What Does It Take?

What Does It Take

K Hanna Korossy

Written: 1996

House Blend 2 (2004)

"Did you know 'odontophobia' means 'fear of teeth'?" Dave Starsky looked up at his partner with animation.

Ken Hutchinson sighed. He was usually all for his partner improving himself, but this latest kick was getting old very quickly. "Starsky, for the last time, I don't care. I've gotta finish this report for Dobey before I leave and I'm never going to get it done if you keep interrupting me with that useless trivia!"

Starsky flared at the insult of his newest hobby. "It is not useless trivia! Your problem is your vocabulary's stopped growin'. Well, not me, brother—I'm expanding my vocabulary to its full potential."

"Where'd you read that?" Hutch raised an eyebrow at him.

Starsky grinned sheepishly. "Right here on the back of this book." At Hutch's expression, his voice became defensive. "It's a great book! It's called How to Double your Vocabulary in Twenty Days. Only cost ten bucks."

"Starsky, when are you going to learn not to believe everything you read? Do you have any idea how long it would take to actually double your vocabulary?" Hutch's tone was one of long-practiced patience.

"Twenty days," Starsky said confidently.

Hutch shut his eyes and shook his head. "I give up," he muttered, turning back to his report. He finished typing and pulled the sheet out of the typewriter before scrawling his name on the bottom and dropping it in the tray. Then he stood and pulled his jacket on while Starsky watched him with a slightly wounded expression. "You'd better finish your report, too, or you're going to be here all night," Hutch said unsympathetically.

"You're goin' home?" Starsky sounded like he was being abandoned.

"Yes. I'm actually going to get some sleep. You know, like in a bed instead of in that crackerjacks box you call a car. I'll see you in the morning."

Starsky pouted until his partner left, then turned back to his reports with a grin. Hutch would never admit it, but Starsky could see the glint of humor in the blue eyes. Good thing he was around or his partner would lead an incredibly boring life. He whistled happily to the empty squadroom as he finished up the last of his paperwork.

The phone was ringing, he could hear it as he struggled with the key in the lock. Why was it he only had trouble with the key when the phone was ringing? With a muttered curse, Starsky finally yanked the door open and dove for the telephone across the room in the kitchen. "Starsky," he gulped into it, trying to catch his breath.

"Detective Starsky?"

The voice was unfamiliar, and Starsky immediately made a note of it. A male in his twenties or thirties, unaccented, nervous. "Yeah, who's this?" he asked.

"That's not important. But it took you long enough to get through the door; you almost didn’t make it."

Starsky's blood chilled at the implication. "Listen, whoever you are—"

This time the voice was more controlled and cut him off smoothly. "No, you listen, Detective, and listen good. Take a look at your bed, and don't forget, I'm watching you." There was a click, and the dial tone began a moment later.

Starsky stared at the receiver in his hand for a long moment, then slammed it down and dashed into the bedroom. Everything seemed to be in order, or at least as much in order as he had left it. But something....

He moved around to the head of the bed and jerked the blanket off in one quick move. And almost fell back at the cloud of white that rose from the bed. Where his pillow had been, there were only shreds of fabric and a pile of feathers that, thanks to him, now floated all over the room. Nothing else had been disturbed that he could see.

Starsky went back into the outer room and opened the front door, surveying its edge. It didn't look forced. Whoever had come in had either come in another way, or was very good at what they did.

Feelings of déja vu went through his head, and Starsky slowly sank down onto the sofa to sort them out. Threats were common enough in their line of work, but very few of them came to anything, and the ones that did usually didn't involve games and intimidation that this fruitcake seemed to be fond of. In fact, the only case he could remember like this was... Starsky quickly leaned forward and grabbed the telephone, almost dropping it in his haste before he could dial the number.

"'Lo." The voice was decidedly unfriendly, possibly because it was layered with sleep.

"Hutch, 's me. You asleep?"

"Of course, I'm asleep. It's—“ There was a long pause and a muffled oath as Hutch found his watch. "It's 1:14." There was a momentary hesitation, then concern edged out the testiness in his voice. "Something wrong?"

"Yeah. Someone's doin' an Artie Solkin job on me."

"What! Are you okay?" All the sleepiness was gone.

Starsky sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine, but my pillow will never be the same again."

"I'll be right over."

"You don't have to do that. I doubt he's gonna bother me twice in one night." So who was he trying to convince, Hutch or himself?

Apparently neither. "I'll be right over," Hutch repeated, then hung up.

Starsky replaced the receiver and leaned back on the sofa. He felt irrationally better at the thought that his partner would soon be there to take away some of the silence of the suddenly menacing apartment. Whatever nutcase was out there, he wasn't anything the two of them couldn't handle together. Just like they had Solkin when he’d started leaving nasty surprises for Hutch in an attempt to terrorize the blond.

Hutch arrived fifteen minutes later, overnight bag in hand, and, after helping clean up the mess in the bedroom, accepted Starsky's offer of the bed in deference to his bad back. Starsky camped out on the couch, but neither of them got much sleep the rest of the night.

The next morning, they were in Dobey's office before he was.

Dobey listened silently to Starsky's narration, glancing once at Hutch, who nodded briefly in confirmation.

"You finished the McRory case yesterday, didn't you?" Dobey finally asked.

"Yeah, Cap'n, we wrapped it up before we left last night."

Dobey frowned at Starsky. "Is there anything else you're working on right now that this could be coming from? Anybody who could be following up on a recent threat?"

This time Hutch answered. "We can't think of anyone, Captain, not recently. Of course, that doesn't mean...."

"I know." Dobey looked at them both briefly, Hutch watching and listening from the depths of the chair he was folded into, Starsky standing next to him, full of manic energy, unable to sit still, but never more than an arm's length away from his partner. Both equally tense. Dobey sighed. "All right, Starsky, I'm going to order a tracer and a recorder put on your phone in case your friend calls again. And then you'd better start pulling files on recent releases and parolees who might be back in town looking to settle some score." He leaned an elbow on his desk and pointed his pencil at Starsky. "And I want you to keep me informed. That psycho even breathes your way again, I'm going to place you into protective custody."

Starsky opened his mouth to protest.

"I don't want to hear it," Dobey cut him off impatiently. "I told you before, no private parties. If someone has a beef with one of my officers, he's going to have to go through the whole department to get to him." He lowered his voice a little. "I don't have to remind you what happened with Solkin, do I?"

Starsky glanced at Hutch, who flinched at the name. Solkin himself would be in jail for many years to come, but there wasn't going to be another like him, Starsky would make sure of that. At least the creep was out to get him this time, not Hutch. Starsky nodded silently to Dobey, then placed a hand on Hutch's shoulder, feeling the tension in the stiff shoulders. The touch was allowed, though, and then Hutch pulled himself up out of the chair and gave him a quick look as he preceded Starsky out the door. Starsky almost smiled to himself. No, neither of them was about to let it be another Solkin.

The day had been bone-wearily fruitless. Miles of computer print-outs and paperwork that all came down to one thing—they had no suspects. No recent prison releases, no escapees or parolees, no known enemies back in town, let alone someone who would have a grudge against Starsky alone. Even Huggy had come up empty-handed.

"Big fat zero," Starsky grumbled as he slammed the umpteenth file shut. "I can't believe that out of all the guys we put away, there isn't a single one around with revenge on his mind."

Hutch looked up with a slight smile. "That's supposed to be good news, Starsk."

Starsky wasn't so easily mollified, though his voice settled a little. "Yeah, except someone had to have played slice 'n dice with my pillow."

Hutch grew serious. "Right. Well, maybe they just wanted to shake you up a little and now they've gotten it out of their system."

"Like Diana?" Starsky shot back, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

A flash of pain crossed Hutch's face and was immediately stifled.

"I'm sorry, Hutch, I didn't mean that, I was just soundin' off," Starsky said contritely.

Hutch gave him a genuine smile. "S'okay." Starsky was still looking at him anxiously. "Come on, buy me a burger," Hutch patted his arm playfully as he rose.

The thought of food quickly cheered Starsky. "Yeah?" he said, perking up. Then, as a second thought, "Hey, why am I buyin'?"

"'Cause we're gonna eat it at your place, so you're the host." Hutch was at the door before Starsky worked that one out and hurried to join him, already protesting loudly.

The apartment door was ajar when they got there. Hutch noticed it first and put down the bag that he was carrying and drew his gun as he motioned to Starsky. Starsky followed suit, and they each got on one side of the door. Familiar pattern, even if it still made Starsky cringe whenever he did it. Hutch nudged the door open with his foot and it swung silently open a little before stopping. Nothing. A soundless count of three, and they crashed through it, Starsky going in low, Hutch high, as always. Nothing stirred in the empty apartment.

Starsky slowly stood and made his way around the apartment, Hutch doing the same. It was empty. They ended up meeting in the middle of the living room, and finally holstered their guns. Hutch was watching his partner warily, looking as though he wanted to say something but wasn't. Starsky was just about to ask him what when the phone rang.

They were instantly in motion, in synch again. Hutch headed into the bedroom and the extension in there, while Starsky moved to the kitchen, wishing they had gotten the recorder installed, and picked up the phone. "Starsky."

"Hello, Detective." It was the same voice. "I have to leave soon, but I wanted to do something for you first. Have you washed your hands yet?"

Starsky's voice was as puzzled as he felt. "No...."

"Pity. Well, you must have been too busy looking for me. Clever of you to bring your partner along for back-up; it's just too bad I couldn't stick around to chat with him. But like I said, I have to be going. You may hear from me again, or you may not. It's been a pleasure, Detective Starsky." The line went dead.

Starsky looked up as his partner strode out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. Starsky frowned—washing hands? He hurried after Hutch.

Hutch was standing in front of the sink, and he silently stepped aside to make way, watching Starsky as he did.

The white sink was splattered liberally with wet paint. Blood red.

Starsky threw the finished report into the tray on his desk and stretched. His sofa was bearable, but Hutch's was lumpy and two nights on it were about all Starsky could handle. But it was the only other option Dobey had allowed them besides setting up in a hotel. Still, there had been no phone calls or visitors to his place in the two days he had been playing sleepover at his partner's; it looked like his shadow really had gone, just as he'd said.

Starsky glanced over at his partner, whose attention was completely taken with trying to eat a sandwich with one hand and type with the other. Starsky grinned at the sight—Hutch never used to eat at his desk before. Maybe he really was corrupting his friend. Starsky took advantage of Hutch's preoccupation and slipped out of his chair to Dobey's office.

"Cap'n, you got a minute?"

Dobey looked up from his paperwork and motioned him in. Starsky glanced once more back at Hutch, still absorbed in his work, then slid through the door and shut it behind him. He stood in front of Dobey's desk, watching the captain's every move until Dobey finally looked up at him with impatience.

"What is it?"

"Cap'n, I'd like to go home again. I think I'm wearin’ out my welcome with Hutch, and the guy hasn't called my place in two days. He said he was leaving—"

"Yeah, but he also said he might come back," Dobey cut in.

"Look, we don't know that, and I can't spend the rest of my life hiding out at Hutch's in case this turkey ever decides to show up again." Starsky raised his eyebrows hopefully at the captain.

Dobey considered for a moment. "What does Hutchinson think?"

Starsky made a face; he'd been hoping to avoid that. "Well, Cap'n, I haven't exactly talked to him about it yet. You know Hutch—he worries too much."

Dobey gave him an ironic glare that made Starsky fidget a little in embarrassment, but he wasn't backing down. After another long consideration, Dobey waved him off. "All right, go on. But if anything happens, I want to know about it right away, you hear me?" The last was bellowed at Starsky's back disappearing through the door. Starsky turned and gave him a happy grin before completing his retreat.

He came back into the squadroom and flopped down into his chair, then leaned forward to watch Hutch intently. He could feel his partner’s instant awareness of him, but Hutch resolutely didn't look up, continuing to eat and type in silence. Starsky continued to watch him intently, a grin playing at his mouth. It took another minute before Hutch gave in and looked up in exasperation.

"What?!"

Starsky smirked. "I'm groating."

Hutch's eyes widened with disbelief and his voice became cautious. "You're what?"

"I'm groating."

Hutch abandoned the typewriter and put his sandwich down. "Okay, I give up, what does it mean?"

Starsky's grinned grew with triumph. "It means 'staring at someone's plate in hopes they’ll give you some of their food'."

Hutch stared at him. "You're making that up!"

"No, it says it right here in the book," Starsky explained eagerly, pulling the dog-eared volume out from behind a stack of files, but Hutch was already shaking his head and ignoring him again. Starsky looked at him expectantly for a moment. Then, "So, can I?"

Hutch was engrossed with his typewriter. "Can you what?"

"Have some of your food?"

Hutch looked up at his partner again, who was watching him hopefully. With a sigh, he passed his plate over, and Starsky dug in with relish. Hutch went back to work, but a moment later asked without looking up, "So what did Dobey want?"

"Dobey?" Starsky almost choked on his mouthful.

Hutch's expression matched the sarcasm of his tone. "Yeah, you know, our captain. Big guy, yells a lot, works out of that office over there." He ignored the face Starsky made.

"We were just talkin' about me goin' back home tonight."

Hutch's hands stilled and all humor left his face. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Starsky. You don't know if this guy's waiting for you to go home or what."

Starsky put on his most persuasive tone. "Aw, come on, I can't play hide-and-seek forever, and he hasn't even made a move in two days. Besides that, I think I'm going to turn into a pretzel if I keep sleepin' on that couch of yours." His eyes were serious despite his smile, and they did what all his explaining couldn't have. Hutch got the message.

"Okay. But if anything happens...."

"Naturally."

Hutch's eyes were locked on his for a moment longer until the matter was decided, then they each settled back into the familiar rhythm of work.

Despite Starsky's bravado, he still felt a little uneasy as he approached his door that evening. One hand slipped into his jacket for reassurance, and he opened the door slowly and silently, almost wishing he hadn't talked Hutch out of coming home with him for a while. He moved into the apartment stealthily and looked about. Nothing obvious, but then this guy was rarely obvious. Carefully, Starsky made the rounds, checking the bathroom and bedroom in particular, but everything seemed fine. By degrees, he began to relax and took his jacket off, keeping his holster on. Finally, he went into the kitchen and began to poke around for something to eat for dinner.

The phone rang just as he opened the refrigerator door.

He tensed and stared at it for a moment, and it rang again before he reached out and grabbed it.

"Starsky!" It came out more forcefully than he intended.

"Hey, it's me."

Starsky slumped against the wall. Trust Hutch.... "Hi, ‘me.’ Whaddaya want?"

"Nothing. How is everything?"

Starsky smiled affectionately at the telephone. "Just fine, Mom. Go get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning, huh?"

There was a grin in the voice that came across the telephone, too. Neither one of them was fooling the other the least bit. "Okay. See ya."

"Bye." Starsky hung up the telephone and gazed at it for a moment before reaching up to unsnap his holster. He suddenly felt tired, and the quiet bedroom didn't seem so ominous anymore.

A week passed, and then two. Another serial killer began to prey on the female population of L.A., and Dobey put them on the case, the work absorbing all their attention. Even vocabulary building was abandoned in the investigation, and the mysterious calls were quickly forgotten along with all the other threats they'd received and ignored in their career. Most of their enemies did seem content to let out their anger in useless threats and on helpless pillows and bathroom sinks.

The phone was ringing again as Starsky struggled to open the door, and he swore for the hundredth time he was going to do something about his key. The door finally opened and he lunged across the living room for the phone. "Starsky."

"Hello, Detective Sergeant Starsky. Missed me?"

He was so preoccupied, it took a few seconds to recognize his mystery caller. But the dread had worn off a long time ago, and all Starsky felt now was annoyance. "Whaddaya want, creep? You gonna tell me, or are we gonna keep playin' the game?"

The voice lost all its feigned congeniality. "Oh, this is no game, Detective, this is very real. Only, this time the stakes are going up. Now that I've got your attention, I'll tell you what I'm really calling about. One Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson, First Class; 1027 1/2 Ocean. Likes music, plants and health food. Is that enough, or do you want me to go on?"

Starsky’s throat constricted. The words were hard to grind out. "You lay a finger on him, and...."

"Oh, I'm not interested in him, I'm interested in you both, as partners. You see, it's very simple. If you want Hutchinson to stay alive and in one piece, you're going to have to find another partner. He's only in danger as long as you two stay together. And you have one week to make it happen, Sergeant. I'll be in touch."

Starsky opened his mouth to respond, but the connection was already broken. He hung up the phone slowly, shaken, and sat down on the couch. If you want Hutchinson to stay alive and in one piece.... But what did anyone have to gain by splitting them up? And why threaten Hutch and not him? None of it made any sense.

His first impulse was to call his partner, tell him what was going on, but Starsky didn't know, himself. And…there was no need to spook Hutch just yet. After all, maybe it was just bluster like the previous threats had appeared to be. Hutch was fine and Starsky had a week to figure it out. A week until Hutch could get hurt just because he's my partner....

Starsky squelched the voice as he got up to go to bed. But he wasn't so sure anymore.

"Rosie brought donuts down just a few minutes ago; you want one?" his partner greeted him with a smile and a plate full of food. Two things Starsky usually loved, but which he couldn't quite muster the enthusiasm for this morning.

"No, thanks, I'm not hungry." Starsky pulled out his chair and sat down to get to work.

Hutch studied him speculatively. "What's wrong with you?"

Starsky shrugged it off. "Nothing. I'm just not hungry. Did you get that autopsy report back on Hopkins?"

Hutch was still watching him, his mind on something other than the case as he answered. "No, I was just about to go down for it. You wanna come?"

Starsky looked up, mouth already framing a negative reply when he caught Hutch's expression. He pushed his chair back from his desk. "Sure, always love to start my morning with a good autopsy." He added a slight version of his twisted grin and saw his partner relax at his effort. Starsky's throat constricted. Sometimes it took so little.... He hoped the day would go by quickly.

It didn't, of course. The phone call had rattled him more than he thought, and apparently it showed. Hutch knew when to pry and when not to, but it didn't keep him from trying to loosen up Starsky. And each attempt made Starsky feel worse. It was a relief to finally call it a day and get away from those damnably perceptive blue eyes he couldn't seem to hide anything from.

Starsky had wondered once if it was a unique ability of Hutch's to be able to read him like that, or if they'd just known each other too long to keep secrets from one another. Both, he supposed. Not that it mattered. It just confirmed what was perhaps the most real truth in his life, that there was no way on earth he was going to take a chance losing someone like that.

It was a long and lonely evening at home. Hutch had invited him over for beer and pizza, a usually irresistible combination, but Starsky knew he wouldn't be able to handle another few hours of ducking questions and speculative glances. And the love and worry in those eyes was more than he could bear. So he had bowed out, giving Hutch further cause for concern, and resigned himself to an evening at home. Maybe he could use it to sort some things out.

This time, Starsky had been home almost an hour when the phone rang. He dropped the plate he'd been holding and shuddered as it crashed to the floor, then steeled himself to pick up the phone.

"Starsky!"

"Hello, Detective Starsky, having a bad day?"

"Look, you creep, why don't you just come out and face me, one on one, instead of playing these cowardly little games, huh? Or are you too chicken?" he hissed.

"Really, Sergeant, there's no need to lose your temper like that. Besides, I already told you, I'm not going to harm Sergeant Hutchinson. I wouldn't dream of it. All I want is a simple little favor. Would you like to go to the front door and see what's outside? I'll hold on." The voice sounded downright pleasant.

Starsky dropped the phone onto the counter and went to open the door. There was a single photograph lying on his doormat, and he picked it up with a sick feeling. It was a candid photo of Hutch, apparently taken without his knowledge as he watered his plants. In his apartment.

Starsky grabbed the phone and paused a moment to steady himself before he spoke. "Yeah, I got it, so what?"

"Oh, Sergeant, you disappoint me. Don't you realize that I can do whatever I want? One way or another, he's not going to be your partner much longer."

"Look, we're not that close, so if this is your way of gettin' to me..." Starsky blustered, hating the words even as he said them.

"Really, Sergeant," the voice chided, "your reputation precedes you." Then it suddenly became chillingly cold now. "You have six days left."

The line went dead and Starsky absently hung up the phone, then suddenly grabbed it again, dialing a number quickly.

"Hello?"

"Hutch? Uh, what's up?"

"I'm about to go out the door. Why, is any..."

"No, no," Starsky said quickly. "Just wanted to see if...you wanted me to pick you up tomorrow."

Maybe a little too quickly. He could hear Hutch's puzzlement. "Uh, no, that's okay. I gotta run some errands first, anyway." He was letting Starsky take the lead.

"Okay. Have a good time tonight."

He could hear the smothered smile. "Thanks, I always have a great time at the grocery store." There was a pause. "Starsk, you sure you're okay?"

Starsky sighed inaudibly. "I'm fine, quit worryin'. See ya in the mornin'."

"Okay. Bye."

Starsky hung up the phone. Hutch was fine, just like the man said. Apparently, the picture had only been a demonstration. And a warning. Hutch's life or Hutch as a partner. What kind of a choice was that? It was weird, crazy. And they weren't just partners anymore, they were pals, best friends. But the job, the unity of purpose had still been at the bottom of that friendship, part of the foundation it had been built on. Someday, he could see both of them leaving the Force, doing something else, but together, always together.

And here he was, ready to risk all that, to risk Hutch. His shadow had already effortlessly gotten into his apartment twice and seemed very capable of doing what he threatened. This wasn’t the usual brand of threats they received, and Starsky was terrified this time they would be carried out. Simply because they were partners. He couldn't let that happen, not to Hutch.

But that was ridiculous. Break up their partnership because a faceless voice told him to? Wasn’t it possible that he was further endangering Hutch this way? It was just stupid, just....

Playing with Hutch’s life.

If his shadow had wanted to hurt the blond, he clearly could have done so. The camera he’d taken Hutch’s close-up with could have just as easily been a gun. And maybe this didn’t have to be a permanent break, just long enough to give him a little more time to figure out who this was.

The thought made Starsky feel better. Yeah, separating for a few days, maybe a week or two, wouldn’t be so bad, and if it kept Hutch safe, well, that was all that mattered. And if he couldn’t find the guy and it turned into longer than that.... Starsky swallowed. No point thinking that way. The only way he’d ever be able to bear doing this was if he considered this temporary. To keep Hutch safe, Starsky would do anything.

Hutch. Hutch would never go for it, Starsky knew that. Not while Starsky was the one who was receiving the phone calls and coming home to unpleasant surprises. No, Hutch would be stubborn about it, and this time that could cost him his life. For it to work, Hutch wouldn't even be able to know about it.

Which left Starsky no choice at all.

He had never dreaded going to work before. Not after his birthday bash the year before when he'd had a hangover the size of Canada; not when Dobey had gotten really mad and put them on traffic detail for a week. He liked his job, and even when he didn't, there was always Hutch there to make it enjoyable. Starsky wondered absently when that had changed, when it wasn't just the job anymore, but rather the Job and Hutch.

Well, it didn't make any difference now.

The sleepless night before made it easier to be unpleasant than he'd thought, but it still hurt.

"Good morning," came the cheerful greeting from his partner as Starsky walked in the door. Hutch being a morning person was always incomprehensible to him.

"Is it?" he responded testily.

Hutch looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "What side of the bed did you get up on this morning?"

Starsky glowered back in genuine ill-humor. "'M just sick of everybody tryin' to tell me how to feel."

Hutch put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. I just got the lab report back on our third victim, one Gwen Robertson. You wanna see it, or is it too early in the morning for that?"

Starsky grabbed it out of his hand without bothering to reply.

It was going to be one long day.

Actually, as miserable as he was, the ill humor came without any effort on his part. It was Hutch’s reactions, annoyed on the surface, hurt and bewildered in the eyes, that made it sheer torture. And like a vicious cycle, Hutch’s pain was his own, making him feel even more lousy and snappish.

And yet, Hutch kept trying.

“Robertson lived about ten miles from the other two victims and they didn’t work, go to church, or hang out at night at the same places. What else does that leave?”

Starsky just shrugged unconcernedly and kept reading his report. He could hear Hutch’s sigh.

“Starsk?” It was said softly, a private inquiry as to how he was doing rather than a demand for an answer. And its kind tone was like salt in the wound.

“I don’t know,” he looked up, growling impatiently. “Maybe the guy just felt like goin’ after her. Not everything happens for a reason, Hutch."

There was a moment of anger, not the first. But as each time before, concern won over the irritation. “That would kinda make our job useless, then, buddy, wouldn’t it?” Hutch offered with a small smile.

“Fine!” Starsky slammed his file shut. “You work on it. I’m goin’ to get something to eat."

It didn’t take eyes on the back of his head to know his partner sat, deflated, staring after him in confusion and concern.

By the afternoon, even Hutch's determined good mood was beginning to fray. Usually, they balanced each other, each compensating for the other's downtimes and mood swings. But Starsky was not only unfriendly, he was downright hostile, and his partner, normally so adept at reading even the most subtle signals from his friend, was busily trying to ignore the obvious malice Starsky treated him with. Starsky was getting more and more frustrated, himself. Come on, Hutchinson, snap back. How much are you gonna let me get away with? Can't you tell I'm tryin' to pick a fight?

He couldn't remember being this tired before, either, working hard against the very thing that usually kept him going. But what ached most of all was seeing Hutch’s quiet hurt. His barbed comments were doing all the more damage because he knew just where to strike, and there were parts of his vulnerable partner that were open only to him. To take advantage of that unguardedness was unforgivable...or at least he was hoping so. Except Hutch worried far more about him than he ever had about himself, and he kept coming back for more. Starsky felt sick at the thought of how much damage it would take before Hutch finally cut him off. But at least he'll be safe. He'll get over it.

Only, what about me?

Leaving for home was a profound relief. He didn’t think he could face those guileless blue eyes any longer, even if a long evening alone at home was not appealing.

Running feet suddenly sounded behind him, and Starsky squeezed his eyes shut, knowing who they belonged to. No, leave me alone, please. He hurried on.

“Starsk?”

All his haste had achieved was that he’d reached the somewhat removed end of the corridor by the time his partner caught up to him, giving them more privacy than he wanted. Starsky winced, taking a deep breath as he turned. “What?”

“We need to talk." Still gentle but a little more forceful now, Hutch’s eyes stared into him as if determined to read his thoughts.

It wouldn’t have been the first time he had, and Starsky avoided his gaze. “Not now. I’ve gotta go."

His partner grasped his arm, not letting him go. “Where?”

“What’s it to ya?” he snapped, only half-faking his irritation at the prying. How dense could the blond be?

Hutch shrugged, his smile painful. “I thought maybe we could grab a beer and a pizza or something." Then, soberly, “You’re worrying me here—something’s eating at you, Starsk, and I want to know what it is. Here, at home, I don’t care, but talk to me."

“I wanna go out with some friends tonight,” Starsky said coolly, disengaging his hand from Hutch’s suddenly loose grasp. That hurt, he knew it did, because Hutch couldn’t have looked more stunned if his partner had slapped him. And something inside Starsky died a little more with that look.

Blindly, he turned and got out of there as fast as he could, and this time he wasn’t followed.

The next two days dragged on endlessly. Hutch had withdrawn into himself considerably, trying not to let Starsky’s ill will get to him, but he couldn’t seem to stop attempting to help his partner. So Starsky kept pushing and Hutch toughened a little with each volley, giving back as good as he got sometimes, but the concern lingered in the blue eyes nevertheless.

The constant reminder of just what kind of friend he was pushing away was killing Starsky. It was only with the strictest reminders to himself that it could be a matter of his partner’s life that he was able to keep it going. Hutch had questioned him every way but outright asking, and Starsky had repelled all the probes and worried glances. He almost wished it were all over so he could avoid this idiot who seemed intent on loving him no matter what he did.

Their work was suffering, too, though it wasn't obvious yet. They weren't working the case out between them like they usually did, and there was too much baggage to effectively work separately, but Hutch valiantly continued to try to keep things going. As for Starsky, he didn't much care anymore. He knew which way things were heading and he had a few days left, and in the meantime, the late night phone calls had stopped. It was too much of an effort to worry about anything else beyond that.

"Starsky, maybe we should check Robertson's boyfriend again, uh…Previn. Something's not quite right about that story he gave us." Hutch's voice was strained as he looked up at him from the notebook he was flipping through.

Starsky turned the Torino more sharply than was necessary, and snapped, "Who died and made you the boss, partner?"

Hutch stared at him a moment, while Starsky staunchly ignored him, concentrating on his driving. Then said tersely, "Pull over."

He’d been waiting for this, but the coldness in the voice still shocked him. Hutch had never used that tone with him before. Starsky obeyed, pulling the car briskly to the curb, then let it idle as he faced his partner. Now or never. He was oddly relieved it would finally be over.

"What's going on, Starsky?" Hutch was watching him, wanting to forgive, still ready to listen, but his tone not allowing any retreat. This was it.

"I'm just sick of all this, this case, this job, this...this partnership. I'm sick of you mother-hennin' me every time I turn around. I'm a big boy now, and I don't need or want you around, in my face all the time." The words had come out in a rush. They sounded angry, but only he knew that they came from desperation.

Hutch wasn't breathing and had gone alarmingly pale. Start breathing, dummy, or you're going to pass out, was Starsky's only thought. What else was there to think when he had just gone out of his way to wreck the most precious thing in his life? It had already occurred to him that even once the threat was eliminated, there might not be repairing of the damage he was causing, and the reality of that choked him with despair. But what choice did he have anymore? He’d made his bed and now he had to lie in it.

There was a long minute while neither of them spoke or moved, then finally Hutch blew out a long, shaky breath.

"Are you...are you saying you want a new partner?" His voice was high and stuttering, like a little kid's.

Starsky couldn't bear to meet the anguished blue eyes anymore. He fixed his own firmly on the steering wheel. "Yeah. I think that would be best."

There was another long pause. He didn't have to look up to know that Hutch was trying to collect himself, trying to put pieces together that didn't fit. "Why?" was all that came out in the end, anger beginning to show.

Starsky heard all that was unspoken in that question. Don't you trust me anymore? Don't you love me like I do you? Did you ever? He shut the thoughts away down deep, or, God help him, he'd fall apart right there.

It's for his own good....

"Things change," he finally said. He'd give Hutch that much, at least the validation of their past together; then it would only be something good that had soured at the end.

"Okay," came the answer softly to interrupt his thoughts. He looked back at Hutch, who looked a little stunned. And very lost. He never could stay angry at someone who had hurt him, he just bled inside, silently.

Starsky began to panic. Please don't, I didn't mean it.... But Hutch wasn't reading him anymore. Starsky had shut that book.

"We can talk to Dobey when we get back." Hutch's voice was brittle, like he was on the verge of breaking, too.

Starsky didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded and pulled away from the curb, holding on to the steering wheel for dear life.

"You want to what?!"

Dobey was staring at them as though they'd lost their minds. Which, Hutch speculated, perhaps they had. Heaven knew, he didn't feel rational. He had seen this coming, at least for the last few days, but hadn't wanted to believe it, had thought it something passing, fixable, as everything else between them had ultimately been. Hutch couldn’t believe it, not if Starsky felt about him the way he did about Starsky. He had never doubted it before.

Hearing it with his own ears had been pretty convincing, though. Hutch had sat in the car a half an hour before and heard the words he had never expected to hear, coming calmly and rationally from Starsky's mouth. The dark blue eyes that were usually so open to him had become hooded and opaque with intensity. Starsky certainly had seemed rational enough. Maybe Hutch was the one who was losing it. But why? What happened here?

"Are you sure about this?" Dobey was asking.

"Yes, Cap'n," he heard his partner—Starsky say. Hutch couldn't bring himself to say anything, he just nodded.

Dobey was watching them closely, trying to figure it out. Don't bother, Cap'n, Hutch thought wearily. Doesn't make any sense at all.

"All right," Dobey finally said. "But it's going to take some time to find you both new partners. In the meantime, you're going to have to work together to finish the cases you're on."

Starsky looked like he was about to protest, then thought better of it. He nodded, and, without a side glance, walked out the door. Hutch rubbed his eyes for a moment, then turned to follow.

"Hutchinson."

He turned at the sound of Dobey's voice. "Yes, Captain?" he answered quietly.

"Is this a mutual decision?" Dobey was studying him again.

Hutch didn't have enough strength left to avoid the question. "If Starsky wants to split up, I'm not going to try and stop him."

Dobey leaned back in his chair. "So, it was his idea. That's what I thought. And what brought this about?" His voice had softened from the captain to the fatherly one.

Hutch responded to the concern unconsciously, dropping into the chair and shaking his head in frustration. "I don't know! Nothing happened, no fights, no crisis, just out of the blue, about a week ago, something changed." His head was beginning to pound and he massaged his forehead with his fingers. "I don't get it. I thought...."

Dobey didn't ask what. He was silent for a minute. "Something happened, we just don't know what it is. It's not like Starsky to give up like that; he must be under pressure from somewhere." He scratched his head with his pencil tip.

Hutch's head came up, his face rapt. "You mean like blackmail? Or a threat? But why wouldn't he tell me about it? And why would breaking up our partnership help?" He stared expectantly at Dobey.

"How should I know?!" Dobey burst out in annoyance, but at Hutch's expression, he subsided again. “Has he…been to the doctor lately?”

Hutch, already pale, turned white. “You think he got some bad news? That he’s trying to push me away before—”

“I don’t think anything,” Dobey said curtly. “I’m just trying to figure out why the two closest partners I’ve ever seen suddenly don’t want to work together anymore."

“One partner,” Hutch quietly amended.

The captain sighed, pursed his lips for a moment, then looked up at Hutch again. "Did anything ever happen with those anonymous phone threats Starsky was receiving?"

"No, they stopped a few weeks ago," Hutch answered absently, then turned back to Dobey with dawning realization. "But that might explain...."

Dobey was nodding slowly, then, seeming to make a decision, reached for the phone. "I'm going to authorize you to pick up a phone tap and receiver." He looked up at Hutch, who was beginning to rise out of his chair. "I'll keep Starsky busy on some backlog work—that'll give you about an hour to get over there and set up before he gets home."

"Thanks, Cap'n." The appreciation was heartfelt, if hurried, as Hutch headed for the door.

"Hutchinson!" Dobey called out after him, one hand cupped over the receiver. "If anyone finds out that we tapped a phone without a warrant, we're both going to be in a lot of trouble." He looked meaningfully at Hutch.

Hutch smiled broadly. For the first time in days, he felt hope. "Me, tap somebody's phone illegally? I wouldn't dream of it." He winked at Dobey before he turned back to the door.

Dobey swallowed a grin of his own as he turned his attention back to his work.

The captain called him in first thing the next morning.

"Well?" he looked expectantly at Hutch, who looked suspiciously as though he hadn't slept the night before.

"Nothing. Not a single call, legitimate or otherwise." The frustration that clouded Hutch's face also started him pacing anxiously. "I know this has got to be it, Cap'n. It feels right." Little enough felt right those days. It had to be the answer.

Dobey nodded. "I'm going to make your and Starsky's re-assignments official today." He ignored the stricken look that passed over the blond's face. "If anyone's watching for it, that might get them to make their move."

Hutch nodded glumly. "Yeah, I guess so." His voice didn't carry much hope.

"What?" Dobey barked at him sharply.

Hutch pulled himself together, the detective taking over again. "Yes, sir. You're right." He shrugged, tried a grin. "That might be exactly what they're waiting for." It didn’t make sense —that was just bizarre, someone forcing Starsky somehow into breaking them up. Why? Was Starsky worried Hutch would get hurt if someone was out to get the brunet? But why not just tell Hutch? Why the whole masquerade?

If it was just a masquerade.

But there had been despair in his partner’s eyes the day before, not just anger, Hutch was sure of it. And it was the only thing that gave him any hope for an easy conclusion to this whole mess. He searched Dobey's face for some kind of confirmation to latch onto.

Dobey gave it to him, probably more than he felt. "Right," he said confidently. "Now, just keep hanging in there. Don't forget, Starsky's probably having a tougher time with this than you are."

Hutch nodded silently; it was something he had thought of, also, but that didn't help. It would've been easier to be mad at Starsky than to know he was suffering, too, and not be able to help him. Boy, are we both a mess, he thought ruefully.

He walked out of Dobey's office and made his way around to his desk, circling Starsky, his former partner studiously absorbed in his work. Ah, Starsk, why won't you tell me? Hutch sighed softly and settled down to make some phone calls.

Somehow, Hutch made it through the day. As if by mutual agreement, they both gave each other a wide berth, and the effort was exhausting. It hadn’t helped that the glimpses he'd gotten of his friend showed a Starsky apparently dejected and worn out. Whatever was going on under that dark mop of his, he wasn't taking it any better than Hutch was.

News got around the station fast. Every time Hutch looked up, people were staring at them, whispering about them. Starsky and Hutch, the legendary team, broken up for no apparent cause. Dobey had gone out of his way to spread the news, and although Hutch knew that was what they wanted, it didn't make it any easier to take.

He fled the moment Dobey let them go. It was an incredible relief, getting away from the prying eyes and gossiping tongues, but most of all from the despondent figure sitting across from him all day, unreachably far away. Hutch wondered if he himself radiated such misery and loneliness, then decided he didn't want to know.

The monitor sat silently on the coffee table, and it was the first thing Hutch went to as he entered his apartment. Satisfied it was on, he tossed his jacket on the sofa and went into the kitchen for a beer.

A phone rang, and Hutch almost reached for his own before realizing it was coming through the receiver. Mouth suddenly dry, he forgot the beer and sat down to turn on the recorder and stare at the black box as though it could show him what was going on in the apartment several miles away. The phone rang a few times before it was picked up and he heard his partner—his friend's slightly winded voice.

"Starsky." Just came in the door.

An unfamiliar, almost friendly voice responded. "Hello, Detective Starsky."

"You again." Hutch could almost see Starsky tensing, but the voice was one of resignation more than anger.

"Oh, Detective, surely you didn't think I would abandon you just like that? Although, I must admit, that's a very good act you put on with your partner. Almost had me going there for a while."

Hutch sucked in his breath.

Anger tinged the weariness in Starsky's voice. "Wasn't any act, creep. Told you he and I aren't that close, and now we're not even partners anymore, so you can just forget about goin' after him."

The tension left him so suddenly, Hutch dropped back on the couch. The world made sense again. It was so obvious, Hutch berated himself ten different ways for not seeing it before. Starsky would never have given up if he himself was at risk, but he wasn't willing to risk his partner, even at the cost of their friendship. Hutch shook his head. Don't know whether to hug you or hit you.... This, at least, he could fight.

The conversation wasn't done yet. "We'll see," the voice said cryptically, then hung up. Hutch could still hear his friend's harsh breathing on the line when he slammed the door on his way out.

Hutch felt ridiculously nervous as he bounded up the steps to Starsky's place. He had already pushed the hundred “what ifs” out of his head, but it still felt like the next half hour would be the crucial decider, and he was scared of messing it up. That thought almost made him laugh. Can't screw it up much more than this. He reached the door and spent a long minute catching his breath and trying to calm his thoughts before knocking.

The door was jerked open a moment later, and they stood there staring at each other. Starsky looked like he was seeing a ghost.

"Uh, hi," Hutch found his voice. He tried a tentative smile.

Starsky's jaw tightened. "What are you doing here?" he asked warily.

Hutch's smile wavered. "Can I come in for a minute? I have to talk to you."

"Ain't nothin' to talk about," Starsky said dismissively. "I don't think—"

Hutch's voice was soft, but had a serious edge that cut Starsky off mid-excuse. "Seven years deserves more than that, Starsk."

Starsky avoided his eyes, and abruptly he turned away from the door, leaving it standing open. Not exactly an invitation, but Hutch would take what he could get.

He closed the door carefully behind him and watched as Starsky flopped on the couch and picked up a magazine. Avoidance tactic no. 3, Hutch thought with grim humor. Starsky had done it before, and there was only one way to deal with him. It's now or never, buddy. He moved in front of Starsky and snatched the magazine away before he sat down in the chair by the couch.

"Hey!" Starsky's head snapped up, anger in his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hutch asked quietly.

"Tell you what?" Starsky matched his gaze, his expression set and his eyes dark and unfathomable.

Hutch abruptly stood and walked over to the phone. Picking up the receiver, he unscrewed one end, then turned it up over his other hand. A coin-shaped object dropped into his palm, and he turned back to Starsky and held out the object silently.

Anger and a confusion of different emotions played across the other man's face at the sight of the tap. "You had no right—" Starsky angrily began, bounding to his feet.

Hutch almost breathed a sigh of relief. Starsky was blustering; that, he could handle. He broke in, his voice even louder than his friend's. "I had no right? What about you, deciding you'd handle this all by yourself?! Don't you think I deserve some say in breaking up our partnership?"

"You agreed—" Starsky tried again.

"What am I supposed to say when my partner says he doesn't want to work with me anymore? And if that's what you really want, then I'm not gonna fight you on it. But you're going to have to look me in the eye and tell me you don't want to be friends or partners anymore, 'cause, frankly, buddy, after seven years, I'm not gonna believe anything less than that." Hutch crossed the room to stand facing him, waiting.

Starsky's anger was beginning to turn into desperation. "Look, I don’t want to—"

"We have to," Hutch said softly. It knotted his stomach to see the glistening blue eyes, but this was the only way. Kill him with kindness.

Starsky shot up out of his seat, too upset to sit still. Hutch followed him, not backing back off. Starsky always had been a bad liar, Hutch had just been too stricken to realize it before. But he was going to get the truth this time if he had to sit on his friend to do it.

Starsky was probably reading his mind again, turning stricken eyes to meet his. "What do you want from me?!" The question was pure despair.

Hutch's voice was still soft, but unyielding. "The truth. The guy on the phone, it's all because of him, isn't it?"

"He said you'd get hurt if we stayed together." The words came out in an involuntary rush, as if they’d been lingering near the surface, dying to come out. Starsky paled at the revelation.

Hutch’s expression didn’t change. "So? We've gotten threats before. We always handled it together. What makes this guy special?"

"You don't understand, Hutch...." Starsky tried to turn away.

Hutch wouldn't let him. "Then explain it to me," he prodded with gentle exasperation, taking hold of Starsky's arm.

"He knew things, he had a picture...he could get inside your place without you knowing it. This guy's dangerous, and his only problem with you is being with me." Hutch could barely hear him.

"So you thought that if you broke us up, you'd be protecting me." It wasn't a question, and Starsky's expression was all the response he needed. Hutch couldn't keep an affectionate smile off his face. "You idiot. You think playing it safe is more important to me than our friendship? Any more hare-brained schemes like that and I just may have to trade you in for another partner, one who isn't ready to get rid of me to save me."

Starsky was very still, his face turned away again. "I figured it wouldn’t be for good, only a few weeks, Hutch. I couldn'ta lived with him gettin’ to you because of me," he whispered.

"Would it have been better if I would've gotten hurt on my own because you weren't there for me?" Hutch asked kindly.

His friend turned back to him suddenly. "Hey, don't lay that on me!"

Hutch's voice matched his. "C'mon, Starsky, think like a cop! It goes both ways. If we split up now, we're just setting ourselves up for this guy. We watch each other's backs and staying together keeps us alive. So if you want to split up, it's going to be because you don't..." The words stuck in his throat a little. "...don't want me around anymore, not because of some bozo who keeps calling you on the phone."

Starsky was silent, but at least he was listening.

"Besides, did it ever occur to you that I'm not crazy about this guy going after you, either?" Hutch added, trying to say it more lightly than he felt.

Starsky regarded him for a long minute, jaw working slightly to keep emotions in check, then slumped on the couch. Hutch knew what he was thinking. Stubbornness and anger were one thing, but love....

Hutch wavered, then sat down next to him on the edge of the cushion. He reached up uncertainly and massaged the nearest, tense shoulder. When the muscles slowly relaxed under his hand, he moved to gently chafe the neck.

The bowed head turned toward him and Starsky peered at him hesitantly, the blue eyes startlingly clear. "You don't give up easy, huh?"

Hutch grinned and slid his arm comfortably around to the other shoulder. "Not when it matters."

Starsky’s smile was an echo of his, if a little wobbly. "Okay. So what do we do?"

We. Hutch liked the sound of that. "Well, first of all, we tell Dobey to forget finding us new partners." Starsky flushed, but Hutch went on. "And we put the tracer back on your line for the next time our friend calls. I already got a tape of today's call we can run through the lab. Then we're going shopping for a cot." Starsky stared at him in confusion. Hutch continued, "'Cause if I'm going to move in here until we put this guy away, I don't want to have to sleep on your couch."

Starsky almost achieved a grin. "Movin' in, huh? You gettin' ballistophobia?"

He didn't even try to duck Hutch’s answering smack.

The next morning was pure heaven compared to the past week of tension and heavy-heartedness. Dobey merely grimaced and shook his head at the news of their reunion, muttering something about 'children not getting along' under his breath, but he gave Hutch a grin as Starsky fidgeted in embarrassment.

They were still on the serial killer case, but Dobey gave the 'phone creep,' as Starsky had dubbed him, equal priority. Except there wasn't much to go on. After having Starsky's phone tapped and traced again and sending the tape they had away to be analyzed, there didn't seem to be anything else they could do.

"Guess we wait now, huh?" Starsky sighed in frustration as he put his feet up on his desk. "I hate waiting."

"Aw, come on, Starsk. It's not like we don't have anything else to do. We've still got another case we're on, remember?" Hutch held out a file and tried to catch Starsky's eye with the infectious grin he reserved for his partner's down times.

Starsky was trying not to look up or smile, and was losing both battles. "Okay."

And three days later, they had it. Tossing around possibilities, making a few more phone calls to check up on some ideas, and reading notes back and forth turned up a connection almost too obscure to catch. The ex-husband of one victim worked at the same processing plant as one of the others did and the third briefly once had. Neither of them had picked up on it before, the change of names and disparity of dates burying the fact almost completely. But then, their partnership had always been about the sum being greater than the parts.

It was almost too easy after that. Cases usually didn’t come together so fast, TV notwithstanding, but it didn't take long to track down the former processing plant security chief, who was now working at a shipping firm. Further digging revealed a history of dropped sexual harassment charges, and, warrant in hand, they discovered a stockpile of pornographic literature and films in the man's house, plus the two secretaries' and several other women's personal records. A theory Hutch had about the location of the bodies also turned out to be correct, and by the end of the week, the killer was in custody, the evidence was all pointing to him, and the case was wrapped up and presented to Dobey with a ribbon on it. It was a boost to finish a case that quickly and thoroughly, and suddenly the world didn't seem so threatening a place anymore.

It didn’t hurt that Starsky’s phone friend hadn’t been back, either. Maybe, Hutch dared think, he’d had his fun and was finished. He’d certainly succeeded in making their previous week miserable.

"You wanna pick up some food on the way home?" Starsky glanced at his partner as he circled to his side of the Torino. Dobey had agreed with Hutch that it wouldn't be a bad idea for him to move in with his partner for a few days, and Starsky hadn’t protested. Saved him some worry about his partner's, if not his own, safety. Another day or two and he’d start dropping hints about Hutch going back home, but for now he was still enjoying having a partner again.

"Do you mind stopping by my place to pick up a few things on the way?" Hutch asked as he stopped by the car door.

"Sure. Maybe you could grab a six-pack while we're there, too."

"Okay." Drown our sorrows and loosen our lips—just what we need, partner. Starsky was still a little withdrawn from recent incidents, and Hutch had some chewing out to do about his partner’s lame-brained ideas.

The drive was made in comfortable silence. That simple change by itself felt great. There had been plenty of silence recently between them, but it had been strained and exhausting, full of tension. This, in contrast, was easy and calmative, the peace of not saying anything because it was unnecessary. He could tell Starsky felt it, too, the natural clairaudience that existed between them also having been restored over the past day. I really missed this.

They pulled up in front of Venice Place, and Hutch got out of the car, Starsky following.

"You comin', too?" Hutch asked in surprise.

"Just me—and—your shaaa—dow..." Starsky sang slightly off key, shuffling in some approximation of tap dancing behind his partner.

Hutch rolled his eyes. "That's 'my shadow'," he corrected.

"Whatever," Starsky said gamely.

Hutch shook his head and led the way up the stairs.

At the door, he suddenly became cautious. He put his key in slowly, then turned it suddenly and jerked his hand back.

Nothing happened.

Hutch glanced sheepishly at Starsky, whose face was set in a frown. Artie Solkin. They were both thinking it. Hutch stood to the side and very carefully pushed the door open a little bit.

Nothing. No wires, strings, or anything else out of the ordinary was visible.

He breathed a sigh of relief, and turned back to Starsky as he pushed the door open.

Which probably saved his life.

A deafening noise and a bright flash from inside the apartment blasted them, and suddenly the door was blown outward. It hit Hutch on the side as he turned, knocking him into the far wall forcefully and landing on top of him. Starsky was thrown to the floor in the hall by the explosion. The world went fuzzy for a minute as his head made contact with the floor, then cleared, and it was all over.

Starsky scrambled up awkwardly, ignoring the protesting aches in his body and the ringing in his ears, and on hands and knees moved to the crumpled figure lying a few feet away. He levered the blackened door up and to the side impatiently, and underneath it was Hutch, still and pale. Starsky fumbled felt for a pulse. It beat strong and regular under his fingers, and he let out a shaky breath.

"Hutch?" he said softly.

Hutch groaned and stirred.

Starsky patted his cheek gently. "Come on.... Hutch?"

"Yeah?"

The voice was steady, which was a relief, but his partner's eyes were still closed. Still, he looked all right.... "You okay?"

With a little effort, the blue eyes drifted open and fixed on him. "No, I think I'm dead."

Starsky grinned. "Yeah? You'd look better."

The grin was faintly returned, then Hutch abruptly moaned as he squeezed his eyes shut again.

Starsky instantly sobered. "What's wrong?" he demanded anxiously.

"My arm," Hutch ground out, his face contorting with pain as his right arm reached for the left.

Starsky stilled the hand. "Okay, take it easy and lemme have a look." Starting at Hutch's shoulder, he gently felt along the arm. It looked a little swollen near the wrist, and as Starsky probed lightly, the bone moved under his fingers. Hutch blanched and clamped his teeth down hard to keep from crying out. Starsky immediately drew back.

"S'okay, easy, I won't do it again." He picked up the clenched right hand, and the long fingers uncurled long enough to grab onto his hand and hold on tight. "Your arm's broken," he said softly.

"No kidding," Hutch grated.

Starsky smiled, slowly rubbing the hand that held onto his. The fingers were loosening a little as the pain lessened, but they were also getting colder. Shock. The door across the way opened a crack, and Starsky saw Hutch's elderly neighbor peering out. "Mrs. Johnson, could you call me an ambulance, please?" he asked.

The white head bobbed once and the door closed again.

Starsky turned back to his partner and began to pull off his jacket one-handed to treat the cold of shock.

"Mrs. Johnson's never gonna speak to me again," Hutch mumbled, eyes shut. "Always somethin' goin' on with my place...."

Starsky placed the jacket over his friend. "Ambulance is on its way," he soothed.

Hutch cringed. "I don't need an ambulance, Starsky, you can take me in. Just give me a minute. I'm okay."

Starsky made a face. "Sure ya are," he grumbled, "aside from a broken arm and who knows what else you banged up. You know I had to dig you out from under the door?"

Hutch sighed, then tensed again as he searched his partner's face worriedly. "You all right?"

Starsky smiled again. Typical Hutch. Lying in his hallway with a broken arm and a shelled-out home, and he was concerned about his partner. What'd I ever do to deserve you? "I'm fine," Starsky answered. His eyes shone with amusement. "'Course, I may never dance as well again."

"No great loss there," Hutch muttered tiredly.

"What are you talkin' about, I'm a great dancer! You're the one with two left feet...." He trailed off. His partner wasn't looking at him, staring beyond him through the gaping doorway of the apartment. Amazingly, there was no fire, but the whole living room was a charred, ruined mess.

"Not again...." Fatigue was slurring Hutch's speech. "Why d'they always wreck my place? 'S not fair...." He was beginning to fade.

Yeah, tell me about it. "Okay," Starsky said softly, "next time we'll ask them to trash my pad, huh?"

A trace of a smile softened Hutch's mouth as he drifted. Starsky could hear the sirens approaching, and he settled next to his partner to wait.

"That's stupid, Starsky."

The blunt words were meant to take him aback and they did. "But—"

"No, don't even start that." Hutch temporarily abandoned the near-impossible task of trying to button his shirt with one hand, and sank back down on the edge of the hospital bed, fixing Starsky with a stern look. "You know as well as I do this would've probably happened no matter what. In fact, if you hadn't have been there, it would've most likely been worse."

Starsky grimaced and pushed himself up out of the chair he was slouched in to cross over to Hutch and finish buttoning the shirt. He studiously avoided the blond's eyes.

Hutch dignifiedly ignored the help. "And," he continued, "there's no way I'm gonna let you go around without backup with this nut after you."

Starsky finished with the shirt and moved back to the chair. "The guy's not after me, he wants to get..." he patiently began.

"Come on, Starsky, can the act. He wants both of us. Whether it's going through me to get at you or vice versa, it doesn't matter, we're in this together. Okay?" His voice softened to supplication on the last word.

"But... "

Hutch's finger came up warningly to cut off any protest.

Starsky's eyes met his and, after a long moment, the crooked grin appeared. Hutch relaxed to see it. "Okay," Starsky agreed.

"Okay," Hutch repeated firmly. He glanced around the cubicle to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, then swatted Starsky's feet, which were propped up on the bed next to him. "You ready to go?"

Starsky nodded and got up and crossed to the wheelchair that sat next to the door. He looked up at his partner expectantly.

Hutch made a face. "I don't need a wheelchair—it's my arm that's broken, not my leg."

Starsky looked amused. "Hospital rules, you know that. They won’t let you leave otherwise."

Hutch opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again and meekly sat down. Some things were worth fighting for. This wasn't one of them.

They were almost to the car before it occurred to him that he had no idea what came next. "So, where are we going?" he asked, leaning back to look up into his partner's face.

It was hard to tell upside down, but it looked like Starsky winced. "Cap'n got us a hotel room."

Hutch slouched down in the wheelchair. "Again? Didn't Drew teach him anything?" When Alex Drew had come after the two of them, nothing had stopped the former intelligence operative, including the detectives supposedly being in hiding at a local hotel.

Starsky shrugged. "Said it was only temporary, but it was either that or havin' a guard put on my place." His eyes met Hutch's briefly to confirm that neither of them wanted to drag somebody else into the affair. He continued. "Besides, Drew was different, he had all that special training."
"So could your phone pal, for all we know," Hutch said reasonably.

There was a long enough silence that he finally craned around to see Starsky again. Starsky glanced at him for a moment, then concentrated on navigation. "Yeah," he unhappily assented.

They were at the car, and Starsky moved forward to unlock the door. As he opened it and turned back to his partner, Hutch stopped him for a minute, placing a hand on his arm. He waited until Starsky met his eyes. "We're gonna get this guy and put him away," he promised.

Starsky regarded him for a moment as if convincing himself, then nodded once. Hutch patted his arm with a wink and a smile that was grudgingly returned, and got into the car, Starsky shutting the door after him. They had some work to do.

"The tape analysis came back." Dobey extended a folder, which Starsky accepted and turned so both he and Hutch could see. Dobey was looking at his own copy. "The analysts say it's a white male, approximately in his early thirties, college-educated." He glanced up at them. "Not the standard profile, so that should narrow it down, but still not a lot to go on. Starsky, did anything ever come from the tracer on your phone?"

Starsky sighed in frustration. "No, Cap'n, he hasn't called me since then." He glanced over at Hutch and mouthed, Water? Hutch nodded, and Starsky got up to move over to the water cooler. "He probably knows I'm not there; seems to keep a pretty good eye on what I'm doin'." He handed Hutch the paper cup and then fixed his attention on Dobey. "Did the lab boys come up with anything at Hutch's place?"

It was Dobey's turn to blow out his breath in frustration. "Not much. Apparently, it was a contact charge, rigged to the inside of the door, with the connection just inside the door so there would be no wires to give it away. Someone really knew what they were doing."
Starsky and Hutch exchanged a look. They’d just gone from Artie Solkin to Alex Drew. Hardly reassuring.

The rest of the afternoon was spent buried in computer print-outs again. Now that they had something definite to look for, the computer began to go through all their old cases.

Unfortunately, now that they weren't looking specifically for known hostiles, quite a few suspects fell within the voice specifications. Even when the computer ruled out the dead, imprisoned and known-to-be-elsewheres, it still left them with a list of nearly a dozen names. Starsky normally didn't care for the boring legwork that checking out such a list usually required, but this time it was almost a relief to be doing something. He had been playing somebody else's game for too long; it was his turn now.

"You ready?" Hutch's voice interrupted his concentration.

Starsky plunked down the phone all too readily. "I got two confirmed elsewhere, how'd you do?"

Hutch rubbed the arm in his sling absently. "I did you one better, I got three."

Starsky was poking around on his desk. "T’rrific. That still leaves us seven possibles, and our man may not even be one of them. You okay?" He threw a casual glance at Hutch.

"Hmm? Oh." Hutch put his hand down, realizing he'd unconsciously invoked his partner's concern. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Starsky nodded, then looked back at his desk. "Have you seen my book?"

"What book—-oh, your vocabulary guide?"

"Yeah."

"With any luck, you left it at my place," muttered Hutch, quickly rising and ducking out the door to avoid the murderous look he knew he'd get.

Starsky grabbed his jacket and ran to catch up to him in the hallway. "You know, if you weren't an invalid...."

Hutch threw his good arm around his partner's shoulder as they reached the bottom of the stairs and went out the door. "Starsk, you really ought to work on your temper. It's going to get you in trouble someday."

Insulted, Starsky abruptly stepped back from under Hutch's arm, unbalancing the blond, who staggered a step to the side.

The shots meant for them hit the wall between them, right where they had been a half-second before.

Starsky yelled and dove to the ground behind the nearby Torino, pulling Hutch down in a heap with him. "You okay?" he gasped as he pulled his gun out, already scrambling up on his knees to see out onto the street. A squeal of tires announced their assailant was leaving.

Hutch was clutching his arm, his face white from the sudden jarring. "Think so," he mumbled back.

"You think so?" Starsky shot him a sharp look.

"I'm fine," Hutch said. "Go."

Starsky was already in motion, and Hutch just managed to get himself into the front seat before the Torino roared away from the curb after the rapidly disappearing car. Starsky didn't spare him a glance, intent on his prey.

The car ahead of them made a screeching right turn, and a moment later Starsky followed suit. Hutch just sat grimly and hung on, but not complaining. He had as much at stake as Starsky by now.

The car turned again, but it was beginning to look as though the driver was getting desperate. The Torino was gaining on him. Didn't turn out quite the way you expected, did it, Hutch thought triumphantly. We've gotcha now.

A hundred feet ahead of them, the car suddenly veered off to the right. Dead end—the two detectives knew it, but their mystery man obviously didn't. It was a very short alley, though, ending in the brick back wall of a building. At the speed the guy was going....

Starsky spun the Torino out at the mouth of the alley just as the crash came and the car immediately caught on fire. They sat in the car for a moment, stunned, watching the flaming wreckage. An unexpected end to their problem.

Hutch spoke up softly. "I wonder if we'll ever know...."

"Michael Shore," Dobey said, "does that name ring a bell?"

"Shore...." Starsky's jaw suddenly dropped. He turned back to his partner. "Hutch, you remember Mike Shore? Back at the Academy?"

Hutch's face reflected distaste at the memory. "Yeah," he said shortly.

"Mike Shore...." Starsky shook himself out of his reverie. "Cap'n, he and Hutch and I went to the Academy together, only, he ended up gettin' kicked out after I turned him in for cheating. He got a coupl'a guys and ganged up on me, but they didn't plan on Hutch ridin' to the rescue." He turned back to his partner again, smiling fondly. "Saved my skin."

Hutch gave him a hint of a grin in return. Good and bad memories.

"Well," Dobey's voice pulled their attention back to their boss, "his girlfriend says he saw the article in the paper that reporter, Phelps, did on you two a while back, and started talkin' about how the two of you had teamed up against him and kept him from getting his badge. Apparently, he rented a room across the street from you to keep you under surveillance, Starsky, and they found a copy of Hutch's key in Shore's place." Dobey eyed Starsky meaningfully. "I guess he thought intimidating you two into splitting up was the best way he could get back at you."

Hutch glanced at his partner with a gentle, uncondemning smile, then silently went back to his thoughts.

"Yeah," Starsky said softly next to him, nevertheless a little self-conscious. But they were still together, despite everything. For once, he was glad Hutch had been right. And stubborn. To think of what he'd been so close to losing....

"That's it," Dobey was finished and waved them off. "Now, go do some work."

Starsky nodded, almost smiling, and tapped his thought-engrossed partner on the shoulder. Hutch returned to the present with a start, and Starsky grinned. On the other hand, maybe it hadn't been so close, after all—Hutch would never have let it. After all, who else would have them? He waved his friend toward the door. "C'mon, partner, don't be so lugubrious."

Hutch glared at him. "You know, Starsky, I'm really tired of your..." His eyes lit up and he smirked at his partner. "...your perfervid pedantry. The opprobrium you're gaining is getting to be quite intractable." He strode out the door with a smug smile.

Starsky stared after him with wide eyes, trying to figure out if he had just been told off. After a moment, he turned to glance with disbelief at Dobey, who was trying not to grin, then hurried after his partner. Dobey heard his brilliant retort right before the door slammed shut behind him.

"Oh, yeah?!"