Author: Daydreamer
Posted: 23 March 2003

Alone - Part 4

Day 30 - Saturday, April 18, 1981

"When can I go home?" Hutch asked for the third time in as many hours.

Starsky was just coming out of the bathroom when Hutch hit him with the question. He rubbed his face. "You're up twelve pounds, Hutch, 132 now. You know the doc said you have to get to 145 before he's going to let you out."

"I'm eating. I'm doing the PT. I'm doing the counseling. I don't even have an IV anymore." Hutch waved his hand in the air, then returned it to the arm of the chair he sat in. "I'm doing everything I'm supposed to do -- why can't I go home?"

"You're doing great, Hutch," Starsky said, as he came to stand beside his partner. "Lots better than a lot of people would have thought when they saw you a month ago. But you know," he reached out and patted the other man's shoulder, "you still have a ways to go. You're eating, but you still don't keep everything down. You're going to counseling, but I know you haven't talked to Barot about everything. You don't sleep right -- you're awake at all hours and when you do sleep, you have nightmares."

"I'm better," Hutch insisted.

"Yes, you are," Starsky agreed. "I'm not saying you're not improving, I'm just saying you got a ways to go yet." Starsky rubbed his face, then interlaced his fingers and pushed his arms outward, stretching. "You still have some problems with memory, Hutch. You get confused. You've got to give yourself some more time to deal with those things, so that when you do come home, you'll be safe."

"My memory's fine," Hutch said petulantly.

"What did you have for breakfast?" Starsky asked.

Hutch's face paled and his eyes lost focus for a moment as he said, "O-oatmeal."

Starsky shook his head gently and took Hutch's hand. "No," he said quietly. "No oatmeal. You had eggs today."

Hutch dropped his head forlornly. "It's taking so damned long, Starsk," he said dejectedly.

"Different perceptions, buddy," Starsky replied. "I am quite frankly amazed that you're doing as well as you are. When you first got here, you could hardly answer a question, let alone bitch about going home." He grinned as he spoke and was pleased to see an answering smile flit across Hutch's face. "You couldn't walk without help, and even then you couldn't make it more than a few yards. Now you roam the halls like Ivanhoe roamed Saxon England."

Hutch snickered. "Careful, Starsk, people might find out you actually read."

Starsky punched him lightly. "The point is, Hutch, you're doing great. I know you're impatient -- hell, I'm impatient. I want you well and home and back on the street with me. You gotta know that."

Hutch nodded and stared out the window.

"But we both gotta be patient. Give yourself time. Another ten, fifteen pounds and believe me, babe, you are outta here." Starsky swooped his hands through the air in classic umpire moves.

"And then I go home," Hutch said in satisfaction. "I miss my place, Starsk. Hey!" he turned and looked at Starsky. "What about my plants? Did you kill 'em all?"

Starsky snorted. "No -- and thank you very much for that astounding display of faith in my abilities."

"So, uh," Hutch said, coughing to hide a laugh, "exactly how many are left?"

Starsky rolled his eyes. "I had to give some of them away -- but don't worry. I made sure they all went to good homes."

Hutch frowned. "Give them away? Why'd you give them away?"

"I didn't have enough room," Starsky replied.

"Enough room?" Hutch asked in confusion. "There was plenty of room at my place."

Starsky took a deep breath. "Hutch," he began, "you were gone over two years, man."

"Yeah. So?"

"The, uh, department put you on unpaid leave, Hutch."

Hutch frowned, his face still showing confusion.

"No money, Hutch." Starsky spread his hands helplessly. "I had to let your place go."

"My place is gone?" Hutch asked. "I don't have my apartment anymore?"

"I'm sorry, Hutch. I tried. I kept it for a year -- your mom helped. She paid the rent and I covered everything else, but then she, uh, well, then I just couldn't make it work anymore."

"I don't have a place to go home to?" Hutch asked again, his eyes growing bright with unshed tears.

"Nah, Hutch, of course you do! You've got a place -- you've got my place. It's our place. I already got your bed set up in the second bedroom, your stuff's all over the place."

"I-I don't have m-my apartment a-anymore?"

"I tried, Hutch, I really did. The guys at the station were even gonna take up a collection, but it would have only put it off a couple more months. I didn't want to let it go -- but I just didn't have a choice."

Hutch nodded, patting Starsky absently. "D-did you say my mom ...?"

"Your mom covered the rent from the time the department cut you off until the end of the first year."

"And then you ...?"

"I got a storage place, moved your stuff in there. It's all there, Hutch, everything. I didn't throw nothing away. And your plants -- I kept a bunch of 'em."

Hutch looked at Starsky in disbelief. "But you hate plants."

Starsky shrugged. "They were yours. I don't mind 'em so much."

"So when I go home, I'm going to your place?"

"Our place, Hutch. You're coming home to our place."

Hutch narrowed his eyes. "Did you say second bedroom?" He looked at Starsky. "I know my memory isn't the best -- as you just pointed out to me -- but you don't have a second bedroom."

Starsky chuckled. "I do now. I moved."

"When?"

Starsky stopped and thought. "Um, about fifteen months ago."

"Fifteen months?" Hutch shook his head. "I-I ... the t-time. I-I get so confused."

Starsky nodded sympathetically, and placed his hand on Hutch's shoulder. "I know, babe. But it is getting better. And the more time you give yourself, the better it will be."

There was a knock at the door and Mary Kelly, one of the nurses stepped in. She was an older woman who both Starsky and Hutch liked. She had a no-nonsense air about her and yet was still compassionate and understanding. She was one of the few people on staff who didn't treat Hutch like he was a nutcase, or a bomb waiting to explode.

"There's a phone call at the desk for you, David," she said as she slipped through the door and came and sat in the chair beside Hutch. "You go answer it. It'll give me a chance to talk to Ken for a few minutes."

Starsky looked at Hutch, saw he was okay, then nodded and stepped out. Behind him, he could hear the nurse say, "So anyway, my daughter was telling me that this powdered stuff she buys is actually good for people. I just can't believe that. But I've heard you know about these health food things, so ..."

Starsky smiled and stepped to the desk, picking up the phone that another nurse pointed to. "Starsky," he said.

"This is Dobey."

"Hey, Cap. What's up that you can't talk to me in the room?"

"We found Rizzo."

"You need me at the station?"

"No. He gave it up no problem. Couldn't spill his guts fast enough."

"Who was it?" Starsky asked, his skin tingling in anticipation.

"Ben Forrest."

Starsky stood in shocked silence, then muttered, "Fuck!"

"Starsky?"

"He's in prison, Cap'n. He was one of the ones I tracked down. Two fucking years ago!" He paused and ran his hand through his hair. "Are you sure it was him?"

"I had them search Forrest's cell. He had letters, even photos, in the leg of his bunk." Dobey's voice was grim. "There's no doubt about it -- it was him."

"Why, Cap'n? Why?"

"Forrest was in isolation for a while -- he said this was his way of getting even."

"How the hell was he able to set this up from inside prison?"

"We're still looking into that. We suspect a guard was involved, but," Dobey sighed heavily, "it's going to take a while to sort it all out."

"I want to go see him."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Starsky."

"I do. I need to go see him, Cap. I need to see him face to face. I want to tell him he didn't win -- I want him to see that Hutch survived and he's gonna be fine!"

Dobey sighed again. "All right, Starsky. I'll set it up."

"I want something else, Cap'n."

"Why do I think I don't want to hear this?"

"I want Forrest back in solitary -- indefinitely."

"I can't ..." Dobey's voice trailed off and there was silence for a long moment and then he said, "I don't know if I can work it out, but it seems fitting. I'll talk to the warden."

"Are Edith and the kids still coming over this afternoon?"

"Yeah," Dobey said. "I'm taking off to join them. She's making a picnic -- thought we'd spring Hutch as far as the hospital courtyard and eat outside for a change."

"He'll love it, Cap'n. And it'll give me a chance to take a drive up to the state pen."

"I don't know if I can make the arrangements that quickly, Starsky," Dobey said.

"Then I better let you go, so you can get started," Starsky said quickly as he hung up the phone.

Hutch was sleeping when Starsky stepped back in. "Thanks, Mary," he said softly as she put down the magazine she was reading and rose.

"He's doing a lot better, David," she said as she moved to the door. "A lot of folks weren't sure he'd ever get as far as he has."

"People like you help a lot, Mary. He needs to be treated normal."

Mary nodded and disappeared out the door, shutting it behind her. Starsky checked on Hutch, pulling up the blanket and straightening the pillow, then silently chiding himself for mother-henning, but still taking a moment to let his hand rest on Hutch's head. It had been a month since he'd come back, and Starsky was still amazed at times that he was really here. Amazed that he could talk to his partner, reach out and touch him, look up and see him. He'd almost given up hope that he would ever have that again.

Starsky let his touch linger a moment longer, then settled in the chair and began to doze. He was awakened by the door opening, and sat up groggily. It was Dobey.

"Edith and the kids are down the hall in the waiting room," he said. "Are we too early?"

Starsky looked at Hutch, still sleeping, then motioned to step into the hall. Once there, he asked, "Did you get it worked out?"

Dobey nodded grimly.

"Everything?"

"You can go up today -- they'll bring Forrest out and you can have ten minutes with him. Then, when you're done, he'll be returned to solitary. Apparently, the warden was considering it anyway. There've been some threats on his life."

Starsky said through gritted teeth, "They'll have to get in line."

"Starsky!" Dobey barked. "Do not make me have to drive up there to get you because you got stupid."

"No, sir, Cap. I'm not getting stupid." His eyes traveled to the door behind them and he stared through the window at the sleeping man. "I got what I wanted. Anything else is gravy."

"You, uh, gonna wake him up?" Dobey said, his eyes following Starsky's.

"Yeah. He needs to stop sleeping so much during the day anyway."

"All right. I'm going back to wait with Edith. We'll be there whenever you're ready."

Starsky went back in the room and woke Hutch. It only took the blond a few minutes to wake up, to wash his face and use the bathroom, and then put on his shoes. He was eager to go, ready for a chance to get outside again.

"I'm not gonna stay, Hutch," Starsky said as they walked down the hall to the waiting room."

Hutch froze. "Why?"

"I've got something I've gotta do -- related to a case."

"I-I thought y-you were coming?"

"You'll be okay," Starsky said, his voice softening at his partner's slight agitation. "It's the captain, remember? And Edith and the kids?" He patted Hutch encouragingly and nudged him to start walking. "You're gonna have a great time."

Hutch nodded. "B-but you're c-coming b-back, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Starsky said promptly. "I'll be back in two, three hours, tops. And Dobey's staying till I get back, okay?"

Hutch took a deep breath, then released it. "Yeah. Yeah." He turned and looked at Starsky, a big smile on his face. "Of course it's all right. I'm just b-being weird."

"Not weird," Starsky replied. "Still a little -- concerned. And that's okay. Things will get back to normal soon enough." He placed his arm around Hutch's waist as they walked, and he could feel the other man lean slightly into him. "We're getting there, Hutch. We're getting there."

Starsky paced the small room, the cinderblock walls painted a sickly green that he imagined was supposed to be soothing.

It wasn't soothing him. Rage bubbled inside him, just below the surface, constantly threatening to erupt.

There was a click as a key turned, then a clang as the metal door opened. An old man in an orange jumpsuit stumbled in the room. The door shut and locked again.

"Starsky!" Ben Forrest said, taking a step back.

"Hello, Ben," Starsky replied, staring coldly at the man who had stolen two years from Hutch, and had almost stolen his life. "I only want one thing, to know why you did it."

"He took away my life!" Forrest exclaimed. "He got what he deserved."

"No, he didn't," Starsky replied furiously, "but you're going to. And he may have taken away your life -- but you sure as hell didn't get his! He's getting stronger every day, getting well, and it won't be long till he's back on the street putting more scum like you in here -- right where they belong."

Forrest laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, Starsky, you just keep telling yourself that. I saw pictures of him. He ain't never coming back from that -- and that thought alone will be all I need. I'm not ever getting outta here, and now I don't need to. I got what I wanted and I can die happy, even if I die in here."

"Enjoy it while you can, Forrest," Starsky said as he rose. "Next time I come see you, Hutch'll be with me." He pounded on the door, calling, "On the gate," then waited until a guard appeared. "Take Mr. Forrest back to his cell. Oh, and wait -- did I understand there was to be a change in his accommodations?"

The guard chuckled as he pulled Forrest to his feet. "Yeah, Detective," he replied, "I think you may have heard right. Mr. Forrest here is going back in solitary. Indefinitely."

"NO!" Forrest screamed, suddenly struggling against the guard's hold, "You can't do that to me!"

Starsky stepped forward and grabbed him by the front of his jumpsuit, pulling him from the guard's grasp and slamming him against the wall. "Actually, we can," he said smugly. "We've heard threats have been made against your life so -- it's for your own protection." He yanked him off the wall and threw him back at the guard. "Have a nice life, Forrest," he said over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

Behind him, he could hear the older man screaming, and he smiled as he walked away.

Day 57 - Friday, May 15, 1981

"Very good, Mr. Hutchinson," Dr. Patel said as Hutch stepped off the scale. "You're at 140 pounds now."

"I can go home?" Hutch asked.

The doctor stood quietly for a moment, studying the still thin form before him, then slowly nodded. "Yes, I think we are ready to let you go."

Hutch let out a whoop of joy, turned, and threw his arms around Starsky. "Didja hear that? I can go home! I'm free!"

Starsky hugged him back, saying, "Of course I heard. Geez! I think they heard you in the next county!"

Hutch whirled back around and spoke to the doctor. "When? When can I go home?"

Dr. Patel smiled as he answered. "I think we can get your paperwork done and get you processed so that you can leave this afternoon."

Hutch looked around the room, his eyes settling on the small wardrobe that served as both closet and storage. "I'm gonna pack," he said happily, opening the door and pulling out a bag."

"There will be some guidelines you need to follow, Mr. Hutchinson," the doctor said, but Hutch ignored him, totally focused on the task as hand. He had the suitcase on the bed and was folding clothes, mumbling to himself. The doctor sighed, then looked at Starsky. "Mr. Starsky," he said, motioning toward the door, "if you will?"

Starsky followed him out, then stood by the window to the room, watching Hutch, but listening as the doctor spoke.

"Physically, he is making good progress. He needs to continue to eat small, frequent meals, and I want to see him gaining at least two pounds a week, or he'll need to come back."

Starsky nodded. "Eat frequently -- two pounds a week. Got it."

"I also want him to continue his physical therapy every day. He can come here as an outpatient now, but he does still need to come."

"PT," Starsky repeated.

"Moderate exercise at home, Mr. Starsky. I don't want him to take up jogging or weight lifting. He can take short walks, perhaps ride a bicycle. Nothing more strenuous." The doctor chuckled as he added. "I do not want him doing anything to compromise those pounds we are working so hard to put on him."

"Right -- short walks, bike rides." Starsky tore his eyes away from Hutch and looked at the doctor. He swallowed hard. "Is he, uh, ready for this?"

The doctor smiled kindly. "Mr. Hutchinson -- yes. I think the question you are asking is -- are you ready for this?"

Starsky was silent for a minute, then nodded.

"This is a big change in your relationship, Mr. Starsky," the doctor said. "Up until now, you have been the primary caregiver, but you have had all of this," he gestured around the hospital corridor, "right here for help and support. Once you are home, you will be on your own." The doctor looked Starsky in the eyes. "Are you ready for that, Mr. Starsky?"

Starsky looked at Hutch, his suitcase almost packed, and watched as the blond scanned the room for loose items. He gave a single quiet laugh, then nodded. "Ready? Man, I been waiting over two years for this day. Yeah, I think I'm ready."

"Good. I will arrange for Mr. Hutchinson to continue his counseling as an outpatient as well. I believe we can schedule his appointments for the mornings, which will allow him to have his afternoons free."

"That'll work," Starsky said, thinking it through quickly. "We've agreed that once he's sprung from here, I'm going to go back to work. I can drop him off here in the morning, then pick him up at lunch."

"Have you thought about what you will do in the afternoons?"

Starsky looked back at the doctor in confusion. "In the afternoons?"

"Initially, at least, I do not think it would be advisable to leave Mr. Hutchinson alone. I believe Dr. Barot will support me in this position."

Starsky scrubbed his face with one hand. "Yeah. You're right. I'll, uh, work on that one." He sighed, then looked back at Hutch as he finished cleaning out the bathroom. "Eager, isn't he?" he observed with a wry smile.

"For him, it is a major step to getting his life back. For you," the doctor laid a hand on Starsky's shoulder, "it presents innumerable new difficulties. If there were such a thing, I would recommend you join a support group yourself. Fortunately, however, there are not many other people who have gone through Mr. Hutchinson's ordeal, therefore there are very few people who have walked your path as well."

Starsky shook his head. "Doesn't matter. He's back. He's getting better. Things will get back to normal soon enough. It's all going to be okay."

"He's very lucky to have you, Mr. Starsky," Dr. Patel said softly. "I believe it increased the speed of his recovery immensely.

Starsky sighed and shook his head. "I'm the lucky one. I don't know how much longer I could have gone on if he hadn't come back."

The doctor was silent for a moment, then said, "I will write up all of the instructions and they will be included in Mr. Hutchinson's discharge papers. Additionally, there will be a schedule for his counseling and therapy sessions." Dr. Patel smiled, then grew serious. "Do not let him convince you to terminate these sessions too quickly. He may see coming home as signaling the end of a need for intervention. Remember our discussion about denial?"

Starsky nodded again. "Yeah, I remember. He already does that -- tries to convince me he's better than he really is."

"And as he does improve, his ability to convince you will improve as well. It is very important that you work with us, myself and Dr. Barot, and that Mr. Hutchinson continue to receive the services that he needs."

"How long, uh, how much longer do you think ...?"

"How much longer will he need physical therapy?" Patel shrugged. "It's hard to say. Until he is close to his normal weight, his muscle mass has returned, and his muscle tone is good. I would say maybe six months."

"And the other?"

"Counseling?" Patel shrugged again. "Intensive, as he is receiving now, for a while longer. In general, Mr. Hutchinson may need professional help in dealing with this for the rest of his life."

Starsky lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes. "Will he -- do you think he'll ever be able to come back to work?"

"I fully expect him to be able to meet the physical requirements at some point. As to the psychological?" Once more, Patel shrugged. "So much is unknown. Mr. Hutchinson has already proven himself to be much stronger than many would have been in the same situation. If he is determined to return to his job as a police officer, then I suspect he will be able to do so -- at some point. But that could be a very long way off."

Starsky was nodding, and watching Hutch through the window. He saw the blond suddenly look around the room and realize he was alone. He saw the flash of panic that crossed his face, and quickly excused himself from the doctor. He stepped back in the room, saying, "Hey, Hutch, I'm right here."

"S-starsk ..." Hutch said, the tension lines easing from his face. "I-I ..." he gestured helplessly, "c-couldn't find you."

Starsky pointed at the window. "I was right there. Just talking to the doc. He went over and pulled Hutch into a hug. "I wouldn't leave you -- you know that, right?"

Hutch hugged him back then pulled away and smiled sheepishly. "I-I f-forget, sometimes."

" 's okay," Starsky replied, "I'm here to help you remember." He went over to the bed and looked at the suitcase. "You sure you got everything?"

Hutch nodded, then settled into the chair. "All we gotta do now is wait for the paperwork."

Dr. Patel was good to his word and by early afternoon, Hutch was released and ready to go. He was alternately edgy and excited on the ride to Starsky's apartment, at times calling out the names of places he recognized and commenting on the new neighborhood, and at other times sitting almost moodily and staring out the window in silence.

When they reached the apartment building, Hutch looked around in surprise. "You moved to a complex?"

Starsky shrugged. "I wanted two bedrooms -- this is what I could afford."

"Oh, Starsk," Hutch said softly. "I'm so sorry. I know you hate the idea of living in a place like this."

Starsky shrugged again. "It ain't so bad. The apartment's big, has what they call two master bedrooms. It's got two bathrooms, too, so we don't have to share. And there's even a pool." He furrowed his brow for a minute, then added, "We'll have to see if swimming is on your list of approved activities."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "Of course I can swim. I'm not sick, Starsk. I'm home now."

"We still check with the doc, okay, Blintz?"

Hutch frowned but finally nodded. He studied the building a minute longer, then said, "Which one's yours?"

"Ours," Starsky corrected, as he climbed out of the car and gathered up the first load to take in, "and it's this one." He nodded in the direction of a ground floor apartment in the building to their left.

Starsky headed for the building, but stopped when he realized Hutch wasn't following. He turned around to find the other man staring at a beat-up old car parked two slots over.

Hutch looked up with a grin and said, "My car!"

Starsky laughed. "Yeah -- and let me tell you, it was hard to resist 'upgrading' it while you were gone."

"Starsk!" Hutch said in dismay, "You didn't!"

Starsky was still laughing. "Nah -- I didn't. I just kept her tuned up and made sure she ran." He walked over and set the things in his arms down, then folded his arms over his chest as he watched Hutch walking around the car. "I did, uh, remove the creeping crud from the back seat before it took on a life of its own, but other than that, she's pretty much as you left her."

"I don't know what to say!" Hutch opened the driver's door and slipped behind the wheel, then looked up at Starsky with a huge grin. "She's -- beautiful, Starsk!"

Starsky just shook his head. "Now I remember why you're getting your head examined," he said, chuckling. He tugged on Hutch's arm. "You can get reacquainted with the Brown Bomb another time. C'mon inside. I want you to check it out."

Hutch nodded, then slid out of the car and followed Starsky up the walk. His head kept swiveling back to look at his car, until finally, they were inside the building and he could see it no more.

Starsky unlocked the door and pushed it open, dropping the keys on a table that stood just inside the entry. "Home, sweet home," he announced, ushering Hutch in with a flourish.

Hutch stood in the doorway a moment, then stepped through and looked around. Plants were everywhere. Every table, every counter, hanging from hooks in the ceiling. "God, Starsky, you really did keep most of them," Hutch breathed solemnly. He turned to his partner and grinned. "It's like ..." He trailed off and walked over to a plant that sat on top of the television. "Albert," he said softly, rubbing the leaves between his fingers, "did you miss me?"

He wandered around the room, touching the other plants, his fingers trailing over furniture and books. Starsky watched in silence, a happy smile on his lips. Hutch finally stopped prowling and looked at his partner and said, "Starsky ..."

"Yeah?"

"This is my couch."

Starsky nodded.

"And my chair."

Starsky nodded again.

"And my books are on my bookcase. And my records are in my record cabinet."

Starsky nodded again. "And that's your TV as well."

"Why, Starsk? Where's your stuff?"

Starsky flushed, then shrugged and said, "I sorta tore it up."

"You what?"

"I, uh, had a bit of a temper tantrum one night, and I, uh, kinda wrecked the place."

"What happened?" Hutch was still looking around, his mouth open in disbelief.

"Well, you'd been gone about a year and a half, and the government had decided to launch a rescue mission for the Iranian hostages."

Hutch looked at him blankly and Starsky shook his head. "Never mind that. I'll explain later. Anyway, this news report came on about what they, we, the United States, were doing to rescue these people that had been taken hostage in Iran. And it seemed so -- unfair -- to me. All this effort, all this time and money and energy into freeing these people in Iran, and I couldn't even get the department to reopen your case." Starsky dragged his toe through the gold shag carpeting and stared at the floor. "I sorta got mad and put my foot through the TV and then, uh, well, it went downhill from there."

"Oh, Starsk," Hutch said, coming over to wrap his arms around his partner. "It was so hard on you, wasn't it?

Starsky reached around and grabbed Hutch, his fingers clutching at the back of the man's shirt as he clung to him. "I missed you so much, Hutch. I was so lonely, so afraid. I didn't know if I was ever gonna see you again." He choked back a sob, then tried to laugh. "The neighbors called the police on me that night."

"Shhhh," Hutch said, ignoring Starsky's attempt to change the subject. "I'm here now," he whispered in Starsky's ear. "I'm back and it's going to be all right."

Starsky drew another deep breath, then hugged Hutch to him even tighter, his head buried in the taller man's shoulder. "Oh, God, Hutch," he groaned, "I didn't think I could stand it."

"I'm here," Hutch murmured again. "I'm here."

The first sob was choked, ragged, as Starsky struggled for control. But Hutch's hands on his back, rubbing in soothing circles, his voice in his ear, whispering care and comfort, the feel of Hutch's arms around him and Hutch's body, filling out, growing stronger and firmer, it all overwhelmed Starsky, and within seconds he was sobbing in his partner's arms.

Hutch held him tightly, spoke softly and continued to rub his back, glad that for once he could be the strong one. When Starsky began to calm, he led him to the couch and pulled him down, his arm still around him. Starsky was shaking, the after-effects of the adrenaline surge set off by his breakdown. Hutch pulled the afghan Edith Dobey had made from the back of the couch and wrapped it around his partner.

"You okay?" he asked, when the shaking finally stopped and Starsky had been still for some time.

"I'm sorry," Starsky said in a small voice.

"I'm not," Hutch replied.

"What do you mean?"

"You needed me," Hutch said simply. "I'm glad you still need me." He pulled away slowly and rose, standing in front of Starsky and looking down at him.

Starsky shook his head. "I'm supposed to be here for you," he said, "not the other way around."

"Hey," Hutch said, reaching out to turn Starsky's face and make him look up at him, "we're partners, right?"

"Always," Starsky said with a smile.

"Then we share. Sometimes you be strong, sometimes it's my turn to be strong." He shrugged. "This was my turn."

"God, I've missed you so much, Hutch," Starsky said again.

Hutch nodded. "You were the only person, the only thing, from my life that I could consistently remember. I forgot everything. Hell, at one point I wasn't sure of my name, but I always knew that Starsky was out there, looking for me, and that you were going to bring me home. I never forgot that!" He turned and walked away, standing by 'Albert' and stroking its leaves.

"You okay, Hutch?" Starsky asked, rising.

Hutch turned and looked at him. "I'm a little tired. You wanna show me my room?"

Starsky led the way down the hall and pointed to the door on the right. Hutch stepped forward and stopped inside. His bed was against the far wall, under a window. His dresser sat on the right, and there was his chair in the corner. The left wall held the closet and one of his bookcases, full of his books and sheet music. His guitar leaned in the corner. More plants hung from hooks over the bed, and stood on the dresser and nightstand. Even the bedspread was his, the striped one made of heavy cotton that he'd gotten on a day trip to Mexico once. Pictures that had hung in his sleeping alcove, now hung on these walls. The only thing different was a framed photo that stood on the dresser. He stepped over and lifted it, then looked back at Starsky who lounged in the doorway. Appearing outwardly indifferent, Hutch knew that Starsky was completely tense, just waiting for the word on whether or not the room was okay. He looked at the picture and smiled -- it was the last one he had of the two of them, taken New Year's Eve before he disappeared.

He looked over at Starsky and smiled. "It's perfect," he said. "Perfect."

Starsky released the breath he'd been holding and nodded at the picture in Hutch's hand. "I didn't know you really followed up on all those times you told people you wanted copies of pictures."

Hutch smiled. "Do you know how hard it is for me to get a picture of you? You wanna take pictures of everything in the world, but let someone want a shot of you ..." Hutch shook his head. "Getting copies was the only way I was ever gonna get a picture of my partner." He looked at the framed photo in his hand and ran his fingers over the glass. "I really like this one."

Starsky waited a moment, then cleared his throat. "You, uh, wanna lie down for a while?"

Hutch looked around the room, then nodded. "But, uh, maybe on the couch, huh? I think I may be too keyed up to sleep."

Starsky nodded. "Couch it is. You can watch a little daytime TV while I get the rest of the stuff outta the car and figure out what to fix for dinner."

Hutch settled on the couch, Starsky's afghan folded up and used for a pillow. When Starsky came back from the car, he was asleep. Starsky removed his shoes, then dug through the pile he'd just carried in and pulled out the second afghan, the green twin to his own blue one. It had been one of the first of Hutch's things to make its way to the hospital. When Starsky had mistakenly thought he was going to be able to let Hutch go for good, he had given certain things to their friends, and the afghan that Edith Dobey had made had been returned to her. But as soon as she knew Hutch was back, Dobey had been dispatched to deliver it to the hospital. It had added a bit of comfort and familiarity to the cold, clinical feel of Hutch's hospital room. Now -- Starsky spread it over Hutch, letting his hand linger on the sleeping man's brow for a moment before he returned to his task of unpacking and putting away.

Dinner was quiet and Hutch ate well, his appetite seeming to be larger than normal. And he managed to keep it down, something he didn't always do. They watched TV together quietly, chatting softly during the eleven o'clock news when reference was made to something that had occurred while Hutch was missing. They watched Carson's monologue and then Starsky rose, taking their glasses back into the kitchen and washing up quickly.

"You ready?" he asked Hutch, holding out a hand to pull the other man up.

Hutch accepted and let Starsky tug him to his feet. "Yeah. Guess it's time." He turned and walked down the hall, Starsky following.

"You gonna be okay?" Starsky asked as he leaned in the doorway of Hutch's room and watched him strip down to his boxers.

Hutch shrugged. "My room, my things. I'm home. Why shouldn't I be okay?"

"I'm right across the hall," Starsky said, motioning to his room.

"Go on," Hutch said, smiling. "Stop fussing. I'm fine."

"I'm leaving my door open," Starsky said, "if you need me."

"Starsky," Hutch said firmly, "I'm okay. Go to bed."

"Yeah, well," Starsky ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, then. Good night, Hutch."

" 'night, Starsk," Hutch said, his back to the man in the door as he pulled back covers and prepared to climb into his own bed for the first time in nearly two and a half years. He settled under the covers, then reached out and turned the bedside lamp off, leaving the room in darkness.

"Hutch?" Starsky called quietly from the doorway.

"Hmmmm?"

"Welcome home, babe."

Starsky woke slowly. Something was different, wrong. He lay quietly, then realized the first different thing was that he was home, in his own bed, and not sleeping on the fold out bed in the hospital.

The second thing was a sound. He listened carefully, trying to figure out what it was as his brain slowly woke up. He looked around the room for Hutch. Maybe Hutch heard it, too. He might know what it was. But Hutch wasn't here, because this was his room at home.

He tried to wrap his foggy brain around that one and failed. All he could come up with was that Hutch wasn't here, Hutch was missing.

He jolted to full awake, his heart pounding in his chest as he sat upright in the bed.

Home.

Safe.

Hutch was home.

He was sleeping in his own bed, in his own room.

Starsky scrubbed his face tiredly and smiled.

So -- if he was in his bed, and Hutch was across the hall in the other room, what the hell was that noise?

Crying -- Hutch was crying!

Starsky bolted from the bed, tripping over the sheets and falling hard, but he was up and running again in seconds and into the other bedroom. Remembering how the lights bothered Hutch, he halted at the door and turned on the hall light rather than the overhead in the room.

In the faint illumination, he could see Hutch curled fetally on the bed. He was naked and his sheets, pillows and comforter were in a pile on the floor. He rocked slowly back and forth as the tears ran down his face.

Starsky lifted his hands to his face, fingers pressing against his eyes before he scrubbed his cheeks hard. He moved to the bed and knelt at the side, his face even with Hutch's.

"Hutch?" he said softly, waiting for the blue eyes to focus on him.

"S-s-starsk?" Hutch asked in surprise. "Y-you c-came b-back?"

Starsky cursed inwardly. The stutter was back with a vengeance. "I'm here, babe. I didn't leave."

"I-I-I c-couldn't f-find y-you," Hutch said, the fear tangible in his voice.

"I'm right here, babe, right here." He reached out and touched Hutch's shoulder, then ran his hand along his side and over his hip. He was freezing. "Let's get you covered up, okay?" Starsky said quietly as he lifted the linens from the floor and began to pile them on top of Hutch. "W-w-was a-a-alone," Hutch murmured, his eyes still streaming tears.

"You're not alone," Starsky assured him as he tucked the bedspread in around his shivering partner. "I'm right here." He reached out and wiped Hutch's face. "Hey, babe, don't cry, please? Please don't cry anymore. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

"N-n-not a-a-alone?" Hutch asked, his hand shooting out to clutch at Starsky's arm.

"No, babe," Starsky repeated, "You're not alone. I'm here. I'm right here and I'm gonna stay right here."

"S-s-stay," Hutch said, tugging at Starsky's arm to draw him onto the bed. "S-s-stay."

Starsky looked at the shivering form on the bed for only a moment before he gently broke Hutch's hold on his arm. He patted the blond's shoulder twice before quickly darting around the bed. Pulling back the covers he slid in behind the frightened man. He pulled Hutch close, spooning his body around Hutch's chilled one.

"I'm here," he whispered in Hutch's ear. "I'm right here. Please don't cry anymore, babe. I'm sorry you were scared, but you don't have to be scared anymore. I'm right here."

"S-starsk?" Hutch asked softly, snuggling back to absorb the warmth his partner offered.

"I'm here, Hutch. You can go to sleep now. I'll be right here when you wake up.

"Love you, S-starsk," Hutch murmured, his voice heavy with sleep already.

"Shhhh," Starsky whispered back. "Go to sleep, Blintz." He paused a moment then added, "Love you, too."

Day 75 - Tuesday, June 2, 1981

"Well, if you need anything, holler," Betsy said as she moved into the kitchen to finish making dinner.

Hutch sat on the couch and stared at the TV. He was tired. His PT had exhausted him physically and his time with Dr. Barot had exhausted him emotionally. He was tired of having to come here or to the Dobey's every day, ashamed that he still couldn't bear to be by himself and so he had to have a babysitter.

It shamed him, but not enough to risk trying to stay home alone yet. The one attempt at that, when Starsky had gone to the store, had been so disastrous, he wasn't ready to risk it again. At least here, there were the sounds of Betsy working in the kitchen and he could watch DK toddling around, dragging his bears.

It was still hard to believe these people had named their child after him -- when they didn't even know him. They only knew what they knew of him through Starsky. It was pretty damned humbling.

He rose to go to the bathroom, stopping at the door. This was always hard here. Pete and Betsy's bathroom was white on white -- white tiles, white tub, sink and toilet, white towels and shower curtain. He hated going in it, but he hadn't said anything. Starsky kept telling him he needed to get back to normal, so he was trying. He tried to remember to go to the bathroom at the hospital just before Betsy picked him up, but he'd forgotten today, so he had no choice but to go in the little white room.

He made it two steps when the room seemed to shift and he slid to his knees. He slipped further down, lying on the cool tile, his head turned to one side as the world around him grew silent.

He was back in the room.

It was cool, and white and silent, and the lights were always on.

He felt the panic bubbling up in him. He'd been dreaming again -- dreaming he'd gotten out and had even gotten home -- and it was always so hard to wake up here when he'd been dreaming.

He needed a routine, something familiar. He lifted his head and ran his finger across the small, white tiles, and began to count.

"Ken?" Betsy called as she emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She frowned when there was no response.

She looked over at DK; he sat before the bookcase happily building a tower with the blocks that now resided on the bottom shelves. His ever-present bears sat beside him.

"Ken?" she called again, moving toward the bathroom. The door was open and she could see Hutch lying on the floor, one long, finger gently tracing the tiles as his lips moved. She walked to him slowly, speaking softly as she went. "Ken? It's Betsy. Don't you want to get up from there? I was just going to suggest we all have a snack. I tried Davey's mom's recipe for those apple cookies you like. I thought we could have some."

Hutch didn't respond. His finger continued to move across the tiles and he was totally engrossed in watching it, oblivious to her presence.

She slipped in the bathroom beside him, kneeling next to him and gently placed a hand on his back, rubbing a small circle. "Ken? Let's get up now, please?"

No response.

She rubbed his back some more, talking constantly but not really saying anything, just hoping she could get him to respond, but he remained beyond her reach. She finally leaned down, almost lying beside him, and stared into his eyes. He stared back, but she knew he wasn't seeing her. He wasn't seeing anything at all that was even remotely close to her, her bathroom, or her house.

He was lost in a waking nightmare and she was powerless to stop it.

She rose and backed out of the room, almost running to the phone. DK was still sitting quietly with his blocks and bears as she snatched up the phone and called the dispatcher. She asked that an emergency message be sent out to Pete and Starsky, then hung up and waited for the phone to ring. For three long minutes she paced, glancing from Hutch to DK and back again. When the phone finally rang, she jumped, then snatched it up. "Davey?"

"No, baby, it's Pete. What's wrong?"

"It's Ken. He's in the bathroom, on the floor."

She heard a hurried conversation, then Starsky was on the phone. "Is he hurt?"

"No, no, I don't think so. I mean, I didn't hear him fall and I don't see any bumps or bruises. I just can't get him to respond to me."

"All right, I'm coming. I'll be there in about ten minutes."

"I'm sorry, Davey, I'm so sorry ...."

"Bets -- it's not your fault. He just -- does this sometimes. I'm sorry it happened with you. Don't be scared."

"I'm not scared," she replied, "just worried, that's all."

"Just, uh, grab a blanket and cover him up or something, okay? He gets cold. I'm on my way." The phone clicked in her ear, and Betsy turned to go and find a blanket.

But DK had beaten her to it.

While she had been on the phone, the baby had taken the afghan that hung over the recliner and dragged it in to Hutch. He'd also dragged his bears. He shoved Ollie into Hutch's face and tried to cover the prone man with the afghan.

As she watched, she could hear him ask, "oo seepin?"

Hutch lifted his head and scratched his nose, satisfying the itch Ollie's fur had caused. He blinked in confusion, then looked around and saw Betsy watching him.

"Are y-you okay?" he asked her, noting her pale face and shaking hands.

She nodded. "Are you okay?"

Hutch flushed, then looked around. "Think so." He pulled the blanket up and tucked it around his shoulders, then rose to his feet. " 'm t-tired," he said absently, running a hand through his hair.

DK held up Ollie and Hutch smiled and took the bear, then said, "Thank you."

Next, DK lifted his arms to be picked up. Hutch looked at Betsy, saw her chew her lip for a moment, then nod, so he lifted the little boy and walked back to the living room, flopping onto the couch. DK snuggled into his lap, his eyes closing almost immediately, his Huggy bear clutched in his arms. Hutch held Ollie in one arm, DK in the other, and before he realized what was happening, he had followed the baby into sleep.

When Starsky pulled up a few minutes later, Betsy was back in the kitchen, dinner was almost done, and Hutch and DK were firmly ensconced on the couch, deep in sleep. The afghan had been pulled around to lay over them both, and Hutch had a contented smile on his face.

"How ...? What ...?" Starsky sputtered as he looked from his partner to Betsy.

She smiled and shook her head. "I didn't do anything. It was DK. He just went in there, shoved Ollie in Ken's face, and the next thing I knew, he was up, and then the two of them were asleep on the couch." She dropped her eyes shyly. "I'm sorry I scared you."

Pete went and put his arms around her. "You did the right thing, baby. It's okay."

"Yeah," Starsky added. "Don't you feel bad. I'm just sorry it happened. I, uh, I can try and find someone to come stay with him at the apartment, if you're, uh, uncomfortable ...?"

She gave a delicate little snort. "You can't leave him with strangers, Davey," she said fiercely. "Of course, I'm not uncomfortable." She hugged her husband, then walked over to Starsky and hugged him, too. Then she moved to the couch and one hand came out to rest on DK's wild red hair. She stroked it for a moment before she lifted her hand and rested it on Hutch's hair, combing through the mixed silver and gold with her fingers. "He needs us almost as much as DK does," she said softly as she looked over her shoulder at Pete and Starsky. "How can we turn away from that?"

Day 97 - Wednesday, June 24, 1981

"Are you sure about this, Starsky?" Hutch asked as they pulled up outside the station.

"I'm sure," Starsky replied. "Betsy has to take DK for his check up and Edith and the kids are out of town with her mom. What else were we going to do?"

Hutch flushed and ducked his head. "I coulda gone home," he muttered.

Starsky looked over at him and sighed, feeling that he'd stuck his foot in his mouth once more. "I didn't mean it like that, Hutch," he said softly. "I was just thinking, that with everyone else gone, this was a good chance for you to come by the station, see some folks, check things out." He watched Hutch, noted the slight tremble in his hand. "If you don't want to do this, we can go home."

Hutch shook his head. "I just mean, I don't still need a babysitter."

Starsky thought back to the night terrors that were still occurring with frightening regularity, the panic attack that his simple visit to the store had provoked, but decided not to bring them up right now. "It's not babysitting, Hutch," he chided gently, "and you know it. Look," he said, twisting in the seat to face his partner, "everyone knows this has been a tough adjustment for you and you're doing great. If you're a little uncomfortable being alone right now, that's okay. It's completely understandable. Don't keep pushing yourself so hard -- you've got time."

Hutch drew a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. "Yeah, you're right. I just -- hate -- being like this. The longer it takes, the more I think they've won."

"Who's won, Hutch?" Starsky asked with a frown, remembering the doctor's comments on paranoia and that Hutch might feel someone was out to get him.

"Them," Hutch said, waving vaguely. "The ones that did this."

"Ben Forrest did this, and he is currently rotting in solitary in the state pen. No one is out to get you, Hutch." He reached out and touched Hutch's arm. "You're safe, partner."

Hutch frowned a moment, then dredged up a smile and nodded. "Oh, yeah. Well, I mean, I knew that. I just ..."

"Forget," Starsky finished for him. "That's okay, too, Hutch. It's coming. Things will be back to normal soon." He opened the door and stepped out, then leaned back down to look at Hutch. "You coming, or what?" He stood and slammed the door, then waited while Hutch exited the other side.

While Hutch stood staring up at the building, Starsky walked around to join him, then tapped him on the arm. "C'mon, you. I think Pete and Dobey told everybody you were coming in today." He pointed to the parking lot, full of patrol cars when it should have been empty. "Everyone's car had problems, and if it wasn't the car, it was the radio." He grinned. "There's a lot of people who want to see you, Blintz. Let's go in and start saying 'hi.'"

Hutch took a deep breath and nodded, then set off briskly up the walk and into the building. Just making it through the first floor took over thirty minutes as people stopped to talk to Hutch, to tell him how good he looked, to welcome him back.

He was handling it well. Starsky kept a close eye on him, watching for signs of discomfort or incipient panic, but Hutch seemed himself -- calm, cool, collected. Happy to be there, happy to see people, happy to catch up with old friends. He remembered people's names, asked about husbands, wives, and kids, brought up commonalities -- teams, music, foods. He was a bit quiet, but friendly and seemed to be enjoying all the attention he was getting. No one asked anything too specific about his captivity, and the few tangential questions thrown his way -- How'd you make it so long? Are you putting the weight back on fast enough? Do you think you'll be able to come back? -- were handled with poise and aplomb.

They eventually made it to the elevator, both of them with hands full of goodies that had been brought in just for Hutch's return. Starsky was carrying two tins of cookies, a loaf of banana nut bread, and a roasted chicken. Hutch had been weighed down with a chocolate cake, an apple pie, and a large container of soup.

Once in the elevator, Hutch turned to Starsky and said, "Whew!" He drew a deep breath and said, "That was harder than I thought it'd be."

"You did great," Starsky said, smiling.

Hutch hoisted his goodies slightly and added, "This was a surprise."

Starsky laughed. "You'd be amazed," he said softly. "I know a hell of a lot of guys a hell of a lot better now -- mostly because their wives kept cooking for me while you were gone." He dropped his head, embarrassed at his self-perceived gaffe. While Hutch had been starving, Starsky's biggest eating difficulty had frequently been which casserole to heat up for that night.

Hutch shifted from his side of the elevator to stand next to his partner. He nudged him with his shoulder. " 's okay, Starsk," he said softly. "Don't feel bad, please?"

Starsky roused himself and smiled. "No, I'm not feeling bad," he lied with a laugh. "I'm just wondering where we're going to put all this stuff."

The elevator stopped on the seventh floor and Hutch stepped forward as the doors opened. A crowd was hovering and applause broke out at his appearance. Starsky could tell it had startled him and he moved to stand halfway in front of the taller man, as Hutch took a step back.

"S-starsk," Hutch whispered under his breath.

"Hey, guys," Starsky called cheerfully, "give the man a break. Let him get his bearings before you swamp him, okay?"

People laughed but the crowd began to break up.

"Welcome back, Hutch!"

"I'll stop by your desk in a bit."

"Good to see you, buddy."

"Looking good there, Hutchinson."

The words swirled in the air as Hutch struggled to breathe. Starsky moved closer to Hutch, signaling Dobey to step in. "Hey, Cap'n," he said casually, "you think you could help us out with some of this stuff?" He nodded as the captain relieved Hutch of his burdens, passing them to Pete, then emptied Starsky's arms as well.

"Hutch," Dobey said quietly, "let's go in my office. We've got some paperwork you need to look at."

Hutch swallowed hard and Starsky put his hand on his back, then began to gently prod him forward. "It's okay, Hutch, these guys just wanted you to know you've been missed and they're glad you're back."

Hutch nodded, saying, "Kn-now that." He gave a shaky laugh. "Don't know what's wr-rong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you," Starsky said promptly. "It's just a little overwhelming -- being here, having all these people around. It's okay."

They made it down the hall, Pete, Dobey and Starsky forming a protective barrier around Hutch. Dobey did the talking, at his gruffest as he chased people off with barks of, "Leave the man alone. He's got business to attend to. You can visit later."

They made it into the squad room, and the goodies Pete and Dobey carried were added to an already large pile that sat on Starsky's desk. But Hutch wasn't looking at that. He wasn't looking at the room, or the people in it who watched him, or even at Starsky.

He was looking at his desk.

His desk which looked the same as it had the day he was taken.

His nameplate sat on the side of the desk. Pens and pencils stood upright in his pencil caddy. He picked up the piggy bank that had always sat between his and Starsky's space, shook it briefly and peered into the slot before setting it back down. Even his desk calendar from 1979 was there, blank after the first twelve pages. His mug sat on the corner, the one Starsky had gotten him that had Inspector Clouseau speaking to a policeman in a zebra suit, saying, "One more outburst like that, and I'll have your stripes." He picked it up, semi-toasted Starsky with it and quoted, in his best Clouseau voice, "That man is crah-zee!"

Starsky laughed and shook his finger, feeding him the next line. "We don't use that word around here, sir."

"Then what word do yeu use?"

"Now, now..." Starsky said, finger still wagging.

"That man is very now, now!" Hutch replied with a grin.

Hutch and Starsky both broke out laughing, Pete joined in cautiously and Dobey watched them like they were lunatics, hiding his smile.

As they quieted, Dobey said, "If you're both quite finished ..."

"We're done," Starsky said, still chuckling.

"Quite done," Hutch added. "You needed to see me, Cap?"

Dobey nodded. "My office. This won't take long."

"You want me to come, Hutch?" Starsky asked.

Hutch chewed his lip a moment, then shook his head. "I'm good," he said as he stepped through the door into Dobey's office.

Starsky looked at Pete, then stepped over and quickly hugged the man. "How'd you do this?" he said, pointing to Hutch's desk, to all the things that were back in place that Starsky had packed up over a year ago.

Pete shrugged. "I've got a key to your place, remember? I just went over and got everything, set it back up. It's no big deal."

"It's a huge deal. Did you see him? He was thrilled!"

Pete flushed, pleased. "I'm glad."

"Where's your stuff?" Starsky asked, looking around.

"Took it home for a while. We can share again, right?"

Starsky nodded. "Of course. But Pete -- why?"

Pete looked at the closed door to Dobey's office, then sighed. "He's lost so much, Davey. His home, his job, his self-confidence and independence. It just seemed like he needed to have something that was still the same, something that was waiting for him just the way he left it."

"Aw, kid," Starsky said, swallowing hard. "I don't know what to say."

Pete nodded, then looked back at Starsky. "You think he's gonna come back?"

Starsky nodded emphatically, then shook his head, then shrugged helplessly. "I just don't know. He wants to, or at least he says he does. But sometimes, in the middle of the night when he's screaming and so scared and lost, I just don't know."

Pete reached out and patted Starsky's arm. "If anyone can make it, it's him."

"Yeah." Starsky looked up as Dobey's door opened and Hutch walked out, a bemused look on his face. "He's the strongest guy I know," he said softly as he moved to his partner, guiding him over to his desk.

"What did Dobey want?" he asked, leaning back against the desk as Hutch settled in the chair.

"He had some p-papers for me."

Starsky sat up, alert. "Papers for what?"

"Money," Hutch replied. "They want to g-give me my back pay for while I was gone, since it turns o-out that m-my d-disap-pearance was j-job-related after all. I-I was supposed to sign ..."

"Did you sign, Hutch?"

Hutch shook his head. "C-Cap said not to yet. He said I sh-should talk to a lawyer f-first." Hutch looked up at Starsky, who was sighing in relief.

"I think the Captain's right. We should probably get a lawyer to read through it. Those them?" He pointed to the wad of papers clutched in Hutch's hand.

Hutch passed them over, saying, "Y-you know, m-my d-dad's a l-lawyer."

Starsky narrowed his eyes and looked up from scanning the documents. "Do you want to get your dad involved in this?"

Hutch lifted his thumb to his mouth and bit the nail, then shook his head. "N-noooo," he said slowly, "but if I-I d-don't, h-he'll be m-mad."

Starsky touched Hutch's shoulder. "It's okay, Hutch. He's not going to be mad. And if he is, it doesn't matter. You're a grown man. You can handle this any way you want to."

Hutch nodded once, but didn't speak.

"They're offering you a lot of money," Starsky said after he finished a quick read-thru. "You may be entitled to more, but, Hutch," he waited until the blond met his eyes, "however you want to handle this is all right. If you want to see a lawyer, we can do that. If you want to call your dad, we can do that, too. And if you want to take what they're offering, that's okay as well." He passed the papers back to Hutch, then let his hand rest on the other man's arm, gripping him firmly. "This is your life, and you are in control. So whatever you want to do, that's okay, you understand?"

Hutch nodded. "W-want to think a-about it," he said softly.

"That's okay, too," Starsky replied, releasing Hutch and moving over to his desk. "What do you want to do for the rest of the afternoon?"

Hutch's voice was small as he said, "W-wanna g-go h-home."

Day 107 - Saturday, July 4, 1981 - Fourth of July Police Picnic

"I love this," Hutch said quietly as he lay on his back and stared up at the cloudless blue sky.

"I know," Starsky said, laughing, "but you're going to burn if you stay out here much longer." He tossed a tube to his partner. "Put some more sunscreen on."

"Yes, Mother," Hutch said good-naturedly, opening the tube and squeezing the lotion into his hand. He rubbed it on his exposed arms, then around his neck and face. "Happy?" he asked when he was done.

"Ecstatic," Starsky replied dryly. "Give that back now, so I can put it back in the bag for DK."

"They're all as fair as me," Hutch said, rolling over to watch Pete and Betsy take turns pushing DK in a swing on the tot lot portion of the playground. He eyed Starsky and added, "You're the only one who doesn't have to worry about burning today."

"What can I say? It's that Italian ancestry coming out. Guaranteed to be quick of temper, fleet of foot, and safe in the sunlight."

"Starsky -- you're Jewish."

"What, Jews can't be Italian?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Jews can be Italian -- you're just not."

Starsky shrugged. "Italian fit better," he said with a grin. "Maybe I'm being an honorary Italian today."

Hutch rolled his eyes, then sat up and tossed a wadded up napkin at this partner. "You -- are nuts," he said with a laugh. "Certifiable."

Starsky just grinned. "Hey, Hutch. A few of the guys were trying to get enough people together for a softball game. You up for that?"

"Softball? Ah, Starsky, I don't know ..."

"Aw, c'mon, Hutch. It'll be fun. You know, like old times -- normal. I'll be batting a thousand and you'll be tripping over your laces." He swatted Hutch on the back gently. "It'll be great."

Hutch snorted, then laughed and nodded. "Okay -- but if I get in trouble for too much 'strenuous' activity at therapy, I expect you to write me a note telling Mark it was all your fault."

"Done," Starsky said, rising and pulling Hutch up with him. "Let's go get Pete and see if we can't get this game going."

It took a while to get organized, but in the end they had two teams -- detectives versus uniforms. Pete was particularly looking forward to playing against his old buddies and some friendly wagering was occurring.

Cal Dobey was playing with the detectives, and a couple of the uniforms' older boys were also playing. Dobey himself had been drafted to umpire, along with a desk sergeant named Kowalski.

It didn't take long before the game was in full swing. Wives and girlfriends surrounded the field, smaller children and babies playing on blankets as their fathers played ball. The uniforms took the field first and a short, squat man named Deavers approached the pitcher's mound. Keith Torrance stepped up to the plate for the detective squad. Tall and broad, he muttered to himself as the first two pitches went wild and were called balls. The next one was straight and he swung hard, connecting with a low hit to left field that bounced once before being scooped up and thrown to the first baseman. It was close, but Torrance made it.

The next batter struck out, and Hutch was up. He walked to the plate nervously, then lifted a hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. "Hutchinson!" Deavers called. "Good to see you, man!" Hutch raised his bat in a half-salute to acknowledge the man's words. When Deavers tossed the ball, it flew straight and even, right through the strike zone, and Hutch swung, connecting hard with a pop fly into center field. He heard Betsy's scream first, "Run, Ken!" followed by a cacophony of male voices.

"Go!"

"Run, Hutch, run!"

"Way to go, Hutchinson!"

"Move, move, move!"

"Good one!"

He made first in time to see the ball fall between the left and center fielders, and took off for second, sliding onto the base just ahead of the ball's arrival. He stood amongst rampant cheers and managed to bow with a flourish before the next batter stepped to the plate.

The game went on, the detectives scoring two runs before their third out, then the uniforms tying the score during their turn at bat.

Second and third innings were draws -- both sides striking out without scoring.

The fourth inning saw three runs for the detectives, including a home run by Starsky who danced his way around the bases. The uniforms scored two at their turn at bat, and then it was time for the detectives to bat again. But as they were going over the batting roster, Pete called Starsky aside. "He's beat," the redhead said, pointing at Hutch who was sitting on the ground, flushed and panting.

"Shit!" Starsky said, heading back to the group by the designated 'dugout.' "We're done," he said, with a general wave in Hutch's direction. "I gotta take him home."

"Sure."

"No sweat."

"He okay?"

"Drive safe."

The calls followed Starsky as he jogged over to Hutch and held out a hand.

" 'm s-sorry," Hutch said as he let Starsky pull him up.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Starsky said as they walked slowly toward the Torino. "I'm worn out, too."

Hutch snorted. "I hate this," he said passionately. "Every time I think things are getting back to normal, something comes along and reminds me how far from normal I am!"

"I keep telling you, Hutch," Starsky said as they climbed into the car, "you're doing great. Mark at PT tells you how good you're doing, Dr. Patel and Dr. Barot tell you. The nurses and the techs all keep telling you that you're doing fantastic. You're the only one who's not happy."

Hutch shook his head. "I'm happy," he said softly. "I'm so happy to be here, to have this much of my life back ..." He lifted a hand and wiped his face. "I'm just -- greedy. I want it all. I want my job. I want my energy, my stamina. I want to be able to play a whole game of softball without breaking down halfway through."

Starsky started the car, then cocked his head as he looked at Hutch assessingly. "You're what, 155 now?"

Hutch nodded. "About. 156."

"That's halfway, Hutch," Starsky reminded him. "You're halfway there. You made it through half the game today. By the time you're back up to your fighting weight, you'll be able to last the whole game -- no trouble."

"It's frustrating," Hutch said. "I want it all."

"And you'll get it," Starsky told him reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "God, Hutch, there were times when I didn't know if I'd see you again," he ran his hand up Hutch's arm, cupping the other man's neck lightly, "didn't know if I'd ever be able to touch you, be with you. And now," he shook his head, "well, I know you're frustrated, but I'm just so fucking grateful you're here, it's hard for me to complain."

Hutch covered Starsky's hand with his own. "You're a softy, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah," Starsky said with a laugh. "I know. But you tell anyone, I'll have to kill you." He put the car in gear and headed for home.

"I heard from the lawyer," Hutch said.

"Oh?"

"He says the department offered another ten thousand."

"And?"

Hutch shrugged. "He thinks they'll offer more. He wants to wait a little then talk to them again."

"You're gonna end up rich," Starsky teased.

Hutch turned his head and looked out the window. "It's not enough," he said, the bitterness in his voice like a sour taste in the air. "Whatever it works out to, it's not enough.

Day 140 - Thursday, August 6, 1981

"Oh, my God," Betsy gasped into the phone. "Where is she? Is she all right?"

"What?" Hutch asked, getting up from the floor where he'd been playing with DK, and coming to stand beside the petite brunette.

She waved him silent. "How long ago?" she asked. She listened, then nodded. "I'm on my way." Hanging up the phone, she raced to the hallway and got DK's diaper bag. "Ken, my mother was in a car accident. She's at Memorial and I need to go."

He paled and she raised her hand to her mouth. "Oh, Ken! I'm so sorry." Her hand rose to card through her hair. "Let me think a minute. I can call Pete."

"Betsy," Hutch said, "it's okay. Just go."

"No, no, that's okay," she said, tapping her fingers against her lips. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"I'm better, Bets, really. It's okay. You go. You can even leave DK here with me. It'll be all right."

"No, Ken, that's too much for you. I tell you what, you come to the hospital with me."

Hutch shook his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I don't think I could handle the ER. But I'll be fine here, really I will."

"I can't leave you, Kenny."

"Look, this is important. It's your mom -- you have to go. And I'm a grown man. I can handle staying here for a little while with DK. We'll call Starsky and Pete. Pete can meet you at the hospital and Starsk will come straight here." He gave her his most charming smile. "How long can it take?"

"Are you sure?" she asked, fear and concern in her voice. "What if you ..." she shrugged helplessly.

"Flip out?" He grinned again. "I won't, I promise. And I'll take care of DK. If I think there's going to be a problem before Starsky gets here, I'll take the baby and go over to Mrs. Leonard's, okay?"

"It would be such a help if you could keep DK, just till I know what's going on."

He reached out and gently took her by the shoulders. "It's been almost five months, Bets," he said seriously, "I'm okay. I can do this."

She looked at him carefully, then nodded and patted his cheek. "Of course you can," she said firmly. "I'm sorry if I made you doubt yourself."

He took a deep breath, then let her go. "Go get your purse and whatever else you need; I'll call dispatch for Pete and Starsky."

She disappeared into the back of the house and was back in a minute, just as he hung up the phone. She swept by DK, kissed his head, then stepped over to Hutch.

"If you feel -- upset -- just put DK in the playpen, or in his crib, okay? He'll be okay."

"We'll be fine, Betsy -- I promise. I won't let anything happen to him."

"I know," she said, smiling up at him through her concern. "Did you reach Dispatch?"

"They'll radio -- have the guys call me." He looked at her, then asked, "Are you going to be okay to drive?"

She nodded. "I'll be fine."

He pulled her in for a quick hug, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "Go. Take care of your mom." He pointed with his thumb back over his shoulder. "Don't worry about the munchkin -- we'll be fine."

She got to the door, then turned and looked back at him. "I can see why Davey loves you so -- you're strong and you have a way of rising to every occasion. I'm so glad you're in our lives."

Hutch dropped his head for a moment, then looked back up at her. "I'm the one who's grateful. I don't know what I would've done without you and DK lately." He shook himself and smiled. "Enough of the mutual admiration society -- go see about your mom."

She nodded and darted out the door.

Hutch turned around and looked at the baby, who was still busy trying to put Big Bird's head into Ernie's belly on the puzzle he was playing with.

The phone rang and he snatched it up.

"Starsk?"

"Ken? Oh, God, Ken! What happened?"

"No, Pete, it's okay. Betsy and DK are both okay." He heard the other man take a deep breath and swallow.

"What happened?"

"Betsy's mom -- she was in a car accident."

"Oh, my God! Is she all right?"

"I don't know. Betsy went to the hospital; you're supposed to meet her there."

"Where's DK?"

"I've got him -- and before you panic, Pete, it's okay. Just go be with your wife and let me talk to Starsky, okay?"

"Uh, yeah," Pete said, and Hutch could hear the indecision in his voice.

There was a muffled conversation in the background, then Starsky came on the line. "You okay, Hutch?"

"I wish everyone would quit asking me that," Hutch grumbled. "Did Pete leave?"

"Yeah -- he's going to the hospital and I'm coming there as soon as I hang up with you." It was Starsky's turn to take a deep breath. "Hutch -- I'm sorry to do this to you, but -- are you sure you're going to be okay? I can get a uniform car over there in just a few minutes ..."

"Starsk ..." Hutch's voice was strangled. "Please ... I can do this."

"It's DK, Hutch. He's so ..."

"Did Pete tell you to send the uniform?" Hutch asked.

"Nooooo," Starsky answered slowly.

"Then if Pete was okay with me being here, and Betsy was okay with it, don't you think you can trust me, too?"

"I'm sorry, Hutch, I'm sorry. I'm just thinking -- the baby ..."

"Shhh, Starsk," Hutch said softly, "I'm all right." He took a deep breath. "Now -- are you coming over to help me babysit, or what?"

"Thirty minutes," Starsky said, and the phone went dead.

Hutch hung up the phone and looked over at the baby who was still working diligently on his puzzle. He walked over, then sat down and turned the puzzle piece around, handing it to DK who happily stuck it in the correct slot, then promptly pulled it out and turned it upside down and went back to trying to make it fit. He pounded on it with his little fist, then picked it up and studied it, then tried again.

Hutch laughed and leaned back on his arms, watching the baby. "Just you and me, kid," he murmured softly. "We can do this."

It wasn't long before DK lost interest in the puzzle and was back at the shelf dragging a bin of blocks out. Hutch spent another ten minutes building towers for DK to knock down before the baby's attention once again wandered.

Hutch was getting antsy, too. His eyes had been darting to the clock twice a minute for the last five, and he could feel the tension creeping up his spine. He'd been rocking in place and hadn't even realized it until he rose to his feet to follow DK into the kitchen. The baby was going to each cabinet, trying to open it, and growing increasingly frustrated as the child locks thwarted him.

Hutch was rocking again, his arms wrapped around himself, clinging to this reality. What was it Betsy had said? If you feel like you're getting upset, put the baby in the playpen. Hutch looked at the clock again. Where was Starsky? How much longer?

The baby smacked the last cabinet with his fist, then began to cry and the sound cut through Hutch's mind. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he rapidly pattered his left palm with his right fist. " 's okay, DK," he murmured, trying to keep his voice calm. Couldn't little kids sense it when you were upset?

He stepped over to the baby and reached down, waiting for DK to open his arms to be picked up. When the baby did, Hutch lifted him, settled him against his shoulder and crooned, "It's okay, baby, it's okay."

He began to walk, the kitchen shifting in and out with the little white room. He looked around again. Where was Starsky? Why was he alone? He shook his head and soothed the baby again, "Don't cry, DK, it's all right. I've got you."

The baby was settling now, thumb in mouth and the fingers of his other hand were twisting in Hutch's hair. Hutch stopped his pacing and began to rock in place.

"Starsky, Starsky, Starsky," he chanted and the baby echoed, "Deh-deh, Deh-deh, Deh-deh," his own version of Davey.

"You want him, too, eh?" Hutch asked, the panic growing within him, his chest tight. It was getting hard to breathe. "Let's go outside and wait, okay?" he said to the baby and he turned and headed for the front door. "And if he doesn't get here soon, we can always go over to Mrs. Leonard's," Hutch told DK, reassuring and reminding himself in the process.

Once in the front yard, he could breathe better. There were people out here. Cars went by. Across the street, Mr. Patterson watered his roses, and two doors down, Mrs. Leonard was on her porch. She waved when she saw Hutch with the baby.

"I can do this," Hutch said to himself. "I am not in that little room. I'm here. I'm outside, in the sun, and I am safe. No one is ever putting me back in that room." He looked at DK, who was watching him seriously and said, "Right?"

"Wite," DK replied with a nod, wriggling to be put down.

Hutch set him on his feet, following him closely as the headed out into the yard. He stopped at a patch of dirt not covered in grass and leaned over to look at something, then fell backwards onto his butt. He rolled over smoothly and crawled forward, picking up the stone and slipping it into his mouth before Hutch could stop him. A second later, Hutch's long finger was probing in a very annoyed toddler's mouth, and the stone was removed, much to DK's irritation.

"My," he said huffily, and Hutch laughed.

"You can't put it in your mouth," he replied, but by then a stick had caught the baby's attention and he was happily digging in the sandy patch.

Hutch picked up another stick and began to help him, but looked up as the familiar sound of the Torino turned a corner and drew near. Starsky parked quickly, then jumped out and ran across the yard, slowing as he took in the scene.

"You guys okay?" he asked, not looking at Hutch as he squatted down and held out his hand to DK. The baby solemnly picked up a handful of dirt and deposited it there.

"Yeah, Starsk," Hutch said quietly, "we're fine."

Starsky nodded and let the dirt dribble from his hand, making a little hill which DK promptly demolished. "You, uh, have any problems?" he asked nonchalantly.

Hutch shook his head. "We were good," he said, reaching out to tickle DK, "weren't we, big guy?"

The baby squealed, then giggled, then went back to digging with his stick.

"I should go call the hospital," Starsky said. "Find out how Betsy's mom is."

"Let them know their kid is okay," Hutch said, no rancor in his voice.

"It's not like that, Hutch ..." Starsky began, but Hutch cut him off.

"Of course it's like that, Starsky," Hutch said, "and that's okay. I'm not exactly known for my stability right now."

"But you were okay here, weren't you?" Starsky said, letting his hand rest on Hutch's arm.

Hutch nodded. "Yeah. I was." He smiled and pointed at the baby. "Why don't you take him back inside and call his folks?"

"What are you going to do?"

Hutch smiled and looked up at the sun. "I think I'm just going to sit out here by myself for a while." He shifted on the ground till his long legs were extended and he lay half-reclined, leaning back on his elbows. "Just gonna sit here alone," he said, eyes closed as he turned his face up toward the sun.

Beside him, Starsky's eyes filled as he picked up the baby and headed into the house.

Day 162 - Friday, August 28, 1981 -- Hutch's Birthday

Hutch parked the car and got out, patting it on the hood as he walked past and headed up the sidewalk to the building.

He weighed 172 pounds now, had been cleared to start working out on his own, and the counseling sessions had been cut back to once a week. He'd slept in his own bed -- alone -- for the last two weeks and hadn't had the first nightmare. He'd passed his driver's test, had a license and had the freedom to come and go as he pleased. Today was the fourth day he'd come home after his morning at the hospital instead of going over to the Ferguson's or Dobey's.

He passed his physical and was cleared to return to work on Monday. It was desk duty only, until he passed the psych screen, but he was sure that was just around the corner. Dr. Barot told him he could expect to be cleared to full duty by the end of the year. In some ways, it seemed like a long way off, but when he thought of how he had been gone for over two years, but would be back in less than one, he found he could be patient and give himself just a little more time.

He still had nightmares, but he was learning to keep them from Starsky. He didn't always wake up screaming anymore. He still had some problems with his memory, still got confused, but he was learning to compensate, learning to cover. And he still got scared and had the occasional panic attack or flashback, but again, he was better able to cover it up, to work around it and keep it from everyone, and that was what it was all about, right? Getting back to normal.

Starsky used those words all the time. "When things get back to normal, Hutch ..." "When you're your normal self ..." "When we're together on the street, like we normally are ..." Everything to Starsky relied on normal. And Hutch was determined to be as normal as they come. He was going to be so damned normal, people would look in the dictionary and see his picture. He was not going to let Starsky down -- not when the man had put his whole life on hold for three years -- first searching for Hutch and waiting for him to come back, then nursing and supporting him. There was no way he was letting his partner down.

Hutch sighed happily. He was so content right now -- things were going so well. The only shadow on the horizon was the knowledge that he was going to have to move out and get his own place. He and Starsky hadn't talked about it, but he knew it was coming. And he was sure he could handle it -- the being alone -- but he wasn't sure he wanted too.

Still, it wasn't happening today, so today he was just going to enjoy. After all, not only did he graduate from PT and get his therapy sessions cut back, today was his birthday. He was 41. He'd missed both 39 and 40 while he was in the little room, but tonight was his to celebrate.

Hutch unlocked the door and dropped his keys on the table, then jumped as the phone rang. He stepped quickly across the room and answered.

"Hello?"

"Ken? This is Pete ..."

"What happened?" Fear laced his voice.

"He's okay, Ken. He was shot, but it's not critical. We're at the hospital -- he's going up for surgery soon. I've already dispatched a uniform to pick you up."

"I won't be here," Hutch said, dropping the phone and racing for the door.

He was in the car, the bubble light slammed onto the dash this time, and throwing it in gear before the words began to sink in.

"He was shot."

"At the hospital."

"Going up for surgery."

"Shot."

"Hospital."

"Surgery."

Hutch screamed his rage and slammed his fist against the roof of the car, pounding repeatedly as he slid through a red light, turning left.

Starsky had to be okay. All those feelings of success and triumph from just a few minutes ago were suddenly eclipsed by doubts and fears. He forced himself to focus on driving, focus on breathing, focus on getting to the hospital. Siren wailing, lights flashing, he roared through another intersection, narrowly avoiding two cars, and made yet another turn. The hospital was at last in sight.

The ragged old car slid to a stop outside the emergency room, and he hopped out, leaving the engine running and the door still open.

"Starsky?" he asked as he ran to the desk. "David Starsky? A cop -- just brought in." He was panting, working hard for each breath. "I'm his partner..."

"Oh," the girl said, "He's in the back. Through those doors," she pointed, "but I thought his partner was already with ..."

Hutch tuned the rest out as the doors swung shut behind him. He didn't see Betsy rise and follow him back. He listened for a moment, then heard Pete's voice.

"Shit! I'm sorry, Davey."

Hutch moved swiftly to the curtained area and stepped inside.

"Hutch!" Starsky said, smiling.

"Get away from him!" Hutch said to Pete, stepping forward.

"What?" The younger man looked confused, for a moment, then angry.

"Where the hell were you?" Hutch demanded, shoving Pete to the side, away from Starsky. "What good is it if you ride with him and you don't watch his back?"

Pete's anger flared. "I was where I was supposed to be!" he snarled, shoving Hutch back. "He was the one that went racing out into the open!" He circled to the other side of Starsky's bed, sidestepping the IV pole to take up a post there.

"Stupid fuck!" Hutch cried, clutching Starsky's hand. "You stupid, stupid fuck!"

"Leave the kid alone, Hutch," Starsky said, biting his lip in pain. " 's not his fault."

"Fuck that!" Hutch replied, dropping Starsky's hand in order to pace. "He rides with you -- he damned well better know your moves."

"What?" Pete exclaimed. "Now I'm not good enough to ride with your partner? Two years, Hutch, two fucking years I've ridden with him! I know him better than you do now!'

A nurse stuck her head into the curtained cubicle. "Excuse me ..."

"Out!" roared Hutch.

"Not now!" ordered Starsky.

"Give us a minute," Pete said, in an only slightly more contained tone.

"And like hell you do!" Hutch responded to Pete's words.

"Stop it! Stop!" Starsky cried, fighting to pull himself up.

"Shut up!" Hutch ordered Starsky, before turning back to Pete. "If you can't keep him in one piece, and avoid letting people put holes in him, then no, God damn it! You're not good enough to ride with him!"

"And I suppose you are?" Starsky panted, grabbing at Hutch and yanking him back to his side. "You're so fucking worried about me -- get your shit together and get your ass out on the street!" He gasped, releasing Hutch and dropping back into the gurney.

The curtain flew open and Betsy stood there, her face red, her eyes filled with tears. DK was perched on her hip, eyes wide at the scene before him. "Stop it!" Betsy demanded. "All of you -- just stop it!"

"Bets ..." Pete said, reaching out to her.

"Don't you touch me, Peter Ferguson," she said, staring at him, her eyes blazing. "How could you say that to Ken? How could you?"

She whirled on Hutch. "And you!" she snapped. "How dare you accuse my husband of not watching out for Davey? How dare you? You know how much we love him -- how could you say that?"

Hutch wilted visibly under her onslaught.

She turned on Starsky. "Don't you close your eyes, David Starsky," she ordered. "You're the cause of all this."

"I'm the one got shot," he offered in weak defense.

"Yes, and how? Did I hear something about going out in the open? Davey -- what were you thinking? Do you know what it would do to Pete if you were killed? What it would do to Ken? You can't take stupid chances..." She drew a deep breath, then went on, "And how can you tell Ken to get it together? He's done so well -- come so far. It's not fair, dumping this on him."

"And you," she looked at her husband in exasperation, "Same thing. You know how hard things have been for Ken. And you may have been riding with Davey for two years, but Ken's been there for a lot longer than that."

She turned to Hutch. "And you there -- don't you turn away from me. You're strong now -- strong enough, well enough that you should damn well know it's not fair to blame this on Pete."

She hitched the baby up on her hip, then pursed her lips and fixed each of them with a stare in quick succession. "Sort this out," she ordered. "Fix it now, before Davey goes up to surgery." She whirled on her heel and was gone.

Silence echoed in the tiny space and then Starsky said in a small voice, "But I was the one who got shot ... How come I'm in trouble, too?"

Hutch snorted, then choked back a laugh. He stared at Pete over the gurney Starsky lay on, saw the smile creep across the redhead's lips, and just gave in. In seconds, the three of them were laughing, Starsky gritting his teeth and clutching his shoulder, but unable to stop despite the pain.

"Damn," Hutch said at last, "I used to think I envied you, Pete, but now I'm not so sure."

Pete nodded, then sobered and reached out, and Hutch took his hand halfway across the bed. "Look, Ken, about what I said ..."

Hutch waved it away. "Forget it. Me, too."

Starsky's hand rose, covering the other two men's. "I, uh, well, I didn't run out there with the intention of getting shot," he said sheepishly.

"You never do," Pete and Hutch said in unison, and they all laughed again.

Hutch patted Starsky's hand, then lowered it to the bed and released Pete's with another smile.

"What's the verdict?" he asked, looking from Pete to Starsky.

"Clean shot to the shoulder," Starsky replied. "Minor damage."

"Why surgery then?"

"Get the bullet out," Pete replied. "It won't take long." He looked down at the dark-haired man with affection. "Gonna ground you for a few weeks."

Hutch smiled. "Perfect."

"Perfect?" Starsky asked in alarm. "Why the hell is that perfect?"

Hutch shrugged. "I got cleared to return to desk duty. Start on Monday."

"Congratulations, man!" Pete said, hand coming out again to shake Hutch's warmly. "That's great news!" His smile lost a tiny bit of its luster as he added, "Guess I better start looking for a partner in earnest now."

"Oh, hey, Pete, I didn't mean ..." Hutch floundered, at a loss for words.

"Nah, man, it's okay. We've known this day was coming -- this is a good thing."

Starsky reached up and laid a hand on the younger man's arm. "It's not immediate," he said, looking at Hutch, "is it?"

Hutch shook his head. "Barot says I should be ready for psych clearance by the first of the year, maybe sooner. Desk work only until then."

"First of the year," Pete repeated. "Ken -- you know what that means? You'll beat them -- you'll beat them by a full year! That's -- incredible." He took Starsky's hand from his arm, holding it for a moment as he leaned down to speak to the man in the bed. "Look -- I need to go talk to Bets, or I'm gonna be sleeping on the couch for the next month. You guys okay in here?"

Starsky nodded, and Hutch said, "We're good."

"I'll see you when you're bullet-free, okay, Davey?" he said as he stepped to the curtain and pulled it back. "You rest easy."

"He's a good kid, Hutch," Starsky said when Pete was gone.

"Shit, Starsk! I know that. I don't know what got into me." Hutch ran his hand through his hair.

Starsky reached up and grabbed his right hand. "You were worried about me."

"Yeah -- yeah, I was." He scrubbed his face with his left hand, then rested it on the bed rail. "Did you really run out in the open without cover?"

Starsky flushed. "I, uh, -- oh, shit! I don't know what I was thinking."

"Starsk," Hutch said softly, "promise me you won't do that again. I mean, I know we have to take risks -- it comes with the territory. But promise me -- no unnecessary ones, okay?"

Starsky nodded and Hutch released his hand.

"Does it hurt?" Hutch asked solicitously.

"Like a bitch," Starsky replied, nodding. He craned his head to look around Hutch and stare at the closed curtain. "Wonder what's taking so long?"

Hutch snorted. "All that yelling we were doing, they may be afraid to come in here."

Starsky laughed. "Nah -- that can't be it. Betsy was the only really scary one, and she's back outside."

"She's something," Hutch agreed. "If I'd ever met someone like her ..."

Starsky nodded, then shrugged and immediately winced as the movement sent daggers of pain through his damaged shoulder. "Me, too," he said almost wistfully, but then he reached out and gently touched Hutch's arm. "But we do okay, don't we, Blondie?"

Hutch looked down into those trusting blue eyes and nodded. "Yeah, babe, we do okay."

A nurse came in, paused by the curtain and asked, "Is it safe now?"

Hutch flushed and murmured, "Sorry about earlier."

Starsky nodded and added, "Yeah, me, too."

"I've got a shot for you, Mr. Starsky, to relax you prior to going up for your surgery." She moved over to the IV and slipped the needle into the injection port. "You'll be getting sleepy, so don't fight it. The surgery won't take long, and when you're done in recovery, you'll be taken to a room."

She turned and looked at Hutch. "You and your friends out there can all go up and wait in the surgical waiting room. The doctor will come out and talk to you there when she's done." She moved to the curtain and added, "The baby won't be able to go into Mr. Starsky's room after surgery."

Hutch nodded. "We'll take turns," he assured the nurse and Starsky, whose eyes were already beginning to close. He sat with his partner until they took him up, then went slowly back out to the waiting room to face Betsy.

"Hey," he said as he walked over to where Betsy and Pete sat, the baby balanced in Pete's lap.

"Keh, Keh!" DK cried, reaching out excitedly.

Hutch looked at Pete, wondering how much damage his outburst had caused, but the younger man just smiled and passed the baby over. "See if you can settle him down. He's like a little wild man."

Hutch nodded and began to jiggle DK up and down until the baby was laughing. He pulled him close and cuddled him against his shoulder, then reached down with one hand to pull Betsy to her feet. " 'm sorry, Bets," he said softly, "we're all jerks, you know." He went to pull his hand back, but she followed it, settling against him for a hug.

"Oh, Ken," she said with a sigh, "things can't ever be simple, can they?"

He laughed and hugged her, then nudged her gently toward Pete. "Never. That would be too easy." He shifted the baby to his other arm, then said, "There's a surgical waiting room on the sixth floor. Shall we go up?"

They were almost at the elevator when Hutch smacked his head and said, "Damn! My car!" He passed the baby back to Betsy and turned, but Pete grabbed his arm.

"I moved it, Ken," he said, holding out the keys. "It's out in the back lot with ours." He shook his head as the elevator dinged and they all filed in. "Man, Davey said you drove a clunker but ..."

"Don't you start in on my car," Hutch groaned, clutching his head as if in agony. "I don't think I can take it from both of you."

Betsy laughed and led the way out of the elevator and down the hall to the waiting room where they spent a fairly relaxed forty minutes watching DK toddle about and fly paper airplanes his dad and 'uncle' made from pages torn from three year old magazines. Betsy pretended not to know the men while they were vandalizing the hospital's property.

When Hutch went to tear up yet another magazine, she leaned over and hissed at him, "Will you stop that? You're a cop! You're not supposed to tear things up."

Hutch looked at Pete who burst out laughing, leaving Hutch on his own to try to look sufficiently repentant. Betsy finally threw up her hands in disgust and gave up. "Fine," she said. "Great role models you two turn out to be."

Hutch was about to apologize again when a woman in green surgical scrubs walked in and said, "David Starsky?" Hutch and Pete both rose.

"I'm Doctor Hampton," the woman said. "I just finished removing the bullet from Mr. Starsky's shoulder. There was minimal muscle and tissue damage; it went straight in and lodged about three-quarters of the way through. He's in very good shape; tolerated the anesthesia well. He's in recovery now, but should be moved to his own room in the next hour or so." She looked over at Betsy and DK and smiled. "Any questions?"

Hutch shook his head and Pete said, "No, thank you."

"I'll have someone come and tell you when he's settled; you can see him then."

"Thank you, Doctor," Hutch said and the woman nodded and left.

"You guys wanna go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat?" Hutch asked.

Pete looked at Betsy, who nodded and they made the trip down, eating a quick meal. Hutch bought a couple of deserts, some cookies, chips and juice to take back up for Starsky.

Once back in the waiting room, it wasn't long before someone came and gave them Starsky's room number. Hutch waited with DK while Pete and Betsy went in first, then when they came out, he said his good-byes, kissing Betsy and the baby, and finally went in to sit with his partner.

"Hey," he said softly as he slipped into the room, his arms full of goodies.

"Hey," Starsky replied. "Whatcha got there?"

"Enough junk food to last even you," Hutch teased. He dropped his supplies on the table and stepped to the bed, reaching out to touch Starsky's brow. "How you feeling?"

"Like I got shot."

"Putz."

"No, really, I'm okay. Not feeling too much pain right now." He pointed to the IV. "I think I'm on the good stuff."

"God, Starsk," Hutch breathed softly, "you can't do that to me. I can't take it."

Starsky reached out and took Hutch's hand. "Yeah, you can." He waited until Hutch met his eyes. "You're strong."

Hutch shook his head. "Not that strong. I'm the one who's unstable remember?"

Starsky squeezed the hand he held. "You're strong, Hutch. You can take anything."

Hutch shook his head again, dropping it to hover over their clasped hands, then resting his forehead there. "Not strong enough to face losing you."

"Shhhh," Starsky whispered. "Not gonna happen. I told you I wouldn't leave you alone. I promised, remember?"

Hutch nodded and drew a shaky breath. "Holding you to that promise," he whispered back, as he lifted his eyes to stare into Starsky's smoky blue ones.

There was a knock at the door. "Excuse me?" the nurse said. She walked in holding out a cupcake with a single candle stuck in it. "A man named Pete Ferguson asked that I bring this in. You can't light the candle, though. Sorry," she said with a smile as she walked out.

"Pete ..." Hutch said softly.

"He's a great kid," Starsky agreed.

"Wanna share, you old fart?" Hutch asked as he lifted the cupcake and broke it in half.

"Hutch?" Starsky said, holding his hand up to accept his half.

"Mmmm?" Hutch mumbled, mouth filled with cake. He looked over to see Starsky staring at him, eyes full of love and satisfaction.

"Happy Birthday, babe."

Day 165 - Monday, August 31, 1981

"This is it," Starsky said as they pulled up outside the Metro Division building. "You ready?"

Hutch wiped sweaty palms across his jeans, then nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be." He looked over at Starsky and added, "Partner."

Starsky smiled and reached out to touch his arm quickly. "Always."

Hutch nodded, then opened the door and stepped out. "Let's do it."

They walked in and were immediately mobbed. Everyone wanted to know how Starsky was doing, but more importantly, people were going out of their way to welcome Hutch back. As it had the last time Hutch had come in, it took over thirty minutes to make it to the elevator and both men were laden down with food by the time they reached the seventh floor.

"Gotta love cops' wives," Starsky said appreciatively, as he sniffed a pie that balanced precariously at the top of his pile of loot. "Wonder if good cook is a job requirement to marry a cop?" He looked over at an elaborately braided loaf of bread that Hutch carried. "That's Polski's wife. She makes these incredible breads ..."

"This one won't last to get home. I intend to have it for lunch," Hutch said as they reached the squad room.

The other detectives burst into cheers as Hutch walked in, and Starsky quickly deposited his 'stuff' and joined them. When the noise and catcalls calmed, Dobey slapped his hands on his hips and said, "You're late! My office!" before turning and vanishing through his door.

"More things change ..." Hutch started.

"... the more they stay the same," Starsky finished.

Hutch dropped his burdens on his desk and followed Starsky into Dobey's office.

"Hutchinson? Legal wants to know when you're going to make a decision on their latest settlement offer."

"I didn't know they made one, Cap," he said with a shrug. "The lawyer deals with that."

"I don't give a damn one way or the other," Dobey said gruffly, "but I had to ask." He pointed to two stacks on his desk. "That's your assignment for the next few weeks.

Starsky and Hutch exchanged a glance.

"Assignment?" Hutch asked.

"I thought we were on desk duty," added Starsky.

"If you think I'm going to waste two of my best detectives answering phones ..." Dobey shook his head. "Cold cases. You two settle in one of the interrogation rooms and go through these with a fine tooth comb. Anything you develop, you feed to the guys in the squad for follow-up. Any questions?"

Both men shook their heads.

"Good." Dobey picked up a pen and signed a sheet of paper, then looked up and scowled. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get outta here!"

Day 179 - Monday, September 14, 1981

Hutch stood outside the door to the apartment as he rubbed his face nervously. He'd just taken the biggest step yet since he'd been back, and he'd done it without talking to his partner. He looked down at the key in his hand, sighed then opened the door and entered.

Starsky was in the kitchen, pulling a casserole out of the oven. "Where you been, babe?" he asked as he moved the hot dish to the stovetop and turned off the oven.

"Had something I had to do," he said. At Starsky's puzzled glance, he added, "Tell you about it after dinner, okay?"

Starsky's brow was furrowed but he nodded slowly and asked, "You wanna wash up? This is ready."

When Hutch came back and they were seated, the casserole dished up with fresh, hot bread and a salad, Starsky sighed, then said, "I could get used to working cold cases."

Hutch nodded. "It's more interesting than I thought it would be," he agreed. "Imagine what we could do if they'd let us do our own investigations, instead of handing it off."

"You thought about it, too?" Starsky asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

Hutch shrugged. "I want to get back on the street, but I'm not sure I'm up for the kind of life we were leading. I'm older ..."

"Me, too," Starsky added, the words mumbled around a piece of bread.

"... and while I know I can make it on the streets, I'm not sure I want to." He looked at Starsky. "Know what I mean?"

Starsky nodded vigorously. "Some of the big cities -- they have full-time cold case detectives. It's a regular assignment, not busy work for the sick, lame, and lazy."

Hutch chewed thoughtfully, then forked up another bite of his salad. "What do you want to do?"

"Talk to Dobey?" Starsky suggested.

Hutch shook his head. "I think we should write a proposal." He put his fork down and grabbed a pen, then began to scratch on his napkin. "What's been closed since we started?"

"The Benson rape, and those liquor store robberies."

Hutch wrote. "And the string of car thefts from out in the Hills."

"Pete and the new kid are close on those home burglaries from out on the West Side," Starsky added.

Hutch looked up and smiled. "New kid's working out, don't you think?"

Starsky shrugged. "She seems okay." He shook his head. "God, Hutch! Were we ever as young as those two?"

Hutch raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. "It sure doesn't feel like it, does it?"

Starsky took a last bite of the casserole, one of Edith Dobey's that had become a favorite of his, then dropped his fork and wiped his mouth. He pointed at Hutch's impromptu list. "We got half a dozen more that have active investigations now, even if they're not closed or as close as the one Pete and Allison are working on." He cocked his head. "You think it's enough?"

Hutch nodded. "I think it's enough to make a strong case for a new, permanent division. I'll get it written up, then we'll see if we can't get one of the girls in the typing pool to type it up for us."

"Think this is going to fly?" Starsky asked as he cleared the table.

"Only one way to tell," Hutch said as he plugged the sink and began to run the water.

When the dishes were done, they moved into the living room. Starsky settled in a chair with Shel Silverstein's bestseller -- A Light in the Attic. Hutch was stretched out on the couch with a pad and his notes from earlier.

"Isn't that a kid's book?" Hutch asked.

Starsky shook his head. "It's great," he said, smiling over an illustration. He looked up and nodded in Hutch's direction. "What were you going to tell me after dinner?" he asked. "About the cold cases?"

Hutch shook his head. "Nooooo," he said slowly, swinging his feet down and sitting up. "Not that." He placed his papers on the table, then looked down, rubbed his face and rose to his feet. Walking over to the table by the door, he fumbled with his key ring for a minute, then came back and dropped something in Starsky's lap before resuming his place on the couch.

"What's this?" Starsky asked, holding up a key.

"Your key."

"To what?"

"My place."

"Your -- place?" The words were croaked out, and Starsky had a decidedly sick look on his face.

Hutch scrubbed his face again, then nodded. "Yeah, my place. I move in the end of the month."

Starsky looked lost. He gestured around the room, then looked back at Hutch. "But I thought ..."

"I'm happy here, Starsk, really I am, but don't you think ..."

"But ... But ... You're ... I'm ..." Starsky gave up and just stared.

"It had to happen, Starsk," Hutch said gently. "You're the one who keeps talking about when things get back to normal. Well," Hutch spread his hands, "I'm getting my own place again. That's normal, isn't it?"

Starsky stared at him, then nodded slowly. "I, uh, guess so."

"Look," Hutch said, suddenly irritated and rising to pace to work off his agitation, "I'm not going far." He snorted. "All the way across the hall, actually."

"Yeah?" Starsky asked, perking up. "You got the Hill's place?"

Hutch nodded. "Yeah, and since Bobby's transferring overseas, and Amy is going home to live with her mom, they're gonna let me have most of the furniture as well, so it's basically furnished." He looked over at his partner and smiled. "I'm just gonna leave my stuff," his hand waved around the room, "here."

Starsky rose and went to stand in front of Hutch. "We'll move your bedroom over," he said softly. "It'll be more familiar. We can bring their stuff over here for the second room." He looked around. "Your record cabinet, too." His voice broke as he added, "And the bookcases."

"Shhh," Hutch said, reaching out to pull the other man into a hug. "I'm just going across the hall, not across the country."

"I know," Starsky said softly, his head nestled against Hutch's shoulder as he hugged him hard. "I'm just -- gonna miss you, is all."

Day 198 - Saturday, October 3, 1981

"That's it," Starsky said, wiping his hands in satisfaction. "Everything's moved. All that's left now is unpacking your boxes and putting stuff away."

Hutch collapsed on the couch. "All that's left?" he said with a sigh. "Starsk -- I'm exhausted! That's gonna have to wait till tomorrow."

"Nah, man," Starsky said enthusiastically. "It's only ten. We can get it done tonight." He popped open the tape on one of the cartons, and looked up expectantly.

Hutch groaned. "Starsk -- I'm tired. I just want a hot shower and bed."

Starsky was busy pulling out books and stacking them on the floor by the bookcase. He looked up absently. "Go take a shower then, Blintz. I'll be here."

Hutch stared at Starsky quizzically, but rose and padded down the hall to his bedroom. He stood in the doorway, studying the room for a moment. Everything was the same, only in reverse. The apartments were identical in layout, the only difference being that where Starsky's was furnished with gold carpet and Harvest Gold appliances, he got the variegated green carpet and Avocado Green appliances. He shrugged. It was neutral enough -- he could live with it. And with his settlement, he was going to look for a house and buy. He smiled to himself. That would take some getting used to -- thinking of himself as a homeowner.

He stripped down and showered quickly, then dressed in a pair of cut-off sweats. When he wandered back into the living room, Starsky had the bookcases almost filled. He grabbed a beer, passed one to his partner and sat back to watch the other man work.

At midnight, he rose. Starsky had made no move toward slowing. "That's it," he said, walking to the door and opening it. "Go home."

Starsky looked up from where he was connecting speakers to the stereo. "Huh?"

"Home," Hutch repeated. "I'm tired. I want to go to bed."

"So go," Starsky said with a wave as he returned his attention to the wires.

"Starsky ..." Hutch said warningly.

Starsky dropped the wires and rubbed his face with his hands, then rose to his feet. "All right, all right," he grumbled. "Geez! Try to do a guy a favor." He grabbed his jacket from the chair and ambled to the door. "You gonna be okay tonight?" he asked softly, his hand on Hutch's arm.

"Is that what this is about?" Hutch asked with a smile.

"I worry," Starsky said, his eyes averted.

"Don't," Hutch said. "I'll be fine. And it's not like I'm all that far away. If I have a problem, I'll be over in a heartbeat."

"You better," Starsky growled, looking at Hutch with a smile. "Wonder if this is how moms feel when the kids leave home for the first time?"

Hutch snorted. "I'm hardly your kid, Starsky."

"No," Starsky replied gently, one hand running up Hutch's arm to gently fist and then sock his jaw. "You're not."

Hutch smiled, then nudged the other man forward. "I'll see you in the morning?" he asked.

"Early," Starsky said. "You wanna go get breakfast or something?"

"Or something," Hutch agreed.

"Okay, then."

"Okay."

"Well."

"Well?"

"Okay, then. Good night."

Hutch smiled again and patted Starsky arm. " 'night, Starsk," he said softly. "Sleep well."

"Yeah," the other man replied. "You, too. And lock the door," he added as the door shut. He waited for the snick of the lock, then trudged across the eight feet to his doorway and let himself in. "Be safe," he murmured as he locked his own doors and readied himself for bed.

"Starsk?" Hutch asked, opening his eyes sleepily to see his partner standing by the bed. He squinted at the clock. "It's 3:15."

"I can't sleep," Starsky said softly.

Hutch nodded and pulled back the covers, waiting for the other man to slip in. When Starsky was settled, Hutch leaned up on one elbow and looked down at him. "You all right?"

Starsky nodded, then shook his head. "I'm not sure this was a good idea."

Hutch raised an eyebrow.

"I mean," Starsky started, "you moving. I keep thinking ..." He closed his eyes and rolled on his side, turning his back to Hutch.

Hutch rubbed his back. "Talk to me, babe," he murmured.

"God, Hutch!" Starsky exhaled. "I lost you! The last thing I said to you ..." He rolled over again and looked up at Hutch. "Do you remember the last thing I said to you?"

Hutch frowned, thinking, then shook his head.

"Well, I do!" Starsky exclaimed. "Every last word! I said, 'You're on your own.'" He shook his head. "Can you believe that? I fucking said, 'You're on your own.'" He swallowed hard, choking back a sob, then added, "And you were gone, Hutch. That was it -- you just fucking disappeared!"

Hutch dropped onto his back and pulled his partner close, his arm wrapping around him to hold him tight. "It wasn't your fault," he whispered. "It wasn't your fault."

Starsky clung to the other man, his face buried in his chest and let the tears come. "I just -- can't," he said with a sob. "I can't face it again, Hutch, I can't. I'm not that strong."

"Not gonna happen," Hutch promised. "Never. It's all going to be okay."

"It's just -- I woke up -- I dreamed ... You weren't there. Before, I could get up and walk across to your room, and you would be there. I knew you'd be there." He sniffed and shook his head. "But this time, you weren't there."

"Why didn't you tell me you were having nightmares?" Hutch asked gently.

Starsky sniffed again and sighed. "You had enough of your own shit to deal with -- you didn't need mine, too."

"This partnership works both ways," Hutch admonished him.

Starsky snorted. "I see that." He pulled away and lay on his back, arms under his head as he stared up at the ceiling. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Hutch said. "You gotta believe that."

Starsky shrugged. "I can accept that here," he touched his head, "but here," the hand moved to his heart, "it's a little harder."

Hutch took Starsky's hand, holding it over his heart and said, "We'll just have to work on here then, okay?"

"We don't talk about it," Starsky said, rolling onto his side again.

Hutch spooned up behind him, wrapping his arm around him. "There's not much to talk about."

"You talked to Barot for months," Starsky said.

Hutch nodded. "Okay, so maybe there was some stuff to talk about."

"Can ...?" Starsky's voice was soft, tentative. "Can you talk to me?"

Hutch took a deep breath. "I think I went a little crazy," he said at last. "At first, I didn't know what was going on. I kept thinking they were going to come in and start beating me, or knock me around and question me." He shook his head. "I was sure they wanted something."

"But they just wanted you," Starsky said quietly.

"Yeah." Hutch was silent for a long time, then he said, "I broke my wrist at one point. It's the only time they did anything for me, but even then they drugged me and I didn't see anyone."

"How?" Starsky asked, his voice choked.

"I beat on the door."

Starsky lifted the hand that lay over his waist. "This one?" he asked.

Hutch nodded against his neck.

Starsky kissed the wrist bone gently, a belated benediction. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"It wasn't your fault," Hutch repeated insistently. "Starsky, it wasn't.

At last, the dark-haired man nodded, and relaxed against Hutch. "I don't know if I can handle this," he confessed. "I don't know if I can deal with not knowing where you are."

"We have to get back to normal," Hutch said. "You've been saying that for months."

"Maybe I've changed my mind," Starsky said stubbornly. "Maybe I don't want normal after all."

Hutch chuckled. "No problem there. You've never been very normal to begin with."

Starsky snorted. "Thanks," he said sarcastically, then in a serious tone, "I really need to know where you are, Hutch. I'm not ready to give that up yet."

"I can live with that," Hutch said agreeably. "It'll come in time."

Starsky nodded and said, "Guess it's your turn to be patient with me, eh, partner?"

"Seems only fair. You've been mighty patient with me lately." He rubbed Starsky's shoulder for a few minutes, then asked, "You think you can sleep now?"

Starsky nodded, warm and drowsy and comfortable now that he knew where Hutch was, and that he was safe. "I'm good," he mumbled, drifting off to sleep.

Hutch listened to the even breathing, felt the steady rise and fall of the furred chest, then kissed Starsky's shoulder and whispered, "Yeah, you are that."

Day 232 - Friday, November 6, 1981

Hutch opened the door and gaped, then said, "Dad?"

Elliot Hutchinson pushed past his son into the living room, then turned and said, "What's this I hear about you in an action against the police department?"

"Good to see you, too, Dad," Hutch muttered as he shut the door. He turned and followed his father then stood by the couch and gestured for the older man to sit. "How'd you hear about it?"

"I'm here for a conference -- met your man Allman in the bar tonight." He sat and pulled open his briefcase, dragging out a yellow legal pad. "Tell me about it," he demanded.

"No," Hutch said with a glance at Starsky, then the phone.

"I'm on it," Starsky said as he went back to the bedroom to track down Hutch's lawyer and get him the hell over there.

When he came back, nodding to Hutch to indicate success, the room was filled with a stony silence. Then the elder Hutchinson asked, "Are you -- all right?"

Hutch laughed bitterly. "Yeah, Dad. Just peachy. Thanks for asking. I've only been home, what? Eight months?"

The silence resumed, and this time it was Hutch who broke it. "How's Mom?"

"Your mother's fine."

"Good."

Starsky watched the two, then rose and went into the kitchen. He puttered, filling the coffeepot with water, adding the grounds and turning it on. He waited where he was, leaning against the counter and watching the two men sit in the living room and not speak. He shook his head. He didn't understand Hutch's family at all.

When the coffee was done, he filled mugs, then set them on a tray along with milk and sugar and carried it out. He set the tray on the coffee table, saying, "Help yourself."

Hutch reached out and took a cup. "Thanks, Starsk."

Hutch's father also took a cup, sipping before he said, "Contrary to what my son has told you, Mr. Starsky, I am not a monster."

Starsky shrugged. "None of my business."

The silence stretched again and then Hutch put his cup down and asked, "How's Patricia?"

"She's fine, too. So are Thomas and the children." Hutch's dad looked at Starsky. "Patricia is Kenneth's sister."

Starsky 'hmmmed' noncommittally. "His younger sister."

"Dad ..." Hutch growled warningly.

His father ignored him. "She's been married for fifteen years. Two kids."

Hutch looked at Starsky. "Thomas works for Dad's law firm."

The silence crashed down around them again.

At last, the doorbell rang and Starsky and Hutch both jumped up to answer it. Starsky made it, leaving Hutch standing in the living room.

"Mr. Allman," Starsky said, reaching out to shake the lawyer's hand.

The lawyer came in, passing a folder over and Hutch opened it. "Is this it?" Hutch asked, holding up several sheets of paper that were stapled together.

The man nodded. "That's it, but ..."

"Where do I sign?" Hutch asked roughly.

"Kenneth!" his father exclaimed.

"Mr. Hutchinson," the lawyer said, looking from Hutch to his father, "I'm sure we can get them to raise the offer if you just give me ..."

"Where do I sign?" Hutch asked again, flipping through the pages.

"Kenneth ..." his father said warningly. "Be reasonable."

Hutch gave a grunt of satisfaction, then leaned over and scrawled his name across the bottom of the last page. He passed it back to the lawyer and ordered, "Witness it."

Allman looked from father to son, then shrugged and signed.

"Get it to the department. Tell them I've accepted their offer." He glared at his father.

"This is absurd, Kenneth," his father sputtered. "You could have easily gotten three times that -- quite possibly even more."

"It's not about the money, Dad," Hutch said, running his hands through his hair. "There isn't enough money in the world for what happened to me."

"They're responsible," his father insisted. "They should pay."

"No, Dad," Hutch replied. "They're not responsible. They made some bad decisions, cutting off my pay, forcing me to lose my place, but they're not responsible. The man responsible is rotting in a jail cell, and a hundred thousand dollars, five hundred thousand dollars, a million dollars -- none of it will ever erase the memory of what he did to me!" He sagged in exhaustion and Starsky stepped over to him, leading him to the couch and settling him, then standing over him like a mother lion over her cubs. Hutch dropped his head, cradling it in his hands.

"You should go, Sir," Starsky said, amending it with, "You both should."

"Are you sure about this?" Allman asked.

"File it," Hutch grated out without looking up.

Hutch's father stared at him for a moment longer, then stalked away, muttering, "Stubborn bastard," as he went through the door and slammed it behind him.

Hutch's lawyer followed more slowly. "Tell him I'll send him copies," he said, looking over his shoulder at the man who sat dejectedly on the couch, "and he should have a check in a couple of days."

Starsky nodded. "Thanks for coming over so quickly."

"Is he okay?" the lawyer asked.

Starsky nodded. "He will be."

"I was just talking -- in the bar. It's an interesting case. I didn't mention his name." The man dropped his head in embarrassment. "I had no idea they were related," he said. "I'm so sorry."

Starsky chuckled at the unintentional double meaning. "Yeah," he agreed, "we're all sorry Hutch is related to that son of a bitch."

Day 252 - November 26, 1981 - Thanksgiving

"David?" Deborah Starsky called as she knocked on his bedroom door. "Go get Ken and see if he wants to eat something before I start cooking again. I'm gonna be busy and there won't be any space to make something later."

The door opened and Starsky peeked out, his hair sticking out in all directions. "Ma, if we want to cook, we can use Hutch's kitchen."

"I don't think so," his mother said, rolling her eyes, as she began to press his wayward curls down. "I'm using it, too."

"Quit," Starsky said, pulling away with a smile. "You've already made enough food to feed an army, Ma."

"We are feeding an army," Deborah Starsky answered. "Harold and Edith, Cal and Rosie, Pete, Betsy, and the baby, Huggy -- I don't believe that man doesn't have a real name -- and you and Ken. That's an army."

"And you," Starsky said, wrapping his arms around his mother's plump waist and dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

"And me," she agreed contentedly as she leaned against her son. "Now," she said, straightening, "go see what Kenny wants to do and let me get to work."

"Shower, Ma," Starsky said. "I need a shower. And coffee."

"Ken first, then you can shower. I'll make coffee, then I've got work to do."

Starsky rolled his eyes but padded obediently to the door and crossed the hall, knocking once, then letting himself in. He was back in a minute. "He's asleep, Ma."

"Well, wake him, David! I don't have all day. It's already 7:30 and we have to be there at 2:00."

Starsky gave up and went back across the hall. When he returned this time, he was towing a still-yawning Hutch, who was barefoot and bare-chested, only a robe thrown over his shorts.

"Morning," Hutch said, accepting the cup of coffee Starsky's mother pressed on him.

"How come he gets ..." Starsky whined, only to be interrupted by his own cup of coffee and gentle smack on the cheek.

"I thought something light," Deborah said. "We don't want to do more than take the edge off our appetite." She looked around, then spied a loaf of homemade bread made by Officer Polski's wife. "How about some cheese toast?" she asked, grabbing the bread and beginning to slice. She turned and looked at her son. "Get the cheese out Davey, and you, Ken, find a cookie sheet."

Both men put down their cups and followed orders and were then shooed out of the kitchen for the few minutes the actual toast making required. After they'd eaten, Starsky looked at Hutch and said, "She wants your kitchen, too."

Hutch looked at Starsky's mother and said in concern, "My kitchen? Why?"

Starsky snorted. "Why? She's cooking and it's available, that's why." He rose and scratched his chest, then said, "I'm gonna shower." Wrinkling his nose in mock disgust, he added, "Maybe you should, too."

Hutch flushed and rose, "Cute, Starsk. Very cute." He walked into the kitchen and grabbed Starsky's mom in a hug. "Your son's picking on me," he complained, laughing when she pushed him away.

"Stop, the two of you." She looked at Hutch, taking him in from bottom to top. "You're bigger than him. And it looks like you're ready to take him on if you had to."

Hutch flushed again, but smiled. "Yeah." He glanced over at Starsky, then looked back at his mom. "Glad I don't have to."

Deborah reached out, took both of Hutch's hands in hers and said, "I'm so proud of you, Kenny. You've come so far. It's just -- incredible."

Still flushed, he ducked his head, but she reached up and nudged him, waiting for him to look at her. "Today is Thanksgiving, a time to give thanks, and I am giving thanks that you are here, with us, adding joy to every day of our lives."

Starsky's voice was rough as he said, "Amen."

Hutch closed his eyes, then reached out blindly and pulled the woman into his arms. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I'm so glad you're here."

Dinner was at Huggy's and it took two trips to bring in all the food Deborah had prepared. It was added to the staples already supplied by Edith and Betsy. The Bear himself had prepared the turkeys and a ham.

Once all the food had been spread out, once everyone was seated, Dobey rose and said, "It's long been a tradition in our family that on this day, each of us share at least one thing that we have in our lives for which we are grateful. Today, I feel my cup runneth over. There are so many things I could list." He turned and looked at his wife. "My beautiful and loving wife, my children," he looked around the table, "good friends, good health, a good job. I am truly blessed. But I think we can all agree, that the greatest thing we have to be thankful for this year, is that our good friend, Ken Hutchinson, has been returned to us." He cleared his throat and paused a moment, then lifted his glass and said, "To Hutch!"

The cry was echoed around the tables as glasses clinked and hugs were exchanged.

Hutch rose. "I ..." He cleared his throat and began again. "I -- Sometimes I can't believe I'm here." He looked at the smiling, expectant faces. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for all you. Cap'n -- you made 'em keep a job for me -- you wouldn't let 'em write me off. Hug -- I know what you did for Starsk, making him eat, making him sleep. Making him take care of himself. And Pete -- you kept Starsky safe, you took care of him for me." He wiped his face, then looked at Edith, Cal, and Rosie. "You welcomed me into your home, made me comfortable, made me feel I belonged. And someday, Cal, I'm gonna figure out how to beat you on that game," he added with a grin, before turning to Starsky's mom.

"Mama Starsky," he said, smiling gently. "Long distance love. I've never had that, you know?" She nodded and reached up to take his hand for a moment.

Hutch paused again, then sipped from his glass before he reached across the table and touched the baby's hand briefly. "Betsy, you and Pete named your son after me -- I am still so in awe that I am even a tiny part of this wonderful little person." He looked at Betsy. "You were as much my babysitter as the Dobey's, and you didn't even know me."

"Not babysitter," Betsy said softly, "friend."

Hutch nodded. "I needed friends so much." He looked at Starsky, his eyes shining with tears. "I don't even have words for you, babe," he said quietly. "You are just -- everything." He dropped his head, lifting his napkin and wiping his face. "Not friends," he said softly, looking around the table. "Not friends at all." His voice broke as he said, "Family."

"Damn!" Starsky sighed, rubbing his full belly. "This is the life!" He leaned against the back of the couch and stretched his legs out, propping them on top of the coffee table, his feet crossed at the ankles.

"I know what you mean," Hutch agreed as he settled next to his partner. "Good food, good friends." He turned and looked into Starsky's eyes. "Good -- company." His legs stretched out as well, his thighs pressed tightly against Starsky's, feet resting on the table. He leaned to his right slightly, his shoulder brushing up against Starsky's and cocked his head at an angle.

Starsky's head moved left slowly, until he touched Hutch and dark hair mingled with silver-gold.

Hutch sighed, poised on the edge of the moment, then closed his eyes and murmured, "Life is so good."

End

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