Hutch slept until late in the afternoon. Then he went back to the hospital.

Starsky was awake, but still weak and groggy and lying in almost the same position as before. Hutch placed a chair next to the bed, then sat in it, facing the headboard. "Hey, partner," he whispered in greeting. Starsky's roommate had visitors on the other side of the curtain, and Hutch strained his ears to block out their chatter. He placed a hand on Starsky's upper back, and rubbed slowly and gently through the smock.

The other managed a slight nod. He swallowed loudly, then whispered, "Hey."

"How you feeling?"

A grimace answered him, followed by a gruff, "Hurts like crazy."

Hutch's hand rubbed the back and shoulders more firmly, without losing its gentleness. "Yeah, I know," he replied sympathetically. Then, "Has your doctor been by?"

Starsky took a deep, careful breath, as though trying to wake up in order to speak more clearly. "Yeah, maybe a coupla hours ago."

Hutch squeezed a shoulder. "What did he say?"

"Said it was gonna hurt bad for awhile, because the wound was so deep. Said it was good my temperature was down."

Hutch felt a sense of relief as his hand trailed down Starsky's spine through the smock. "That's good, buddy. That means you'll probably be able to go home in a few days."

Starsky didn't reply. After a few moment's silence, he said, "Hutch?"

The blond leaned closer. "Hm?"

The other's voice held a quiver. "How did ya find me?"

The taller man's heart twisted, for the question held a note of disbelief. But he kept his voice gentle and soothing. "Combed the canyons and back roads surrounding the city. Luke was with me. He spotted you on a side road off Highway 17."

Starsky's eyes squeezed shut as he forced down a particularly heavy swallow. The blond looked at the side table for water but only found an empty cup. "Need some water, buddy?" he asked, taking the cup and preparing to stand.

There was the barest motion of a head shake. "They only let me have ice chips."

Hutch considered getting it himself, but didn't want to leave his partner. He reached to push the intercom over the bed, and when the nurse answered, he said, "He needs some more ice."

Hutch settled back in his chair. Starsky grimaced again, then squeaked, "Highway 17?"

"Yeah."

"Outside the city?"

"Yeah."

"L.A.?"

Puzzled, Hutch squeezed his partner's hand. "That's right." He could see the confusion behind the other's pale expression. "What's the matter, buddy?"

The other let out a breath. Voice very dry, he said, "Were driving for hours. Thought we were miles away -- hundreds of miles."

Hutch considered that. "They must have been going in circles."

A nurse entered. She nodded politely at Hutch, then bent to hand Starsky a cup of ice. He accepted the cup in one hand, weakly fished out some chips with the other. She took the empty cup and left.

As Starsky placed a few chips in his mouth, Hutch said, "Can you tell me what happened, pal? Do you feel up to talking about it?"

"Yeah." Starsky swallowed a few times, as though trying to wet his throat with the ice.

"Start when they pulled you into the camper," Hutch prompted. "That didn't look like a planned move."

"Nah," the other agreed. "They just grabbed me before I could shoot, pinned me down and cuffed me. One guy was practically sitting on top of me the whole time." A swallow, then, "We just drove and drove, until daylight. The sun was out." After a moment, he added, "I remember thinkin' it must be about nine or somethin'."

"Go on," Hutch said after Starsky paused.

"Then they wondered what they should do with me. One guy was sayin' I could be used as a hostage, but the other said the driver said he knew for sure they hadn't been followed. So they just wanted to get rid of me." The last statement was made bluntly, but the silence that followed was ominous.

Hutch leaned closer, placed a hand on the back of Starsky's neck. Gently, he asked, "How did you get away?"

"I didn't," the other said, "not really." He took a deep breath, then grimaced. "The guy was gonna stab me, only he said something about it not being a 'ceremony'." He looked up at the blond. "He had, like, a special knife on his belt. But he grabbed some other knife from inside the camper, and the other guy raised me up..." he trailed off, swallowing.

Hutch rubbed Starsky's neck with his fingers, torn between encouraging his partner to go on and not wanting the other to have to think about it... didn't want either of them to.

After a moment, Starsky said, "I couldn't get at them with my feet. The only thing I could do was turn away, so he didn't stab something major. And he got me in the back. Then they opened the door and pushed me out."

Hutch wondered how long it would be before Starsky was healed enough to be picked up and held. For that was what Hutch wanted to do now -- not just to soothe and comfort, but also to reassure himself of the other's safety and living warmth. "Bastards," he whispered.

Starsky glanced at him from beneath hooded eyelids. Then he said, "It was a good thing they pushed me out. It was the only chance I had."

The blond closed his eyes. If Starsky's assessment was accurate, it meant his partner had been traveling along that primitive road for some eight to ten hours. He waited until his voice was under control enough to be encouraging. "We found you just a little ways from Highway 17. You almost made it there, pal. A little further, and a passerby would have found you, if we hadn't."

A soft snort emerged from the smaller man. "Don't remember hardly nothin' else. Just knew I had to keep moving, or I didn't have a chance."

When silence followed, Hutch shifted, then asked, "Were you able to find out anything about them from their conversation?"

"Nah," the other replied after a thoughtful moment. "They hardly talked the whole time.

There was just the dagger, and him calling it 'ceremonial' or somethin'."

Hutch patted along Starsky's upper back. "Okay."

Starsky hauled more chips from his cup, sucked on them briefly before chewing. After a moment, he said, "It was them, though. Three of them. They never mentioned anyone else."

"At least knowing they travel in a camper is a big help," Hutch said with encouragement, though he wasn't really sure if it were that important or not. He thought a moment, then noted, "You know what I can't figure out?"

"What?"

"Where the driver came from. We looked in the cab of that truck and didn't see anyone. It's like he appeared out of nowhere."

Starsky's eyes were closed. "Maybe he was hidin' in the bushes right next to the camper."

Hutch wasn't sure what to believe anymore. "Maybe."

Starsky's eyes opened. "Hutch?"

"Huh?"

"Come 'ere. Come 'ere where I can see you."

Hutch knew Starsky could see him from where he was, but not without straining his eyes. The blond knelt beside the bed, directly in front of his partner's face. "Yeah?"

A hand, connected to an IV, reached out, and the fingers brushed along Hutch's mustache. "Hey," the gentle voice whispered, "you okay?"

Hutch had to close his eyes a brief moment, before being certain the smile that followed wouldn't break. "Of course, I'm okay," he whispered in return. "I got you back, right?"

"Yeah," Starsky said with a slight nod. "I'm okay, so you don't hafta worry 'bout me no more. My turn to worry about you."

"Hey, no worrying allowed," Hutch scolded. "You just concentrate on getting better."

"Yeah, well," Starsky's voice softened further, "it's gonna be a while before... you know. You better not do any strayin'."

There was something about the possessiveness, even in a joking context, that Hutch found endearing. He reached out, ran a thumb along Starsky's nose. "Hey, I'd take a vow of celibacy before I settled for second best."

The other managed a tiny smile as his eyes closed. "Don't know if I believe that one."

"Believe it."

The blond's arm was patted just before Starsky's hand retreated back to the bed. The room fell silent, and after a time Hutch realized his partner was asleep.

He left for work.

* * *

The Department's efforts now focused on re-interviewing friends and relatives of victims, with special emphasis placed on seeing a camper. That brought nothing. Then an appeal went out to the public, asking if anyone had noticed a camper in the vicinity of Sandstone Park the past few months. That turned up a few responses, as some people did remember seeing one near the park, always at night, and always seemingly unoccupied.

With this small bit of additional information, patrols near the park at night increased. But nothing else was spotted.

* * *

Starsky was allowed to go home the fourth day after the kidnapping. His temperature was almost normal, but the pain from the wound was such that his mobility was limited. He could walk, but could not bend, twist, or stretch. And sleeping positions were limited to his stomach or right side. Being homebound and unable to do much at home made him restless and irritable. Hutch slept with Starsky, but spent most of his waking hours at work, knowing that nothing but time was going to help his partner get better.

* * *

Starsky braced himself when the mattress bobbled. In the semi-darkness, curtains closed to block out the daylight, he looked over as Hutch shifted from his back to his other side, facing away from Starsky. The blond had gotten into bed over an hour ago, allowing only a few minutes to down some food after arriving home, and still he hadn't settled into sleep.

Starsky had tried to keep up with his partner's night-time shift, but it was difficult. He found himself sleeping sometimes at night -- for there was little else to do -- and therefore it was difficult to continue sleeping in the morning, after Hutch came home. And it wasn't easy finding quiet activities that wouldn't disturb his friend's slumber.

On this particular morning, Starsky had already gotten quite a bit of sleep, but had still been content to simply lie beside Hutch and wait for the sound of the blond's soft snoring. He was still waiting.

He turned his head to look at the long form outlined by the covers. It was only slightly curled, the covers pulled up to the shoulder. At that point, Hutch's white undershirt could be seen, just to where it ended at the neck. Then there was the thin, blond hair, capped by a growing bald spot.

Starsky smiled affectionately while continuing to stare at the person who meant so much. He found it an interesting dichotomy, and yet another point of confusion, that he and Hutch had been together so long -- perhaps not so much in years, but in their degree of intimacy -- that they were already like an old married couple. They already knew each other's strengths and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, shining qualities and ugly eccentricities. And, certainly, Starsky himself had never been involved in such a serious relationship before where there was, relatively speaking, so little sex.

Not for the first time, he wondered if they had done the right thing by joining in body, just because the opportunity had been there, the idea laid out in the open. Sex had added something to their relationship, Starsky felt, but not a lot. For it seemed as though the relationship they'd had was already so fulfilling that there wasn't much left for sex to define. Their lovemaking seemed more an affirmation than an act of passion, more satisfying than thrilling, more an occasional snack than a necessary feast.

And yet, there was something calming, something secure, in the familiarity they had with each other. Starsky's recent convalescence had made him restless, and though medication and a sore body curbed his sexual appetite, he nevertheless found his mind fantasizing about adding more of a spark to their lovemaking. He knew, however, that none of his developing plans could be put into action until the Sandstone case was solved, for it seemed to drain them so much.

And it was at times such as these that Starsky wondered if he were fooling himself.

There would always be cases to solve, always frustrations in their professional lives to overcome. The Sandstone Park case may have been unusually long and upsetting, because of the number of deaths, but solving it would hardly make their lives easier again.

Starsky frowned at the insecurity the thought brought forth. He didn't like considering that their lives together had already reached a peak, that there was really nothing more left for them to discover about each other.

A quiet whisper penetrated the darkness. "Buddy?"

Starsky raised his head toward the turned back. "Yeah?"

A loud swallow, then Hutch said, "There's something I haven't told you."

Starsky blinked, holding his breath, wondering what it could possibly be. He knew that Hutch wouldn't be so hesitant if it were something good. "What?"

"It's just never come up since you were kidnapped," the other said by way of apology.

"What hasn't?"

"That very day -- the day you were kidnapped -- it was in the newspaper."

Starsky felt his heart accelerate. "What was?"

The blond's voice was strained with sadness. "About Partner for Life. They... they put him to sleep."

The curly-haired man was too stunned to feel anything except surprise. "What happened?" he asked in a whisper. "They said he was getting better."

"I don't know exactly," Hutch replied in a dead tone. "He had some sort of relapse, or complication, or something. They had to kill him." A pause, then, "I'm sorry, pal."

Carefully, Starsky scooted a few inches across the mattress, then pressed his cheek against the warmth of the cotton-clad back. He thought it odd that Hutch seemed more shook up about it than he himself was. He felt bad for the horse -- such a beautiful animal -- but with the way things were going lately he couldn't drum up an excessive amount of sentiment. Shit happens.

"You know what?" Now the blond's voice carried a distant quality of amusement.

"What?" Starsky prompted gently.

"When I saw it in the paper, it just about sent me into a panic. I mean, I was crazy anyway with worry about you. But then I saw the headline... I guess I thought it was connected to you somehow. Took me a moment to pull myself together."

The curly-haired man wasn't sure what to say to that. He could only reassure. "It does seems kinda eerie... it all happenin' at once." Now he felt grief start to intrude. "That's a damn shame that had to happen to him. Poor horse. Like you said once," his voice softened, "we'll have to carry on his name."

A smile was evident in the quiet reply. "Yeah."

"Hutch, can you maybe turn this way so we can talk to each other?"

There was a brief pause, then the long body carefully turned onto its back, dislodging Starsky's position. Hutch then rolled onto his other side so that they were facing each other. The blond reached to Starsky's face, trailed his fingertips up and down the other's cheek.

Starsky closed his eyes and smiled. "That's nice." When his eyes opened, he could see Hutch's returning smile in the semi-darkness. He reached to stroke the fine strands of palomino hair and whispered, "Is that why you aren't sleepin'? You were worried about tellin' me about the horse?"

"It just occurred to me a few minutes ago that you didn't know."'

"Then what else is goin' on in that blond head of yours, huh?"

One finger reached to outline Starsky's lips. "I don't know. I guess I'm trying to remember what life was like before there was this case."

At least they were thinking along the same lines. "I know what you mean," Starsky said with a sigh. Hutch's hand moved from his hair to massage a shoulder. He brightened. "I do know one thing: before there was this case, you and I hadn't lain together in the biblical sense."

That brought a gentle snort. "Starsky, us making love to each other didn't have anything to do with the case. We would have advanced in that direction, regardless."

"Yeah," Starsky agreed after a moment, liking the thought. He wished he could move to Hutch, but it was too painful to be embraced. Still, the longing was so strong....

"Hutch?"

"Hmm?"

"Make love to me?" Starsky anticipated the answer and prompted, "Please?"

"Oh, Starsk," the other replied tenderly, "I thought you couldn't do anything, because of the drugs."

"I know," Starsky said earnestly. "But you can still screw me. I'd really like that."

The eyes across from him narrowed, then reflected sympathy. "Ah, buddy, I don't want to do that if you can't participate."

"Hutch, please? I just... I just want to feel close to you. I mean, the case and me bein' all laid up has made us both restless. I just think it would be kinda nice to feel you all around me... and... you know."

The pale features metamorphosed into a pillow of softness. An arm reached for Starsky's shoulder as the tall frame slid nearer. "Ah, Starsk, I don't have to fuck you to give you that. I can at least hold your upper body against me." He tried to draw Starsky closer, but the other resisted.

"I'd just like... I dunno, the intensity of the fucking." He hoped Hutch wasn't going to make him try to put it into better words than that, because he didn't have any. "I mean, you're the one who always says The Orgasm isn't everything."

Hutch blinked, studying his partner. "Starsky, I don't see how.... It'll hurt your wound."

"Not if you keep your weight off my back," Starsky reasoned, hoping it was true. "If you just do it real nice and slow... you know, don't slam against me or rock the mattress too much... I'd like that."

Starsky's face was enclosed by a large hand. He watched the full lips come toward him, then rub against his own lips, then press....

God, it seemed liked forever since they'd even kissed. At least, really kissed. Despite his own lack of arousal, he was enjoying the sinking sensation that accompanied the act. He let his right hand wander down his partner's ribs, encounter a hipbone, then slide further down to press against a firmness that tried to leap through the cotton at his touch.

Hutch pulled back. "If you want it slow, you're going to have to behave yourself," he scolded.

Starsky took his hand away. "Right," he agreed with a chuckle.

Hutch was straightening on the mattress. "This is only your second time, you know."

"I didn't have any complaints about the first," Starsky noted in return.

As Hutch pulled off his t-shirt, Starsky recalled, "I received a little package in the mail the other day that should help matters. It's in the lower drawer of the nightstand."

Brows furrowed in puzzlement, Hutch reached to the furniture beside the bed.

"I got a few of them," the curly-haired man said as he heard the drawer open. "But you just need one."

Hutch held up a small, rectangular box as he pushed the drawer back in, and stared at it as though trying to decipher its contents in the near darkness.

"It's a vibrator," Starsky told him. "A small one. You know, it should be used... well, you know, after your fingers but before the real thing. It helps stretch the muscle...." He hoped he didn't have to explain further.

Hutch opened the package and studied the smooth, featureless cylinder, which was thinner than a genuine erection but thicker than a pair of fingers. The blond tilted his head. "Good idea." Kneeling on the bed, he reached for the Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion, which they had agreed they preferred to the jelly because of its silky texture.

"Actually, it's not my idea," Starsky explained while watching Hutch bend to remove his briefs. "I had a girlfriend once who liked me to put one of those in her before I ass-fucked her. I'd forgotten about it until a few weeks ago when I saw an ad, and I ordered some."

"As I said," Hutch noted gently, "good idea." He laid the items on the bed, and his voice softened. "Think you can turn over okay?"

"Yeah." Starsky reached for a pillow. "May as well get this under me while we're at it."

"We gotta get your jammies off first."

"Oh, yeah." Starsky wasn't wearing anything on his upper body. He pushed at the elastic waistband to the flannel bottoms. Then Hutch's hands were there, gently working them down his legs. The other was so careful that Starsky didn't even feel the slightest twinge, and before he knew it they had been cast aside.

"All right," Hutch whispered, taking the pillow again, "easy does it." He pressed the pillow against Starsky's groin and thighs, then pushed on Starsky's ass, encouraging him to turn onto his stomach.

Starsky grunted when pain flared in his lower back as he tried to relax against the pillow.

Hutch noticed it immediately. "Here, try this," he said, lifting Starsky and pushing the pillow more toward the headboard.

With his stomach receiving some support from the pillow, it kept his lower back less elevated, thereby easing the strain. "It's cool," Starsky noted after taking a moment to be sure.

Large hands cupped his buttocks, then pushed against them. "That feel okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Starsky chuckled softly. "Feels great, in fact." Hutch's large, gentle, caring hands were one of the great wonders of the world. "Just keep your weight on my ass, and not on my back, and it'll be fine." He listened to Hutch pump the bottle of lotion.

"Just a finger at first," the blond assured.

Starsky felt himself relaxing even further. It seemed that they had minimal expectations of their joining, so the pressure was off for a grand performance. He closed his eyes, enjoying the simplicity of their situation.

His left buttock was pulled aside, and a moment later a cool, moist digit stroked at his center. It circled around, then gradually wormed its way inside. The stretching sensation was more noticeable than he remembered, but Starsky remained tranquil, knowing from his one experience that acceptance would come more quickly with his cooperation.

"You're nice and relaxed tonight," Hutch noted with approval. "Those drugs you're on are probably helping."

"Maybe," Starsky admitted, but preferred a more personal explanation. "Maybe I just like you playin' with my asshole."

"Ever the romantic," Hutch rebuked.

Hutch continued to work with the circling finger, then pulled it out. More of the silky lotion was applied, and then Starsky felt the sensation of two fingers, further stretching... then the fullness accompanied by the pleasant circling motion. He felt a tingle in his groin, but doubted the stimulation was going to be enough to bring it to life. Besides, he wanted to just concentrate on Hutch's pleasure tonight.

"Hey."

Starsky blinked his eyes open. "Huh?"

"You aren't going to sleep on me, are you?"

Starsky closed his eyes again, hoping the leisurely, circling, stretching fingers would never stop. "Nah. Just enjoyin' it. Feels so nice." He suggested, "You should let me do this to you sometime. You're always in such a hurry for the main event."

He could tell by Hutch's voice that the blond was pleased to be pleasing him. "Guess I've been missin' out, huh?"

"Yeah, but that's okay. It'll just be a nice surprise when you're ready for it."

"Speaking of being ready for it," Hutch pulled out the fingers, leaving Starsky suddenly empty, "I think it's time for your new toy." There was a pause, then a hesitant, "Does it have a battery in it?"

"No, don't turn it on. Just use it for stretching."

"Oh. Let me get some lotion on it first."

Starsky listened to the lotion being applied, thinking he'd never trusted anyone as much as he did Hutch right now. His belief that his big blond would never hurt him was not something merely understood or acknowledged... it was part of his soul, as ingrained as the mole on his left shoulder. In some ways, he thought, he'd never felt more content during sex than he did now, and wondered why that was.

A hand was back on his cheek, pulling it aside, and then smooth, blunt plastic was placed against his anus. He felt it circling around the rim, even before it nudged against the center. There was mild pressure, then it poked inside, stretching him wide. He took a deep breath, accepting the intrusion, for Hutch's fingers had done their job well, and the muscle relaxed around the plastic.

Hutch pulled the vibrator out a little, pushed it back in. He repeated the motion over and over, using long, consistent strokes, pushing it in a little further each time.

When it got right down to it, Starsky decided, he simply liked being handled by Hutch. It soothed him... always had. Before Hutch, he had never yielded his strength to another. He had always been in charge, always in control of his own life, and therefore of anyone else for the duration of their contact with him. Now, he was relishing the trust, the freedom to not be in control in all situations.

A shiver went up Starsky's spine, jolting him from his reverie.

Hutch chuckled gently. "I think he likes that."

Starsky had to hold his breath a moment to get his bearings. Then he realized what Hutch was doing: twisting the vibrator, this way and that. "Jesus, Hutch." It was hard to relax now, with such stimulation going through him. He felt he was getting a hard-on.

The spinning stopped and now the plastic moved in and out with a firm pressure.

"I think I'm getting jealous," Hutch said.

Starsky grinned appreciatively. "As far as I'm concerned, you can take your turn whenever you're ready."

A steadying hand was placed against his buttock, and the vibrator was carefully removed. He listened to the soft sound of lotion against flesh, pressed his own partial erection against the softness of the pillow.

"You feeling something?" Hutch asked.

"Little bit," Starsky replied, hoping Hutch wasn't going to think about it. "Just enjoy yourself, blondie. Keep it slow and gentle, but enjoy yourself. That's all I need to make me happy."

His buttock was pulled aside again. A hot, moist bluntness was placed against him. And then he was pierced.

Starsky bit his lip, felt his eyes water at the additional stretching. But he again forced himself to relax, and felt his body's acceptance, felt the stretching slowly turn from discomfort into a satisfying fullness.

Hutch had his hands on either side of Starsky, his elbows locked to hold himself in place.

Starsky felt more of the length reach inside him. Then it was pulled back a little, pushed in... pulled back... pushed in. He grinned. "That's nice, Hutch. That's real nice."

The other made a pleasant grunt. "Feels good to me, too. I wanna try to keep it paced like this."

The thick, slow-moving phallus was even more pleasant than Starsky had imagined, for each motion back or forth stimulated his sphincter muscle, and he found the consistent sensation relaxing, and he melted against the mattress and pillow. He noticed that, without increasing his speed, Hutch was continuing to reach inside him, and there was something satisfying in the depth that was being achieved.

The penetration wasn't as deep as when they'd done it face-to-face in Kentucky, nor were the sensations as intense. But what Hutch was doing now was just what Starsky felt he needed. The only thing that kept it from being totally perfect was that Hutch couldn't lie on top of him and cover him with his body.

"Ah, partner," Hutch whispered in a passion-laden voice, "this feels good. So good. Your butt feels just like a cushion."

With each gentle, forward thrust, Starsky felt the other's pelvis and pubic hair brush against him. He could even feel the soft, gentle slap of the scrotal pouch against the lower part of his ass.

He thought Hutch's butt -- fleshier and more square than his own -- would make a good cushion, too. But Hutch never wanted to be fucked while lying against the bed. He always wanted his ass in the air -- or at least be on his hands and knees -- and demanded that Starsky pound into him as fast and as powerfully as he could. Starsky again felt the longing for them to find another getaway, to perhaps someday have the time and privacy that would allow them to experiment with other methods of pleasing each other. He thought if Hutch gave himself a chance, the big blond might discover that he could enjoy other types of fucking besides simply getting pounded to the hilt.

"I'm getting there, pal."

The strokes were getting a touch stronger, as Hutch was pulling out farther, pushing in deeper. Starsky reluctantly thought it was good that Hutch was close to finishing, for the muscles in his lower back were starting to twinge from the persistent motion, gentle as it was.

"Al... most... there," Hutch whispered intensely.

Starsky waited until Hutch pushed in again, then squeezed his ass muscles as hard as he could.

"God!" the blond exclaimed as he pulled back. Starsky heard a deep growl as Hutch continued to pump. Suddenly the hips were moving more rapidly, and then the familiar voice was screaming toward the wall over the bed.

Hutch had bent his elbows, so that his forearms rested against the bed, still holding his weight. Starsky did feel it when Hutch slipped out, leaving him empty. The blond carefully balanced on his arms and pressed his sweating forehead against Starsky's upper back. And then he kissed Starsky's spine before straightening.

The mattress rattled a bit as Hutch, breathing heavily, sat up and began putting their accessories away. As the blond paused to clean himself with a towel, Starsky realized that his wound had started to throb. It was, thankfully, only a mild distraction, for it was healing well, according to the doctor. He hoped to be back at work early the following week.

"Think you can sleep now?" he teased as Hutch joined him back in bed.

Hutch settled close to him, their noses inches apart. The blond leaned forward to kiss him, and held it for a long time.

"Mmm," they both said when they parted.

Hutch, still breathless, stroked his partner's nose, traced his mouth, the taller man's expression peaceful and content. "That was a nice little treat. Need me to do anything for you?"

Starsky's own groin had softened in the aftermath. He wouldn't object to having it reawakened with a blow job, but that would take a lot of time, and Hutch needed his sleep. "Nah, I'm fine. That felt great." He, too, caressed the other's face. "Love ya, you big blondie."

Hutch closed his eyes with a smile. Eventually, he drifted into sleep.

Starsky watched him for a long time, thinking that he wished he could pack Hutch up into a suitcase, and take him somewhere where he would always be safe and happy.

* * *

On his last full day of convalescence, Starsky was cleaning up the apartment when the phone rang. He went to the phone and picked up the receiver from the kitchen wall, hoping the noise hadn't woken his sleeping blond. "Hello?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"David, this is Kathy Marshall."

"Hi, Kathy," he replied in the same tone, and then felt guilty that his greeting was less than enthusiastic.

"I called the station and they said you guys were on nights now, but then they also said you were on leave. What's up?"

"Oh, a little on-the-job injury," he replied in a light tone, hoping to play it down so he wouldn't have to explain. "Nothing serious. In fact, I'll be back on light duty starting tonight."

"Glad to hear it. So...," she trailed off, then delicately asked, "are you still... unavailable?"

"Uh, yeah," Starsky's voice dropped to a more serious level. He now felt guilty about earlier thoughts he'd had about the lack of perfection in his and Hutch's relationship. He wasn't about to trade it in for anything. In fact, maybe it was time to end this thing. "Yeah, I think I'm caught, hook, line, and sinker."

Her voice was carefully neutral. "Am I going to get an invite to the wedding? I'd really like to be there. Honestly."

"I know you would," he said softly. "But I'm not sure either of us is necessarily the marrying type." Quickly, he added, "But it's real serious, Kathy."

She drew a careful breath. "This is goodbye then, isn't it?"

He, too, inhaled a lungful of air. After releasing it, he firmly said, "Yeah. I think that would probably be best for us both. I'm sorry, Kathy."

Her cheer sounded forced. "No need to be, David. Just because people are a lot more open about sex these days doesn't mean they still aren't out looking for Mr. or Mrs. Right." Now, her voice sounded genuine. "I'm glad you've found yours."

"So am I."

"Well," she sighed, "I wonder if it'll be worth the trouble trying to call Hutch for the twentieth time."

"He won't be there," Starsky told her firmly. Then, "He's been spending a lot of time with his special someone, too."

"Well, I guess I'll have to cross out both your names in my little black book."

Starsky fidgeted, anxious to be finished with the conversation. "I think that would be best."

Now, her voice was very soft. "Say goodbye to Hutch for me."

"I will. Good luck."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Starsky hung up the phone, relieved to be finished with that aspect of his and Hutch's past, but also feeling a bit of guilt, for Kathy had been such an enjoyable companion for them both the past two or three years.

He moved across the living room and peeked into the sleeping area. And smiled with relief.

Hutch was still sleeping soundly.

CHAPTER 11