch thanked the surgeon.

After two hours in recovery, Starsky was transferred back to his old room in ICU. He'd been re-intubated for surgery and the hiss of the respirator was surprisingly comforting to Hutch. Lacy and Huggy had both long departed, leaving Hutch alone with his friend and his thoughts. He'd killed Brenner in exactly the same manner as the man had killed all his victims. Straight through the heart. Yet, the intent had been different, hadn't it?

There was a grudging fear that he was little better than the murderer. He'd hated him for what he'd done to Starsky. Brenner had hated Vegas for killing Paul. One was killing within the law and the other six had been vengeful executions. Brenner's unbalanced brain had convinced him that Vegas still lived, despite evidence to the contrary. Hutch wondered bleakly if he'd died still believing that deluded notion. It was heartbreakingly sad.

It was not yet seven when Hutch shook himself from a doze. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, hoping Starsky would wake soon.

Anna Shoberg crossed the room, making almost no sound in her crepe-soled shoes. She took the patient's pulse, respiration, and blood pressure, nodding contentedly. "He's doing very well. He'll be heavily medicated for the rest of the night."

"Thanks." Hutch finger-combed his hair back into place, stifling a jaw-cracking yawn. He was bone weary, and truly hungry for the first time in weeks. He reflected back on what had transpired earlier that afternoon. After Huggy had left to bartend his place for the dinner crowd, Lacy had insisted that Hutch get out of the hospital for a half an hour, at least . They had taken a long walk through a nearby shopping mall.

At a florist shop, Hutch purchased a single long stemmed red rose and presented it to the beautiful lady who accompanied him.

"Flowers for the woman who had the guts to sit out a bad time with me." He handed it to her, leaning down to plant a kiss on her lips.

Lacy snaked an arm around his neck to return the kiss with one of her own. "It wasn't all that hard." She released him, taking time to sniff the rose, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "S'too bad you're sitting up tonight with a sick friend, cause I'd invite you to my apartment, if you weren't."

"Twice in one week, Lacy? Are you trying to compromise my virtue?"

"Any way I can, Sailor."

"You hookers are all alike." Hutch linked arms with her as they left the shopping mall. "Work, work, work."

"With some men it's work, honey." Lacy gave a little Mae West attitude. "And with some, it's a pleasure every time."

They walked companionably along the grass-lined paths back to the hospital, hand in hand. The weather was just cool enough to pink up cheeks and require a jacket, the wind kicking up Lacy's knee length skirt to reveal her shapely thighs not quite often enough for Hutch's taste.

Swinging their joined hands to get the blond man's attention, Lacy asked, "So what happens now?"

"Hmmm?"

"Now that Brenner's dead. There'll be no trial--we just go on? Try to forget about it?"

"That's the hardest part, isn't it?" Hutch agreed with a sigh, "The part you really don't learn about in the academy."

"How to deal with the horrible parts of the job. 1A this semester, 1B next." Lacy sounded cynical. "It just wouldn't look right in the schedule of classes."

"Yah, and they'd have to grade really easy or no one would take the class."

"I'd give you an A."

"Hey, lady," Hutch changed the subject. "When's your next day off?"

"This is it until next week, but I thought you had to work."

"Not till next week." He grinned. "Or what ever day you have off. I have a certain amount of freedom when it comes to days off until Starsky is back on the job. No partner."

"Maybe we can arrange something." Lacy matched his grin.

"I'll be finishing up back logs of cases, paperwork, maybe even filling in for other officers without partners..."

"I like the sound of that. I could be off on Wednesday."

"Wednesday could work for me."

Lacy laughed, touching the rose to her cheek, "It's a date."

"A date, like in high school?"

"You wish." She elbowed him in the ribs. "Does that mean we can go to the malt shoppe?"

"Only if Archie and Jughead come. I had other plans." Hutch kissed her, catching her by surprise. She let the kiss linger, breathing in his heat. It promised a lot more than a high school date.

Sitting in Starsky's semi-dark ICU room, Hutch smiled at the memory. Lacy was definitely worth the pursuit. As the blond man watched, Starsky moved restlessly in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering as if he were about to wake.

"Hey, Starsk," Hutch called softly, but his partner didn't respond. At eight p.m., Kesselring pulled the intubation tube, letting Starsky breathe on his own. Shortly afterwards the dark blue eyes opened all the way.

Starsky lay very still, waiting for the strange masses he saw to form themselves into normal things like chairs, windows, and people. The tall, light-colored object to his right looked very familiar. "Hutch?" he croaked.

"Instant recognition," Hutch answered fondly. He helped Starsky take a small sip of water. "Very encouraging."

"I always trust that you'll be there," Starsky said sleepily.

"Whom do we trust?" Hutch repeated the old phrase, forgiving everything that had happened as long as Starsky was all right.

"Me and thee." Starsky grinned as he fell back to sleep.

As Hutch left the hospital, he realized he should have trusted more in Starsky all along. One thing the curly-haired member of the team would never do was leave his blond-haired partner's side for long, not, at least without a fight. And he had been fighting, for his life.

~~~

With a jaunty lilt in his step, Hutch strode down the sixth floor hall of St. Luke's, waved hello to the nurse and swung open the door to Starsky's room. He'd been moved out of ICU two days previously and was astounding the medical personnel with his recuperative ability and fervent desire to get out of the hospital.

"Good morning," Hutch greeted, placing a bouquet of spring flowers on the bedside table.

"Morning," Starsky said noncommittally, staring at the flowers. "What 's that?"

"I knew lying around in a hospital was going to affect you after a while." Hutch pointed out each bloom. "These are tulips, these are daffodils, and these are..." forgetting the name he concluded with, "purplish flowers."

"Mr. Hayfever brought me flowers?" Starsky asked incredulously.

"I have that under control, Starsky. Besides, these are from Lacy," Hutch retorted, picking up the vase again. "But if you don't want 'em, I'll just take 'em down the hall to the gorgeous girl who had her appendix out."

"What room?"

"I don't want to excite you in your condition."

"I'm not pregnant!" Starsky groaned, "I'll keep the flowers, what room?"

"675." Hutch admitted, stashing the bouquet out of the way on a side table. "And I brought you something else."

"You're having way too much fun at my expense," Starsky grumped, still uncomfortable enough to need to stay in bed, but recovering enough to want to be out of it.

"Here, don't say I never bring you anything." Hutch held out the LA Times from his jacket pocket. "It's from last Friday, but you weren't up to reading then." He unfolded it, revealing the front page. "You got your fifteen minutes."

"Didn't want to have to share it with him." Starsky spread the paper out on the bed. The headline for Feb.24th read "Shadows Killer's Reign of Terror Ends, One Victim Survives." Two pictures were underneath, one of Brenner and one of Starsky.

"So you shot him, huh?" Starsk asked softly, his expression neutral. He traced the bandages binding his chest with the end of his thumb. He had never asked for any explanation of what had transpired at Marshall fort.

"Yah."

"And that's that." Starsky looked up at his partner's face.

"All finished." Hutch's light blue eyes locked on Starsky's darker ones. He knew Starsky would have understood, maybe not condoned it if he had killed Brenner in cold blood. He was thankful that in the end, he'd held his temper and waited until there was no other choice but to shoot.

"Well, Sergeant, loitering in my patient's room again?" Kesselring smiled congenially. "I'm beginning to wonder if you ever do any police work."

"I've always had to carry him." Starsky put in.

"Just about to leave, Doctor." Hutch laughed. "How soon before you decide to throw this malingerer out?"

Kesselring took Starsky's pulse while the patient looked bored. "I believe we'll be enjoying Mr.Starsky's presence for a week more, at least."

"A week!" Starsky shrieked, jerking up. The pain in his chest made him think twice about sudden actions, so he lay back with a put-upon expression.

Well, partner, see you in seven days." Hutch saluted and departed as a water jug banged against the door near his head.

Driving through his beat, Hutch spotted a familiar figure lounging against a phone booth, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. He swung the car across two lanes of traffic and pulled up to the curb. Jumping out, he reached the surprised Reny in two steps, long before the little weasel could even close the folding door on the glass booth. "Hey, Reny, how are you?"

"Oh, Hutch, hey--I saw in the newspaper how you iced that Shadows Killer guy--s'real good." Reny nervously ground out the butt of his last cigarette, searching his pockets for another. "Y'know, I never seen any of those kids you wanted--I don't think they're there..." he trailed off uncertainly.

"That's OK," Hutch soothed. "I'm back on the track of an older case."

"Honest? What is it? Y'know I'll help..." The stoolie nodded encouragingly.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Hutch scratched the back of his neck. "I'm looking for some diamonds."

"Oh, hey, I don't get into that stuff, y'know." Reny backed away, up against the glass wall of the tiny booth. "I haven't seen Julian in...months."

"Perjury is punishable by law, Reny." Hutch advanced into the booth, taking the phone off the hook. "I could call your parole officer." He smiled wickedly, enjoying every minute of the exchange. Everything was back to normal.

fin

Thanks for reading this! Dawn