Disclaimer: The characters of Starsky and Hutch are owned by Spelling/Goldberg. No money is being made from this.
Warning: This story contains a heavy graphic scene describing physical and emotional damage to one of the major characters. If you are sensitive this, you are strongly advised to skip this one!
Word of Thanks: To Starsky's Strut, without your encouragement this thing would never have gotten passed the first stage. To Elsa, for introducing me to the world of boats, ships and yachts! To Jill, for the Open House and punch thing! And to Cindy, who told me that you can't leave Hutch in such a state without a major comfort scene at the end. And hey, if he needs comforting then who am I to argue!
Special thanks to Bluebird, who lived through some of Hutch's pains and was kind enough to tell me about.
"Oliver"
By Kreek©december04
Prologue
The white-haired woman kicked the side of the object in front of her. The heap that lay in a puddle of its own blood had once been a man.
"You're improving. The first ones didn't last for more than two hours. How long did it take this time?" he asked.
She looked up at the man hidden in the shadow behind the corpse.
"Four and a half hours, Jake… that's long enough. I think we're ready."
"Are you sure, we could practice some more?"
"I've practiced enough… it takes 'em over four hours now to bleed to death."
Jake nodded, and she continued. "With any luck the detective will last five."
Pure love and affection were reflected in his big brown eyes. Eyes she had come to know so well. She crouched down in front of him and whispered, her words touching his essence. "Will you please help them?"
The brown eyes looked deep into her soul, demanding to know more.
"My old friend," she talked softly to him. "I have never asked you for anything, in all the long years we have known each other… but… this… I need you to do."
His eyes radiated comfort, then they almost seemed to laugh with joy as he agreed to her plea. She smiled and kissed him on the nose, and then he was gone.
Chapter 1
Starsky's mood had dropped ten degrees below zero. He had taken the long weekend off to visit his mom in New York and had arrived back in Bay City at four this morning. The unholy time of arrival was due to a delayed plane and long waiting hours. As a result he had only managed to catch two hours of sleep.
He could still hear Dobey's voice echo inside his head from last Thursday afternoon. "I don't care what you do with your time off Starsky, but you better be back in on Tuesday for the Open House or don't come back at all, you hear me!"
Starsky thought the whole idea of having Open House at Metro was ludicrous, but one did not cross a determined captain Dobey. So he had dragged himself out of bed, feeling utterly spent and managed to get himself in a traffic jam.
Thoroughly pissed off, he arrived at Hutch's thirty minutes late. Since he could not muster the energy to go up and get his partner and perhaps some breakfast, he just honked the horn twice. Then he sat back and closed his eyes, waiting for Hutch, and drifted into sleep.
Hutch opened the passenger door of the Torino, ready to start yelling at his partner for being this late without even a phone call as to why. Up until he had heard the horn he had not even known if Starsky was back in town, and he had been worried. He got in, opened his mouth and closed it again. To his utter surprise Starsky was sound asleep behind the wheel.
He stared at his partner for two long seconds. The man looked worn out. He gently touched his arm, fingertips closing around the dark blue shirt his partner was wearing.
"Starsk." Then he more or less commanded, "STARSK!"
Starsky jolted awake and sat bolt upright. "Wha… eh… Hutch?"
Hutch grinned. "Hey buddy, guess you didn't get much sleep, right?"
Starsky relaxed a bit. "I hope I never see the inside of an airport again... d'you have you any idea what kind of night I had?"
"By the look of things I'd say a sleepless one."
"Yeah, well, you heard Dobey; callin' in sick is not an option today."
"On the other hand," Hutch said, still smiling. "He probably won't mind you falling asleep behind your desk, as long as you're physically inside the precinct today."
"Hmmpf," Starsky muttered and started the engine. "He'll probably make me part of the tour that people can take around the precinct: Look people, here's an officer after a long twelve- hour day on the street, this man dutifully tried to do some paperwork but fell asleep…" He looked into his side view mirror. "Close the door, will ya', Hutch?"
"Eh, Starsky wait a sec…"
"What? Close the door, come on, I'm getting cold here…"
"Uhm… I want you to meet my new partner."
"What?"
Hutch couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the totally dumbfounded look his partner gave him.
"Your new..," he stuttered. "But… Hutch?" He turned off the engine and looked up, his eyes large with disbelief, unable to utter a coherent sentence. Finally he managed a plea. "But… I've only been away for the weekend?"
Hutch, as much as he was enjoying himself, couldn't stand the hurt in Starsky's eyes any longer and halted Starsky's rant with a loud whistle.
"Aw, Hutch, don't do that…aw, my head." Before Starsky could say anything more he was run over by an overly enthusiastic large chocolate brown Labrador retriever with a white star mark between the eyes. It licked him thoroughly on every piece of exposed skin the dog could find.
"Meet Oliver," Hutch said and closed the passenger door.
Starsky was out his door within a second. "Uh, yuck, God Hutch, what is that?"
Standing outside he franticly wiped his face with his sleeves trying to get rid of the dog drool and foul breath.
"It's a dog, Starsky."
"I know it's a dog, but what's it doin' in my car?"
"I thought you liked dogs?"
"I do, but not in my car… look at it, paw prints, hair everywhere… Hutch!" The fatigue and frustration of the last twelve hours had made that last word sound a bit more short tempered than he intended to. Hutch knew that and he let his friend calm down for a minute, turning his attention to the dog.
"Oliver, get in the back seat. Will you get in here Starsk, we're late enough as it is!"
The dog complied without hesitation. Starsky, however, did not.
"Not until you explain what's going on buddy!"
Hutch sighed and leaned in over the driver seat so he could look his partner in the eyes through the open door of the Torino. "Oh come on!"
Starsky didn't move an inch.
"All right. All right, the dog slept out in my hallway every night so I took him in. I already found him a new home but they can't have him until Friday. It's only for a short week, Starsk."
"One week, huh…"
"Starsk, will you get in here?" Hutch was getting impatient. "I'll vacuum the Torino myself at the end of the week, all right?"
Starsky, still muttering, finally got in and slammed the door shut. "All right Blintz, but you better make sure paw prints and hair are all that dog is going to lose when he's in here." He started the car and sped away.
"Then I suggest," Hutch said very seriously, "that you watch your driving style if you don't want him to get sick." Starsky immediately slowed down, it was one of the calmest drives Hutch had ever been on with his partner behind the wheel.
"Good!" Dobey spoke out loud when they exited the elevator on the homicide floor. "You're here."
Starsky and Hutch both had to laugh at the scenery they walked into. Dobey stood amidst a crowd of people, most of whom were children, who were screaming and running around in excitement.
"Starsky, I want you to take the children out to look at one of the surveillance cars. Hutch, I want you at a desk in the office to answer any questions these folks might have."
"Sure thing, Cap." Starsky saluted. "Follow me kids, into the elevator."
Hutch quickly walked past the scene. Dobey suddenly noticed the Labrador walking obediently beside the blond detective. "Hutch, what is the meaning of…"
"Police dog, Cap." Hutch answered just a little too fast and meant to walk straight on. He nearly made it to the office door.
"HUTCHINSON!" Everyone, including the children standing in front of the elevator doors, fell absolutely silent at Dobey's booming voice. Hutch turned around. Dobey ignored every startled look around him and marched over to his detective. "What is the meaning of this, that's not a police dog!"
"Just looking after this poor dog Cap'n. I found him on the streets. Look at him. D'you want me to throw him out again?" At that people started mumbling worried thoughts, a few oohs and aws, and even a couple of angry words that were directed at Dobey.
The captain gave Hutch a deep, dark look and then nodded to take the dog inside. "We'll talk about this later," he threatened in a voice too low for anybody else to hear.
"To protect and serve Cap." Hutch said and went inside, still smiling. He heard Dobey yelling at the crowd. "What are you all standing around for? Follow me!" And the group followed behind him in submissive silence.
Chapter 2
The open house only lasted until three o'clock, but by that time Starsky was ready to drop dead on the spot. He'd had no time for lunch, having taken groups of children and the occasional adult down to the police garage and up again without a break. His ordeal last night at the airport and him skipping breakfast really caught up with him now. Hungry, he dragged himself up into the elevator one last time to get Hutch and head down to the cafeteria. Some leftover punch would taste really good right now.
He walked into the squad room, but Hutch was not there. He peaked around the door into Dobey's office.
Dobey spotted him from behind his desk, looking quite spent himself. "If I have to answer one more question about exactly how we spend their tax dollars I swear I'm going to strangle someone." He sighed.
"I know what you mean Cap. One lady kept insisting we should use bikes. Can you imagine that? She said cars were far too expensive to maintain." Dobey shook his head in disbelief, and Starsky continued, "Have you seen Hutch, Cap?"
Dobey looked irritated when he locked eyes with Starsky. "Last time I saw him, he and that dog of his were heading down to the armoury with an elderly couple."
"I thought the armoury was off limits."
"Yeah, well the couple insisted. He had fought in World War II or something."
"Thank you, Cap." Starsky went down to the armoury and questioned the officer on duty. Hutch had been there, but after fifteen minutes or so, the couple had seen enough and wanted to go home. Hutch had gone with them to show them the exit.
Starsky searched the entire precinct, his eyes looking out for the familiar black and white flannel shirt that Hutch had been wearing, but his partner remained elusive.
"Probably took that dog out for a walk" he thought, feeling quite irritated. Knowing his partner he'd taken the opportunity to go for a run. "He's probably already at home."
After a much needed stop at the cafeteria, Starsky headed for Venice Place. He parked next to Hutch's LTD and went up to knock on the door. The first signs of an eerie feeling began to work its way up in his stomach when there was no answer. He let himself in.
The place was empty.
Images resurfaced of the silence he had met a year back, while searching Hutch's apartment. Eventually he had found his friend… in an alley, drugged, spaced out. He kept reminding himself that this was not the same situation. Hutch had been gone for a few days back then.
"No, he just took that dog out for a long walk is all…"
He picked up the phone and dialled Dobey's number. "Starsky here, Hutch show up yet?" He listened to the negative answer.
The feeling that told him something was wrong just would not subside. Dread began to creep its way up with a vengeance.
Dobey said a few words more to which Starsky replied with a slight anger in his voice. "Captain I'm telling you, I'm not overreacting!" He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, letting the detective inside him take over. "The elderly couple, what did they look like?"
He listened as Dobey described the perfectly normal couple, who looked like all elderly couples did: old, wise, content and friendly.
"Yeah well, looks can be deceiving," he stated from personal experience. "When he does show up, tell him to meet me at his place will ya Cap?" Then he hung up.
He stood there for a while trying to push the dread aside and let his common sense take over. With a heavy heart he decided to wait out the evening. Right now he was very tired and perhaps that made him more jumpy than usual. If Hutch did show up they were going to have more than a few words about all this. With that in mind he curled up on the couch and fell asleep.
He woke up with a jolt, the feeling of dread soaring inside him now. It was night and something was wrong. The dark around him showed him nothing but emptiness. The reality of the situation sunk in and woke him up. The room was stuffy, no noise, not a sound. Hutch wasn't there.
Wearily he reached out for the phone and heard himself speak the words he had vowed he would never hear himself speak again. "Yeah, Mildred, Starsky here… put out an APB on Hutch."
"What do you want me to do with this?"
"Throw it overboard for all I care," she answered Jake with dispassion.
"Too bad, it's nice."
"We don't need it Jake, you know that!"
Jake looked at her and sighed. "Whatever you wish, my lady."
With a dull splash Hutch's Magnum disappeared in the water.
"C'mon lets go. We'll return in the morning when he's conscious."
Neither one of them noticed the shadow that slipped in behind them when they checked up on their captive for one last time. Without a sound it disappeared behind the crates.
Chapter 3
The welcoming cool night air did nothing to dampen his nerves as Starsky quickly took the stairs down and exited Venice Place. He headed out to the Torino with keys in hand.
Inwardly he kept cursing at Hutch's absence. God knows they had made so many enemies. It came with the territory. But every time something like this happened, Starsky's fear went into overdrive and told him that losing his partner was a price he was not willing to pay.
He opened the door of the Torino and stepped inside. The car was damp, so he switched on the blowers and set them to maximum before driving off. He was well aware of the empty passenger seat next to him and the absence of Hutch's comments that the blower always made him sneeze and catch a cold.
He signalled and turned the corner, determined to check every street in the city for the entire night if he had to, in order to find the blond.
Two hours later the Torino stood still at a quiet intersection in the downtown area. Starsky's blue shirt was getting quite soaked with sweat as his anxiety had tripled. His search had not led to a single sign of his partner's whereabouts. The cold headlights lighted the anthracite asphalt in front of him, empty and dark. The lights of the dashboard beckoned at him, deceptively warm and comfortable.
He sat back, one finger over his mouth, thinking. Then, with a sigh he threw his head back against the headrest. A lone car approached the intersection from his right and went past him to disappear into the quiet night.
Three beeps made his head snap up and reach out for the radio.
"Zebra Three, come in please."
"Yeah, Starsky here."
"Starsky, see the man named Huggy at Rosie's Bar."
"10-4. Zebra Three out."
A moment later, the only sign the Torino had ever been on the intersection was the dirty smoke the tires had created when Starsky had floored the Torino. It quickly dissipated into the night air, carried away by the light sea breeze. A few drops fell from the sky. Within seconds it had started to rain.
The wooden floor was cold. Cold and hard. The smell of fish a familiar odor that his consciousness no longer registered.
Hutch had figured out he was on a boat somewhere, but he did not have a clue as to where. Rain was pouring and making a hell of a noise on the deck. Apart from a small window, from which Oliver had escaped earlier, there was no visible link to the outside world.
He was lying on the floor, wearing only his jeans. He had no idea what had happened to his Tee shirt, boots and shoulder holster, or his gun for that matter. The cabin he was in didn't have much furniture, just a couple of closed, old crates and a stack of fishing nets. He would have made himself a bit more comfortable on the nets, if his hands weren't cuffed and chained to a heavy brass ring that was bolted to the floor near the back wall.
He thought about Oliver for a moment. Last night, when he had regained consciousness, the dog had appeared from behind a stack of crates, whining somewhat. Hutch was surprised to see him. Oliver was not chained or anything, the dog almost looked as if he had managed to elude Hutch's captors. He had tightened his flannel shirt, which he had found discarded near the brass ring, securely around the dog's neck and then tried to get the Labrador to return home. Oliver seemed to understand, but Hutch had no idea if it would work.
The door opened and light flooded in. Two shadows stepped inside: the elderly couple that had so graciously managed to knock him out at metro's exit. The smaller one stepped forward, obviously the lady.
Hutch squinted, protecting his eyes from the sudden grey daylight. Rain came pouring into the door. He sat up, putting his legs beneath him. Overnight the cold blackness of the water that surrounded the boat had found its way into his body, and he shivered.
She stepped in closer until she stood in front of him, blocking the light. The man stayed behind keeping watch at the door. Since he was chained to the floor he could only look up in defiance. They looked different somehow and after a moment he figured out what it was. They had gotten rid of their disguises.
His heart did a double take when she moved and the light suddenly revealed her features. Gone was the nice elderly lady, and he could not help but stare at her.
"Do you know what you have cost me detective?" Her raw voice croaked through the wet air.
She glared down at the man in front of her. On his knees, but not nearly as beaten as she would have liked. His face was alive with unsuppressed fearlessness and anger. The blue eyes sizing her up like a caged animal. She tried to ignore it, but the intelligence behind those eyes made her shiver.
Too much alive…, she thought, far too much alive…
"Let me guess," he answered bitterly.
The voice, she had forgotten his voice, so smooth, so damn warm. That voice, those eyes, his face… had cost her everything.
"Grossman tricks… and puzzles," he stated dry.
With a loud bang Jake shut the door behind her and she began walking around her captive. "You cost me my business, my money and my son." Though he did not turn his head, she knew the detective followed her every move.
"Al's having trouble adjusting to prison life …Mrs. Grossman?"
She stopped, his mocking tone of voice making her hate flare. Al was dying in that hellhole. Her son was no match for the psychos that ran loose in there. Every time she managed to contact him he looked a bit more drained. Last time he had told her he wanted to end it.
"He's dying…" She walked in front of him and knelt down. She confronted the pools of blue that were the subject of her hate ever since the detective managed to put her son in prison. "…And you're not going to get away with it."
Much to her horror the chained detective managed to grab her hands and held them in a dead lock. She tried to back away, but he held her there, speaking in an ice cold voice, "He killed Gillian…, if you think I'm gonna shed one tear over him, think again."
Jake was on him in seconds, knocking the detective to the ground with both hands, then pinning him to the floor asthe blondwas far from unconscious. He was lying on his left side, Jake pinning down his right shoulder, his knees crushing the detective's legs in order to keep him from moving. Hutch glared up at her, no sign of defeat, no sign of fear. Nothing, only anger.
She jerked her hands free, but did not stand up. Red markings appeared, showing where he had grabbed her. She rubbed them as rage found its way to the surface
Alive… he's far too much alive, she thought.She wanted those blue eyes closed, she wanted the breathing stopped, she wanted his energy levels depleted, but she wanted to do it slowly.
"My Al…," she whispered sadly, then leaned in closer, "I'm gonna give you a choice Detective Hutchinson." She waited a bit to let her words sink in. Then she took the pill that Jake handed her and put it on the floor between her and Hutch. She took a deep breath and leaned back. No one would ever accuse her of not being a lady. "You either die a very slow and painful death, or you take this cyanide capsule right now."
She saw his muscles straining against Jake's grip, trying to pull free, but he was roughly held to the floor again. She stared at him and read the decision in his eyes. She had not expected anything else.
"Stuff it," he declared in a hate filled voice, and inwardly she began to smile.
Hutch found he could not move a muscle. The man holding him was surprisingly strong and even moving one inch proved to be painful.
The sight of Olga Grossmann caused buried, painful memories to surface, but he suppressed them.
She leaned in, "First choice it is then," she whispered and pulled out a knife from her jacket. She let it rest on his bare skin. He tried to pull away as she pressed the tip of the blade against his throat.
"What're you gonna do, you're going to kill me?" He was still angry; he couldn't help it.
The tip of the blade began tracing his skin down to his shoulder. Hutch eyed her. The knife left a small bloody trail in its wake. He flinched against the sting and even though he was cold to the bone he began to sweat. Fear began to set in. She did not look at the knife. She just looked into his eyes.
"Don't worry…" she whispered. Her voice sounded motherly warm, but the cold grey eyes removed every comfort that came with it. "… I know what I'm doing."
The look in her eyes told him she was not joking. Whatever she was planning, she was going to do it now. She would not just tease him and walk away. She did not want to bargain with him, he was not being held for ransom. She only wanted revenge, and he knew that no amount of talking would give him the bit of time he so desperately needed. No time for him to escape, no time for Starsky to find him.
His heart sank as he began to understand that he was not going to get out of this one. Realization settled in his eyes and she smiled softly at that. Her eyes were still locked on his. He closed them and spoke in a low voice. "He's going to kill you."
The knife stopped.
"Who?"
He looked up, his answer firm and steady, "Starsky."
She stared at him for what seemed like a long time.
Hutch knew she had never understood how he had managed to bring the Grossmans down. After Gillian had died he should have been too grief stricken to see the trap they had laid out for him. He should have walked straight into their hands only thinking of revenge. But it did not happen that way.
She had never figured out that it was Starsky who had found Gillian's body first. Not Hutch. Found her because his love for Hutch had led him to investigate Gillian's relationship with Grossman. Starsky had been there to channel Hutch's grief and anger into something more manageable. In the end, that had been the Grossmans' downfall. But she never understood it then, and she did not understand it now.
She smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes. "You made your choice… detective."
Hutch tried to read the cold grey stones but all he saw was a sick mind hiding behind a wrong sense of motherly concern.
"Hold him, Jake," she said and then, to his horror, she stretched her legs and closely went to lie beside him.
He realized she was sick. On the one hand she acted as a caring mother and on the other as a cold blooded killer, who'd waited a long time to give him her payback. His fear rose. His eyes never leaving hers as she again started to trail his skin with the blade. He tried to pull away from the frail body now cuddling close to him, but Jake only tightened his grip.
"You better be good with that," he said, still fighting.
Her right hand held a steady grip on the blade and it stopped, touching the soft flesh of his belly. He could feel the tip piercing his skin a bit. She reached out with her left hand to carefully place it on his temple, stroking him softly as if consoling a small child. Hutch shied away and shivered.
"Shhhhh, don't worry," she breathed, her face now inches away from his. "I practiced."
At that moment the cold eyes turned to stone, and Hutch braced himself.
"Shhhhh…," she said and slowly pushed the knife until it broke the skin.
Hutch gasped, his eyes widened in surprise.
She leaned in closer and whispered softly. "Nothing to worry about, just let it happen." She stopped stroking and gently rested her warm hand on his temple, pushing his head down slightly. "Shhhhh… It's alright," she said softly and slowly, one inch at the time thrusting the blade in deeper.
He jerked back in pain, staring at her in shock. He could only sob as he felt the cold steel ruthlessly find its way inside him. He looked at her, with tears of pain that he could not prevent from welling up.
"Shhhhh…."she said stroking him and steadied the soothing hand on his temple again. "It's gonna be all right Ken, trust me… It's gonna be all right." And carefully she pushed the knife all the way up to the hilt and held it there.
Hutch was not prepared for the excruciating pain, and all he could let out were helpless sobs that caught in his throat. He felt the life draining from him, spilling all over the hilt and over her hand. It soaked his jeans, soaked the wooden floor. And it soaked her. He realized he was going to die and realized he did not want to. His body began to shake, but she kept the hilt in place.
He uttered an incoherent moan.
"That's a good little boy. Now, let me just…" She began to twist the knife around, turning the knife with such skill and expertise that it kept him from passing out.
Hutch jerked his head back in agony. His eyes closed, he could not even cry out, the pain only allowed him to gasp as she continued her handy work.
Then she pulled the knife out, but Hutch barely felt the difference. His body twisted as shock set in. Jake let him go. His head fell back to the floor and he opened his pain filled eyes.
She carefully sat up and leaned over him to whisper in his ear: "I did not touch your vital organs. You got five hours, five hours before you bleed to death, Detective."
Hutch tried to focus but found he couldn't. Energy levels long since depleted, the room started spinning. His eyes glazed over, but he still held her gaze. He bit down and managed to conjure up enough air to breathe one whisper.
"He will kill you… Mrs. Grossman."
Then he moaned low and deep and closed his eyes.
"That's a good boy," her voice betraying the joy she actually felt at seeing him defeated.
Hutch knew he was dying, he could not hold onto the life which slowly seeped away from him. In his agony and pain he desperately tried one more thing. He centered on the pain, on the part of him that did not want to die, the part that was connected to another soul and his mind cried out in despair…
One name.
Starsky...!
Then he gave in and surrendered to the black tentacles of oblivion.
Chapter 4
"Huggy!"
Huggy looked up to find Starsky yelling over the loud noise of music and customers, trying to get his attention. Seated at a back table Huggy had just engaged in a deep conversation with two beauties.
Under normal circumstances Starsky would have checked the ladies out from top to bottom. But this time Huggy found his eyes fixed only on him as the detective made his way toward him through the bar's clientele.
"Hey, my man." He peered behind Starsky, "Where's blondie?"
The man just looked at him and then walked past the table to disappear behind a heavy burgundy curtain.
Huggy uttered a flamboyant excuse to the ladies and followed the detective into the small hallway behind the drape. Starsky turned toward him.
The coldness in his voice surprised the dark man. "What d'ya got Hug?"
He swallowed when he realized Starsky had not answered his question. Dark calculating eyes looked at him intently when he spoke. "I just heard from one of life's finer beauties out there…," he nodded in the direction of the muffled noise coming from the bar. "That a bad cat is in town."
"Who?"
Starsky's voice was calm, far too calm. The cold in it almost sucked the next words out of him, "Olga Grossman."
The color left Starsky's face almost at once, replaced by shock. A deep caring concern filled his eyes. He was silent for a while. "You sure?" he said softly.
Huggy nodded and reached out to grab the detective by his arm, fearing the worst.
Olga Grossman and her son, Al. They had been responsible for effectively ruining Hutch's life when they killed his girlfriend Gillian. Huggy had not seen first hand what had happened, but he had seen the aftermath.
It had taken a while before the man had smiled again. And Starsky was not much better. He had become absurdly enthusiastic about everything when Hutch was with him, just to make him smile, just to see that spark return to his eyes again. But when Hutch was not around, Starsky's brooding mood had made everyone walk on tiptoes around him. Including Huggy.
"Starsky, where's Hutch?"
They had captured Al, and he was sentenced for murder one. But they were never able to get their hands on Olga. By the time they got back to Grossman's office, she was gone.
Starsky's voice almost sounded like that of a lost child when he answered. "I don't know. He disappeared on me at Metro, yesterday…"
Huggy let go of the man's arm and stared at him, biting his lip.
"I figured he must've taken the dog out for a walk, but he never showed up."
"Dog?" Huggy's eyes flew to the ceiling.
The detective took a deep breath as he apparently realized that standing around here was not going to bring his partner back. "Never mind, look, have you got any idea where she might be hiding out?"
"Not a clue, bro." Realizing that this was not what Starsky wanted to hear right now he quickly added. "But I'll do some checking."
"Great." Starsky slapped him on the shoulder and started to leave.
"Hey, Starsky!"
"Yeah." The detective glanced back, one hand on the curtain, blue eyes on brown.
"You find him, you hear?"
Starsky just nodded, closed his eyes for a second and then walked out.
Starsky was surprised to see the watery sunshine through light clouds when he exited the bar. The streets were wet and the smell of rain lingered in the air.
God, it's morning already… where did the time go?
He was tired, but sleeping was out of the question. He squinted against the light, wearily entered the Torino and started the engine. He let its familiar low roar soothe him for a while as he sat back for a moment in uncertainty over what to do next. All he could come up with was to head back to Venice Place, maybe look around for a sign, a clue… anything and then cruise the streets again.
He reached out for the glove compartment and put on his shades before slowly letting the Torino roll away.
The thought of Olga Grossman made his skin crawl. She was a frail old woman, but as tough as any old leather bag. She was ruthless and capable of as much violence to get her way as any drug lord. From the moment he had laid eyes on her, she had scared him. Starsky's vision of nice old ladies was one of motherly goodness, wise words and Christmas presents. He found the thought of an old lady being a cold calculated killer unsettling to say the least.
Nice old lady… Oh God! The old couple at the station!
The revelation hit him hard. Bile rose up in his throat as he realized what must have happened. Controlling the emotions racing around in his stomach he reached for the radio.
"This is Zebra Three, patch me through to Captain Dobey!"
"Roger Zebra Three."
After a few seconds Dobey's voice filled the Torino's interior."Dobey here, what is it Starsky?"
Despite the situation Starsky could not help but smile at his Captain's early presence at the station. He's probably as worried as I am, he thought grimly. "Cap'n let the patrols look out for Olga Grossman!"
"Grossman… Starsky are you sure?"
"Cap, if I'm right this nice old lady has my partner!"
The radio fell silent for a while, then the stern but caring voice came back. "Right, I'll patch it through, anything else?"
"Nothin' Cap, I'll let you know, Zebra Three out."
He sped through the increased early morning traffic, praying that by some miracle he would step inside Hutch's apartment to find him sitting on the couch, smiling at him with a drink in hand and telling him what a great night he had with some girl.
If that's the case I'm gonna kill him, he thought letting the bitterness slip through his tight control.
All of a sudden a tremendous wave of despair came rushing up, paralyzing him, gripping his heart in an all consuming fear.
Starsky hit the brakes in mid traffic, causing the Torino to lose its grip on the asphalt and skid sideways. Break lights forced the drivers behind him to franticly manoeuvre their cars in order to avoid him. He managed to get the car under control and it ended up against the kerb before coming to a full stop. The engine abruptly fell dead.
Angry shouts and honking horns passed him, but Starsky did not hear any of it. He gripped the wheel with sweat filled hands. Instincts and experience told him to get out of the car in which he was a far too easy target. He took off the shades and looked around for the danger that his mind told him he was in and found only the steady on going traffic, the pavement and some pedestrians.
There was no danger, nothing.
He swallowed and closed his eyes as nausea welled up. For a moment he thought he was coming down with the flu or something.
But then the fear turned into a warmth… a love… and a goodbye.
His eyes shot open, tears sprung into them.
"Oh God…," he thought, "Oh God…!"
He closed them, shook his head, opened them again holding on to that feeling. Realizing in an instant that what he felt was not his… what he felt was Hutch's.
He pursed his lips in bitter desperation and with tear filled eyes and wet cheeks turned the keys in the ignition and recklessly drove off, traffic honking again. Starsky could only think of that fleeting sensation that had touched him for a mere moment.
"…Starsky."
"No goodbyes, Hutch… not now… not ever!" he answered out loud. He put the mars light on top and, as if drawn to it, raced back towards Venice Place.
He took the stairs two at the time only to stop dead in his tracks when he came to the top. There in the corner between Hutch's front door and the wall, lay Oliver, curled up in a ball of warmth.
"Hey."
The dog must have been exhausted to not have heard him, but he did now. He jumped up and wagged his tail so hard against the wooden door that the thudding noise ran through the entire building.
For a fleeting second Starsky let himself hope that this meant that the apartment's owner had returned.
But the moment he stepped inside he knew the place was empty. He sighed and felt temporarily drained. Oliver followed him as he made his way towards the refrigerator. It contained a beer and one of Hutch's concoctions. He took out the last one knowing that Hutch would never let him hear the end of it if he found out. But he needed his strength.
"Hey Oliver…" he spoke softly and knelt in front of the dog. He stroked its ears and to his horror found the fur hard and sticky.
"What happened, huh?"
The dog whined and looked confused.
"If only you could tell me, brown eyes," he said tiredly looking into the big round eyes.
He gave him some water and food, then leaned against the kitchen sink and took a sip of the concoction. He stared at the dog, at the chocolate head with his remarkable white star. His mind willing it to speak up, to tell him what had happened.
"Where's my partner, Oliver?" The dog looked up. Starsky stared at him and sighed. "Where is he, huh?" He closed his eyes as the feeling of love mingled with despair returned and he cursed into thin air. "Dammit Hutch… hang on buddy, just hang on."
Oliver looked up. Although the man stood quietly in the kitchen, he could tell he was upset. This was a nice man. He smelled of food and radiated feelings of a good soul. Empathic as any dog he found those feelings very appealing and somehow they seemed familiar.
This man belonged to the same pack as the other one. The other man was kind and had a soft but stern voice that he just had to obey. He had accepted the other man's friendship and leadership with pure joy in his heart.
He wagged his tail hoping to cheer the food man up a bit.
It was a bit confusing.
The voice man had told him, firmly, to get back home. However his warning instincts had told him not to leave his friend there. The room had smelled of death and decay and an aura of wrongness had lingered about the place. He had tried to get the man to come with him.
"No Oliver… go… home…"
This time he had sensed the importance to obey and did what was told, jumping into the water. Home was where the rest of the pack was, he knew that. And even though it was night he found his way back.
The food was good, the water was good, but his friend the food man was upset. Upset that the other one was gone. He lay down on the floor and gave the man a sad look.
He could not contemplate on future or passed events, but just picked up on the loss that his friend felt. The man closed his eyes and the softly spoken words burned the dog with despair.
"Dammit Hutch…"
A silent and empty world…
He looked up with big brown eyes when blues opened again and suddenly a small voice, no more than a fluttering of words came from deep inside the dog. A tangible whisper that spoke and kissed him on the nose.
But…this…I need you to do...
Chapter 5
Hutch was crying.
He did not want to die. Desperately he clung to that sentence trying to hang on, moaning in his struggle to live. He wasn't going to die.
Slowly the realization set in… he was dying and he knew it.
Tears ran down his cheeks. Pain induced watery drops that fell on the wood and mingled with the blood. His breathing became increasingly difficult, short, forced, gasping breaths that halted in his throat. Sometimes he would open his mouth and no air went in at all.
"Aw, the little boy is crying…"
He could hear Olga talking, but he couldn't see her as his eyesight was gone. He picked up pieces of conversation, confused moments of reality and surrealism.
"Look at his ashen face Olga, it won't be long now…"
Hutch slightly moved his head in an attempt to shake off death, to hang on to his ragged breathing that became more and more shallow.
"Start up The Grace, Jake… we'll wrap him in the net and dump him in the ocean."
His eyes fell dry; the pain drained everything, even the pain itself. He moaned and thought of Starsky. "I just can't buddy… I just… can't."
His breaths became shorter and faster, his temperature rose to a high fever, and he passed out.
The moment Starsky opened the front door to resume his desperate search Oliver sped down the stairs like a tornado. Once outside, the dog raced around the nearest corner and disappeared from view.
Cursing under his breath, Starsky ran after him,panting heavily when he reached the corner and saw the Labrador sitting in front of some bushes. Expecting the dog to race away again, he carefully approached the shrubbery. But Oliver stayed put and began pawing at the dirt underneath the greenery.
"What d'ya got there, huh?"
Starsky went to his knees, reached underneath and took out what looked like an old cloth. He stood up and shook off the dirt. With a gasp he recognized Hutch's flannel black and white shirt. He quickly looked it over but found nothing that could lead him to his partner.
He smelled it. It smelled like fish.
Starsky looked up, thinking out loud, "The docks, is that where you left him?"
Oliver wagged his tail and barked. Sensing that the dog was about to take off again, Starsky grabbed him by the collar. "Not this time buddy, we're takin' the car. Anyone ever tell ya you run like an Olympic athlete?"
He dragged the dog all the way back to the waiting Torino and opened the passenger door to literally throw the dog into the back seat. "Stay there!" Oliver flattened his ears and looked at him in complete misery.
Starsky closed the door, ran to the driver's side and got in. It took him half an hour to reach the docks.
The docklands were large. Way too large. Starsky didn't have a clue where to start looking. He was just about to let Oliver out of the Torino when the radio came to life.
"Zebra Three, patch through from a man named Huggy."
Starsky stopped the car next to a gigantic tanker and grabbed the radio. "Yeah Hug what is it?"
"Starsky, the word has it that Olga Grossman just purchased a small fishing boat."
Relieved that he finally found himself on the right trail he answered: "That's where they got Hutch. Hug, any idea where I can find it?"
"Nope, but the boat's called The Grace and has blue markings on the side!"
"That may just be enough to find it. Thanks pal." He tossed the radio away, leaned in and opened the passenger's door. "Go," he commanded the Labrador.
The dog didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled out of the car in seconds and sped off down the pier. Starsky closed the door and hit the gas. The dog was fast, but now that he was in the car Starsky could easily keep up with him.
Oliver seemed to know exactly where he was going.
Starsky drove past endless piers. Heavy commercial tankers and cargo freighters were on his right side, large buildings and warehouses to his left. The crafts got lighter as he reached the part where pleasure boats and marinas were moored for the off-season, their gear hidden beneath sturdy layers of tarpaulin. Rough men, whose lives had been hardened by years of poor wages and tough work, eyed him as he passed them in his bright red car. It contaminated the air with a sense suspicion, intensifying the harsh reality Starsky found himself in.
He was dammed if was going to let Hutch die here.
Every time he thought he lost the brown blur he saw him standing at some corner, waiting for him. His white star was standing out from the harsh grey buildings that now surrounded the Torino.
Fifteen minutes later the dog disappeared inside a narrow alleyway between two buildings. Starsky hit the brakes, got out and ran after him. The alleyway opened upon a small area crowded with fishing boats. He stood still for a while trying to get his bearings.
Small wooden ramps anchoring waiting fishing boats led to the water. Then he spotted it. A small blue yacht had just turned and slowly navigated away from the shore. It carried the name The Grace. It was clearly heading off for the open sea. At the end of a small wooden ramp Oliver skidded to a halt and started barking like a madman at the disappearing vessel.
Running at top speed, Starsky reached the end of the ramp, and realized he could never be fast enough. The boat was out of reach and was already beginning to pick up its speed. Franticly he looked around. It took him a moment to find what he was looking for. He raced back down the ramp and headed for a small sturdy iron boat that was anchored not too far off. Oliver followed him.
Starsky landed on deck and was followed by four paws that abruptly bumped into him.
Startled, the slightly limping captain of the vessel, who looked as sturdy as the boat he was on, walked up to him with an obvious threat on his face. Starsky didn't have time to explain the situation so he quickly reached inside his back pocket to grab his shield. "Police!"
"Settle down mister, name's Hollister."
With a grunt Starsky grabbed the large bald man by his heavy dark blue sweater: "Look, I don't have time for chit chat, I want you to catch up with that blue vessel over there!"
"Okay, okay, plenty of time to do that mister, plenty of time." Hollister answered, clearly getting the message. Starsky let him go and followed him inside the cabin.
"You got a radio on board?"
Hollister started up the engines with one hand and threw him the receiver with the other.
"Thanks."
Starsky turned the radio frequencies so he could get the police radio on line. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Hollister's face. The features on it slowly hardened as the rough sea man listened in while he explained the entire situation to Dobey and then called in the coast guard. When he had finished, the large man had his eyes fixed on the smaller ship in the distance.
"Partner, huh?" A quick flash of compassion appeared between the sturdy lines of his face. "Don't worry, we'll get them, Detective. We'll get them."
Starsky just nodded. Not so cold and hard after all, he thought.
The Gabriel, small and not very seaworthy looking was used mainly for cleaning up the canal that ran through Bay City. Starsky stood on the very front tip of the boat.
"C'mon Hollister move this tub a little faster," he muttered, keeping his anxiety under tight control. The Grace was navigating around the coast a few hundred yards in front of him. His eyes never left the blue dot.
Starsky knew that if The Grace made it out of the harbor and reached open sea, they would never be able to catch up with her again. He would never see Hutch again. It was a feeling that was so much present inside of him that it was almost tangible. It was the connection between them that spoke, almost screamed, that urged him to hurry or it would be too late.
Starsky looked down at Oliver, who was barking frantically beside him. Hollister might think he was overreacting, that there was plenty of time to catch up, but Starsky knew the dog felt it too; the warning that was quickly drowning out all rational thoughts. To hurry.
Slowly The Gabriel crept closer.
Starsky concentrated, cleared his head of all worried thoughts and his heart of all desperate feelings. He pinpointed one point in space and aimed. The shot echoed over the water, drowning out the engine noise of The Gabriel and killing, in an instant, the forward movement of The Grace. He had hit the fuel line.
The Gabriel navigated along side The Grace.
Just a fraction sooner than Oliver, Starsky, with his Beretta still in hand, jumped over to the blue ship the moment the gap was small enough.
He didn't have to shout or search for his partner because Oliver sped off around the cabin knowing exactly where to go. Starsky raced after him, his mind marvelling at the dog's nose which didn't even have to touch the deck to pick up Hutch's smell.
He went round the corner to find a heap of netting with Oliver now on top, barking madly at the two people who tried to roll the thing overboard. Starsky's anger flared when he realized what they were trying to do. "Hutch!"
The man and Olga Grossman looked up startled. The man lifted his old rifle and began to take aim. Starsky let his instincts and training take over, made a dive roll and shot the man straight through the heart. There was no mercy in his eyes, not when it came to Hutch, not when a fraction of doubt could end Hutch's life, end their partnership forever.
Olga screamed and tried to reach the man but was stopped by Oliver. Showing his teeth with every bark, Oliver's whole body contained a death threat if she dared to move.
"Freeze!" Starsky yelled. She froze, staring at Starsky then back at the dog.
"Hutch!" Starsky yelled again. "You in there?"
The old woman's eyes shot in his direction when apparently she picked up the concern in his voice. Starsky never took his eyes off her. He knew she was waiting for him to make a mistake, to let his concern for his partner get the best of him. But he was far too good a police officer to let that happen.
The wind had picked up and water splashed over the netting, and a soft moan could be heard in between Oliver's barks. Starsky's eyes darted over toward the net as he tried to keep his footing on the rolling boat and slippery deck.
"Turn around…," he ordered her in a steady voice. "Slowly."
As much as he wanted to get his partner out of there he had to secure her first.
He reached in his back pocket for his cuffs when a sharp pain shot through his right leg. It worked its way up in an instant. He screamed. He couldn't help himself; his leg lost all strength and buckled beneath him. He fell, his gun slipped from his fingers. It took only seconds but in that time Starsky realized he had made a terrible mistake.
He had failed to take a third person into account. The Grace's captain. Pain wrecked his senses. His hand twitched to the origin of it and found a knife sticking through his leg, coming out the other side. When it was pulled out he screamed again, red spots overwhelmed his vision.
Breathing heavily he lay on the wet deck, he couldn't move. His gun had slid away, he couldn't reach it. He saw the captain coming up out of a hatch behind him, the bloodied knife still in his hand. He had a screwed grin beneath his unwashed beard. The man loomed over him.
Over the roaring sound of dizziness he suddenly picked up Oliver's barking. He looked up between the boots of the captain and forgot the shock he was in. Olga carefully picked up one side of the net, staring down at Oliver. Oliver was not a police dog and not a killer and was therefore unable to stop her.
"No, Hutch…" But he couldn't reach him, he couldn't stand, he couldn't move.
I can't get to you… dammit I can't get to you… God...no!
From far away he heard the captain's laugh and it made him mad. He reached out, closed his eyes and tigered forward using his left leg. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from screaming when pain lashed through him again, his heart giving him the strength he needed to curl his fingers around his Beretta and aim at her.
The captain walked over to the net, picked up the rifle and aimed it at Oliver, blocking his view from Olga.
Starsky fired…five shots.
There was a silence as the man fell forward and Oliver… jumped out of the way.
And Olga Grossmann saw her chance.
Starsky lowered his gun in horror, his eyes wide when he saw her push the net overboard.
He yelled as a splash crashed his world to pieces.
He shot her, but already a pain far deeper than the one in his leg cut through to his very soul. A fear so intense made him try to stand up, get to the water, but he was held down by strong hands.
"You'll drown! You can't go in!" Hollister's voice shouted in his ears.
"Then I'll drown with him! Get off me! Get off!"
Starsky was hysterical, panic had set in as the seconds that Hutch was in the water ticked away. Forcefully he wrenched himself free of the hands that were holding him down. Fuelled by his fears for Hutch, Starsky generated a strength that made Hollister lose his grip. He managed to get up, only to collide hard with the deck again when determined hands got hold of his jacket.
"You can't go in!" Hollister said, holding him down.
Starsky was ready to use his gun if he had to, his blue eyes seeing nothing but deep inner turmoil. "Don't make me use this," he said through clenched teeth and he aimed his Beretta at Hollister's chest.
Hollister froze and Starsky slowly sat up. However, the Captain did not move out of his way. Instead, a look of recognition shot across his face, almost as if he'd once lived through this himself, but Starsky couldn't care less. "Move!"
"You'll drown the moment you hit the water. Listen to me! I know. I tried it once, it cost me my leg!"
Starsky stared at him, only now noticing the wooden leg which was probably the reason why Hollister hadn't jumped in after Hutch himself.
"You'll have to shoot me," Hollister's cold voice stated.
His aim never wavering, Starsky removed the safety.
Inside however he was torn apart by the heart wrenching urge to get to Hutch and his own pledge to protect the innocent, a battle that racked his soul to the core.
He closed his eyes shut, tears appearing in helpless anger.
Hollister was not a cold calculating criminal that he could shoot without mercy. He could not shoot him… he couldn't… not even for Hutch. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself, and Hutch would never forgive him.
He looked away from Hollister in submission. He looked back at him again, shaking his head, closing his eyes as he realized what he was about to do. Slowly he raised his gun, away from Hollister and away from the only chance to save the other half of his soul.
Fatigue finally caught up with him, frantic feelings of grief and despair took hold. He had found Hutch but was unable to reach out, to lift him out of the water and to save him. The voice that had called out to himless than twohour ago. He still heard it. The voice that had been Hutch.
Starsky...
He looked away and shouted; a grieving sound that shattered the cold wet air around him.
The wind howled, almost as if it grieved with him.
Sirens reached his ears as the coastguard closed in. But Starsky knew it was too late.
He looked up. His tear-filled eyes stared at the deck when suddenly the lack of Oliver's presence reached his consciousness.
Except for the two dead bodies, the deck was empty
Chapter 6
Oliver struggled to keep the heavy net on the surface, but it dragged him down. He didn't know where he got the strength or where he found the courage to do what he did. He didn't think about that. All he knew he had to save this man. The compelling voice asking him, telling him, begging him to help this man. The voice that was part of him.
"Please help them…"
He whimpered, paws beating the cold unforgiving water. The tough rope of the net cut into his mouth, but his strong teeth would not let go. They'd fastened around it in a deadlock while breathing hard through his fangs and nose. He held on, keeping the man's head above water as the net got heavier and heavier. It slipped a bit, and he tasted blood. His paws got tired and as heavy as the net.
He should let go.
The dog held tight, not only with his mouth, but with his heart and soul. And when he found he could do no more, an unseen force gave him strength. It reached out through him, and Oliver held on. Hands appeared and took the burden from him. His heart filled with incredible joy and love, the unseen force enveloped him in immense gratitude… as his lungs filled with water.
His job was done.
Starsky had no idea how he had gotten over to the red and yellow boat of the coastguard but he had. His hands groped for the grey slippery net with its thick heavy rope as it was hauled out of the water and onto the deck.
Franticly he tried to pull the net away but it wouldn't budge, not without moving Hutch around. Knowing that Hutch had been injured, but not to what extent, his thoughts screamed at him not to move him. But he's already been in the water…we moved him then… how much can he take… Hutch… how much…
"Get this stuff off of him!" he yelled while flashing his badge with one hand. Time was running against them, and Starsky knew it. Two hours since I heard you calling out, pal…, two hours. If you're seriously injured…, two hours…It's too long…
The rescuers listened without a word. Heavy equipment cut the ropes in half. Fortunately The Grace was a small fishing boat and this net was one of the lighter nets it had carried. With determined efficiency they lifted the last of the strands away.
Hutch lay motionless on the cold wet deck. His upper body blue from the cold, his blond locks stiff against his head. Red ugly rims around his wrists where he'd fought against the chains.
But it was the deceptively small wound in his belly that betrayed the entire story… that threw the curly headed detective back to that moment in time when his friend had called out to him.
"Oh God…"
Starsky's heart lunged in his throat upon watching the grey face and cold pale lips that once held the warm and comforting voice that was his partner. His innards constricted at the sight, his fears made his hands hover above Hutch's still form. Not sure where to touch him, but knowing he had to, wanted to, needed to.
His eyes fell onto a trickle of blood that had been stilled by the cold water, but now started oozing again from the belly wound. It took him a while to register what he saw. The blood still flowed…
"He's alive!"
Warm shaking hands now touched his partner's face, and Hutch reacted with force. Within seconds he started to shiver.
Somehow they had reached the shore where a helicopter waited to pick up the blond man, now carefully wrapped up in warm blankets. Hutch had been stabilized, but with an acute belly wound like that every second counted. So Starsky let them whisk his partner away, knowing his leg wound would only slow them down.
Starsky just sat there on the rocking boat. The sound of the helicopter's rotor blades dissipated as the distance between him and the helicopter, between him and Hutch grew.
He turned around to look out at the distant horizon. The sun started to set and threw the most beautiful colors in his face. For a moment he thought he could hear a dog wagging his tale on solid wood but it faded in the sound of the rolling waves. In the distance the Mars lights of Dobey's cavalry were quickly coming into view.
With sadness Starsky recalled the conversation he had started with Brandon, the coast guard, earlier.
"Where's the dog?" He'd seen Oliver struggle in the water, but pretty soon his thoughts had been too occupied to see what had happened to the white starred Labrador.
The medium build sturdy black man had looked at him in surprise. "What dog?"
Starsky's hold had tightened around the arm; his eyes had spit cold blue fire"The dog that was in the water, the dog that saved my partner's life!"
Brandon's face had turned into one of compassion. "If there was a dog sergeant, then I'm afraid it never made it, we never spotted it… It must have drowned… I'm sorry."
Starsky still couldn't believe what the dog had done. If it hadn't been for Oliver… His mind pulled back to the present as he thought of Hutch. With a grunt he stood up, his determination making him move towards the approaching ambulance that would take him to the hospital and to his partner.
Brandon supported him and now jumped onto the shore to give the injured detective a hand to disembark. Starsky held onto the ship's railing as his eyes were drawn back to the cold deep water. To his surprise the water seemed to radiate deep warmth, reflecting the red and gold of the setting sun. He looked at it, and then quietly gave it a nod, a silent sign of gratitude to man's best friend.
He could almost swear he heard the bouncing tail on wood again.
Chapter 7
Once again he could do nothing but sit there. Once again with a hand in his. A hand that felt lifeless as Hutch didn't seem to feel his touch. He looked so small and insignificant between the white bare walls. Like a little boy asleep.
Involuntarily Starsky's thoughts raced back to a couple of months ago. When he had been sitting at Terry's bedside. Terry, his girlfriend. George Pruldholm had put a bullet in her just to get to him and he had sat with her until the end.
He looked at Hutch and then lowered his eyes. How long before being a cop started to wear both of them down. He recalled Terry's promise to be there when he needed her. "I can't lose him Terry," he whispered softly into the air.
He sighed. More then anything he wished she could be with him right now. But at the same time he realized he would give up his wish in an instant… if only Hutch would open his eyes. A tear sneaked down his face. He felt scared and had to fight the urge to run out of this cold barren room.
The warmth of a hand nestled against his cheeks and made him look up in surprise. Hutch looked at him. His eyes conveyed the words he could not yet speak, telling him it was alright.
Nothing to be scared about Starsk.
Starsky felt a smile tugging at his lips, touched by the unexpected moment of connection with his partner. He's comforting me, while I should be comforting him! "Hey."
A soft raw voice whispered back. "Starsk?"
"Yeah, take it easy."
Starsky grabbed Hutch's hand, which still nestled against his face and gently lowered it on the sheets. "I'm all right. It's okay. Shhhhh…"
The words caused a look of pure panic to shoot across his partner's eyes. It happened in the space of a few seconds, before Hutch fell asleep again.
Starsky frowned. What the hell was that all about partner? No time for self pity Starsk, you better be there for him when he wakes up again.
His partner woke up now and again, getting more coherent with every waking moment.
When Hutch woke up completely Starsky had just moved himself over to the window and was staring into the still darkness of the night. Small insignificant headlights were dancing across the window and the black sky was alight with the glare of the bright city lights. The room was warm and he had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt. It didn't help much. He still felt warm and the room started to close in on him.
A quiet sob spun him around as if hit by lightning. His eyes fell on his partner. The lost look in his eyes almost broke Starsky's heart. Quietly he walked over. "Hey, buddy." Hutch looked at him and Starsky could see him choking back sobs.
"Aw Hutch." He could tell how weak his partner felt right now, as if it were his own feelings. The surprise and relief of still being alive coupled with what he had been through; it all came rushing to the surface. And then there was the pain.
He sat down and reached out to touch Hutch's hand. But his partner pulled away, flinching again. A fleeting moment of despair shot across light blue eyes. Inwardly Starsky cursed.
Exactly what the hell has happened to you…?
With grim determination Starsky refrained from reaching out and steadied his hand upon the white sheets. He recalled a time when he had but to extend his hand and Hutch would grab it. Somehow that trust had been lost. As if it had drowned in the chilling waters of the harbor.
"Hutch." he stated, not at all a question and he let a little of his own hurt and anger slip through. "Hutch!"
He caught the fleeting eyes and held them locked onto his.
"Starsk?"
Starsky nodded as ever so slowly Hutch reached out and touched his hand. "Yeah?"
"Starsk, you're here. I'm still alive?"
"Of course you are, you dummy."
Hutch took in a deep breath, pulled back his hand and started to stare at the ceiling.
For a while Starsky did not say anything and just proceeded to carefully give his friend some water.
"Thanks." His partner said and then fell silent again, resting his eyes on a far-off point.
As much as Starsky hated it, he knew the best way to help Hutch deal with things was to draw him out right away. He waited until his partner had relaxed a bit, making sure that Hutch was awake enough not to fall asleep on him any time soon.
Purposefully he asked the hard question. "What happened out there, huh?" He put his fingers on his mouth and waited.
Hutch's eyes turned on Starsky's for a mere second, but didn't stay there.
"I… she…" He closed his eyes and opened them again. Instead of answering, Hutch asked a question of his own into the still air that surrounded them. "Where's Oliver?"
Starsky stared at him and spoke softly. "He saved your life."
A meaningful silence followed, which immediately made a worried Hutch turn his head towards him. Starsky just shook his head, knowing his partner would understand. Hutch blinked a view times and lay back on the pillow. "And Olga?"
First name basis, partner? "Dead," he shrugged, "I shot her."
A little smile tugged at Hutch's lips upon hearing those words, but it quickly disappeared behind a wave of emotion and he closed his eyes again.
"What happened, Hutch?"
"Starsky, I can't…"
The moment Starsky reached for his arm the blond pulled back again. Although he knew Hutch's consciousness probably did not even register what he was doing, his rejection still stung Starsky like hell. To see the trust and generosity in Hutch's eyes more or less destroyed was heart wrenching and it made him bitter.
"Hutch, you know you can talk to me."
There was no response.
"You can ignore me all you want… but I'm gonna sit here until I find out."
His partner squeezed his eyes shut even more and shook his head in despair.
Starsky had to refrain from leaning in, forcing himself to sit still.
"Hutch… Trust me a little bit will ya, huh?"
A sob escaped his partner's throat again.
"Come on…let it out."
The dam inside his exhausted partner finally broke. Hutch opened his eyes, a tear running down his cheek as he began to tell the story. Hearing his partners horrifying ordeal, coming in half finished sentences, halting sobs and unspoken words, Starsky succeeded with a heavy heart to pull the entire story out of him. He was glad Olga was already dead or he would have gone after her. No matter what the consequences entailed.
"I remember… calling out… for you." Hutch finished in a whisper and looked deep into Starsky's eyes. Starsky felt him touching his soul and deep within those baby blues that were covered with a film of hurt and despair, he saw the Hutch that he knew.
And finally Hutch reached out and grabbed his hand.
Carefully Starsky closed his fingers around the fingers of his partner, who didn't pull back this time. Starsky put his other hand against the blond's cheek, gently wiping away some of the tears and smiled a heart warming smile. "And I heard ya, pal… I heard ya."
Hutch smiled back at him and began to cry again.
With a sigh Starsky pulled him into an embrace. Safe in his arms he allowed his exhausted partner to break down completely and cry himself out.
Hutch had gradually recovered enough to be released from the hospital within a week.
"Starsk?" he asked sitting on the hospital bed. His partner's stare started to unnerve him somewhat. His face showed a mixture of compassion riddled with a seething anger, which Hutch did not understand.
"So…"
Hutch recognized the tone of voice. A dangerous tone Starsky usually reserved for the interrogation room. Either not noticing Hutch's unease or choosing to ignore it, Starsky continued.
"You're telling me that you are completely recovered? That what happened to you out there hasn't affected you at all?"
"I'm not saying that, I'm just saying that I won't let it take hold of my life."
To Hutch's startled surprise, Starsky grabbed his arm in a tight lock and raised his voice. "That's bull shit man, you're ignoring it. I've seen the way you handle the nurses."
Hutch had to work hard to fight the urge to wrench his arm free. He knew Starsky was right. This thing had hit him far more deeply than he was willing to admit.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He stated it in a cold voice, but he could not help from sounding insecure.
Starsky let him go and stood up. Then he pointed a finger at him. Hutch froze a bit at that. "You avoid them buddy boy, especially the older women. Hutch, for God's sake, you flinch every time one of them comes near you!"
Hutch opened his mouth to say something, but the words would not come. Starsky's anger hit him like a rock. "I'm … not…"
"You're not, huh? Okay. Okay." His curly haired partner who had walked over to the door turned around. There was no sign of anger in his eyes. Just hurt and a slight look of regret, probably over what he was about to do next.
"Starsk, what are you doing?" he croaked anxiously as Starsky marched up to him.
"How about this then, partner?" Starsky gently grabbed his arm again, but this time also reached for his face to touch his cheek.
Hutch shied away. An instinctive reaction, feeling guilty the moment he realized what he had done. Starsky immediately froze, not pushing any further, never wanting to hurt him. Their eyes met and Starsky nodded a 'see what I mean'. He let go of Hutch's arm and resolutely walked out the door.
"Starsky!"
Hutch put his head back against the wall and cursed when his partner didn't return. He shook his head in confusion. The fact that his behavior had hurt his partner slowly began to sink in. He cursed again and drew up the strength to get out of bed.
Gingerly he put his feet on the floor. Feeling quite unsteady and swaying a little he walked over to the door and peered out into the hallway. His partner wasn't in sight, but Hutch knew exactly where he could find him. Taking-pain filled steps he walked all the way around the corner to the nearest candy machine.
Starsky had just taken out a candy bar and was putting it in the pocket of his worn leather jacket. Somehow he sensed Hutch's approach and looked up. "What the hell are you doing out of bed!"
Hutch froze again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. He shook himself out of it and walked carefully up to his partner. "Look, Starsk…"
"You should be in bed pal." Starsky started to grasp his shirt to drag him back to the room, but then lowered his arm. Uncertainty shone in his eyes whether or not it was all right to touch him.
Hutch cringed under the hurt he saw in them. "Starsky…"
His partner didn't answer.
Hutch looked down and took a deep breath. "You're right, Starsk…I know you are right." He hesitated. "It's just so hard to…" Fear began to settle in, and he began to feel lost again.
"Hey." Starsky's soft spoken voice was accompanied by the feeling of a firm grip on both his shoulders. "Hey!"
Hutch looked up.
"What she did was wrong… it wasn't normal you hear… she was insane. All she cared about was destroying you."
Hutch stood, looking into his partner's eyes. "She didn't…"
"No, I know she didn't, 'cause deep down you still wanna reach out, you still care, she didn't touch that." Hutch didn't answer and Starsky squeezed his shoulders a bit harder. "Hutch, you woke up from your coma to comfort me remember, huh?"
He remembered. It was vague, but he remembered. It was hard to conjure up those feelings of trust now however. When Starsky had touched him back in the room he'd been truly frightened for a second. "I know I hurt you, Starsk."
"Forget it." Starsky let go of his shoulders. "Come on; let's get you back into bed, hm?"
Feeling kind of light headed already, Hutch gave in to his partner's worried look. However, tired as he was, he felt angry and frustrated at his own behavior. He hated it, every fiber in his body was protesting against the hurt he had seen in Starsky's eyes.
Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he failed to notice the head nurse coming from around the corner and they both walked straight into her. With an incredibly loud noise the elderly lady dropped the tray of pills she was carrying. Before Starsky could react, Hutch had grabbed her arm in reflex in order to stop her from falling over.
"Oh, dear," she exclaimed and stood straight again. "Are you all right?" She touched his cheek and then frowned. "You're not supposed to be out of bed, Mr. Hutchinson."
Starsky had picked up the tray and handed them over to her. He smiled. "Don't worry; I was just about to take blondie back."
She muttered something that sounded like 'Cops' and went on her way.
A silence descended that was broken by his partner's voice. "Did ya see what you just did? Hutch… you didn't even flinch, not one muscle…!"
"So what?" Hutch snapped back, glaring at his partner's smiling face. Angry he paced away, then stopped and turned around.
"I'll tell ya this, Starsk, I'll be damned if I let people like Olga Grossman keep me from the streets! From the people I care about…, from you!" He pointed at him.
"All right." Starsky stated.
Hutch's anger seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had come up as he broke the eye contact. "All right." He said firmly, and without any help marched over to his room.
Epilogue
"Starsk, get me another beer, will ya?"
Starsky rummaged through the fridge until he found what he was looking for. Two beers and some leftover Christmas pudding he had received from his mother yesterday.
Hutch looked at it in disgust as Starsky, who was wearing a multicoloured sweater his mother had knitted for him, dumped the whole lot on the table in front of the couch. "Haven't you eaten enough? We just had Christmas dinner for God's sake!"
"I'm telling ya, I could never have enough of mom's pudding. Here try some!"
"Starsk!" Hutch forcefully pushed the spoon his partner so graciously offered out of the way. The movement nearly caused the pudding on the spoon to drop all over the front of Hutch's black turtle neck but Starsky managed to avoid losing even the smallest bits of his precious pudding.
"Suit yourself, but you don't know what you're missing, man." He sat down next to Hutch and vehemently began stuffing himself with the pudding.
Hutch looked at him and shook his head in silence.
It had been two months since his ordeal on The Grace. He still wasn't fully recovered and Dobey had him on desk duty until he was. He was grateful to just sit here.
When Starsky had invited him to spend Christmas dinner, just the two of them, he had gladly accepted. As much as he disliked the emotional sentimentalism of the season, he really needed to revel in it this year.
Somehow he still found it hard to deal with what had happened on The Grace. It had brought back memories of Gillian and of the pain when he'd seen her murdered. It had also brought back the anxiety and images of endless worry for his partner's safety and his own. And although Starsky had helped him overcome his ordeal with Olga, for some reason he still couldn't forget her face when she soothed him into death.
And then there was Oliver, he couldn't forget him. It seemed nothing short of miraculous for Oliver to show up when they needed him. Without him, Hutch would be dead.
The close call still frightened his partner to death. Though Starsky refused to show it, Hutch wasn't fooled for a second. His partner was as shaken up by last year's events as he was and the boat thing had been the last straw. Hutch could tell Starsky needed to be as close to him as much as Hutch needed to be close to him this Christmas. He sighed.
It certainly doesn't keep him from devouring that pudding like a starving man.
"Hey Hutch, hold this a minute for me, will ya?" Starsky dropped the now empty bowl in Hutch's lap and stood up, leaving a sour looking partner behind to put the bowl on the table.
"What's that?" he asked when his partner returned with a large envelope in his hands.
Starsky sat down on the table and didn't speak for a while. "It's from Terry…"
Hutch looked from the envelope to his partner. Whatever Hutch had felt for Gillian he knew it wasn't nearly the same as what his partner still felt for Terry. When she had died a part of Starsky had died with her. It scared him to realize how much both of them had lost, it made him even more grateful to sit here, but Hutch wisely kept silent.
"It came in the mail yesterday, her mother called me last week to ask me if I would be interested in some of Terry's old pictures…"
"You haven't opened it yet?"
Starsky looked up with a slight smile. "Nah… wanted to wait till tonight."
They exchanged a quick glance until Starsky looked away. Hutch sat back on the couch and waited patiently.
His partner took a deep breath. "Guess now's a good a time as any. So…, here goes."
He ripped the yellow envelope open and took out three square photographs. The black and white pictures had yellowed with age and Starsky handled them with care.
He stared at the top one, a sad look spread across his face and stayed there. His eyes didn't seem to want to let go of the image that was displayed on the piece of paper he now held in his hand.
Hutch gently took the remaining two pictures from underneath the top one and from between his partner's fingers. They felt brittle between his fingertips.
"She looks so cute, Starsk." He said softly, checking out the top one. A child smiled back at him from between two chains of a swing. "She must have been no more than eight years old in this one."
"Yeah." Starsky managed to say, but was obviously deep in thought.
Hutch carefully put the second photograph on top and froze.
The image seemed to slowly register in his brain. A smiling eight year old girl sitting on the grass, her hands wrapped around a large dog. A Labrador… with a white star right in the middle of his forehead. He stared at it and then with shaking hands, turned the picture around. He read what Terry had written so many years ago in black ink… and his eyes watered.
Starsky's hands closed around his, taking away the picture with gentle care. Hutch looked up.
"Starsk… It can't be…" A tear ran down his cheek.
His partner stared in wonder at the picture. At Terry's girly smiling face, at the dog which long since must have died… He looked up, then down again to turn the picture around. He swallowed and softly began reading the words out loud.
"Oliver… He was my chocolate Labrador, his white star made him special.
He loved me and I loved him. He always made me smile, comforted me when I was sad and had the ability to spread happiness with his entire body.
I love him… and I miss him…
My Ollie.
Terry."
Hutch felt the tears run freely down his face. He looked his partner in the eyes as the dark haired man looked up and didn't even try to keep his own tears in check. A release of an entire year's worth of tension flooded through both pairs of blue eyes.
Somehow he knew it freed them. The words freed them for a moment of all their fears, of every horror they had been through these past twelve months. Fears for each other when one of them had vanished, images of twisted cult members and vengeful hired killers. They all vanished. It was replaced by love and by the realization that someone had helped them.
Starsky shook his head, clearly overtaken with emotion. And as the wonder deepened in tear filled eyes beneath brown curls he opened his mouth to speak in a whisper. "Do you believe in miracles, Hutch?"
Hutch put his hand on his partner's and kept looking into his eyes as both now had bright smiles on their faces. He softly answered, "Merry Christmas, buddy."
The End