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Part 1

A TASTE OF SILENCE

by

Mary Kleinsmith

Part 2

Dobey paced the hospital waiting room. I've been here so many times, he thought. But then, I was only worrying about one of them. This time, it's both of them!

"No, not the first time," Dobey answered himself out loud. "There was that time they crashed the Torino together." He felt his face get hot as he grasped the memory and held onto it. "Damned fake amnesia. If they ever pull somethin' like that again, I swear I'll..."

The Captain's voice faded into silence; he couldn't even hold onto his remembered anger at the pair. They were always there for him, and this time he was going to be there for them, 100%. He took two more steps, then finally settled himself into one of the plentiful but very uncomfortable chairs.

He wasn't in the chair more than a minute when a woman in white approached him. He had been hanging his head, and only noticed her when her white shoes came into his field of view.

"Captain Dobey?" she queried.

"Yeah, I'm Dobey."

"The doctor said you can see your men now. They insisted we put them into a room together, even though there was enough room for each of them to have a private one. They're in Room 218, and the doctor is with them."

"Are they gonna be okay?"

"I'll let the doctor explain that, Captain."

He gave up trying to elicit information from the nurse, and followed her down the corridor to a room on the right with a "218" plaque above it.

The first sight that greeted him upon walking over the threshold was a hugely smiling Starsky. He looked like the proverbial "cat that ate the canary", and Harold Dobey could easily see why. He still had an IV hooked up, but on a tray in front of him sat a large glass of milk, another of juice, and the biggest plate of hamburgers and fries he'd ever seen.

"How in the hell did you ever convince the staff to let you have that?"

"Well, Cap'n, they told me it was important for me to build up my strength and eat, so I simply explained to them that I could eat a lot more and regain my strength if they'd let me have something I wanted. Actually, the burger was a compromise. I really wanted a burrito!"

At this, the nurse stepped in, a pretty young woman with blond hair pinned underneath her nurses' cap. "Don't let him fool you, Captain. We only gave in so we could get him out of here that much sooner. He won't leave us nurses alone!"

Dobey turned to Starsky who had a mischievous grin on his face. The dark haired man simply shrugged his shoulders--he couldn't deny the truth.

"Speaking of the doctor, where is he?" Dobey's voice questioned. In response, the curtain that had been pulled behind Starsky's bed was pushed back to reveal the doctor, another nurse, and Hutch, lying propped up in an identical bed to the one his partner was in.

The distinguished looking man approached him, his hand stretched out. Dobey took it as the doctor said, "Hello, Captain. I'm Dr. McCoy." Dobey smiled and the man cut off his next words. "Please, no more Star Trek jokes!" Both men laughed, but the black man did not deny his intent to make one.

"How are they doing, Doctor?" he uttered instead.

The doctor walked to stand beside Starsky's bed. "Well, as you've probably guessed, Detective Starsky is quickly on his way to recovery. I'll probably release him sometime mid-day tomorrow. His only injuries were the dehydration and starvation from being trapped for so long, but it seems he's perfectly capable of fighting these conditions on his own."

"Tell me about it!" Dobey responded. He looked away for a moment, and didn't notice the rather undignified face Starsky made at him when his face was turned. Hutch, however, hadn't missed it, and did his best to stifle a grin. "What about Hutchinson?" The captain looked to Hutch, noticing that, although he was slightly paler than usual and looked very tired, he looked all right. The impression was belied, however, by the white bandage encircling his neck. He also noticed that, while Starsky was allowed to have food, Hutch only had tube-feeding. Knowing what hospital food was like, Dobey wondered if it was by order or by choice.

The doctor turned again and walked beside Hutch. "I'm afraid his case is a little more complicated. We need to do some more tests to see what is up with his throat, but he'll probably only be in here an extra day, until the following morning. That's why he can't have any solid food--it'll interfere with the test results."

"The next morning sounds good," Dobey responded. "Wouldn't want these two going through separation anxiety at being split up for more than a few hours. Well, boys, since it seems you're gonna be okay, think I'll head home. It'll feel good to actually get some sleep for a change. Besides, my wife's been calling to check on you every half hour--I need to give her a live report. Goodnight!" And with that, he turned and left the room.

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

It was long after lights-out at the hospital, and Starsky and Hutch sat in their darkened room. Both men were still awake, and Starsky kept a constant stream of discussion going. He felt an overwhelming need to do everything he could to stay awake--he wanted to avoid another of the dreams that haunted his subconscious. Actually, discussion wasn't exactly the correct word, since Starsky was doing most of the talking, with Hutch breaking in only every now and then to make a whispered point.

"So I told her, 'Look, lady, you're the one who ran your shopping cart into me, so don't be blaming me for this traffic accident.' But she just stood there. Honest, Hutch, I almost wanted to pull out my badge and give her a ticket for unsafe operation of a deadly vehicle!"

When no response came when he expected one, he turned and lifted his head, checking on Hutch. The blond head lolled to one side, but regular breaths could be heard coming and going. "He fell asleep on me!" Starsky said, nearly incredulous. Then his face softened and he lowered his voice. "Good night, partner. Sleep tight!" and with that he lowered the head end of his bed, rolled over on his side, and likewise went to sleep.

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

Eleven o'clock the next day came quickly for the blond detective, but not quickly enough for his curly haired partner. Two significant things were scheduled for 11:00: Starsky was to be released, an event to which Starsky awaited with increasing impatience. "Sure don't make the time go faster when they get ya up at the crack of dawn," he remarked.

As eager as Starsky was for the awaited hour to approach, Hutch was inversely unhappy about seeing it come. Eleven was also the scheduled time for his tests to start, and Hutch had been through enough tests to know he wasn't going to enjoy it. He also hated the idea that his partner would be leaving without him.

At 10:30 a knock came at the door, and Captain Dobey and Huggy Bear both poked their heads into the room. "Everybody decent in here?" Huggy called.

"I haven't been "decent" a day since my Barmizvah," Starsky joked. While still in hospital clothes, he had taken to pacing the room waiting to be released. Hutch watched him walk back and forth, eight steps down, eight steps back, knowing that each step brought them closer to a short but meaningful separation.

Dobey stood with both his hands hid behind his back. "Got something for ya, Starsky."

"Ya brought me donuts?" Starsky said with round eyes.

"No, not that! Only these." He pulled his large hands from behind his back and held Starsky's very favorite jeans, a colorful T-shirt, and a pair of Adidas. Starsky practically grabbed the pile from him, headed for the bathroom to get dressed. He took two steps and, in his haste, had to stop to pick up the socks and underwear that had been concealed inside the T-shirt. After they were retrieved, he ducked inside the bathroom.

"Wouldn't want you to think we'd forgot about you, Hutch," Dobey said. He reopened the door and reached into the hallway, then opened the door to its full extent to pull in a large bundle of multi-colored balloons. "Hope these brighten your day." It didn't appear that the balloons were lifting the young detective's spirits any, so he went on. "Don't forget, you'll only be in here another night, and you'll get out, too!"

"I know," Hutch whispered, even quieter than what seemed to be his best voice. But he still looked dejected. Huggy and Dobey looked at each other, then gave up trying to cheer up Room 218's only remaining patient.

"Don't take it personally, Captain," Starsky yelled from behind the bathroom door. "He's just unhappy because he's gotta have some tests." Starsky emerged a moment later fully dressed except for the sneakers he held in his hand. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to lace them up. He had just finished tightening the last knot when the doctor and two nurses with wheelchairs came into the room.

"I know it's not quite eleven yet," Dr. McCoy smiled, "but since you both seem ready, I guess we'll get an early start." Starsky looked over to his partner, sitting dejectedly in bed, and back to the waiting medical staff and their two best friends.

"Could you guys give us a minute? I just need to talk to Hutch before I go."

Respecting their privacy, the entire circus left the room, shutting the door behind them, and waited in the hallway.

"What time did the Doc say he'd have your test results?"

"About 8:00," Hutch responded hesitantly. "Would you.... Would you mind coming back to be here about then?" At Starsky's confused look, he went on. "I'm just a little worried."

"Don't worry, partner. I'll be here, guaranteed. I'm sure everything is gonna be just fine. Think you can hang in there without me?"

Hutch smiled. "I think I can manage, Daddy."

"Okay, I'll see ya later, then." And with that he pulled open the door. "Let's get to it, Doc," he called. The first nurse stepped forward with the wheelchair, and Starsky awkwardly climbed into it. He knew the hospital routine, but still hated the mandatory ride to the door. As they wheeled him away, he called out, "see you in awhile, partner!"

Once Starsky was gone, the second nurse approached Hutch, and he climbed out of bed. A moment later he realized exactly what he looked like and grabbed a light robe to cover the rather scanty hospital gown he wore. His expression was sullen as she pushed the chair out of the room. Huggy and Dobey each said good-bye with a parting squeeze on his shoulders, then they were gone and he was alone with what was to come.

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

The hospital corridors were darker than they had been this morning--the natural sunlight no longer leaked in along the windows and through the open doors to the rooms. Starsky walked slowly down the halls, headed for Hutch's room.

God, I hate hospitals!

If it wasn't for the fact that his best friend was here, he wouldn't even come to see the nurses. The antiseptic smell invaded his nostrils and they flared out slightly. He felt sorry for the forlorn figures in some of the rooms. Patients who didn't get visitors and didn't have the flowers and balloons that always adorned his or Hutch's rooms whenever they were required to be here.

He stopped once again at the door marked "218". He took a deep breath and plastered his best cocky smile on his face. His hand pressed down on the lever handle and in to open the door. He didn't have the door more than six inches open when he stopped. He was greeted with darkness and total silence in the room. Even if Hutch can't talk, he thought, I thought he'd at least have the TV or a radio on.

He continued pushing the door, trying to be more quiet than before in case Hutch was asleep.

"I'm awake," he heard a whisper. He walked slowly into the room, not sure whether the slowness in his steps was out of care not to bang his legs on the furniture or fear in seeing Hutch quite this way. He approached the bed, and even in the darkness, he could see that Hutch was sitting up, with the head end of the bed cranked up to an almost 90-degree angle.

"Why you sitting here in the dark, partner?"

"Just thinkin'. Didn't need the lights to do that, did I?" A moment passed when Starsky had nothing to say. "Hey, turn on the lights, will ya. The doctor's gonna be here any time now."

Starsky pushed a button and the lighting level in the room came up to normal level. Hutch squinted a moment, and his pupils reduced to pinpricks as they adjusted to the new light. He focused on Starsky's face.

"Thanks for coming," he said, and looked quickly away, attempting to hide the obvious dependence in his face. Starsky came over and sat on the bed next to Hutch. He looked down and saw his normally serene partner energetically drumming his fingers on the bed, eager to hear the test results and get out of the hospital. A slightly darker-skinned hand reached over to rest on the lighter one, stopping the drumming at once.

"I'll always be here, partner." The fingers didn't even try to start their thrumming again, and Starsky felt the tension-hardened muscles relax a little under his.

At that moment, Dr. McCoy entered with Hutch's medical chart tucked under his arm. Both officers studied his face, but there was no hint of anything to be seen there. He stood at the food of the bed, not saying anything for a few moments.

"For God's sake!" Starsky hollered. "Tell us something!"

"Okay, I will. Officer Hutchinson, can I presume that you still want to have Starsky here while I give you your results?" At Hutch's nod, he went on. "We've finished all the tests we can, and I wish I could say that the difficult part was over but it's not. It seems you have a bit of a choice to make, but what you choose is entirely up to you." And your partner here, he added inside his mind.

"You have two options to choose between regarding the status of your voice. If you choose to do nothing at all, your voice will quite probably remain the way it is the rest of your life. It won't get any worse, but then again it won't get any better either." Hutch's head dropped a little, and at the slight change, Starsky stepped in.

"What's the second choice? We gotta have all the facts, after all."

"The second option is surgery. If this surgery is successful, you could regain full use of your voice, as if nothing ever happened." Hutch raised his face in hope, and leaned up off the bed toward the doctor.

"Sounds good, Doc," he said.

"Wait, let me finish, Ken. I said it could, only could, restore your voice. But I also have to warn you of the risks involved. Of course, there are the traditional dangers of any surgery: anesthesia, blood loss, infection. But with this case there is also an additional risk. There is a chance that the surgery could fail. If this happens, if you choose the surgery and it fails, you will most probably lose what little voice you have. Do you understand what I'm saying? I'm talking about the possibility of your becoming totally mute. The decision you have to make is, "Is it worth the risk?".

"Now," he went on, "you don't have to make your decision tonight. I'm still going to release you in the morning like I promised. But I need your final decision by Friday. That gives you four days to think, talk it over with friends and family, and make your decision." He stopped, having run out of things to say. He was proud of the way his patient seemed to be taking the news, yet knew he really had no right to feel this way. Then he noticed Starsky's hand still resting on Hutch's, and could almost see the vibrant strength that flowed from the standing figure to the one in the bed. Maybe the choice won't be so hard, he thought, with a friend that great to help you. "I'll see you in the morning. Get some sleep." He then noticed that the hospital bed next to Hutch's was still unoccupied. "If you'd like, Detective Starsky, you can sleep in that empty bed. There won't be anyone admitted tonight anyway."

"I might just do that. Thanks, Doc," Starsky said as the doctor left the room, shutting the door behind him. The door wasn't shut more than a few seconds when it reopened again and a white clad feminine figure came in. The woman silently handed Hutch a small paper cup with two small pills inside and then poured him a glass of water from the pitcher by the bed. Hutch for once didn't object, and downed the pills with due haste. The nurse watched until she was sure he had swallowed the pills, then turned on her heals and left.

"Sleeping pills," Hutch said. "I really hate these things, but then, the sooner the night's over, the sooner I get to go home." He didn't seem ready yet to discuss the choice the doctor had just given him, and Starsky did not force the point. He stood by Hutch's side, his hand still resting on his partners, until he finally dozed off. Then he turned and headed out the door. His hand was on the door handle when he heard Hutch stir. Then, thinking twice, he came back and lay on the bed next to Hutch's. He lay on his side facing the now still figure of his partner, determined to keep comfort with him through the night.

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

The orderly came in first thing in the morning, at the crack of dawn, in fact, with two trays of breakfast for the men. Apparently, the doctor had informed the staff of the possibility that there would be another guest in that room, and the orderly had come prepared.

"Rise and shine, boys!"

Starsky sat upright quickly, smelling the food on its way in. "Breakfast! Great, I'm starved."

Hutch stirred, rolled over, and finally sat up, rubbing the sleep and the remainder of the pills out of his eyes. The orderly sat the trays in front of each man and left. Starsky dug in quickly, but Hutch just sat staring at the tray. "I really don't want this."

He looked up and had to smile at the look on Starsky's face. "Yeeeccchhh! This smells great, but it's awful! Take my recommendation, partner. Pass on the breakfast." He pushed the tray away from him, and the occupants of both beds satisfied themselves with the orange juice that had come on their trays. After it was gone, Starsky quickly jumped out of bed. Then he noticed that Hutch was staring at him.

"What you lookin' at, buddy?"

"You slept in your clothes?!"

"Of course I did. I didn't exactly come prepared to spend the night, ya know."

Hutch's look said that he was glad Starsky had stayed, and Starsky understood without him having to put it into words.

"Just think," Starsky said while trying to smooth some of the wrinkles out of the jeans he was wearing. "In just a few hours, they're gonna release ya and you can go home."

"Can't wait," Hutch responded, but he didn't sound excited and Starsky could hardly blame him. He sat down on Hutch's bed.

"C'mon, Hutch, talk to me. Tell me what you're thinkin' about this operation thing!"

"I do want to talk to you about it, but I don't think I can take doing it here. We'll go over it when I get home."

Starsky understood and took him at his word to bring up the subject again later.

Hutch reached into the table beside his bed and pulled out a deck of cards. "How about some gin to waste the time?" His first thought had been poker, but "draw two" and "ante up" would just have drawn attention to a condition he'd like to momentarily forget. This way, the only thing he had to say was "gin", and he planned to say it often.

"Wish we had the monopoly board," Starsky added as he dealt. "I'd be a shoe-in to beat you in that!"

The championship gin match went on for three hours, with many of the hospital staff who had duty on their floor stopping in during their breaks to watch the competition. At the end of the three hours, Hutch laid down his final "gin", and the six hospital personnel who had squeezed in the room clapped at a hand well-played. Starsky tallied the final score and proclaimed Hutch the winner by a meager five points--a respectable showing from both men's points of view.

The nurses and orderlies filed out of the room, and Starsky piled the cards and wrapped a rubber band around them. Then he looked at his watch. "Ten o'clock, partner. One hour until emancipation! What do you think, you ready for a shower?"

Hutch nodded, he did that a lot lately even though he could talk, and headed for the bathroom. He pulled up short two steps from the bathroom door. "Wait a minute. What am I gonna wear home? I was planning on calling you this morning to ask you to bring some clothes from my place. Your staying here last night messed that up."

"Have no fear," Starsky spoke up, "Starsky's here! Don't worry your pretty, blond head, partner. I've got it taken care of. I called Huggy last night and asked him to go to your place and pick up something 'appropriate'. He and Dobey should be here any second."

Sure enough, less than a minute later there was a rap on the door and their friend stuck his head in. "Everyone decent?" he asked.

"We already did that one, Huggy," Starsky said, and Hutch laughed.

Huggy stepped into the room with a grocery bag tucked under each arm. The first he handed to Hutch, still standing silhouetted in the bathroom doorway. Hutch went into the bathroom and shut the door half-way, still allowing him to hear the discussion going on out in the room.

"Ya know," Huggy said. "I've been in the hospital before. And there is one thing I remember most about it." He pulled out the other bag and produced two large Styrofoam containers. He handed one to Starsky who opened it, smelling the contents greedily.

"Bacon & eggs, hash browns, toast, and jam! Huggy, you're a Godsend!" He sat down and began to hungrily devour the unauthorized breakfast, as if, if he at it quickly enough, it wouldn't be confiscated by the "hospital police". "Hurry up, Hutch," he called into the bathroom. In case you haven't smelled it already, our guardian angel here has brought us breakfast. Hutch didn't respond, but Starsky knew he had heard him. The movements from in the shower suddenly became much faster, and he could hear the fast tempo the soap had as it glided over Hutch's body.

Five minutes later the patient emerged fully dressed, and looking much happier. The jeans Huggy had chosen looked nearly new and still had the creases down the front. Huggy had wisely chosen a long-sleeved, button-down shirt that he could leave open at the collar to accommodate his bandage. His hair, though still wet, had been towel dried and combed into its customary style. Uncommonly for him, he, also, dove into the food with vigor; but upon opening the package Huggy handed him, he found more than he expected. Instead of the same breakfast the black man had brought to Starsky, Hutch's care package included whole wheat toast, a half of a muskmelon, and wheat pancakes lightly sprinkled with natural brown sugar.

"Thanks alot, Hug!" he said energetically. Huggy responded by handing his friend a fork, spoon, and table knife, handle first. Hutch grabbed them with almost too much haste and also happily dug in.

It took them barely five minutes each to finish their meals--This morning's breakfast was the first time the doctor had allowed Hutch to eat, and Starsky hadn't had anything "good" to eat since the night before. "If even that can be considered food," Starsky muttered. At five minutes before eleven, Dr. McCoy and Dobey walked in together, a nurse bringing up the rear with the release forms and the ever-present wheelchair.

"Checkout time, Ken!" the doctor called. "It should make you two happy to know that the administration called earlier and asked me specifically when the two of you would be getting out of here. They said you were disrupting the staff and the operation of the hospital. So I'm obeying orders and kicking you out!"

"You oughta see what they can do to a squad room!" This from Dobey, who had lots of experience to speak from.

As Hutch was escorted through the hospital corridors many members of the staff stopped to wave their good-byes, and many of the nurses came to say more personal farewells, laying a hand on the blond officer's shoulder or back. Many of them were young and attractive, and obviously found this particular patient very desirable. But Hutch had too much on his mind to really realize it, so each one walked away a little sad.

Starsky was also a little depressed, mostly at the lack of attention he was getting. He greatly admired the people who worked in hospitals--was not sure he could ever do it himself. He watched one smiling nurse walk away and thought, they spend their whole days with sickness and pain, disease and death, and yet they still have the strength to smile! Then his glance strayed to his partner in the chair, and his sadness at being put aside was replaced by feelings of guilt at his momentary selfishness.

The nurse pushing the wheelchair, whose badge said "Christine", accompanied them to the sidewalk outside of the hospital. As soon as she brought the rolling chair to a halt, Hutch stood up with undue haste, eager to be rid of it. She pushed the chair aside, smiled her good-bye. Then, on the spur of the moment, she quickly took two steps forward, stood on her toes, and gave Hutch a light kiss on his cheek. Before he could react, she was gone, back through the doors of the hospital.

Starsky, Huggy, and Dobey all stood in silence, not daring to comment on the display they'd just seen.

"Hey, I gotta get back to The Pits," Huggy said suddenly. "If you're gonna be home later, I'll stop by and check up on ya."

"I can guarantee they'll be home," Dobey cut in. "Because I'm giving you two," he turned to face Starsky and Hutch, "the rest of the day off to rest up. But I expect to see you at the station first thing tomorrow morning."

Hutch turned to Starsky as Huggy walked away. "Where's your car parked?"

"That's okay, partner. I'll pull it around." And before Hutch could add another word, he was off and out of earshot. Left alone, Dobey could see that Hutch wanted to say something, but the Captain wasn't sure what.

"What's on your mind, Hutchinson?"

"Captain, there's something I need to know. Can I, exactly the way I am now, still be on the force? I don't mean some desk job or position in acquisitions, but a regular, on-the-streets cop?"

"Well . . ." Dobey started.

"I want the truth, Cap." Hutch interrupted.

"Okay, Hutchinson, I'll give you the truth. Right now, in your current condition, yes, you can be active on the force. But if it was any worse, if your voice was damaged any more than it is, the answer would be different. The Commissioner would never allow you to continue on the streets." He slapped his arm around Hutch's shoulders. "But since it's not, you've got nothing to worry about." Dobey was not aware of the choice Hutch had before him, and that was just the way Hutch wanted it when he questioned his captain. He didn't want Dobey to influence him with anything but the facts.

At that moment, Starsky pulled the Torino, tires squealing, around a curve in the hospital driveway and braked to a stop with the passenger-side door exactly in front of his partner. Dobey kept his left arm around Hutch's shoulders and reached forward to open the door with his right, escorting Hutch into the interior. "Can I presume you'll be at Hutch's? Just in case, mind you."

Starsky looked to Hutch, as they really hadn't made any plans, and when the blond head nodded once, Starsky answered, "on the money, Cap," and sped away, leaving Dobey to look after them.

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

Supper time was quickly approaching in the apartment in Venice, and Hutch stood at the counter chopping vegetables for a salad while Starsky pulled two beers from the refrigerator. He stood in front of the ice box with one in each hand when something came to mind.

The Doc gave Hutch a prescription. And you're not supposed to have alcohol with prescription medicine. He stopped and set one bottle back on the shelf, grabbing instead a bottle of spring water. Then he had a second thought about the remaining beer in his hand. Hutch probably really wants this. Would be cruel to drink it in front of him. So he placed the second bottle next to the first and opted instead for a root beer soda.

Starsky set the drinks on the small kitchen table, then pulled plates from the cupboards and flatware from a drawer next to the sink. Hutch finished the salad, pulled the formerly frozen lasagna from the oven, and both officers sat down silently to eat.

"You thinking about what the doctor said?" Starsky muttered around a mouthful of salad.

"Yeah, 'fraid so. You remember when you went to get the car at the hospital, and Huggy had just left? Well, while you were gone I asked Dobey about this." He motioned toward his throat. "He says that, as long as I can talk this well, I can still be your partner. And I do want to be your partner, Starsk!"

He took a bite and swallowed, then went on. "But he also says that if it was worse, say like after the surgery fails, that there's no way I could stay on duty. They'd probably lock me away in the basement with Bigalow in Requisitions. I couldn't take that."

"Sounds like you've already made up your mind. Am I right?"

"Not entirely. Starsky, I need you to look at me and tell me, can you accept my being like this the rest of my life? Can you think of any reason why I would want to take the risk?"

Starsky was silent for a long time, but during the silence a myriad of memories flew through his mind.

The time, after they'd finally caught the man who was killing those strippers, when they had celebrated with a small party at Hutch's old place. Singing "Black Bean Soup" as a duo, half drunk and not caring if they made a spectacle of themselves.....

Arriving at Hutch's early one morning and drawing up short just before knocking on the door. Standing silently waiting to hear any indication that what was going on inside the apartment between his partner and Anna was not to be interrupted. Staying there and listening, discreetly, while Hutch sang a love song to her. And after Hutch had finished, sneaking away so as not to be caught.....

The one time when, after badgering by Starsky, that Hutch had actually consented to sing in public. Watching him scared to death on the stage and unable to make a single sound to show the bar's patrons what a beautiful voice he had.....

Regardless of which way he chose, there was a good possibility he'd never hear his partner's high, melodic voice again. But at least, with the surgery, he'd have a chance.

At Starsky's silence, Hutch answered for him. "You think I should have the surgery."

"No, actually, I think that this is a decision that only you can make."

"Lotta help you are!"

"So, despite my being no help, have you decided what you're gonna tell the doctor."

"Yes." Hutch couldn't help but look a little sad, but knew it could be worse. "I'm gonna tell him I'll stay the way I am. Look, my real friends will understand, and if they don't, they're not worth having. I'm a cop--it's not just what I do, it's who I am. I couldn't give it up, and I couldn't spend it locked in an office."

Starsky smiled at his partner, relieved to see that, with the decision finally made, Hutch's spirit had lifted and he'd begun to hungrily dig into his salad.

"Slow down, buddy. You'll choke!"

"I think I'll save that for sometime when we're in a crowded diner. Turnabout is fair play, after all!"

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

The friends played records and dealt cards until late into the night. At about 1:00, both men, tired from the excitement of the day, decided to turn in. Starsky slept on Hutch's couch in his shorts and T-shirt, utilizing the sheets, blankets, and pillow that Hutch kept in his living room closet for just such occasions.

When the alarm clock went off 5-1/2 hours later, Hutch staggered out of bed and into the bathroom for a shower. On his way, though, he grabbed a pillow off his bed and threw it at the still-sleeping figure on the couch. When the figure didn't move, he stopped and instead walked toward him, taking in the sight. Starsky slept soundly, and had somehow managed to get both his head and his feet, and everything in between, concealed under the wool blanket.

"Come on, partner." For a moment he had forgotten that he probably could no longer waken such a sound sleeper simply with his voice, so instead he went back into the bedroom and pulled an old fire truck bell off the shelf of antiques he kept there. He held it in his left hand about six inches in front of where he suspected his partner's face to be. His right hand reached out and grabbed the tassel which was suspended from the pendulum which hung inside the bell. Shaking it suddenly from side to side, the clanging noise so startled Starsky that he fell off the couch and onto the floor, almost knocking into Hutch's legs and taking him with him. Hutch stepped back and leaned over the form which now occupied the floor.

"Time for work, Starsk!" He smiled.

"That was cruel," Starsky muttered.

"Make some coffee if you like, I'm gonna take a shower." Hutch walked into the bathroom, stripped off the robe he wore and the underwear beneath it, and stood in front of the mirror which hung over the sink. He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a pair of sharp scissors, a role of 1" wide gauze, and a tube of cream with a prescription label on it. Using the scissors, he carefully cut away the old bandage around his neck. He jumped quickly in the shower, washed his body with soap and his hair with shampoo, then wrapped a towel around him and stepped back out. He stood again in front of the mirror, dried his hair thoroughly with the towel so as not to drip, and combed it into his usual style. Then he dried his hands as thoroughly as he could and reached for the tube. Ointment was slathered over the cut at his neck, as the nurse had instructed him, and he covered it with the gauze, wrapping it around his neck four times then cutting and taping the end in place.

Can't, don't wanna actually, go into the station with this thing sticking out like a neon sign.

Hutch walked through his living room, the towel still wrapped around his waste, and tapped Starsky on the shoulder. His curly haired partner sat at the kitchen table resting his head on his arm, an untouched cup of coffee in front of him. He jumped at Hutch's touch, so Hutch just said, "shower's free!" Starsky stood and ambled across the living room.

"You still got those clothes I stashed here?" But as he asked the question, Hutch went to the closet and pulled out a pile of clothes--a spare set Starsky kept there for nights when he stayed over. As Starsk climbed in the shower, Hutch walked into his room and stood before the closet with both doors open, trying to decide what to wear. Without hesitation he chose a white turtleneck and a pair of maroon trousers.

I'm glad the white one was clean. This way it'll cover my bandage, and, if it should slip, people will be less inclined to notice a white bandage under a white shirt.

He pulled the shirt over his head, carefully adjusting the collar around the white gauze. Then he crossed to the dresser and chose socks and underwear. Less than five minutes later he was fully dressed and in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hands.

Starsky emerged from the shower refreshed and came into the kitchen fully dressed and ready to go. He picked up the now-cold cup of coffee he'd left on the table and drank down the contents before putting his cup in the sink. Hutch set his in the sink beside it. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah."

They strapped on their shoulder holsters, covered them with jackets, and left the apartment, locking the door as they went out.

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

"Come on, partner. This shouldn't be that tough to figure out!" Starsky put a hand to the back of his neck, stiff after spending the past four hours pouring over paperwork and autopsy reports.

"Okay, let's take it from the top. All the victims carried wallets. As far as we know, this is the only thing they have in common except that they were homeless."

"Right. So what?"

"So, what do people carry in their wallets?"

"Well..., pictures, credit cards, money, library cards, drivers licenses . . ." his voice trailed off as he ran out of things to list.

"Wait minute!" Hutch's face had suddenly brightened, and Starsky knew his brainy partner had come up with a theory. "Drivers licenses. Drivers licenses. Starsky, hand me that phone." He opened the phone book, looked up a number, and talked while he dialed.

"If these people carried wallets, they probably each had some kind of ID in 'em." At that moment the person he was calling must have answered because he turned his attention from his partner to the woman who had answered the telephone. "Yes, ma'am. Detective Sergeant Hutchinson, LAPD. Could you please check your records and tell me if you received requests for replacement social security cards for ..." and he listed each of the murder victim's names. It took awhile for the federal employee to get all the names, then she put him on hold to look up the information. He allowed the bottom part of the phone to fall away from his mouth.

"All you need to get a new social security card is proof of identity, usually only one."

"So you think that the killer used the credit cards, drivers' licenses, or whatever, to get new social security cards for the victims. So what?"

"So, once you have a social security card and number, you can use it to get health insurance, life insurance, almost anything!"

At that moment the woman came back on the phone.

"Yes, Officer Hutchinson. Replacement cards were issued for all these people."

"When?"

"All within the last three weeks." After the victims were missing but before the bodies showed up.

"Thank you very much. Oh, by the way, could you messenger over to me the list of their social security numbers. Yes, I need it right away. Yes, thank you."

"Hutch, what are you onto? I'm afraid I'm not following you."

"I won't know until we get the numbers, but I think someone was using their replacement cards to perpetrate some kind of fraud. I'm not sure what yet, but I've got a few ideas."

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

Two hours later, the social security numbers in hand, blond and dark heads both bowed over their desks, both officers on the telephone. Starsky looked like he was about to fall asleep, or was just waking up from having done so.

Hutch spoke up with his hand over the speaking end of the receiver while he waited for the woman at the other end to come back. "I tell you, Starsk, I think that whoever killed these people was using their ID's to take out life insurance. That would explain the delay between when the victims turned up missing and when the bodies actually showed up. They could've picked up the victims, used their social security numbers to take out life insurance on them, then killed them and collected the money."

"Boy, if that's the way it went down, they really made a killing!"

The pun imprinted a grimace on Hutch's face, accentuated by the tension line between his brows and the smiling eyes. "I'm afraid they did in more ways than one. That's why I'm on the phone with the state. I'm gonna ask them to give me the names of all the central records offices of all the insurance agencies in the city. Then we can call them each and find out if any policies were taken out recently in the victims' names."

"Sounds like a good idea to me. I hope you're right. One thing I know for sure, I'm sick and tired of waiting!" and he slammed the receiver back on the phone.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Can you believe how long they made me hold just to get a pizza delivered?" Hutch shook his head at his partner's antics but, for once, didn't say anything about the man's eating habits.

Suddenly Hutch picked up a pen and started scribbling frenziedly. Apparently, Starsky thought, the person on the other end of the line had finally decided to come back to the phone and give Hutch the info he needed.

A few minutes later, Hutch finally hung up the phone. The list of names and numbers on the pad in front of him went on for a page and a half. "This will at least give us a starting point," he said.

"A starting point! That looks like a whole project to me!"

"Yeah, but these are just the agencies in the city. There's nothing to say that the agency had to be local. Hell, you can buy insurance from a company in New York for a person living in Hawaii!"

"Well," Starsky said, "let's get started then."

~~~

Two hours later yet, the frustration was showing on both officers. So far, none of the agencies they called had issued a life insurance policy for any of the victims. Not lately, not ever. "It was a good idea, partner. Just wish it'd panned out."

"You sound like you're giving up."

"There's only four companies left on the list. Don't you think we should?"

"I'll try the last four, then, if we still haven't come up with anything, I guess we start back at the drawing board." He picked up the receiver for the umpteenth time and dialed the fourth to the last company on the list.

"Good afternoon, Lifestyle Casualty. How may I be of service." The voice was like silk on skin, and Hutch's mind wandered for a quick second. Then it was back on duty.

"Hello, this is Detective Sergeant Ken Hutchinson, Los Angeles PD. I need to inquire about the possibility that your company issued a life insurance policy to one or more murder victims. Can I talk to you?"

"Sure, you can talk to me anytime! But seriously, yeah, I can help you. Hang on just a minute while I get the file." Hutch thought how kind it was of her not to mention the strange, whispery sound of his voice, but dismissed it as her just being used to working with the sick and injured claim filers. She was gone for a few moments, and then came back. "What were the names of the victims?"

Hutch began to read off names, but the woman stopped him after the very first one. "Yes, Officer, we did issue her a policy." A pause, then, "no, wait. I'm sorry, I picked up the wrong file. We didn't issue her a life insurance policy."

"Are you saying that your company issued another type of policy to this woman?"

"Yes, she was issued one of our special 'elderly or infirm' policies. These are special policies that we offer to people who probably couldn't get one anywhere else. The rates are rather high, but it's a lot cheaper than having to pay the hospital bills when they get sick."

"So this is a health care policy?"

"Of course. And it looks like she claimed on it just a few days after taking it out. Apparently had some very expensive medical care she needed, then died shortly thereafter."

"So your company paid benefits to the hospital for the care she had before she died?"

"No, it looks like they were paid directly to the beneficiary."

"That's it. Lovely lady, I think you just helped us solve this case! Could you check the rest of these names for new policy purchases?"

"Sure." They went through the list, and, as suspected, every one of the victims had an insurance policy taken for them.

"Thanks for the help! Bye!"

Hutch just sat there for a moment after hanging up the phone. "Well, what did you find out? Sounded like you were making some real headway."

"Headway, hell! I think we've got this one solved." He went on to give Starsky a detailed account of all the insurance agency woman had told him, ending with the payment of benefits to the beneficiary instead of the hospital.

"So, you were off track, but not all that far. Where do we go from here?"

"I dunno. Any suggestions?"

Starsky thought for a second and then had a sudden brainstorm. "Hey! Don't those medical insurance claim forms have to be signed by the attending physician?" At Hutch's nod, he went on. "You don't suppose whatever doctor signed those forms would be dumb enough to use his real name, would he?"

"He'd have to. The agencies make sure the attending is state certified before making any payment. I think we need to pay a visit to that agency. In person!"

They were out of the squad room in a blink, then rolling down the street toward the agency in the Torino. Starsky pulled the red car in a spot next to a fire plug directly in front of the offices. "Starsk, you're gonna get a ticket!"

"So, you should talk! If I remember correctly, you've got a few yourself." This comment forcing Hutch into silence.

Starsky hesitated a moment for traffic to clear, then opened the driver's door on the traffic side and got out, walking around the front of the car and joined Hutch up on the curb. They walked together into the office, and the first thing they saw upon going through the door was a beautiful blond woman sitting behind the desk.

"May I help you gentlemen? Do you need some insurance information?" Hutch immediately recognized her voice as being the same woman he spoke to on the phone. Boy, when you called her "lovely lady" you weren't off base, Hutchinson!

Instead of voicing this thought, he just asked, "I spoke with you earlier on the telephone, my name is Officer Hutchinson?"

"Oh, yes, hello." Her eyes were wide as they looked him over. "But I would never have guessed that you were the person behind the voice."

"Just a little accident, miss." He noticed the black name plaque on her desk: Melanie Hansen. I'll have to remember that, Hutch though, storing away the name in his memory banks.

At that moment, Starsky decided it was time for an introduction, since it was apparent his partner was too preoccupied to do the honors. "I'm Hutch's partner, Detective Dave Starsky." He put out his hand and she shook it gently. Her hand was warm and smooth, with long fingers that wrapped around his hand.

"Nice to meet you."

"Same here. Look, we need t'know the name of the attending physician on the policies you and my partner discussed earlier. Could you please look them up while we wait?"

"Sure, but the claim forms are kept in the back room. I'll have to go get them. Take a seat, guys. I'll be back in a minute." She stood up from the desk and turned toward the doorway. Both officers noticed appreciatively how little material the manufacturer had used in making the skirt she wore. In non-traditional fashion, though, she wore stockings with seams up the back, each one accentuating a long, thin leg. Starsky caught Hutch staring as she walked away, and Hutch blushed guiltily.

She was back in short order, carrying a box full of file folders. "Do you have that list of names?" She directed her questions at Hutch, and Starsky was a little embarrassed to be there. The looks that passed between his partners blue eyes and Miss Hansen's striking green ones made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"It's right here," Starsky interrupted, helping Hutch to break the connection with this young woman. She took it from him and began to go through the folders. Once her mind was on her work, all thoughts of the officers seemingly vanished and she was all business. She read each name, opened a folder, then made a note of the doctor's name on the sheet next to the patient's. Fifteen minutes later, she wrote a name next to the last victim on the list, then stepped back to look at the list.

"Gee, that's strange." The two officers jumped up out of the chairs in which they had been resting and looked as she turned the list around. The name "Dr. Henry Triton, MD" appeared next to each and every name.

"Looks like we've got a lead," Starsky said.

"Thanks alot, Miss Hansen," Hutch said. "But we've got to be going."

"No problem, officer. And by the way, call me Melanie." Both men turned to walk out, but she stopped Hutch with a hand on his arm. "You forgot your list, Officer," and pressed the folded piece of paper into the palm of his hand.

"Thanks. Bye."

They were out in the car before Hutch looked again at the list. Melanie had folded it three times, creating a rectangle about three inches by two inches. Across the back of the creased paper she had scribbled: 555-6928. Hutch smiled and quietly pocketed the paper, not letting Starsky see his secret.

While Starsky drove, Hutch called into dispatch. "Mildred, please get me a telephone patch through to the AMA."

"The AMA, Zebra 3?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

There was a pause while the connection was made. "AMA. Can I help you?"

"Yes, can you tell me if you show a Dr. Henry Triton as a practicing, licensed physician?"

"Just a moment, sir. Yes, he's fully licensed in this state. Can I do anything else for you?"

"No, thank you. That's all for now. Good-bye."

"I wonder if Doc McCoy would know anything about this doctor," Starsky asked when Hutch put the radio down.

"Dunno. Maybe we should stop by the hospital and see if he can tell us anything."

"Good idea." And he turned the car around to head toward the hospital.

They found the doctor with his feet propped up on a coffee table in the doctors' lounge. He looked tired, Starsky thought. "Hiya, Doc."

"Hi, Officer Starsky. How're you doing, Ken?"

"I'm okay." Why did his voice difficulties seem so much more pronounced when he talked to the doctor.

"Then, and please forgive my bluntness, why are you here?"

Starsky started, "we've come up with a name related to the case we're working on. A physician licensed in the state of California and last known to practice in L.A. His name is Henry Triton. You don't happen to know of him, do you?"

"Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time," the doctor began. "Not since there were some inquiries about him a few years ago. Something about drug abuse, but it never was investigated fully. Just rumors and innuendo. The Board of Ethics decided to drop the charge when he stopped active practice. His license never was pulled, though."

"A drug problem. People have broken laws for lesser reasons." Hutch held out his hand. "Thanks a lot, Doc."

"Hey, don't forget your checkup on Friday. And I'll still need your answer about the surgery."

Hutch suddenly sat down next to the doctor, and Starsky sat next to his partner, being there as friend, support system, and partner. "I've decided not to have the surgery." There, he'd said it aloud. "I can live my life like this."

"Well, like I said, you've got until Friday in case you change your mind. I still need to see you, though, to check your throat and that cut." He motioned to the bandage concealed under Hutch's turtleneck.

"See you then, Doc." And both officers stood up and were gone.

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

Starsky pulled up short next to a pay phone in the hospital lobby. "What are you stopping for?" his blond partner asked him.

"You may not have noticed this, but even with all we've found out, we still don't have any idea where we can find this so-called doctor."

"Right. So who're you calling?" he asked as Starsk picked up the receiver and deposited a dime.

"Huggy. If anyone knows or can find out about a non-practicing doctor on the wrong side of the law, it'd be him."

"Good idea, Starsk. Maybe if we call him now, he might even know something by the time we get over there. Ya, know . . ."

Starsky held up a hand to silence his partner, then turned his attention to the phone. "Hi, Hug!" Then he told Huggy at length what they needed.

"I'll see what I can do," was Huggy's only response. But both officers knew the chances were good that he could help them. Since meeting the odd, thin black man, he had proved himself an invaluable friend as well as an invaluable tool in their fight against crime. His style, his "look", allowed him access to information and areas that the officers could never get to. The bad guys just didn't seem to realize that this man was not on the same side of the law as they were, and trusted him implicitly.

Half an hour later they pulled up in front of The Pits, and walked into the den with their usual confidence and comfort. Starsky took a seat at the bar, ordered a soda (they were on duty) and winked at the waitress who had taken the order. She turned to Hutch, standing beside his partner.

"What'll you have?"

"How about some hot tea with honey?"

"Coming up."

Starsky thought twice about the drink his partner had ordered, then remembered something Hutch had said to him once when he'd had a cold and a sore throat. "Tea with honey had remarkable healing properties for the throat." Apparently, despite what the doctor had said, his partner was hoping that the beverage might help in place of the surgery. Some day, Starsky thought, maybe all this "holistic medicine" stuff of yours will catch on, partner.

As she poured Starsky's soda, he asked the waitress where Huggy was. "He's around back."

"Could you tell him we need to see him?"

"Sure." She set both beverages in front of the officers and disappeared into the back of the bar. A few moments later, Huggy came up from the kitchen, his customary ear-to-ear smile plastered across his face.

"Hey, my men! How you doin'?"

Starsky began without preamble, and it occurred to him momentarily that he seemed to be doing most of the talking lately. From the look on Hutch's face, it apparently didn't bother him, so he went on.

"You find out anythin', Hug? About Dr. Triton, I mean."

"Yeah, lots. But the biggest thing is, I know him. I never knew his name before, but one of the people I contacted showed me a picture. He comes in all the time. Sits in the corner, orders a bunch of drinks, then staggers out a coupla hours later."

"When was he in last?" Hutch asked after taking a large swallow of tea. It didn't seem to help.

"Day 'fore yesterday. He's probably due to come in again."

"Great! You s'pose you could reserve us a booth in a dark corner where we could watch for him?"

"Ya got it, Starsk."

"Good," Hutch said. "We'll be back around nine tonight."

"See ya then!" Huggy waved as the duo stepped through the doorway and into the sunlight.

"Hey, we got a few hours to kill before we gotta come back here. What say I treat you to that steak dinner I promised?"

"If you're paying, I'm there, buddy!" Hutch told him. He had actually forgotten all about the promise, but the offer was rare, so he took his partner up on it.

As he slid behind the wheel, Starsky said, "I know the perfect steakhouse, too. The steaks are as big as your plate, and the salads are so good, even I like 'em."

"Sounds like the perfect choice. Well," he said to the man behind the wheel, "lead the way!" and he motioned to the road stretched out in front of them.

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

Three hours later both officers walked through the steakhouse parking lot. Starsky held his stomach in a very uncustomary manner. "Oh, God! I think I'm gonna bust!"

"I know the feeling," Hutch said. But at least the engorging dinner didn't show in his posture or the way he walked. He did, however, have to raise his hand to his mouth to cover a very ungentlemanly burp which unexpectedly made an appearance. "Remind me, when this is all over, to spend some time at Vinnie's. I've got to work some of that off, and I think it's gonna take a coupla weeks to do it!"

Hutch climbed behind the wheel of the LTD, taking pleasure in the rarity of driving it on duty. They had chosen to switch vehicles because the LTD was much more inconspicuous. Hutch knew, but would never admit, that Starsky was the better driver, and it was primarily that which led him not to object when Starsky wanted to drive most of the time. I'm no slouch, he thought to himself, but Starsky could've been a pro if he wanted.

Starsky hopped in the passenger side, pushing aside some of the paraphernalia that littered Hutch's front and back seat. Starsky never could figure out his partner. His apartment was almost always spotless, but his car was usually a mess.

By the time Hutch pulled the car to the curb in front of Huggy's, Starsky's customary energy level was back up to full force, the ache of overeating forgotten. The bar was almost dark inside, and both men hid in the shadows and slid into the booth Huggy had kept for them. The flashily dressed man came to the booth.

"Is he here yet?"

"No, but I'll let you know as soon as he arrives. Meanwhile, what'll you have."

Hutch groaned, but Huggy spoke right up.

"It'll look suspicious if you sit here without a drink or somethin' to eat!"

"Good point," Starsky remarked. "Why don't you just bring us a couple of beers. Draft, please!"

"On its way!" and the black man went back to the bar.

Both officers nursed a single beer all evening, slouching down in the booth so as not to draw attention to themselves. At 2:30 Hutch looked over at his partner and noticed he had dozed off, his head lolled to one side. "Starsk...STARSK . . ." he said with as much volume as he could muster, which wasn't much. Instead he tapped his partner's leg with his booted foot, bringing the dark haired officer around. Starsky rubbed his eyes blearily.

"What time is it? Why did you let me fall asleep?"

"I didn't know I was supposed to baby-sit! Besides, you're the one with the watch fetish. You tell me what time it is."

Starsky focused on the timepiece on his wrist. "2:45. He should've been here by now if he was gonna show up at all. Why don't we call it a night and come back again tomorrow night."

"Guess so." But before they could climb out of the booth, a run-down looking man walked past. He was obviously already partially inebriated, but hoping to complete the trip in this bar. They watched as he continued to stagger across the room and slid into the booth Huggy had pointed out to them earlier. Huggy rushed over to them. The bar was almost empty already, the hour being very late, and he wasn't too concerned about his other patrons. Anita walked over to serve the Doctor.

"That's him!" Huggy whispered. "Dr. Henry Triton himself!"

"Okay," Hutch explained. "We'll sit here until he leaves, then follow him to see where he goes. If we follow him long enough, he's bound to lead us to the man paying all the bills."

"How do you know he's not in this alone?" Huggy asked.

Starsky answered, "Look at him! Does that look like a man who's collected over two million dollars from insurance agencies? Someone had to have put him up to it!"

"And we're gonna get each and every one involved," Hutch told him. Huggy just nodded his approval and went back to cleaning up the bar. Closing time was only another couple hours or so away, and he had lots of work to do.

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

When Triton left the bar two hours later, by that time thoroughly drunk, Starsky and Hutch unhesitantly got up to follow him. They weren't too worried about the man spotting them; he was lucky if he could see the floor in front of him and would be even more lucky if he didn't see it close up before too long.

The doctor flagged a cab outside the bar, and when the cab pulled away, the dynamic duo was right behind it. They followed the cab to a run-down motel on the darker side of town. Triton staggered to a door on the second level, achieving a major miracle in just getting up the stairs.

"Guess we'll just have to keep an eye on him until he leaves in the morning. Why don't we go home and come back first thing."

Hutch, though, disagreed. "I'm afraid we'd better stay. You never know when he might decide to go out again."

"But, Hutch, did you see that guy? There's no way he's goin' nowhere tonight, except maybe to the land of nod." But the stubborn look on Hutch's face and the square set of his shoulders told Starsky that further arguing would be senseless. "Well, do ya think we can at least trade off napping and watching for Triton?"

"I don't see any reason why not, Starsk. Just be sure you don't fall asleep during your shift."

"Okay, partner. Wake me when it's my turn." And the dark haired man climbed over the seat and into the back, sliding down to keep the lights from the motel from shining in his face.

"Hey, Starsk. Ya think I could borrow your watch to keep the time. I forgot mine." Starsky silently took off his watch and handed it over.

"This time, I expect it to be working when you return it to me." And with that, he was asleep.

Left alone with his thoughts for awhile, images came and went almost like he was dreaming. He thought about the dream he had had while they were trapped after the earthquake. The mountain lion attacking Starsky, and his inability to help, bothered him suddenly. He didn't know why it occurred to him now; he hadn't dwelled on it a moment since getting out of that hole. Hutch didn't believe the books that told what a person's dreams meant, and certainly didn't believe himself capable of any kind of foresight which a very rare few were gifted with. So he dismissed it as nothing and went back to the stakeout.

~~~

The pair had switched placed three times, and Starsky was sitting in the front seat shuffling a deck of cards when Triton finally emerged. The sun was just coming up, and it was difficult for the officer to see what the man wore or looked like, but there was no doubt that he came out of the room that Triton had entered the night before.

"Hutch, wake up." Nothing. "Hutch, come on, he's coming." Still no response. Starsky turned around and slapped the sole of the boots his partner wore, waking him abruptly and at the same time knocking his feet off the putrefied car upholstery.

"Huh? What?"

"He's coming," Starsky said as he slid down in the seat so as not to be seen. Hutch stayed down until the doctor had gotten into his car and pulled away, then climbed into the front seat next to his partner while Starsky put the car in gear and pulled after him. He was careful to keep his distance. Now that he was sober, it would be easy for Triton to spot them if he followed too close.

They followed the car many miles across town, to the upper class side. He pulled in through large gates, shutting them behind him and the boys out of the estate. They could see, though, that there were two large trucks backed up to the house, obviously in the process of moving the occupants.

"If they leave now, we'll never get 'em," Starsky growled. "But we can't go in--we got no warrant!"

"You know, Starsk, I think we could be looking at a robbery in progress here. We'd only be doin' our duty if we went in and checked it out."

"Yeah, partner." Starsky grinned devilishly, understanding where Hutch was going with the comment. The gate was now sealed solidly, so the officers walked around to the side, where they wouldn't be seen by the movers, and climbed over the brick wall encircling the estate. They skulked toward the house, going from tree trunk to tree trunk, keeping hidden.

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

"Hey, Boss. Someone just came over the west wall. Security sensors picked it up." The guard's boss was overseeing the loading of some very valuable portraits into the vans--recent acquisitions purchased with the insurance money.

"Just one person?" The guard nodded. "Whoever it is, they've got a helluva lot of guts. Prepare to welcome our 'guest'. Track him until he gets close to the house, then take him out!"

Starsky was in the lead as they approached the house, with Hutch watching from about twenty feet behind him. Staying apart gave them more of an advantage, and made them harder to identify. The movers continued to work uninterrupted, and both officers felt certain that their presence was still a secret to the crooks. Starsky made his final move, from the wide trunk of a maple tree to the side of the house staying just outside of the flower gardens and bushes which set there. From here he could no longer see the trucks, which he figured was an advantage, since they couldn't see him either. Hutch watched from behind the nearest maple tree, still some distance away. He waiting for Starsky to move up again, or for his partner to signal him to join him

Suddenly there was a flash in the blond detective's blue eyes, momentarily blinding him. After it was gone, he looked up and realized it had come from the sun reflected on an upstairs window as it was opened, swinging out. From that moment, things seemed to run in slow-motion, accentuating his helplessness. He saw a man appearing in the window, and the muzzle of a double-barreled shot gun extended out of the window, aimed down at Starsky. If the trigger was pulled at that moment, Hutch could tell the bullet would hit Starsky directly in the center of his back. Apparently they had somehow been seen.

"STARSK!" He attempted to yell a warning. "STARSK!" He yelled a second time, then reddened in frustration when he realized he couldn't get up the volume to warn his partner, still standing beneath the window like a sitting duck. Hutchinson looked up again and saw the shooter's finger tightening on the trigger. He had to protect his partner!

Hutch broke cover, running at his fastest speed toward his partner. He made a flying tackle, pushing his partner out of the way just as the bullets cut into the dirt where Starsky had been standing.

"You sure you didn't play football in college instead of wrestling?" Starsky said quickly. Hutch didn't react to the joke, but jumped to his feet. He spun around with amazing speed and pulled the trigger on the Magnum twice, putting two bullets into the shooter. The moving people and those watching, including Dr. Triton and the mastermind of the scheme, began to react to the shots. Starsky jumped to his feet and went in, Hutch hot on his heals. Since all the remaining members of the gang were outside at this point, it was only a matter of moments before the two officers had all the perpetrators surrounded and Dr. Triton and Mr. Big, whose real name according to his ID was Angus Ford, cuffed.

They heard sirens and three black-and-whites skidded to a stop in front of the estate. Starsky went to open the gate, allowing the uniformed officers to come in and take everyone into custody. The curly haired detective was exhilarated at the bust, but Hutch seemed surprisingly quiescent. Starsky's exuberance wasn't muffled, and he talked almost non-stop on the ride back to the station. They sat at their desks, completed the required paperwork, and finally felt able to call it a day.

Starsky drove Hutch to Venice Place, and agreed when Hutch invited him to come in. He knew something was wrong with his partner, and maybe he would feel more willing to open up inside his own apartment. Hutch pulled the spare key from above the door and unlocked it. After they were both in and the door was closed, he walked directly to the refrigerator and pulled out a six-pack of beer. After taking out the pack, he reached in the space between the refrigerator and the counter and picked out two more six-packs, which he deposited in place of the one he'd removed. Out of the pack he'd just removed from the fridge, he pulled one can out of the plastic holder, opened it, and drank it down in one continuous gulp. Starsky's eyes were round--he'd never seen his partner drink like that before. But Hutch walked back into the living room, pulled another can out and handed it to Starsky. One more pull, and they both had a beer to drink.

Hutch drank and drank in silence, and it scared Starsky that he didn't seem to think he could talk to him about whatever was bothering him. When the second six-pack was gone, with Starsky having drunk four and Hutch finishing the other eight, Starsky finally decided he had to say something.

He walked over to where Hutch was sitting and laid a hand on his arm. "What prompted this, partner?" and gestured to the empty cans littering the table and floor in front of him.

"Nothing," Hutch's whispery voice slurred. He decided not to talk--hating the sound of his own voice.

"Come on! Did I do something to make you mad at me? I can't believe that, after all our years of friendship, that it could end like this and I don't even know what I did wrong."

Hutch shook his head, amazed that Starsky could misunderstand and take the blame for this on himself. "It wasn't you. It was me."

"You did something to get you mad at you?" Starsky said, confused and intentionally trying to keep it light.

"No, that's not it. That's not it at all."

"Then what?" More silence. "Come on, Hutchinson!" he shouted. "Tell me."

"Okay!" Hutch said finally. "I'm just having a hard time dealing with the fact that I almost got you killed today!"

"Killed?! What do you mean by that? It was a clean bust, and we did a great job!"

"YOU did a great job. Doesn't it both you that, while I was supposed to be watching your tail, I didn't even warn you about that shooter who had you in his sights?"

"You took care of it. And you coulda got killed knocking me out of the way the way you did. That was endangering to you, not me!"

"The only reason I did it was because there wasn't any choice."

"I don't get it."

"Do you remember my yelling to you to get down--that someone was takin' aim at you?"

"No, I didn't hear you."

"That's my point exactly." The blond man was obviously frustrated, and reached up under the turtleneck he wore and ripped the gauze from around his neck, creating a red burn along the back. "This," he gestured at his neck, "almost cost you your life! You coulda died because you couldn't hear my warning." The last few words came out as an anguished choke, and Hutch sat back in the chair and began to cry. Starsky was frozen with shock for a moment, then came over to kneel besides his partner's quivering form.

"Come on, partner. Why don't you get to bed. Things'll look better in the morning." He helped Hutch to his feet and led the man into the bedroom.

"Sleep's not gonna help," Hutch said as they continued to walk. "There's only one thing that might." He lay down on the bed and was asleep before he could explain to his concerned partner what he was talking about. Starsky decided to spend another night on Hutch's couch, very concerned because, for once, he didn't know what his partner was thinking.

"We'll pick it up first thing in the morning," he said aloud to himself after Hutch was soundly asleep. Then he lay back on the couch and fell asleep too.

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

The next morning, for the first time, Starsky was awake before his blond partner. He padded on bare feet to the kitchen and put coffee on.

He didn't admit, even to himself, that his thoughts stemmed from the idea that, if Hutch chose the surgery and it failed, that their partnership would come to an end. He did admit, however, that, while his first instincts those few days ago were to tell Hutch he should have the operation, it just wasn't worth the risk.

Starsky snuck in the bathroom and brushed his teeth, letting his partner sleep a little while longer. When he appeared from the bathroom again, he just stood for a moment, watching Hutch sleep.

Funny, I can always tell when he's gone to bed drunk. Something about the way he lies--I don't know. He walked softly to the bed, bracing a knee on the edge, and gently shook his partner's shoulder.

"Wake up! What happened, did you forget to set your alarm?"

Hutch roused, but threw his arm over his eyes as he opened them. "Oooh! How can it possible be time to get up yet. Let me sleep!"

"We gotta get to work! Dobey'll have our heads if we're late after all that happened yesterday."

As Starsky mentioned the previous day's events, Hutch's face, which had just begun to brighten, fell again, remembering the incident he had so wanted to forget. But he didn't say anything, just got up and started to collect the clothes he'd wear to the office that day.

"Hey, don't forget to rebandage your neck!" Starsky yelled back to him as he disappeared into the bathroom for a shower. Hutch grumbled something unintelligible, but Starsky didn't feel suicidal enough to ask him to repeat it.

Starsky was leaning against the counter when Hutch emerged, ready for work. The dark haired detective squared his shoulders, finally deciding to confront his partner head-on.

"Hutch, do you remember what you said last night?"

"Ummm...yeah, sure."

"Were you serious?"

Suddenly, Hutch once again lost his temper. "Of course I was serious. Why the hell would you think I wasn't serious. Just 'cause I had a coupla beers? I knew exactly what I was saying, and I meant it!"

"It was more than a couple, partner." Hutch started to walk away from him, and Starsky, also losing his temper, grabbed the big man by the arm, spinning him around. "Look, you have to tell me what you're thinking. More than that, I have a right to know. Any decision you make about this affects me--affects our future as a team. That gives me the right! Now spill it!"

Hutch shrugged his shoulders and slid into one of the kitchen chairs. "Okay, you do have the right, so here it is. Plain and simple. I want to have the surgery. I know that I can't be a good cop like this; I was foolin' myself when I thought otherwise. But the same operation that could give us back our partnership could also take it from us. And something I need to know: If it goes wrong, and I can't be your partner any more, does that mean we can't be friends any more either? I'm thinking that I might, somehow, be able to get along without being your partner, but I could never get along without my best friend! So I'm stuck and I don't know what to do!" Once he started, the words came tumbling out, each one pushing the last out in its rush to be said.

Once they had been said, Starsky instantly understood the strain Hutch had put himself under. How could he even doubt for a moment that he'd always be there for his best friend. "Hutch, I oughta belt you in the mouth! How could you even think that I'd ditch our friendship just 'cause we couldn't work together anymore." His voice grew in volume, expressing how upsetting he, himself, found Hutch's remark. "I don't care if your a cop, a teacher, or a garbage collector, I'll always be your best and most undeniable friend, like it or not. So you'd just better get used to it, 'cause you can't shake me that easy!"

He finished out of breath, and he noticed that both his and Hutch's chests were pumping in and out with the strain of the argument.

After a moment, a whispered, "So it's okay with you if I have the surgery?"

Starsky answered, "Not that you need it, but, yeah, you got it. We'll talk to the Doc first thing after we clock in."

"First," Hutch said, with a combination scared and goofy look on his face, "I've gotta talk to the Captain and ask for the time off. I imagine I'll need at least a couple weeks. Hope he doesn't give me a hard time."

"If he does at first, he won't once he finds out why. You might not know this, but he cares an awful lot about you."

"About both of us, I think. Now how d'ya think we deserved that!"

"Just lucky, I guess."

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

As soon as the detectives walked into the squad room, right after pouring themselves cups of coffee, Hutch made a b-line for the captain's office. "Best get it over with!" he said to himself.

But Starsky had overheard him. "D'ya want me to come with you?"

"Actually, yeah. I could use the support."

"Sure." It was offered unquestioningly and unhesitantly. He walked into the office behind Hutch, and stood behind the chair Hutch took as the Captain sat behind his desk. Not there for any specific reason, just there, supporting, reassuring.

"Captain," Hutch began, "I know that things around here are real busy, and I understand that this will be tough, but . . ." Hutch hesitated, and Starsky placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him strength to go on. "I need some time off." He just blurted the last part out.

"How long?" They were the first words the captain had said, but his face was a mask of seriousness.

""Bout two weeks."

"Sure, we'll manage. You've decided to go ahead with the surgery, huh?"

"How'd you know?"

"I read your report on the arrest yesterday. And I knew this was coming. And basically, I just know you." His gaze strayed to include Starsky. "I know both of you. Just let me know when your time off has to start, and I'll put it down as sick leave. No one needs to know anything more until we get the results."

"Thanks, Captain." The stress-induced perspiration which had appeared on both detectives' faces began to evaporate immediately, and was not replaced by more. They walked out to their desks, and Hutch picked up the telephone, dialing by heart.

"Yes, hello, Dr. McCoy, please. Morning, Doc. Yeah, of course it's Hutchinson. Look, I know what I said before, but I've changed my mind. I've decided to go ahead with the surgery. No, I won't change my mind again. So, what do I do next?" Hutch was silent for a moment, then said good-bye and hung up the phone.

"What'd he say?" Starsky had no patience.

"He's gonna have to check the OR schedule and get back to me. He'll call me back, and dispatch will patch it through to the car. C'mon, buddy, let's hit the streets!"

As they walked out, both men thought to themselves how important each day they had left was, knowing that it could be one of their last.

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

They patrolled all day, and although they got lots of calls over the police radio, not one was the patch from Dr. McCoy that they awaited. At the end of the shift they clocked out and headed home.

"Hey," Starsky said. "How about picking up a pizza for supper?" He was hoping to get his partner's mind off the phone call.

"All right, but can we eat it back at my place? We can have a game of Monopoly after we eat!" He smiled, his toothy grin speculating how much fun it'd be to beat Starsk in a game. Sometimes it was almost too easy!

Before long they were seated in Hutch's living room, eating pizza and playing monopoly at the same time. Hutch kept the phone within reach, his reflexes poised to grab the receiver at the first sign of a ring. Playing and eating had been Starsky's idea, and Hutch complained constantly about the difficulties of trying to do both.

"Awe, Starsk, look what you did! Ya got pizza sauce all over the $500 bills! By the time we're done I'm gonna have to buy a whole new game!"

"It's not that much! It'll be fine--I'll just wipe it off." And he took the red-splattered bills and rubbed them off on his jeans.

"That's just great, Starsk, now..." but before he could go on, the phone rang. Hutch grabbed it so fast that all Starsky saw was the glare of his ring's flash.

"Yeah. Doc, I thought you'd never call!"

"Well, scheduling is kinda tight. You had dinner yet tonight?"

"Yeah, we're eating right now. Almost done actually."

"Good, finish what you have but don't have anything more to eat tonight. And no liquids after midnight either."

"What's going on?" Hutch's mind was spinning at the speed everything was happening.

"Well, I checked the OR schedules and they're all booked solid for the next two weeks. The only opening is tomorrow, so I signed you up. Didn't think you'd want to wait two weeks to get this over with."

"You were right. I wouldn't wanna wait. What time should I be there?"

"Be here at 8:00--you'll go into surgery at 10:00. Oh, and tell Starsky there's a real comfortable waiting room outside of OR #2, the one you'll be in. I presume he'll be taking up residence through the day."

Hutch raised his eyes from the phone to look at Starsky. "I can't speak for him, of course, but I imagine so. Listen, I gotta call Dobey, so I guess I'll see ya tomorrow."

"I'll see you then. Oh, and don't be surprised if you don't get much sleep tonight. Most patients don't when they're going into surgery."

"Thanks, Doc. Bye," and Hutch hung up the phone, looking slightly stunned.

"So?" Starsky interrogated. "When did he schedule your surgery?"

Hutch looked, the dazed eyes meeting his friends. "Tomorrow," he said quietly.

"TOMORROW? Is he crazy?"

"It was that or wait two weeks. I gotta call Dobey." He picked up the phone and dialed the Captain's home. "Hi, Edith. Ken Hutchinson. Can I speak to your lesser half, please?" He could hear her covering the receiver to call for her husband.

"Harold told me about the surgery. I'll be praying for you," she said as she waiting for her husband to come to the phone.

"Thanks for the wishes. And give Rosie a kiss for me."

"Sure, Ken. Here's Harold."

Hutch explained the short notice scheduling, and the Captain heartily approved of Hutch going ahead with it. He reassured the blond officer that it would be okay, then said, "Is Starsky there with you?"

"Yeah."

"Lemme talk to him a second." Hutch handed the telephone over to Starsky.

"Hiya, Cap. What can I do for you?"

"Hi, Dave. I wanted to tell you I'm taking you off the roster tomorrow. I expect you to go to the hospital with Hutch, as if I could stop you that is, and call me as soon as the operation's over. Ya got that?"

Starsky nodded, then realized that the Captain couldn't see him and answered a short "Yessir." Then he hung up the phone.

"Starsk," Hutch started, "I'm not gonna be able to sleep any tonight, and the Doc says I can't have anything more to eat and nothing to drink after midnight. How d'you feel about an all-night Monopoly tournament?"

"I'm willing to try if you are, partner."

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

At five-thirty, Hutch paused in packing his suitcase to watch his partner. Starsky had fallen asleep on the couch, right in the middle of a roll of the dice. It put him in the most awkward position, and the blond man wondered how, even at his most exhausted, the man could sleep like that.

"Beats me," he said out loud, then went back to the bed. The open suitcase lay on it, and into it he put two pairs of pajamas, showering and shaving supplies, three books and two magazines, and a deck of cards. Lastly, he walked to the bathroom door and pulled a light blue robe from the hook. He held the robe for a moment, remembering.

Starsky gave me this--a present for my last birthday. It had been shortly after the incident with Diana, and Hutch hadn't yet replaced the orange robe which the paramedics and doctors had destroyed cutting off. To be honest, he hadn't really wanted to replace it, somehow seeming like he was giving in to what had happened. He knew it didn't make sense, but he couldn't help how he felt.

"Hell, maybe I'm as unbalanced as she was!"

He carefully folded the robe and placed it in the suitcase. Part of one sleeve hung out, and Hutch lifted it to slide it in. Just inside the sleeve, where it couldn't be seen, Starsky had had a picture of Bugs Bunny embroidered. Hutch knew he meant it to serve as a silent reminder not to take himself too seriously and to laugh when he needed it. Considering it was on his robe, Hutch also took it to have a second meaning, considering what rabbits were best known for. He smiled to himself at the thought.

He zipped the suitcase shut and carried it to the door, setting it along side it. He had begun to pack as a last resort, not having anything else to do once Starsky was asleep. His stomach growled once, softly. Six o'clock. The hospital was a forty-five minute drive from here, and he'd want to get there early anyway. Starsky would have to be getting up pretty soon, and the tall man had a sudden brainstorm for gently awaking his partner.

Hutch knew he wasn't allowed to eat, but he always found that the smell of food, even if he didn't eat anything, would help to quell his hunger. Cooking breakfast for Starsky would serve all three purposes: slowing down Hutch's hunger pangs, waking Starsky from a sound sleep, and feeding an officer who would no doubt be hungry when he did finally awake.

He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and the freezer, surveying the contents. He found a package of pork sausages, several eggs, and a loaf of bread.

"This'll give me a good start," he muttered as he pulled all these things out and set them on the counter. He turned on the oven and took a tray out of the cupboard , pouring the sausages out on it.

Next he went to a higher cupboard and took out a mixing bowl and chose a large fork from the utensil drawer. He mixed the pancake batter by hand so the mixer wouldn't wake the sleeping figure in the next room. He even managed to sneak in a little of his renowned breakfast drink. Starsky'd never notice it, but it might give his partner some of the energy he knew he'd need. Hutch picked up the fork and held the bowl in his left hand, then realized that there was a tremor in them he couldn't control. He set both items down and wrung them together, calming them as much as possible, then went back to his work.

By six-thirty there was a solitary place set at the table, generously laden with toast, jam, butter, juice, and syrup. Hutch poured the pancake batter into the hot frying pan, and the smell wafted through the apartment. He heard the figure on the couch shift, then the noisy springs told him Starsky was getting up.

"What is that wonderful smell? I think I've died and gone to heaven!"

"It's breakfast," Hutch said simply as he served the sausages onto Starsky's plate. He turned back to the stove, turned off the burner, and served two medium-size pancakes next to the sausages.

Starsky literally jumped into the chair, digging into the food hungrily. He had just taken a bite of sausage when he stopped and took notice. "Why's there only one place set. There's plenty of food here for two." Hutch knew he had momentarily forgotten, in the haze of morning, but before he could say anything, Starsky remembered. "Oh, yeah. Almost forgot for a minute there."

Hutch sat down in the chair across from Starsky, enjoying at least the pleasure of watching Starsky enjoy his breakfast. His stomach growled again, loudly this time, and Starsky's head came up suddenly. "Oh, God, Hutch. How could you make all this for me when you knew you couldn't have a bite!" He pushed the plate away from him, toward the center of the table. "I can't eat this in front of you!"

"Please, Starsk," Hutch said, pushing the plate back. "If I can't have it, at least let me eat vicariously through you." Put that way, it didn't sound so bad, so Starsky once again dug in.

Once he was done, a quick shave with Hutch's razor and some cold water splashed in his face, and they were both ready to go. It was only a little before seven, so Hutch picked up the suitcase and locked the apartment, heading for the Torino for the ride to the hospital. Hutch pulled up short, though, half way down the stairs.

"Wait, there's something I forgot!" He ran back up to the apartment, leaving Starsky and the suitcase waiting on the stairs. He disappeared inside the door and came back a few seconds later with his guitar case.

Starsky didn't comment, but Hutch said anyway, "It's a cinch I'm not gonna be able to sing, but at least I can play! You won't forget to water my plants, right?"

"Course not. I promised, didn't I? Besides, I have the instructions you wrote out right here," and he patted his back left pocket.

Both officers sat quietly on the ride to the hospital. "Companionable silence" Starsky'd once heard a shrink call it. The silence only found between good friends. The white striped car slipped smoothly into a space in the hospital parking lot, and Starsky locked both doors before getting out. Starsky only does that when he's gonna be away from his baby for awhile, Hutch thought. Guess he's gonna stay till it's over.

In typical fashion, the hospital wasn't ready for him at eight as he'd been told, and Hutch paced nervously in the waiting room, eager to get on with it. At 8:15 a middle-aged nurse finally called "Hutchinson" even though there was no one else in the waiting room at the time. Starsky and Hutch quickly shook hands, Starsky noticing but not commenting on how his partner's hands trembled, and the taller member of the pair walked through the doorway the nurse had guided him to.

He spent the next hour and a half suffering the large and small indignities related to being prepared for surgery. Lastly, he was laid on a rolling gurney, dressed in only a hospital gown which was not fastened in the back, and an elasticized bonnet which was placed over his hair, completely hiding the blond waves. He felt but didn't see an intern slide a needed into his arm, and a voice telling him he'd start to feel a little groggy. The shot took effect right away. At first he mistook the moving of the gurney as more aftereffects of the drug, but when he saw the door frame go by, he realized otherwise. As soon as his bed had cleared the doorway, he felt a firm hand settle on his arm, silent but supportive. Starsky didn't say anything--wasn't sure he could if he'd wanted to. He simply walked beside the rolling figure, keeping time with him until they reached the OR doors, where the nurse kept him from continuing. Starsky's fingers lightly brushed across Hutch's forehead and down the side of his face, and then the nearly unconscious figure disappeared through the double swinging doors. I'm glad it's OR #2, Starsky thought. That's our lucky number!

The next three hours were excruciating for Starsky. He was well known for being a man with little patience, especially not where his partner was concerned. Sitting here in the waiting room was simply torture. But he knew that the work that was going on behind the doors was painstaking and slow--had to be in order to be sure it was done as well as possible. So he didn't bother the hospital staff with constant questions. He knew Dr. McCoy, and knew he'd get out to him with the news as soon as there was some. So instead he paced the waiting room, counting his steps, reading magazines he wasn't really interested in, drinking coffee he wasn't really tasting, and remembering. Remembering everything.

A figure covered in surgical gear walked toward him. He didn't even recognize it was Dr. McCoy until the man pulled down his surgical mask. Starsky tried to give him his exclusive attention, but couldn't help but be drawn to the red streaks on the green scrub gown. Hutch's blood--and he felt panic rise in his throat. He pushed it down long enough to pull his eyes away from the blood stains and up to the doctor's face.

"Dave, it's over." Simple and to the point.

"How'd it go?" Starsky managed.

"Well, I think. Of course, we won't know for at least a week whether it worked or not."

"Can I see him?"

"He'll be in recovery for another twenty minutes or so, but you can see him as soon as he's transferred to his room. It'll be #303 if you'd like to wait there."

Starsky started to walk away, toward the pay phones and the elevators, but stopped at the doctor's hand on his shoulder.

"Detective Starsky, for the next week very it's important for him not to try to force it. He shouldn't try to talk at all--think you can help me with that?"

Starsky seemed relieved, finally able to do something to help the cause. "You got it, Doc," and he rushed away to the phones.

Starsky's call to the Captain was short, there being very little to tell him except that it was over and the doctor had thought it went well. Then he excused himself from the conversation and rushed to Hutch's room.

He walked to Room 303 and pushed the door to go in. The room was all made up, ready for Hutch's use when he was brought down. Someone had even thought to leave a large pad and several pens and pencils on the bed tray--knowing he'd have to use them for communication for awhile. Starsky also noticed that the suitcase they'd carried in had been placed on the dresser directly across from the bed, and he spent the next several minutes removing the items from the case, placing ones Hutch would want on the bedside table, and the rest in the dresser drawers. The guitar case had been set in the corner, and Starsky also moved it to within reach from the bed. Hutch'd probably be too drugged up or just too weak, he thought, to do much walking around, so everything had to be within reach.

Starsky'd just finished his chores when the door was propped open and Hutch was wheeled in. He was barely conscious and dressed in a traditional hospital gown and slippers. The blond hair was no longer covered, but the edges were wet with perspiration. The strong hands of two orderlies lifted him into bed, taking off the slippers along the way, but it didn't stop Starsky from adding his manpower to theirs in the transfer. Once he was settled, the orderlies left and the nurse pulled up the blankets and tucked them around his partner. "You spoke with Dr. McCoy?" At Starsky's nod, she turned and left without another word.

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

The world coalesced into blurred forms and pastel colors around him. He blinked his eyes to try to focus, looked from side to side, and while the forms became sharper, their color didn't change. Then a distinct, dark color slid into his vision--dark hair with a smiling face underneath it.

"Hutch! Hutch! You awake? Wait, don't answer that!" Some job you're doing, Starsky. He's up ten seconds and already you've blown your assignment! "The doctor said you're not s'posed to try to talk for at least a week. Can you understand me?" This last was added because the man in the bed still looked at him with glassy eyes.

Slowly the man's head nodded once, slightly, so as not to aggravate the heavy bandage now wrapped around his neck. Starsky noticed his restricted movements.

"Does it hurt?"

The head shook "no", and Hutch smiled.

"Well, I'm afraid it probably will before long. Look, someone left you a pad and some pens so you can write out when you wanna say somethin'."

Hutch quickly picked it up and began to write. Because the anesthesia wasn't completely cleared from his system, the writing more resembled that of a first grader than his partner's, but it was still readable when Hutch turned the pad around. One single word stood there, it said simply: "THANKS".

Starsky blushed. Then, true to form, he tried to distract both of them from the subject. "You up for playing a little cards?"

Hutch wrote: Give me a few minutes, okay?

"Sure." He went to look out the window of Hutch's room--someone had given him one with a great view. When he turned back, hoping his partner'd be ready for the game, he instead found him fast asleep. He picked up the pad and wrote: Gotta report to Dobey. Be back in a bit. Hope you slept well. P.S.: KEEP QUIET!. Starsk.

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

When Starsky returned to the room a few hours later, he was surprised to see Hutch sitting up in bed. He was even more surprised, however, to see water on his face and tears streaming from his eyes.

"What's wrong, partner? Are you okay?" He took Hutch's hand in his, noticing how cold it felt. Hutch pulled it out of his after a second and picked up the pad. Again, he "spoke" in one word statements, like a news bulletin on the television.

"HURTS" he wrote.

"Oh, you're in pain! When was the last time they gave you something for it?"

"Don't know--not sure!" the pen worked again.

"Well, we'll see about this!" He pushed the call button and waited for someone to come. A full five minutes later, time when the tears continued to stream down Hutch's cheeks, a nurse finally came in. "Where've you been? Don't you even keep an eye on patients who are newly out of surgery?"

"We get around as fast as we can, sir. What seems to be the problem?"

"Can't you see he's in pain? He's been calling for you forever now!"

She picked up his chart and checked it carefully. "Looks like he's not due for another painkiller for fifteen minutes. Let me check with the doctor and see if I can give it to him early."

She left but was back shortly with a needle, which, instead of sliding into his arm, she poked into the IV which in turn ran into Hutch's arm. "What's that IV for anyway," Starsky asked.

The nurse spoke down to Starsky, as if she was talking to an idiot. "Well, you have to realize that Mr. Hutchinson can't possible have any solid foods until his throat is healed. This is the only way we can get nutrients into him."

"That's Detective or Sergeant Hutchinson, honey," he said to her as she stalked out the door.

Within minutes Hutch's face began to relax and, although his eyes were slightly glazed as a result of the medication, he still wrote that he was interested in that game of cards he'd missed earlier. They played until the end of visiting hours and the nurse came to kick him out. "See ya tomorrow, partner. But I'm afraid it'll have to be after work. The Captain only gave me off for today." Hutch nodded his understanding then waved good-bye.

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

The next night, Starsky was visiting when the doctor came to change his bandages and check the sutures. He watched from the end of the bed, supportive and more than a little curious. He stayed frozen in the spot until the doctor cut the gauze and lifted the tape away. The red, swollen slice along Hutch's neck was ugly, and it gagged him. Starsky clenched his teeth, determined to stay there, but when the doctor lifted a sterilized, gloved finger and probed at the stitches, he felt pressure in the back of his throat that he could no longer deny. He barely made it into the bathroom in time. Starsky didn't see the small smile that Hutch and Dr. McCoy exchanged. The doctor replaced the bulky bandage with gentleness and care.

"Have you been staying silent, like I told you, Hutch? Now, I want the truth, not what you think I want you to say."

Hutch wrote, "Haven't even tried."

"Good, keep it up. The time'll be gone before you know it. I've gotta get back on rounds, so I'll see you later." The doctor and the nurse assisting him exited the room just as Starsky emerged from the bathroom, wiping his face with a Kleenex.

"Don't you go smiling at me like that!" Hutch wiped the smile from his face, but thought about the incident. Starsk had seen a lot worse things done to a human body than this. And he wondered just for a moment why he'd had such a strong reaction to this particular injury. Perhaps it wasn't really the injury at all, just the victim. Starsky made a mental note to be sure to excuse himself the next time the bandage was changed.

"You're deal," he said to Hutch, who quickly began shuffling the cards.

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

Starsky walked with a bounce in his step into the hospital lobby, carrying a carefully wrapped package topped with a bright blue bow under his arm. Tomorrow's the day, he thought to himself. Tomorrow Hutch'll be able to try to talk, and then we'll know when he can get back to duty. He had a feeling that it was going to be all right, couldn't really explain it but truly believe in it. He wasn't feeling any doubt when he walked into Hutch's room and found him sitting, once again, in bed, but this time strumming on his guitar. The song he played was sad, almost morose, and Starsky knew it was a reflection of his mood. Despite Starsky's encouragement and positive feelings, Hutch didn't think it was going to go quite so well tomorrow, and it was reflected in the music he played.

Starsky noticed, though, that his eyes were clear--an indication that he didn't have any of those lousy painkillers in his system. That in itself was good news. He worried about his friend when they gave him that stuff--remembered a time when the medicine wasn't prescription and resulted in Hutch only begging, pleading for more.

"Hey, your IV's gone! Does that mean they're gonna let you eat?"

Hutch set the guitar aside and picked up the pad, looking a little frustrated at having to write everything down. "Had my first meal tonight. Liquid diet only! Yeecccch!"

"Yeah, but wasn't it better than the IV?"

"Yes."

"Hey, in celebration of the big event tomorrow, I brung you a present." He presented the package, until now unnoticed by the blond figure in the bed, setting it in his lap where the guitar had been. Long, thin fingers unfastened the ribbon, lifted the bow off the box, and undid the wrapping paper. Starsky was reminded how much he hated watching his fastidious partner open presents. Each part of the wrapping paper was only opened where there was tape, carefully separating seems until the paper came off in almost the same condition as when it went on.

Hutch's smile grew when he beheld the gift: a brand new, deluxe edition of the monopoly game they'd almost worn out with all-night tournaments. He looked his partner directly in the face and mouthed a silent "thank you". Starsky didn't have to be a mind, or lip, reader to know what his friend had said. And he smiled again.

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

The next day finally came, and Hutch was practically jumping out of his skin waiting for the doctor. This is gonna decide the rest of my life, he thought. In just a few minutes, my fate will be sealed. Starsky felt the tension as well, and had taken to pacing the room from corner to corner to corner and back again. Hutch wanted to stop him, but knew, if he was allowed, he'd be pacing along with his partner. Along side him, the way I may never be again.

Then Hutch did something he couldn't remember doing in a long time. He looked up and he prayed. God, let it be all right. And give me the strength to deal with it if it's not.

Just as he completed his short, silent prayer, something happened he felt sure would be a good omen. There was a knock on the door--the medical staff never knocked--and Starsky spun around with an oral invitation for the knocker to come in.

The dark head that peaked around the corner did not belong to Dobey, or Huggy, or anyone else he mildly expected might show up. Both officers showed their surprise with saucer-size eyes at the appearance of Father Kevin.

"Just heard about it, Hutch. Sorry I didn't get here sooner." It was such a simple thing to him--coming to see a sick friend, but his appearance amazed Hutch. Hutch picked up his pad and wrote, "I didn't expect to see you here."

Father Kevin answered, "I often visit the patients here."

"But, I'm not Catholic." Hutch turned the pad around so the priest could read the message.

The Father chuckled. "You don't have to be Catholic for me to visit you or pray for your recovery. You may not realize this, but you and Starsky," he looked to the curly haired man who had stopped pacing, "quite often do the Lord's work in ways I never could. You're good people with good hearts. I did bring something with me, though, if you'd permit me."

He reached into the bag he carried and pulled out a pair of candles, crossed in the middle and held there by a red ribbon. "Hutch, have you ever heard of the 'blessing of throats'? It's something we Catholics try to do once a year in honor of St. Blaise. Would you let me bless your throat? It would at least make me feel better."

Hutch didn't hesitate to nod his approval. Any help we can get would be appreciated, he thought. He bowed his head as the young priest encircled the front of his throat with the candles, not quite touching, and muttered a prayer. He ended it with "amen" and a light touch on Hutch's head. Hutch raised his head to look up at him. "I guess I'd better go. They told me the doctor'll be here soon," but Hutch reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him.

He wrote out, "Please stay. The more, the merrier, as they say." Kevin nodded and took a quiet place in the corner of the room. Huggy and Dobey arrived a few moments later, being supportive and caring. Finally the doctor arrived. He went directly into the bathroom and filled the little pitcher with water, poured Hutch a glass, then handed it to him.

"Drink this. All of it." Hutch did. He tipped the glass up with his left hand, and the doctor noticed that Starsky, who stood close to the patients right side, held his hand tightly. Both men's fingers were white with the pressure, but the doctor wasn't about to interfere in what he had seen between the two officers.

After Hutch was finished, the doctor sat down on the bed, as close to Hutch as he could get. He removed the bandage once again and placed his hand on Hutch's throat, near but not on the sutures.

"Okay, here we go, Hutch. Take it slow, but try to say something."

Hutch opened his mouth and gently put his lips together. "P-a-r-t-n-e-r." The first syllable actually came out, giving momentary excitement, but the second turned completely silent. The doctor gave him the glass to drink again, replaced his hand on Hutch's throat, and told him, "try it again."

"Partner." That one word, clearly heard by everyone in the room, was like a proclamation for the future. Chaos erupted in the room, with everyone hugging everybody else in the excitement. The doctor, after taking part in a certain amount of the ruckus himself, tried to restore some order.

"People, people! Calm down now. There are other patients on this floor, some of whom would like to sleep!" The visitors settled down, and he noticed how Starsky had once again reclaimed Hutch's hand. "Look, this is a great sign, and there's an excellent chance that you're going to make a full recovery. But I want to caution you about overusing your voice for the next few days. Try to build up to normal gradually. I'm gonna keep you for at least another four days. After that, you should be able to return to full and active duty."

"Thanks!" It was the second word Hutch wanted to say since regaining his voice, and he said it with great warmth and sincerity. Each of the visitors energetically pumped Hutch's hand before filing out, finally leaving Starsky and Hutch alone together. Starsky was silent for just a moment, trying to absorb the positive results, then said only, "Welcome back, buddy."

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

The phone on Starsky's desk rang twice before the distracted officer picked it up. "Starsky."

"Hi, Starsk," Hutch's voice--strong and true. "Are you comin' by the hospital tonight."

"I've been there almost every night, why would I stop now?"

"Well, do you remember that box that my mom sent me? D'you think you could bring it with you when you come tonight? I may have to spend three more days in here, but at least I can spend the time doing something productive."

"Yeah, I'll bring it. Hey, what's in that box anyway. It weighs a ton!"

"I'll show you once you get here. But you have to promise me that you won't give me a hard time about it."

"I promise. I'll be there around seven."

"See ya then!" Hutch relished in being able to tell his partner that.

~~~

At five to seven that night, Starsky staggered through the hospital corridors with the huge box in his arms. Since it blocked his view of the door numbers, he was finding it pretty tough to find the right room, but a pretty nurse appeared from out of nowhere and lent him a wheelchair to place the box on. He thanked her and headed, more comfortably now, to Hutch's room.

When he walked into Hutch's room, he saw that his partner had pushed everything out of the way, including the bed tray, to make more room on the bed surface itself. He crossed his legs under him to get them out of the way as well.

Starsky set the large box on the bed, and Hutch began to cut it open. "What's this all about, buddy. What'd your mother send you?"

"Well, you remember a coupla months ago when we were watching that miniseries "Roots"? Well, after it was over it made me think about my family history. I decided I wanted to find out more about it, and I spent the first month and a half researching my father's side of the family. Didn't really find anything all that interesting--seems they'd always been in Minnesota. Nothing really remarkable. So then I started to check my Mom's family. Did I ever tell you they weren't Scandinavian?"

"No, I just presumed they were."

"Well, they weren't. They were Scottish, and didn't come from Minnesota either." He opened the box and began drawing out books upon books upon books of family history and photos. He found one in particular which showed a family tree on the front, and Hutch seemed to pay particular attention to this one. He opened it to the first page and showed the picture to Starsky. It was of a young woman, and the picture was dated 1925. "This was my grandmother when she was very young. She was born in 1910 in the state of Washington. Her mother, Sarah, was this woman," and he turned the page to another woman in an even older photo. She was born in 1890 in Seattle. We don't have a whole lotta details about her mother, except that her maiden name was Peggy Thornley. She married Sarah's father, who ran a logging camp with his brothers there." A look of frustration crossed Hutch's face.

"What's wrong, partner?"

"Mom said there was a picture of the Bolt brothers--the family she married into--somewhere in this book. . . Oh, here it is!" He flipped the pages over to reveal the photo, and both officers stared dumbfounded when they beheld the trio in the portrait. The oldest brother, who stood in the back, was bold and brave looking, built like a bear. The younger brothers were smaller, but one, the one the caption identified as Joshua Bolt, Peggy's husband and Hutch's great-great-grandfather was an exact duplicate of the man sitting in the hospital bed. Starsky took the book from the shaking hands to examine it more closely, but there was no denying their eyes.

"Hutch, it's you!"

"No, it's not me."

"Sure looks like you! You sure this isn't a joke?"

"It's no joke. Funny, I always thought I looked Norwegian, like my father's family. But now...well, I guess I was wrong."

"That's an understatement, buddy!

They continued to flip through the pictures, checking out all of Hutch's ancestors. Starsky thought for a moment that he should look into his--thought he might when things calmed down. It took hours to look through all the things Hutch's mom had sent, but as they went through each one, they always came back to that one volume showing Joshua and Peggy Bolt.

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

"But I don't want a blind date!" Starsky wailed. He was sitting in Hutch's living room, dressed in his best clothes, waiting for Hutch to emerge from the bathroom.

"Well, Melanie agreed to go out with me, but she wasn't too crazy about doing it alone the first time we were out. So I said I'd arrange for you to come along. And since you're not seein' anyone right now . . ."

"Still, you didn't have to set me up. God, I just hate the sound of the word!"

"Well, we're committed now. The girls are gonna meet us at Huggy's for drinks before we go to dinner. Your date's name is Linda, and I know you'll like her!"

"I'd better, partner. I'd better!"

They arrived at Huggy's before their dates, and slid into a booth where they could see the door. Starsky kept his eyes glued to it, wanting to get the first glance at his date. A woman walked through the door, and as she stepped into the light he immediately recognized her as the waitress from the diner all those weeks before.

"Now why couldn't you have set me up with her! There's a real beauty!"

As Hutch opened his mouth to speak, Melanie came in and stood next to her friend, who still stood in the entryway. "I did."

Starsky was stunned. "You mean, she's my date?!"

"Yeah, partner. Thanks for sticking by me!"

"You're welcome. Thanks for this!" The women finally caught sight of them when Hutch partially stood up and they walked in the men's direction.

Hutch felt obligated to make the introductions. "Linda, this is my partner Dave Starsky. And my name is Ken Hutchinson." Melanie was quick to slide into the booth next to Hutch, staking her claim, so to speak. Linda slid in next to Starsky, and he asked her, "what would you like?"

"Whatever you're having is fine, Dave." Her voice was breathy, and she, unlike the other day, was no longer all-business.

Huggy came by the pairs' table and Hutch ordered a bottle of champagne. He brought it in a bucketful of ice with four glasses on a tray. Starsky expertly opened the bottle and poured the sparkling liquid into the glasses. Four arms raised the glasses in a toast.

"To good health and good times," Hutch said energetically.

"Good health and good times," the other three voices echoed. Something told him that this was going to be the beginning of a marvelous evening.

The End