See Part One for disclaimers, notes, warnings, etc.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Starsky fell on the bed, relishing the comfort beneath him. Hutch was stripped down to his shorts, and grabbed his robe and fresh underwear before heading to the bathroom. They'd both let Jim go first, since neither of them were recuperating from a car accident, and Jim had to be exhausted and sore beyond description with so little rest since the crash. Somehow he'd managed to bag his casted arm, after waving off any offers of help, and had taken a quick shower that didn't keep his guests waiting too long. Starsky had won the toss for second place, and Hutch was now bringing up the rear, none too optimistic about his chances for any hot water.

"Don't be long, Blondie," Starsky said, rolling on his side. "Bed's pretty comfortable."

"The hot water probably won't hold out long enough for me to linger," Hutch responded, heading for the bathroom.

Undaunted by his partner's slight crabbiness, Starsky yawned widely and tossed his robe aside, slipping naked between the sheets. They were both tired, but not *that* tired. He figured he could talk Hutch into at least a little fooling around before calling it a night. He briefly wondered how much Ellison could really hear from upstairs, but then questioned himself if, in Jim's place, he'd *want* to listen to his in-laws having sex. Chuckling at that, he remembered Blair saying Jim could "dial down," and he figured that would definitely fall into the "dial down" category.

Part of him wasn't relaxed anyway. They had a great lead on the case, and they still hadn't had the chance to travel to Seattle to talk to the first victim's colleagues. Sometimes you just ran out of energy and hours in the day to keep rolling. And then there was Blair. Even though he was out of danger and recovering, and would probably be released from the hospital soon, Starsky couldn't shake the overpowering unease that he should be with his son, just in case he needed anything through the night. Still, he knew Blair wanted them all to get a good night's sleep, and there was no denying they all needed that badly.

"Hot water hold out?" Starsky asked as Hutch returned to the bedroom, clad in his robe, carrying his fresh underwear. Starsky grinned at that. He'd already scored a few points and the game hadn't even started.

"Close enough." Hutch tossed the underwear and then his robe on a small chair near the foot of the bed, and slipped under the covers Starsky was holding up for him. He didn't lose any time scooting into Starsky's waiting arms. "It's been a long couple of days," he sighed, leaning in for a kiss.

"You smell good," Starsky said, nuzzling Hutch's neck. "Using the good stuff tonight?" he teased, referring to one of Hutch's more expensive colognes, which was usually reserved for special occasions--or sex. And he wondered why Starsky got horny every time he got dressed up.

"I'm trying to get lucky with this little brunet I picked up in LA," he responded, nibbling at Starsky's earlobe while a hand strayed down to squeeze a butt cheek. "How're my chances?"

"Gettin' better by the minute." Starsky rolled them so he was on top of Hutch, kissing him deeply and thrusting against him. Hutch took him by surprise by rolling them back on their sides and finally breaking the kiss to move down Starsky's chest, sucking hard on a nipple that lurked beneath the dark chest hair. Starsky slid his hands into Hutch's hair and tried to encourage his head toward the other nipple to give it equal time. Hutch wasn't being rushed, though, and only moved when he was satisfied the little nub was a pebble-hard, sensitized peak.

Starsky always marveled at the miracle of biology that allowed his nipples to be directly connected to his cock. It filled and rose to hardness as he moaned softly, savoring the sweet torture of lips, tongue, and the occasional nip of teeth on the sensitive flesh.

"Want you," he gasped before he even realized he'd said it. The thought of plunging into the hot tightness of his partner's body was making him crazy, and he slid both hands down to squeeze the smooth buttocks firmly.

"I don't know, ask me again," Hutch teased, moving up for a kiss. He had little shame when it came to encouraging Starsky to play with his butt. And Starsky was only too happy to oblige. Massaging the globes with both hands, Starsky thrust his tongue deep into his partner's mouth. When he pulled back, he asked again.

"Want to be inside you, Blondie."

"It's all yours, babe," Hutch replied, kissing Starsky again before turning over, his back to Starsky. They were both a little tired for more gymnastic positions, and Hutch knew his back would never tolerate him putting his legs up behind his head or in some equally ridiculous position he'd have to get into on his back. This was perfect for some slow, lazy lovemaking before sleep.

"Oops." Starsky seemed to freeze momentarily, and Hutch just chuckled.

"It's in the shaving kit, and if you want it, you're getting up to get it."

"You realize there's a whole lot of double meaning in what you just said?"

"Take it any way you want it...oh, shit, you know what I mean." Hutch laughed, knowing he was tired enough that he was destined to stick his foot in his mouth no matter what he said.

"I plan to, gorgeous." Starsky swatted him playfully on the butt as he climbed over him and out of bed to get the lube out of the shaving kit. "You know, I could sneak out and get some of that flavored stuff--"

"The standard stuff's just fine for now."

"Blair wouldn't care."

"Tell me that you don't talk to him about what kind of lube we use."

"It didn't exactly come up in one of our online chats, no," Starsky responded with a chortle. "Come on, Hutch, you expect me to be one of those uptight parents who can't talk to their kids about sex?"

"If I did, I know I'd be sunk."

"We've been at this for all these years, and Blair was brand new to it when we found each other. I never wanted him to feel uneasy to ask me something or run something by me."

"Get back in bed and run something by me, will you?" Hutch countered, and Starsky was only too happy to obey that command.

Resuming his place behind his partner, Starsky nibbled at Hutch's neck while he slipped a lubed finger into the tight passage, massaging and lubricating it.

"Don't go to sleep on me, darlin'," Starsky teased as Hutch shifted his ass a bit and yawned.

"Feels good, babe. Keep it going," Hutch said, flexing his internal muscles around Starsky's finger.

Convinced his partner was ready for something more aggressive, he withdrew that finger, added more lube, and returned with two. He didn't waste much time, as he was convinced Hutch would fall asleep if he got any more relaxed. He soon withdrew both fingers and coated his own straining erection, then slowly by steadily pushed his way inside the slick channel that fit him like a glove. He smiled at the thought that somehow, Hutch was made to order just to fit him that perfectly.

Feeling Hutch was just a little too mellow and complacent, even penetrated, Starsky angled his strokes and nailed his lover's prostate. That definitely elicited an electric response as Hutch let out a strangled cry of pleasure that, despite their passion, gave Starsky a few giggles, knowing his partner's face was probably crimson at having shouted in passion in someone's guest room. Blair had said Jim could sleep like a stone once he went to sleep, and Starsky was further convinced Jim wasn't interested in what they were doing, even if he could hear it.

"Oh, God, babe, do that again," Hutch gasped, and Starsky began pumping steadily, managing to rub over the sensitive little nob more often than not, muffling his own potentially loud gasps and moans of pleasure against Hutch's neck. He reached around front and pumped Hutch's cock in time with his thrusts, relishing the wanton way Hutch's body jerked from one sensation to the other, loving all of it but not sure what he wanted more, the hand squeezing his cock or the cock sliding in and out of him in firm thrusts.

They rocked together a long time, both enjoying prolonging the union as much as they could, until Hutch couldn't hold out any longer and came, his climax the final impetus for Starsky's own orgasm. Still joined, they rested that way a while, letting heartbeats slow and breathing return to normal.

"Did I mention to you today that I love you a whole lot?" Starsky asked, winding his arms firmly around Hutch, not withdrawing from his body just yet.

"Not in the last few hours, so I was starting to doubt you."

"I love you, you sarcastic asshole," Starsky responded, laughing and kissing Hutch's shoulder.

"At least you still sweet talk me after sex, Starsk. And they say the romance doesn't last."

"They're wrong about that, aren't they?" Starsky asked, completely rhetorically as he rested his head against Hutch's, snuggling tight against his back.

"Dead wrong. I love you, too, babe."

Starsky carefully withdrew and then snuggled against Hutch again, ready for sleep.

********

"Excuse me?" There was a long pause. "What the hell do you mean, he's not *there*?"

The sound of Jim's angry, elevated voice disturbed Hutch as it carried through the closed French doors from the kitchen where Jim was presumably on the telephone. It was still dark, and when Hutch looked at the digital clock--God love Blair for getting the kind with the soft-blue glowing two-inch numbers that didn't require glasses to see--it was only 5:00 AM.

"He's got a skull fracture and he was on an IV for God's sake! Where the hell would he go?"

"Starsk," Hutch said gently, nudging his softly snoring partner. "Starsk, come on, babe, wake up. Something's wrong."

"Huh? Where?"

"Jim's on the phone with the hospital. It sounds like there's a problem." Hutch was already getting up, and Starsky nearly flattened him where he stood in his rush to get to the doors. When the two men emerged, tying their robes and pushing disheveled hair off their foreheads, Jim was pacing the room like a caged panther, still arguing with the person on the other end of the phone.

"I thought you people were checking him every hour, testing his reflexes or something."

"What happened?" Starsky asked, and Jim just held up his forefinger for them to wait a moment.

"We're on our way," he concluded, hanging up the phone. "Blair's gone."

"What?" Starsky blanched at the statement.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, Starsky. I mean, he's not there. Not in his room. The nurse went in to check on him and the bed was empty. There's no sign of him anywhere. Hospital security is searching the hospital, along with as many nurses and nurses' aides as they can round up. I'm gonna call Simon and then get dressed so we can meet him over there."

"We better grab some clothes and get rolling," Hutch said, steering his partner back into the guest room. "Maybe we better step in the shower quickly," Hutch said, gathering up their things.

"Hutch...where in the hell could he be? He was supposed to be taking it easy. They didn't even take him out of ICU yet. If something's happened to him--"

"That's what we have to find out, Starsk. But we can't find it out standing here. Jim was already heading upstairs to get dressed, and we're naked and smelly in our bathrobes yet. We need to get a move on."

"Yeah, I know, you're right..."

"I'm worried, too, babe, but worrying never solves anything."

********

Blair didn't feel like opening his eyes just yet. He was too comfortable. //Funny, the hospital bed didn't feel this good before. I must be on some good meds,// he thought, secretly relishing what he figured was a legitimate good drug trip. His sprained wrist still ached dully, but he found his hand free of the invasive IV needle. He'd been told that would be removed soon, but he hadn't expected to be liberated this fast.

Finally, he opened his eyes, wondering what time it was, and whether or not Jim or his father might be there visiting.

He was not in the hospital room, but he did have a visitor.

"Mr. Sandburg, you're awake," the man in the chair near the bed said congenially, laying aside the magazine he'd been reading. It looked as if it might be either pre-dawn, or a very cloudy day. Blair wasn't exactly sure. The man was tall and slender, with long legs that were crossed as he sat. His thinning brown hair was parted low on the left side, and combed creatively across his balding head. His mustache and neatly trimmed gray and brown beared nearly matched the tweed sweater he wore. He took off his gold, wire-framed glasses and set them aside on the magazine, near the foot of what appeared to be a king-size bed, adorned with expensive, and very comfortable, linens.

"I don't understand...where am I? Are you a doctor?" He thought maybe he'd had a setback of some kind. For a horrible moment, he wondered if he'd slipped into a coma and this was like a twisted version of "The Dead Zone" where he'd wake up eight or ten years later in some fancy rehab facility Bill Ellison paid for, totally oblivious that his life had been destroyed while he slept...

"I am, but not an M.D.," he said, smiling. "My name is Eldon Garrison. I'm a Ph.D. in Philosophy and Criminology. You might say I'm a doctor twice."

"You're the one...you wrote the book about going back to archaic forms of punishment."

"That is I, yes," Dr. Garrison responded, still smiling faintly. "Now, Blair--may I call you Blair?"

"What am I doing here? Where is this place?"

"Please, try to stay calm. I don't know a great deal about head injuries, but I imagine that tranquility and rest are encouraged. You're perfectly safe here. If you're worried I brought you here to torture you or put you to some horrific death, I can assure you, you're quite wrong. I don't have any desire to hurt you. On the contrary. I'll do all I can to provide you plenty of rest and anything you might need for your recovery. I do need your help, however."

"Well, kidnaping me out of the hospital is a weird way to go about it, man. I'm not helping you. Why should I? You drag me out of the hospital against my will in the middle of the night and lock me up in some well-decorated prison and then ask for my help? You *are* nuts."

"You know better than that, Blair. That's why I brought you here. You're broad-minded enough to listen to what I have to say without pre-judging. You're an academic. A researcher. You deal in facts, statistics, trends... Not emotion and preconceived notions." He paused. "I'm not unfamiliar with your work. I've read some of your journal articles on primitive civilizations in the course of my research. And, I must say, the research you began on the subject of...what did you call them...sentinels? Tribal watchmen? That was utterly fascinating. Did you pursue that?"

"No, it was a bit of a dead end. I kept finding people with one or two heightened senses, even one I thought was the real thing, but after rigorous clinical testing, none of them really proved to be the type of person Burton seemed to be describing."

"Pity. You seemed to be onto something very groundbreaking there."

"Yeah, well, groundbreaking isn't always synonymous with worthwhile."

"I see. Well, if that's intended as a summation of your opinion on my theories, I hope you will at least do me the courtesy of fully reviewing my work before dismissing it."

"My head hurts, and I can't sit and pore over stacks of tiny print journal articles. Besides, I'd be lucky to find the journal itself without my glasses."

"I don't expect you to read it. I've made tapes. You see, I've been planning this for a while."

"Kidnaping me?"

"No, not you personally. When I read about you being involved in that car-chase accident in the paper, it just clicked how ideal you would be. I was hoping to work closely with another academic who would have some...credibility with law enforcement, as well as academia."

"What do I have to do to get out of here alive?" Blair asked directly.

"Just listen to the tapes as you feel able. That's all I ask. I think you'll find my research is solid, and there is some worth to my theories. But if you honestly don't believe that, even after listening to the tapes, I'll release you...well, after I've made arrangements to get out of the country, that is. I don't relish rotting in federal prison."

"You murdered that reporter. Horribly."

"I executed him. There's a difference."

"Only in semantics. What gave you the right?"

"What gave him the right to ridicule my life's work and make me a laughing stock among my peers? That little twerp wasn't even born yet when I earned my first Ph.D. I was a tenured professor at an Ivy League college while he was still picking his nose and filling his diapers. And yet he presumed to debunk everything I'd worked so carefully to present."

"He had a lot of support from the academic world."

"You should know by now how narrow-minded some of those moth-eaten old professors and administrators are."

"No arguments there."

"See? Blair, all I ask of you is some of your time. You've got to lie around and rest for the next couple of weeks anyway. I'm only asking that during that time, you listen to my tapes with an open mind. I'll see to it you have plenty of food, painkillers, anything you need."

"I want to go home to recover. You're keeping me here against my will. Do you really expect me to judge your work fairly?"

"Yes, because I believe in your intellect, Blair. I've read your work. You are a fine scholar, with an open mind and a hunger for knowledge. You could dismiss all my work simply because of who I am or the circumstances, but you won't do that. You'll want to get to the bottom of the academic puzzle." Garrison smiled, and Blair hated him for having assessed him so accurately. He was already curious what Garrison could have possibly put on those tapes, or discovered in his research that would lead to such outlandish conclusions. Inasmuch as he despised the man's perverted twist on that knowledge, and resented bitterly his captive situation, he was plagued by that cursed curiosity that certainly hadn't done the cat any good.

"I need to contact Jim Ellison, my partner, and let him know I'm all right, or I swear to you, I won't listen to one word of one tape."

"I can't let you make a phone call, Blair. I think you know that. With all the tracing devices, and simple home Caller ID's, there's no way for me to safely allow you to do that."

"Let me write him a letter, and you can mail it for me."

"All right, that's fair enough, although you do realize I won't be naive enough to mail it from a nearby post office, right?"

"I just want him to know I'm alive. I want to be able to send him letters periodically until you let me out of here."

"Once per week."

"Three per week, or I do nothing with your lousy tapes."

"Two. That's my final word on the subject. I'll bring you some writing paper and a lap table." With that, Garrison rose and left the room.

Blair looked around the room, trying to assess his chances for an escape. Ignoring the ominous pounding in his head, and the dizziness as he changed positions, he forced himself to sit on the side of the bed, with his feet touching the floor. There was a window, and he had to check that out. If there was any way out of here, he wanted to at least know about it for when the opportunity to escape might arise.

Forcing his stiff, battered body to its feet, he steadied himself on the night stand and moved carefully toward the window. Sunlight was beginning to filter through the partially open Venetian blinds that were framed by a pair of blue brocaded drapes. He parted the slats of the blinds to see the sun, but also to see a sort of chain-link caging over the glass.

"You can have some fresh air if you like," Garrison's voice startled him from behind. "The window's not locked. The security screen is quite secure. You really should be in bed, Blair."

"Let me out of here. I'm not going to be able to convince the world about your theory, and you know it."

"I didn't ask anything that grandiose of you. I only asked for your time and your attention, and your open mind. Now, to save you a lot of time and effort you probably aren't up to, the window is secure, the door to your room will be locked from the outside with both the knob lock and two sliding locks that only work from the outside. It's solid oak, so if you were thinking if beating your way through it, I'd abandon that idea. You're welcome to scream if you like, though I'd certainly appreciate it if you didn't. We are in a remote rural area, far back from the road. No one will hear you. And if you should happen to get out somehow, you'd have a very long walk through the woods to make it to the road. There is a pack of wild dogs in the woods, so long nature walks aren't a very wise idea. If we don't bother them, they probably won't bother us. I admit, I'm not pleased about that, but the location was otherwise perfect, and it was rent-free. Now, if you include any of that in your letter to Ellison, I promise you, it won't be mailed. You may tell him you are well, and that your life is not in immediate danger, and that you will be gone for a few weeks. That's all."

Blair sat on the side of the bed, raising his hand involuntarily up to his forehead.

"They had me on some kind of meds at the hospital," he said, willing the pounding to lessen.

"I checked your chart. Take two of these, and you'll feel better." He handed Blair two white tablets and a glass of water.

"What are these?"

"They're just Tylenol 3 with codeine. I borrowed a small supply from the hospital pharmacy."

"How do I know that's what they are?"

"If I poisoned you, it would be a little difficult to elicit your help. Furthermore, why would I bring you all the way out here so I could kill you? I could have slit your throat in the hospital and left, no hassle, no strings."

Shrugging, Blair took the two pills and chased them with the water before getting back into bed.

"Take a nap until your head feels better. I brought a few tapes for you to get started with, and there's a lap board in here, too, for when you want to write your letter," he explained, setting a large cardboard box on the floor near the bed with a cassette player, the board, and a pile of tapes inside. "I'll let you rest a while, and then I'll bring you lunch, and perhaps you can get started on the tapes."

His perversely cordial host left then, and Blair looked around the large bedroom. Besides the comfortable big bed with the carved wood headboard, there was an antique dresser with a mirror above it, another tall bureau for clothing--which was kind of a cruel joke since he seemed to only have a hospital gown to wear--a blue overstuffed chair with a beige accent pillow in it, matching oak night stands bearing ornate antique lamps, and an overhead light fixture that appeared to be original hardware in what seemed like quite an old house. The woodwork had been painted white to better blend with the blue and white wallpaper, which featured a small floral print. It struck Blair as a woman's room, rather than a man's, though all the overtly feminine objects were missing--no perfume, jewelry boxes, or other signs of female occupancy.

The pills were making him drowsy, and as he succumbed, he hoped they were only what Garrison had said they were. And he hoped that by some longshot, Jim would find him.

********

Cascade Memorial Hospital was crawling with uniformed and plainclothes police officers. The Cascade PD seemed to have as many people at the hospital as they did at downtown headquarters. Every inch of the building had been searched, every coherent patient questioned, all personnel questioned either individually or in groups, and those who had gone home were called back in for questioning.

Despite the fact he was allegedly on sick leave, Jim worked side-by-side with his colleagues, questioning doctors, nurses and visitors alike. He was most ruthless with the ICU staff, who had allowed a patient to be moved by an unauthorized person without even checking the story. Only one nurse had seen the "doctor" and his two "nurses" who had supposedly "come up from three" to retrieve Blair, who was being moved out of ICU. The orders were signed by Dr. Farraday, or rather his signature had been forged there, so she didn't question it.

The empty hospital bed was found in the elevator, which the guilty party had sent to the basement upon his departure.

The "doctor" was a tall, slender man with a thick head of dark brown hair and a full beard. He wore thick glasses and was dressed in scrubs and a lab coat. He was accompanied by a male nurse, about 5'10" tall and a bit on the stocky side, with blond hair and a mustache, and a young woman the nurse estimated to be in her late twenties, with black hair in a pony tail, blue eyes, about 5'6". The "nurses" were dressed in typical nursing garb--colorful smocks with white slacks and white shoes.

"You heard anything yet from Megan about the Emergency entrance?" Jim asked Simon as they reconvened in the ICU waiting room.

"She's still down there interviewing patients and Rafe is working his way through the staff. They haven't reported in yet, so they probably don't have anything for us."

"This is incredible. How do you just walk in and *take* someone out of an ICU?" Jim threw his one good hand in the air, his broken arm moving a bit like a flipper to join in the gesture.

"I seem to recall you being on sick leave," Simon said.

"You've gotta be kidding."

"I was, for the most part. Just be sure you don't overdo it."

"I'm fine, Simon. It's Blair I'm worried about."

Just then, Megan appeared at the end of the hall, hurrying toward them, her heels clicking on the shiny linoleum floor.

"We have a couple of witnesses downstairs. Rafe is taking down all the details. They saw a doctor and two nurses wheel what they thought was an unconscious woman with long, curly brown hair, slumped in a wheelchair, to a dark blue van. They said it appeared the doctor and the male nurse lifted this person out of the wheelchair and into the back of the van."

"They didn't find that odd at all?" Jim asked, his eyes widening. "Who were these people?"

"They're an older couple--they were waiting to be seen because the woman had complained of chest pains, but she seemed to be feeling quite a lot better. She was kept for observation for a period of hours, and I guess they told her it appeared to be just gas pain or something non-threatening. Anyway, they were just preparing to leave when we arrived. The man said he figured somebody was either taking someone home who'd been sedated, or that they might be taking the person to a rehab or nursing care facility."

"Any chance they noticed the plates on the van?"

"Not a number, but he said they were Oregon plates."

"That's something right there," Simon said.

"Megan, did you get something?" Hutch asked as he and Hutch approached the group. They'd been questioning the security staff, including the parking lot security personnel.

"A dark blue van with Oregon plates. A couple in the Emergency room saw our phony medical staff loading Blair into the back of it. At least, it sounds like it's Blair," Megan responded. "Their description of the doctor and nurses matches what we've gotten from the other staff people who saw them."

Simon had wandered away from the group, barking orders into his walkie-talkie for an APB on a dark-colored van, possibly dark blue, with Oregon plates. The Washington State Police would also be notified.

"This doesn't make sense. Any of it," Starsky said, pacing. "Blair didn't witness anything, he's not the lead cop on the cases Jim's working on. He's not slated to testify in court anytime soon. Why would someone do this?"

"We're not going to know that until they surface with their demands," Hutch said, his voice exuding false calmness. "This could be aimed at either one of you, or at Blair himself. The best way to get at Jim would be through Blair. Anyone who knows him well enough to hate him knows that. Similarly, if someone wanted to get at you, they'd target either Blair or me."

"Or Ma." Starsky stopped in his tracks.

"You better call Sophia and let her know what's going on. I doubt this is anything that far-reaching, but there's no point in risking it." As Starsky moved down the hall, taking out his cell phone, Jim looked at Hutch, puzzled.

"Who's Sophia?"

"Starsky's cousin. His mother lives with her and her family."

"You don't seriously think this is some vast conspiracy with tentacles in New York, do you?"

"No," Hutch said, sighing. "But it'll give him something productive to do so he doesn't bounce off the wall. We haven't been involved in anything that far-reaching in years. If one of the old crime bosses we messed with was going to do us in, we'd be dead by now."

"What about our psycho professor?" Jim asked.

"I'm not sure what his point would be. We haven't even approached him to question him. We haven't gotten to question his former colleagues or students, so no one could have tipped him off."

"Unless that's what's bothering him--that we haven't come for him. Maybe he wants to be sure we find the right guy," Jim suggested.

"Could be."

"I don't want to think about that possibility, really," Jim said, his jaw twitching a bit. "Not the way his victims die."

"Why would he kill Blair? It doesn't make sense. He killed Nichols because of the article. If we can tie him to the dead professor in Seattle, I'll give you odds that he did something to Garrison as well. Blair's never done anything to this guy. He doesn't even know him."

"Who knows? He's a headcase. Maybe because Blair's my partner, and I'm the cop on the case."

"I think we need to track down Garrison, but I wouldn't assume the worst just yet."

"Thinking about Garrison?" Starsky asked as he rejoined them. "Too late. I already thought the worst," he added, running his hand back through his hair. "Ma's fine. I told Sophia to just keep an eye on her, make sure she wasn't outside alone. She loves going for walks in the Fall. Sophia has to just about chase her down the sidewalks to make sure she doesn't go too far," Starsky added, smiling. "The legs still work pretty good, but the memory isn't always as sharp. She's liable to end up on the wrong side of the tracks of they don't keep an eye on her."

"I'm gonna call Stan Parsons and see what he can bring up on his database about Garrison. The Feds are bound to have a dossier on somebody like that," Hutch said, taking out his cell phone and heading for the exit.

"Who's Stan Parsons?" Jim asked Starsky.

"Former cop-turned-fed. He's a good guy. Total computer geek. Anything you want to find in the FBI's database, just call Stan. Even if you're not supposed to find it, he can usually track it down," Starsky added, smiling a little.

*********

Blair pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bladder was protesting the prolonged rest with no relief, so he pushed himself up and made his way slowly around the bed to a closed door he hoped led to a bathroom. Having to get permission from Garrison to take a leak would be a little demeaning. He was relieved to find a small bathroom, nicely decorated in the same blue and cream color scheme, a ruffled valance accenting the window that was covered with the same security grate as the window in the bedroom.

He took care of business, washed his hands, and took a moment to look at himself in the mirror. The bruise on his forehead looked no less ominous than it had the first time he'd shuffled to the bathroom on his own in the hospital. His hair felt positively grimy and itchy, and he didn't feel much better. Assessing that he had no open wounds to be hurt by soap and water, he located soap and shampoo on a small shelf in the corner of the bath tub alcove. Closing the door, he was pleased to find a thick, white terrycloth bathrobe on the back of the door.

Steadying himself on the counter a moment to ride out a wave of dizziness, he took off the hospital gown and wrinkled his nose. The nurses hadn't really been able to jostle him around a lot for bathing, so what they had done was pretty cursory and not all that effective. He was glad there was a grab bar on the wall of the bath tub alcove, and he used it to keep his equilibrium while he got the water started.

His head ached fiercely from the exertion, but the shampoo felt marvelous on his scalp, and getting thoroughly cleaned was refreshing him quite a bit. Still, he couldn't shake that feeling of foreboding, much like Hansel and Gretel must have felt as they feasted on the foods provided by the old witch, knowing the evil crone had an ulterior motive for her hospitality.

He was stunned to find conditioner in the medicine cabinet, and a blow dryer in the drawer next to the sink. The conditioner was some kind of fruit and flower blend Blair wouldn't have chosen for himself, but then he figured it must have belonged to the woman who used to occupy this room. He was chilled by the question of what her fate was.

Clean, dry, and exhausted from the effort, Blair opened the bathroom door and was surprised to find clothing on the foot of the bed. Jeans, socks, a t-shirt, and a blue sweater...the clothes he'd been wearing the last...the last *normal* day he could remember. He picked them up and smelled the detergent and fabric softener in them, and realized they must have been stained or soiled in some way from the accident, and Garrison must have taken them, along with him, from the hospital. There were also six pairs of new boxer shorts in various colors, including the pair he'd been wearing the day of the accident, a pair of tan dockers with the tickets still attached, a brown sweater similar in style to his own blue one, and a package of new t-shirts. There were also several pairs of socks and a blue suit of sweats.

"I hope everything fits," Garrison's voice startled him from behind. He hadn't even heard the man open the door of the bedroom. "I could hardly expect you to spend the next several days in a hospital gown."

"Thanks for the clothes. They're nice," Blair said, hoping maybe if he tried the tactic of making friends with Garrison, the other man would let down his guard. Of course, Garrison didn't get his Ph.D. by being stupid, so Blair questioned the real hope of so simple a ploy working on him.

"I'll leave you to get dressed. Would you like something to eat?" he asked. It was already getting dark outside, and Blair's stomach was rumbling with hunger.

"I'm pretty hungry."

"I'll get your dinner ready while you get dressed."

"Should I just come out to the kitchen when I'm done?" Blair asked casually.

"You know the rules, Blair. This is your room, and you'll have to stay in it while you're here. I'll bring you a tray." With that, Garrison left, pulling the door shut behind him, the lock clicking decisively into place. Followed by two more clicks as the sliding bar locks on the outside of the door were secured.

A bit discouraged, Blair picked out some of the clean underwear and the sweats, and a pair of socks. He felt cold, even though he knew the temperature in the room was comfortable. He set the box of supplies with the tapes, the lap desk and the writing materials on the empty side of the bed before getting back into it and stuffing pillows behind his back. He raised a hand to his forehead and scrunched his face in pain. He needed something else for pain, but more than anything else, he needed Jim. Having Jim climb into the bed with him and hold him for a while would have done more than a thousand pills could.

Discouraged, he picked up the lap desk and did his best to think of something profound to say in a letter to Jim that would get past Garrison but give some clue to his whereabouts. Opening the spiral notebook he'd been given, he began.

"Dear Jim,

I'm alive, and I'm being treated well. No one's forcing me to say that. It's true. I don't want to be here, but I'm not hurt and I'm not being abused or anything. My captor has agreed to let me write you letters. I hope I'll be home soon. I miss you...I'm really feeling blue without you here.

Please call Dr. Van Buren and ask him if there's a remote chance I can have an extension on my deadline. I feel secure he'll say no, but please ask. He's got a lot on his plate with the upcoming trip to South America, so don't push it. He has to drag twenty freshmen through the rainforest. I don't envy him. You were right about him all along--he's obsessed with his work.

I'm getting tired now and my head hurts, so I'll end this here. I've been told I can write you again, so when I feel better, it'll be longer.

Love,

Blair"

There were no envelopes among the supplies, but that didn't surprise him. He fully expected Garrison would read it before he sent it. He only hoped he didn't find it too suspicious, or if he did, that he simply wouldn't send it and wouldn't take it out on his captive.

"Dinner is served," Garrison announced, coming in with a tray bearing delicious-smelling lasagna and garlic bread, along with a tall glass of grape juice and a dessert that looked like a cannoli.

"You must be quite a cook," Blair said as he moved the lap desk aside to make room for the tray.

"It's one of my hobbies. I find it very relaxing. I see you wrote a letter."

"Yes. Would you mail it for me, please?"

"Of course," Garrison said, taking the sheet of paper and reading through it. "Oh, dear, I'm causing you to miss an important deadline."

"I was working on an article with Dr. Van Buren, but I won't be back in time to turn in my part of it. I wanted Jim to see if he could finagle me an extension."

"You're very affectionate with your partner. You're personal partners, too, then?"

"Yes," Blair answered honestly, not sure if that was wise or not, but realizing it would be fairly pointless to hide it. And the more open he was, the less suspicious Garrison would be. Or so he hoped.

"I'll take this tomorrow and mail it for you. I'll be gone most of the day."

"You're going to leave me locked up in this room in the middle of nowhere with no way to call for help?"

"I'm sure you'll be quite safe, Blair. Provided you don't go out walking in the woods, which I doubt you will unless I've inadvertently left an axe lying around in here you could use to chop the door down. I'm sorry, but I have some business to attend to. I'll be back shortly after dark, maybe sooner."

"What if the house caught on fire? I won't run away--where would I go? But at least leave the door unlocked so I could get out if I had to."

"This house has stood for a hundred years without a fire. I doubt it will burn to the ground tomorrow while I'm gone. I'm afraid we'll have to take that risk. I won't be disturbing you again tonight, Blair. Get some sleep. You'll see on the tray I've left you a cup with several pills in it. Use them prudently. They have to last you until tomorrow night, but they should if you take them at regular intervals." Garrison opened the door to the bedroom, and Blair thought about what his chances might be to overpower the professor at some point. The very fact Garrison wasn't concerned that he would try--or at least didn't appear inordinately worried--made Blair think all he'd said about the location and the wild dogs was probably true.

Or it could all be part of a well-orchestrated act.

********

Simon soon gave up on enforcing Jim's sick leave. Ellison, Starsky, and Hutch had turned Jim's desk into a command post, reviewing DMV results on dark vans in Oregon and the material on Eldon Garrison faxed to them from Starsky and Hutchinson's contact at the FBI. They had shown up at dawn, not having given up work on the case until late the previous night.

Professor Eldon Garrison, Ph.D., "retired" from the Criminology Department at Maddison College in Tacoma almost two years earlier. The small, private college catered to a wealthy segment of the population with inflated tuition prices, posh dormitories, historic buildings, a picturesque tree-shaded campus, and a number of highly distinguished, oft-published academics among their faculty. Garrison's highly controversial and frankly unsettling theories had attracted the type of attention Maddison's administration didn't want. Rumors abounded that his retirement was not entirely voluntary. The only people who appeared upset by this turn of events was a small group of graduate students who worked directly with Garrison either as teaching assistants or consulted with him on their master's theses. Apparently the administration had received letters of protest to the way the professor was being treated, and two students even left the graduate program over it.

The last known address for Garrison was an apartment in Tacoma. He did not own a dark-colored van, or any sort of van at all, but rather an aging BMW sedan. He had no criminal record. He had no living family. His elderly mother passed away two years earlier.

"I'd like to know more about the two students who were so upset about his 'retirement' that they left," Jim said. "That kind of devotion...maybe those are his accomplices."

"I think we need to make a trip up to Tacoma to check some of this out," Hutch said. "You feel up to that, Jim?"

"I'm fine. I just want to find Blair."

"Let's go then. I'll go tell Simon," Starsky said, heading for the captain's office. As he was leaving, a young officer from the reception desk downstairs approached Jim.

"A messenger left this for you, Detective," he said, handing Jim the envelope.

"Hold it," he said, stopping the young man from leaving. "How long ago was this?"

"About an hour ago," he admitted, looking a bit uneasy.

"Terrific. That's how you handle urgent items delivered by messenger services?" Jim snapped.

"I'm sorry, sir. I was the only one on duty, and we had quite a few people coming in."

"Which messenger service?" Hutch asked.

"She had on a pair of jeans and a green shirt, and a green cap. I didn't see a company name on her clothes."

"What did this woman look like?" Jim asked.

"She had yellow blonde hair in a pony tail. That's what I noticed first--it was really blonde, and it looked like she had a lot of it. The pony tail went halfway down her back. She was average height, average weight. Pretty face. Blue eyes. I guess she was about twenty-five or so if I had to guess."

"What's going on?" Starsky joined them.

"Letter from an unknown messenger service," Jim said, putting on a pair of latex gloves before slitting the envelope with a letter opener and carefully removing the piece of lined paper inside. It had been torn out of a spiral notebook. "It's Blair's handwriting," Jim said, sinking into his chair. Starsky was behind his chair in an instant, Hutch on the other side, both men reading over his shoulder.

"What's your name?" Hutch asked the nervous-looking young officer.

"Murphy. Paul Murphy," he responded.

"Paul, we need you to call all the messenger services in town and describe the woman who delivered this, and find out if they have any such courier. Also, find out what color their uniforms are, and ask if they know of any company that sends their couriers out in green clothing without logos on it. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. But what about the front desk?"

"This is a kidnaping case that is possibly tied in to a double homicide. Go sit at that empty desk and get to work. We'll call downstairs," Hutch added.

"Yes, sir," Murphy replied, hurrying to the empty desk to begin his assigned work.

"You know Blair is trying to say something with all this mumbo-jumbo about deadlines?" Starsky said, sitting next to Jim at the desk.

"There's no Dr. Van Buren, and he never mentioned any deadlines to me before this." Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Maybe the 'van' is what we're supposed to pick up on."

"Blair never says he's feeling blue, either," Jim said, and Starsky wrote that down as well.

"Now we have 'blue van'. Sound familiar?"

"What's all this other stuff about South America and the rainforests mean?" Hutch asked, pulling up a chair himself now, intrigued with the puzzle.

"The van had Oregon plates," Jim said. "That's south of here."

"So far, he's told us what we already knew," Starsky said, leaning back, frustrated.

"He couldn't know that," Jim retorted.

"I'm not blaming Blair, Jim. I just mean we're not getting anywhere with this."

"He went to a lot of trouble to concoct this Van Buren thing," Hutch said. "Look at that last line--'You were right about him. He's obsessed with his work.' Who else do we know who's obsessed with his work, that we just talked to Blair about?"

"Shit. Garrison," Starsky said, looking horrified. "If he's with him..." Starsky swallowed, "and he's still alive, he'd probably be better off if--"

"Don't even say that. Blair says here that he's all right, and that his captor hasn't hurt him. Why would he let Blair write a letter if he were going to kill him and use him as another one of his sick displays?"

"He's a psycho. Who knows?" Starsky put his glasses back on and focused on the note. "Let's take this whole Van Buren thing one word at a time. "I doubt the 'please call' means much. Obviously we know he needs help. How about the 'remote chance' phrase?"

"You don't suppose the extension on his deadline has something to do with some time frame when Garrison plans to execute him?" Jim asked, his face seeming to lose all its color.

"I'm sorry to say that's a good interpretation, in my opinion," Hutch said. "But it's by no means the only one."

"Then give me another one, because I really want to hear one right now," Jim said, taking in a deep breath. His mind insanely fixated on Blair throwing the folder of wedding plans out the window of the truck, and of his profile as he sat silently in the truck, and of the hurt in his voice...

"Jim? Stay with us," Starsky said, touching his shoulder.

"Yeah, right, I'm fine."

"Sure you are. You look great," Hutch said, chuckling. "Well, maybe we're focusing on the wrong words. Blair may not have had a lot of time to craft this, and he probably isn't feeling all that well. Besides, he had to say it in such a way that it wouldn't raise any flags with his captor. If it's Garrison, we know he's dealing with a smart nut, even if he is a psycho. How about the word 'remote'--so far, Blair's told us about the van and that he's south of here. Maybe it's somewhere remote, which could tie into this nonsense about the rainforest. There's a lot of woods in Oregon and Washington State."

"Good thought, partner," Starsky said, nodding. "Or he could be just rambling so you'll know he's not talking about anything real, and that you'll pick up on the Garrison clue."

"Blair's pretty precise. I think he's probably trying to tell us something. I just don't want to think the deadline has something to do with Garrison," Jim said.

"We'll fax a copy of this note over to Mike French. He might have some ideas," Starsky said.

"Another Fed?"

"They're not all bad, though I can't believe I'm saying that," Hutch said.

"Wait, I wanna get Dobey on the speaker phone so he can hear this, too."

"Smart ass," Hutch shot back, smiling. "We also better get this down to the lab before we spend much more time breathing on it," he added. Other than the desk officer, only Jim had touched it, and he'd done so with gloves.

********

Two of the pills in the supply Garrison had left him gave Blair a peaceful night's sleep. Despite his bizarre circumstances, he was exhausted, and his head pounded when he exerted himself much, so curling up in the comfortable bed and slipping into a drug-induced sleep was all that refreshed him. The last time he'd looked at the antique clock on the wall of the bedroom, it was ten o'clock at night. Now, the sun streamed in the window and the clock was almost around to the ten o'clock mark again.

"Maybe I was only supposed to take one of those pills," Blair said aloud, his own voice sounding loud in the silence of what he figured was an empty house. Still, he couldn't trust that Garrison was truly gone. Relinquishing the comfort of the bed and disturbing the ever-present pain in his head, Blair got up, swayed a little, then made his way to the door of the bedroom. He knocked.

"Professor Garrison? Uh, I'm really getting hungry in here," he called out. No reply. Then he glanced at the dresser and saw a tray there with an array of non-perishable foods. It wasn't exactly a feast, but it would keep him from discomfort during the day. There was a bag of tuna, a jar of peanut butter, four slices of bread, three bottles of spring water, a large granola bar, and a package of oatmeal raisin cookies. Also on the tray was a note.

"Blair,

I'll deliver your letter. My errands will take most of the day. I should be back before dark. I hope the food is adequate.

Eldon"

"Swell. I always wanted to be on a first-name basis with a serial killer," Blair grumbled, tossing the note aside. "Asshole. I hope the dogs get you. If there even are any fucking dogs, you lying headcase."

Feeling this was his only chance to work on an escape attempt, Blair assessed his options. The window grating was secure. There was no moving it, and he had nothing in the room, or the bathroom, strong enough to cut it. The door lock was a lost cause, because he'd heard the sliding locks moving into place. Garrison wasn't lying about those. He had nothing forceful enough to chop through the door, and the pain in his head would probably stop him from doing anything that strenuous.

But there was always the possibility of removing the hinges. With those types of locks, he might not be able to get the door open enough to get out, but it was worth a try. He went into the bathroom and looked through the drawers next to the sink. Finally, he found an old metal comb, and upon testing it, found it very resistant to bending.

Returning to the bedroom, he dressed in his own jeans, two pairs of socks, two t-shirts, and his blue sweater. If he ended up truly hiking through the woods, he would need something to keep him warm. He would try to steal a coat from somewhere else in the house, but there was every possibility that Garrison wouldn't leave anything worthwhile--like a coat or shoes--out where Blair could find them. Still, Garrison didn't expect him to make a break for it, either.

He looked through the dresser, delighted to find a well-worn ladies handbag in one of the bottom drawers. It had a shoulder strap, which looked long enough to put over his head and shoulder and carry like a supply bag. Finding the inside empty, he packed the bread, tuna, and a bottle of spring water inside, barely zipping the top over the contents. If he ended up stuck out in the woods for a while, he didn't want to get too weak from hunger, or be unable to take any pain pills, which he quickly added to the purse, in the front zipper compartment. It fleetingly crossed his mind that women had it made, able to walk around with one of these things all the time just to go out for the day. You could pack for a nature hike in the purses most women took to the mall.

Dressed and with supplies packed, he began working on easing the pins out of the hinges. They didn't move easily; it was a good bet they'd been in place for quite a few years. Still, after several minutes of diligent work, the bottom pin moved up a bit, and he used the metal comb to force it up the rest of the way until he could remove it. He stopped and rested his head against the cool wood, cursing the pain throughout his body from the impact of the accident, and the ever-present throbbing in his head. Maybe this attempt was insane anyway. If any part of what Garrison said was true, he probably couldn't make it to the road. Of course, even if there were mad dogs somewhere in the woods, maybe God would have mercy on him and send them barking in another direction than the path to the road. In any event, he couldn't reconcile himself to *not* making at least an attempt to get away.

After nearly thirty minutes of patient prodding, he had both hinges ready to separate. He forced his fingers under the bottom of the door, curling them around the wood, having the absurd but disconcerting notion that Garrison would be standing on the other side of the door when he was finished, laughing at his attempt. Still, he gave the door a yank, and it dislodged from its hinges. The gap between door and doorframe was very narrow, and Blair wasn't sure either he or his supply bag would make it through. Well, the bag he could do without in a pinch.

He grabbed it, and started easing himself through the small space. It was tight, and nearly impossible, but after a couple minutes of rocking back and forth, he found himself on the other side. Only the strap of his bag would fit, so he reached into the room and took the supplies out of it, bringing them out one by one, then pulled the soft purse through the gap. He refilled the bag and looked around him.

The house was very homey and nicely decorated and furnished. It was not some run-down hideout in the woods. It was obvious this was a nice home that had been well-kept through most of its history. That made him doubt the wild dog story even more. Why would any respectable people, including a woman, obviously, based on what he'd found in the bedroom and bathroom, live in such a dangerous place?

He was on the first floor, and the room where he'd been kept opened into a short hallway that led to the living room. In the living room was an open staircase leading to a second floor, and at the foot of that was a closet. Hoping that would contain coats, Blair hurried to it and opened the door. Inside was a man's dress topcoat, and thankfully, a short jacket. The topcoat would be warmer, but totally impractical if he had to do any climbing. He pulled on the jacket, which was obviously cut for a man Garrison's height. The too-long sleeves and slightly longer length would give him extra warmth.

He opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. There was a weedy, overgrown lawn before him, and beyond that, lots of trees. He went back into the house and searched for a telephone on the first floor. He was not surprised to find the one on the wall in the kitchen was dead. He did procure a small butcher knife to add to his survival pack, as well as a flashlight that he found in one of the drawers. It was casting a strong beam now, so he had to assume it would continue to do so. He had no time to search for extra batteries. He found matches and candles, which he jammed in what little space was left in the shoulder bag, which he didn't bother to zip anymore. The flashlight was too large, but he felt it was vital in case he was stranded in the dark. His hope was to walk closely parallel to the access used by cars, but he had to be far enough off the road not to be immediately spotted when Garrison returned. And he had to be able to run into the woods and find cover if the irate professor began searching for him.

Before leaving the house, he remembered an article he'd read once about a young woman who was kidnaped and ultimately murdered. She left a barrette at the house where her attacker took her, and even though she didn't survive, that piece of evidence cinched the case for the police.

He had no barrettes, not even a hair tie, but he knew one thing that would trigger Jim's senses--something with his scent on it, and something bearing his DNA that could be tested in a lab. He took the handkerchief out of his pocket, and feeling a little ridiculous, thrust it into his pants, rubbing it over his cock and balls before pulling it back out. Then he spit into it twice and blended the saliva into the fabric. He took the handkerchief and tucked it between the refrigerator and the cupboard beside it. Jim would pick up his scent and find it, and the DNA would link it. If he didn't survive this, the cops would damn well know he'd been here.

Resigned he'd done all he could at the house and feeling loitering was pushing his luck, he hurried through the house and out the front door, pulling it shut behind him.

********

The apartment complex in Tacoma where Eldon Garrison lived was a neat, tidy, but unpretentious three-story brick building with a black roof and black shutters on the windows. A single long carport sheltered the residents' cars, and an aging black BMW sedan was among them. The plate matched Garrison's, provided by the DMV.

"Let's go have a talk with the good doctor," Starsky said, putting their car in park and cutting the engine. They'd spoken to the Tacoma PD, and had their blessing on the investigation as well as their offer to help if back-up was needed.

They walked up to the door, and with no sign of a way to ring the apartments, tried the knob. It was unlocked.

"Good to know your apartment complex is secure," Hutch said, smiling and shaking his head.

"Garrison's in 2C," Jim said as they began climbing the stairs. It was a nice enough building, with reasonably new carpeting on the floors and an attractive modern hanging light fixture near the stairs. It was quiet, with only the occasional sound of someone opening or closing a door, and a slight sound of television or radio coming from a couple of apartments. When they arrived at the professor's door, Jim knocked assertively. He didn't announce they were with the police. No need to panic the guy and make him bolt. Surprisingly, as he was about to knock the second time, the door opened, and a tall man with graying brown hair, a mustache and a goatee stood before them.

"May I help you?" he asked, looking a bit confused at the group of three men outside his door.

"We're with the Cascade Police, Dr. Garrison," Jim said, flashing his ID. "I'm Detective Ellison, this is Agent Hutchinson and Agent Starsky, on loan to us from a Federal task force. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Sounds very official. Of course, please come in." Garrison backed away, motioning them inside before closing the door.

It was all a professor's apartment should be: the living room lined with bookshelves that ran from the floor to the ceiling, overflowing, scholarly periodicals in stacks everywhere they turned, well-worn but comfortable brown leather furniture, and a myriad of newspapers surrounding a single aging recliner. A small, twenty-year-old television sat on a stand opposite the chair.

"Sorry about the mess. I get involved in my research and I don't have much of an eye for housekeeping. Have a seat, please, gentlemen. I have a pot of coffee on in the kitchen if you'd like some."

"No, thank you," Jim responded, and Starsky and Hutch also made dismissive gestures. As all the men found seats, the professor in what was obviously his favorite chair, Jim continued. "I'm sure you've probably read about the murder of Ethan Nichols in Cascade last week."

"Yes, of course. It would be a bit hard to avoid the news of that killing. I wondered how long it would be before the police would come calling."

"Why would you wonder that, sir?" Hutch asked.

"Given my field of research, and my history with Mr. Nichols. The man destroyed what little credibility my colleagues hadn't already assailed. I wasn't fond of him, everyone who knows me, knows that, and I advocate the reinstatement of ancient forms of execution. Frankly, I'm surprised it took you this long to come calling."

"Is there anything you'd like to tell us about the murder?" Starsky prodded.

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, but if you mean a confession, no, I'm not giving you one of those. Despising someone isn't proof of killing them. Furthermore, while I'm flattered by the superhuman strength you obviously attribute to me, how would I get him up there? I understand it was a heavy cross, a large Christ figure, and, obviously, a fully grown man. I do try to visit the gym a couple times per week, but I couldn't move all that alone."

"Not alone, no," Jim said. "With help, perhaps."

"Do you recall your whereabouts the night of the murder?" Starsky asked.

"I was tutoring a graduate student. I can provide you her name and number if you like."

"That would be helpful," Starsky responded, making a note in his notebook. "I thought you were retired, Professor?"

"Not voluntarily. Besides, some of my former students still come to me for tutoring or advice on their graduate research. I enjoy working with them very much."

"Were any of these students advocates of your more controversial theories?" Hutch asked.

"A few of them. You see, Agent...Starsky, was it?"

"He's Starsky, I'm Hutchinson," Hutch said, gesturing at his partner.

"I'm sorry. Agent Hutchinson, what I suggested was politically incorrect, and abhorrent to those criminologists who believe that criminals have the same rights the rest of us do, and should be treated gently. There are some scholars who regarded my work with interest, and some students who believed in my theories regarding corporal punishment of offenders, minor mutilation, and public execution by horrifying methods. What good is lining people up to watch someone receive an injection and fall asleep? How does that shock them out of criminal behavior? What purpose does it serve at all? None. If capital punishment is to yield any sort of reward to the penal system, and to the society, it has to horrify potential offenders enough to be deterrent. Our current methods aren't producing that result."

"We'd like to talk to your students, and also to any of your colleagues who might be favorable to your theories. We have a very dangerous person out there who is killing people who are not criminals, and any assistance you can give us will be appreciated," Jim said. The professor seemed to evaluate his honesty a moment, and apparently his poker-face passed muster, because the man nodded.

"I'll be happy to provide you the names of my students who either worked on the research with me, or have expressed a serious interest in it. Most of my colleagues won't talk to you about this, and if they do, they'll deny they ever supported it. Nichols' article took care of that." Garrison stood and went to a small roll-top desk against the far wall of the room. "I can't quite get computerized. I have one in my spare room, but I still keep most of my student records on paper."

"There *is* one more thing we need to ask you," Starsky said as the other man sat at his desk and began copying down names and contact information.

"Yes?" He paused, looking back at them.

"Your whereabouts for the past 48 hours," Starsky said.

"Has there been another killing?"

"No, but there's been a kidnaping. My son, and Detective Ellison's partner, Blair Sandburg, is missing."

"Your son is Detective Ellison's partner? Well, that explains how he managed to get the FBI involved in this case so quickly."

"You didn't answer my question," Starsky persisted.

"I'm sorry to hear he's missing. Let me think, now." Garrison frowned, crinkling his brow. "I was home, mostly. I did go out for take-outs, but I doubt the fast food restaurant girl at the drive thru window is going to remember me."

"Did anyone else see you during that time?" Jim asked.

"Mrs. Henessey in 2E. I do her grocery shopping for her. She's over ninety years old, no family living locally. Very nice woman."

"Do you mind if we take a look around the apartment?" Jim asked.

"I'd prefer you have a warrant for that, Detective."

"Why? If you have nothing to hide, why would it matter?"

"Because I value my privacy, and I've seen how police leave homes after they search them. No thank you. If you have a warrant, you may be assured of my full cooperation."

"Fair enough," Hutch concluded. "Starsk, you want to go talk to Mrs. Henessey? You have a way with little old ladies," Hutch added.

"2E, you said?"

"Yes, that's right," Garrison replied, not looking up from his writing. Starsky left the apartment.

Ruth Henessey was a tiny, fragile-looking little woman in a flowered house dress and a heavy white sweater. She eyed Starsky with some suspicion at first, but then carefully examined his identification and nodded her approval.

"Mrs. Henessey, I wonder if you could tell me when the last time you saw Professor Garrison was?"

"Yesterday. He brought my groceries. He's such a nice man."

"What time was that?"

"Before noon. I was watching 'The Price Is Right.'"

"That's a great show, isn't it?" Starsky said, smiling.

"I can't even tell you how many times I've almost guessed the exact amount!" she said, beaming. "You like game shows?"

"Sure. I have more time to watch them now that I'm semi-retired."

"A young man like you, retired?"

"I'm not so young anymore, ma'am," Starsky said, chuckling. "But thanks."

"You look pretty young to me. My son's older than you are--he sure looks older." She leaned forward, as if she were sharing a deep confidence. "He's all bald on top, and he combs his hair over it from the side. It looks terrible. I told him to shave it all off and be done with it," she concluded, making a dismissive gesture with her hand.

"Kind of like the professor, huh?" Starsky said, referring to Garrison's own low side part.

"Somewhat, yes," she said, looking down the hall to be sure they weren't going to be overheard by her neighbor.

"Did you talk with him yesterday, when he dropped off the groceries?"

"Yes. Well, he called to me from the other side of the door. He left the bags there and said he was late for an appointment."

"Did you actually see him at all?"

"No, no I guess I didn't, now that you mention it."

"Are you positive it was his voice?"

"Oh, Heavens, who else would it be, bringing me groceries?"

"Assuming for a minute someone else might have brought them. Did you recognize his voice for sure?"

"Well, the TV was on, and I'm a bit hard of hearing... No, I don't suppose I could be positive."

"Thank you, Mrs. Henessey."

"Is he in some kind of trouble?" she asked, looking worried.

"We're still just doing some routine investigating." Starsky paused, considering the old lady's solitary situation. "For now, I'll just tell him you remembered him stopping by. That sound okay?" She smiled, relieved.

"Thank you, officer. I'd feel better if you said that."

"Then it's settled. Thank you, Mrs. Henessey. You've been a big help. Tell me, if we did need you to testify sometime, would you be willing to do that?"

"I'll do my duty as a citizen," she said, nodding.

"That's all we can ask. You have a good day now."

********

Once they were in the car, Starsky immediately asked Jim if he thought the professor was lying.

"Like a rug," Jim responded.

"He was lying about the old lady. At least, I think he was. She never actually saw him. He left the stuff outside her door and called to her. That could have been anybody--any male. She had the TV on and her hearing's not too great."

"We all agree he's lying, but now we have to prove it," Hutch said, sighing. "You didn't detect any traces of Blair's presence in there, did you? No scent or anything?"

"If I had, I would have torn that place--and him--apart, procedure be damned. But I didn't."

"Okay, let's try tracking down any property this guy owns, see if any of it's rural. Then we need to hunt down these students," Starsky said.

"He probably hasn't given us the key names--you know, the ones who were with him when he took Blair out of the hospital," Hutch retorted.

"Maybe one of these kids would know them, or know of them," Jim suggested.

"Well, it's all we've got. But let's check out that property ownership thing. If we feel confident this guy's the one, we need to know if he owns any property where he could be holding Blair."

********

One thing Garrison hadn't lied about was the fact it that it was a long walk from the house to the road. Blair had walked for close to an hour now, parallel to the two tire tracks that led back to the house from the main road. He was close enough to see the path, but hidden enough to completely disappear should he encounter a car. His body ached, and his head pounded ominously. It was too much to hope that anyone would find him out here. He had to get back to civilization...at least to the road.

He heard barking in the distance, and he froze. There was no sign of another house nearby, and he'd seen no evidence Garrison owned a dog. That left one explanation: the pack of wild dogs Garrison had mentioned were not a scare tactic, but a reality. He fought the threat of tears, knowing it was the pain from the massive headache and the fear and the achiness of his body that were making him feel as if he would lose his grip. But wild dogs? How could he fight that?

His introspection was cut short when he saw a shadowy, dark form appear at the crest of a hill in the distance. Before long, two more similar shapes joined it. Knowing his time to act was short, he spotted a tree with a couple of low branches, and quickly began climbing, going high enough into the big old tree that the dogs, even if they were motivated, couldn't reach him. He clutched at the trunk, wrapping an arm around it as he sat on a high branch, resting his aching head against the rough bark. He felt dizzy now, and the expanse of green beneath him and all around him seemed to spin and tilt. The barking grew louder as a group of five sturdily built black dogs bounded over the hill and clustered around the base of the tree. One by one, they would leap up, frustrated, as they discovered their prey was out of reach.

Blair hugged the trunk of the old tree the way a child would cling to his mother in complete, cold terror. He wasn't sure what he feared more--the dogs at the base of the tree with their bared white teeth, saliva snapping off their jowls as they barked furiously, or the car that was now making its way down the narrow path, its occupant bound to hear the commotion of the hungry hounds.

The car stopped, and the door opened and closed. Through the foliage, Blair couldn't see what kind of car it was, or who the occupant was. If it was help, he prayed they'd know enough to steer clear of the dogs. His heart plummeted as he saw the thinly-haired head of Garrison from an aerial view, tossing large hunks of raw meat a good distance from the tree. The dogs took off merrily, having forgotten their prey in the tree. The raw meat was on the ground, and the eating was easy and good.

"You'd best come down from there right away. The meat won't last forever." Garrison stood at the base of the tree now, and it was a draw whether Blair would have preferred to see him there or the dogs. "Come on, Blair. I'm not coming up after you, but I will leave you here to deal with the dogs if you don't come down now. And if you did manage to come down safely later," he pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket, "I'd kill you. This is your last chance to make it out of that tree alive. Move."

Blair thought briefly of claiming he was too dizzy and unsteady to make the downward trip safely, which wasn't a complete lie, but there was no good ending for his situation. Staying in the tree was not an option. He started down, clutching at the tree, the woods seeming to spin around him. His head pounded so hard that he finally paused and rested his forehead against the tree. Tears burned at the backs of his closed eyelids.

"Come on, Blair. What goes up must come down. One way or another."

//Jim, please, find me,// Blair thought miserably, muffling a sob that tried to escape. He wasn't going to give Garrison the satisfaction of sniveling and crying in front of him. He eased himself down the rest of the way, and when his feet were on the ground, Garrison grabbed the back of his collar and hauled him along at a pace quicker than he felt he could really walk, but with the gun in Garrison's other hand, he didn't raise any objections. He merely stumbled and struggled to keep up.

"Get in the car." Garrison waited until he was in the passenger seat and then slammed the door, keeping the gun aimed on Blair as he walked around the car and got in himself. "You know, Blair, I had hoped you would know enough not to do something this hare-brained. You're a scholar, not a survivalist."

"My not making it has nothing to do with survival skills. It has to do with wild dogs," Blair shot back, angry.

"I told you they were out there, didn't I? Part of good survival skills is knowing when you don't stand a chance. I gave you good accommodations, pain pills, clothes, food, allowed you to write a letter--and this is how you repay me. Well, Blair, unfortunately, since you won't work with me in the manner I'd hoped, you're going to have to learn my theory the hard way."

"I figured it was only a matter of time before you killed me anyway," Blair said, resigned.

"Killed you? What possible purpose would that serve? I'm not going to kill you, Blair. But I *am* going to punish you. And when I'm finished, I think you'll be sorry for your crime, and I also think you'll see how effective my methods would be in deterring future criminal behavior."

"My *crime*? All I did was try to get away from you, because you kidnaped me. That doesn't make me the criminal here."

"Save your breath, Blair. I asked one thing of you--that you stay put and not try to escape. You failed to obey that single request. You must be corrected, and in such a way that it makes an impression on you not to repeat your behavior."

********

Jeannie Blumenau was a petite woman with short, curly dark hair and small, wire-framed glasses. Her makeup and jewelry leaned heavily toward Goth, her lipstick and nail polish nearly as dark as her hair. She wore a black, long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, and sported piercings in her nose and eyebrow. She was an honor student at Maddison, an undergraduate completing an honors thesis on crime and punishment in ancient Rome. Needless to say, one of her key advisors, though unofficial due to his exiled status, was Eldon Garrison. She was more than happy to talk to the three detectives in her cramped student apartment a short walk from the campus.

"I figured the police would be focusing on someone like Professor Garrison--especially when I saw who the victim was."

"You think that's a mistake? Focusing on the professor?" Starsky asked.

"There's a big difference between theory and practice," she said, setting a plate of nut bread on the coffee table between them. "I just baked that this morning, and I won't eat it all, so please, dig in. You want coffee?" she offered. Since they hadn't eaten in a while, and the little apartment was rich with the scent of baked goods and coffee, all three men accepted. She soon set the pot of coffee on the table next to the bread and handed them each a cup. When they all had coffee and were sampling the bread, she continued. "I mean, I support capital punishment, but I wouldn't want to take a job as the state's executioner or anything. I like Marilyn Manson, but I never had the urge to go kill my parents or wear one blue contact lens. Professor Garrison has some weird ideas, but he's a nice guy. I don't think he'd ever kill anybody."

"Do you know any of the other students who work with the professor?" Jim asked. In addition to being a good cook, Jeanine didn't strike any of them as being particularly psychotic, or obsessively devoted to Garrison.

"Not very well, but I've met a few of them. Now a couple of them are little weird."

"Weird how?" Hutch asked.

"Weird...creepy. The one guy asked me out once. He was just...I don't know. He gave me the creeps, that's all. I can't explain it. Like he was a little too into the gory details of the executions, more so than the whole theory behind them."

"Is that how you define the difference among Garrison's students?" Starsky asked.

"Sort of. The details are really disgusting if you get into them, but when you think about it, if execution was a really horrible, unimaginable, disgusting thing, I think it might deter people from certain crimes. But I don't want to read over and over again the 'how to' methods of disemboweling someone."

"And this guy does?" Jim prodded.

"I could picture him practicing on stray animals or something," she said. "He's just...weird. It's in his eyes, and the only thing that lights him up is talking about that stuff. I guess he thought because I wore black lipstick and listened to Goth that I had some kind of death obsession and we'd make a cute couple." She rolled her eyes.

"What's his name?" Hutch asked.

"Wes. Wes...something." She frowned. "Wes DuPont. I knew it was something French. He lives around here in one of the houses that have student apartments. He looks really normal, but thinks really weird. He's about average for height and build, and he's got brown hair and brown eyes, and he's not bad looking. Kind of cute, until he opens his mouth and you realize he's a sick puppy."

"You could picture Wes putting some of the good doctor's theories into action?" Jim asked.

"Oh, yeah. Big time. Just...if you talk to him, please don't tell him you heard it from me. I meant it when I said he gave me the creeps. He was mad enough when I turned him down."

"We shouldn't need to bring your name into it at this point, Jeanine. We might need you to testify down the road, if it came to that," Starsky said.

"I'm a CJ major. Of course I'll testify. The system only works if you use it, right?"

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Hutch responded, smiling.

********

A trip to the Maddison College Registrar got them Wes DuPont's local address, as well as the address of his parents in Oregon. The connection to that state had Jim back on the phone to the Cascade PD to run a check on Wes DuPont to find out what kind of vehicle he drove. The DMV responded that it was a dark blue 1992 Chevrolet Econoline van, with Oregon plates.

"Let me talk to Megan Connor in Major Crime," Jim said, nodding toward Starsky and Hutch as they waited to hear what he'd found out. "Megan? Jim. How'd the footage from the hospital security camera turn out?" He paused, listening. "Could you get Serena to do a screen capture of that and e-mail it to me? I can web-access it from the Tacoma PD. Yeah. That'd be great. Thanks, Megan." Jim hung up, smiling. "The tapes from the hospital security camera have a really good face-on shot of Garrison's male accomplice."

"Think we ought to take Wes to the Tacoma PD for a little one-on-one?" Starsky said as they drove toward his local address in the student housing district immediately surrounding the campus.

"Absolutely. I'll call down there and let them know we're coming," Jim said, taking his cell phone back out to make the call.

Wesley DuPont was a second-year graduate student, nearly finished with his master's degree in Criminal Justice. He'd gone straight from his bachelor's to his master's program, and intended to seek his Ph.D. from there. It occurred to Starsky that this would be one more professor trying to teach future cops how to do a job he'd never even *seen* done, let alone done himself.

When they knocked on his door and he opened it, he looked more than a little uneasy at the group of three men on the other side of the threshold.

"Wesley DuPont?" Jim asked, and he nodded. "I'm Detective Ellison, Cascade Police, and this is Agent Starsky and Agent Hutchinson, on special assignment from a federal task force. We need you to come downtown with us to answer a few questions about the murder of Ethan Nichols in Cascade, and the abduction of Blair Sandburg from the Cascade Memorial Hospital."

"What?" he asked, stunned, smiling uneasily. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then we won't have to take up much of your time," Starsky responded, returning the smile. "Come on," he said, motioning to the other man to come out of the apartment.

"Am I under arrest?"

"Not yet. At this point we're asking for your cooperation. If you don't want to give it, we can make it official. It'll look a whole lot better if you cooperate. Besides, if you have nothing to hide and no knowledge of these crimes, what harm can it do?" Hutch asked.

"All right," he said, pulling his door shut behind him as he joined them outside. "But I'm not gonna sit there for some marathon interrogation session."

"How long you sit there is entirely up to you, Mr. DuPont," Jim said, letting their suspect ponder the double meaning of the comment.

"Is that your van?" Starsky asked, spotting the blue van parked among the other tenants' vehicles.

"Yeah, why?"

"You know driving a van around without plates on it is illegal, right?" Hutch asked, noting the absence of the anticipated Oregon plates.

"I haven't been driving it that way. My plates were stolen on campus a couple days ago, so I've been catching a ride with a friend or walking to campus until I have time to get new plates."

Not buying the smoothly delivered lie, they loaded DuPont into the back of the police sedan and headed for the Tacoma PD.

********

Garrison stopped the car in front of a small barn behind the house. He cut the engine and opened the driver's door. Sliding out carefully, he kept the gun on Blair.

"Get out of the car, and don't make any sudden moves. You already know there's no point in trying to escape, and if you run into the woods, you'll be a tasty dessert for the dogs."

Blair got out of the car as ordered, and moved slowly around the front of it.

"Now, keep walking, to the barn." Garrison followed Blair with the gun, and when Blair paused at the closed door, he ordered, "Lift that wood bar and open the door." He waited while Blair followed his orders. Once the door was open, he gave Blair a little shove to get him moving inside. Very little light filtered in through the boards, and a dusting of hay covered the floor. "There's a battery-powered lantern on the wall there. Take it down and turn it on, please. And do it all slowly."

Blair took down the lantern as directed and turned it on, casting an eerie glow in the shadowy corners of the barn. Garrison closed the door, blocking out the daylight.

"Now, strip down to your shorts."

"What?"

"I thought that was fairly straightforward. Strip down to your shorts."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"I told you I was going to punish you. If you're worried that I'm going to rape you, relax. Men don't do a thing a for me. Now do it."

"You're making a very big mistake here, man."

"Really? I'm not the one on the wrong end of the gun. I think I'm doing just fine."

Blair stripped off all the clothing until he was down to his boxers and his socks. Garrison raised an eyebrow.

"It's freezing in here. What's it going to hurt to leave my socks on?"

"Take them off, Blair. This is getting tiresome."

Blair removed the socks, and felt the cold, scratchiness of the hay beneath his bare feet.

"Okay, now go to that post, and fasten your wrists into those manacles," he said, gesturing at a wood post in the middle of the barn that had been outfitted with two manacles that hung from sturdy dark chains. "It's amazing what you can order off the Internet," Garrison said, smiling. "Do it, Blair."

Blair approached the post, and after a moment of hesitation and another look at Garrison and the gun, fastened the manacles in place. Garrison insisted he wasn't going to kill him, and if he could live through whatever was going to be done to him, he still stood a chance of being rescued.

********

Jim opened his e-mail account on a borrowed computer at an empty desk at the Tacoma PD. All three of them nearly held their collective breath until he opened the attached photo file from Serena. They'd left DuPont cooling his heels in an interrogation room, guarded by a uniformed officer.

As the photo loaded, all three men smiled.

"Except for that hokey mustache, that's our boy," Hutch said, pointing at the screen.

"I'm going to talk to the captain about getting us warrants for the van and DuPont's apartment," Jim got up and somewhat laboriously hurried toward the captain's office. Though his injuries were mostly superficial, he felt the after-effects of the accident. He still had a residual headache and all the bruised parts of his body were protesting the lack of rest. His arm hurt, and all he wanted was to get Blair back in one piece so they could both crawl into the loft and heal for a while.

"Excuse me?" Hutch flagged down a young detective hurrying past their borrowed work station. "Is there a good color printer networked to this computer?"

"The big one right over there," she responded, smiling. "It's the default printer for all these computers, so just hit 'print'."

"Thanks," Hutch said, giving her his most charming smile, which didn't seem lost on the young woman, who returned it in kind.

"Settle down, old man," Starsky chided quietly as she went to her own desk, still sparing the occasional glance back at the visiting cop.

"You're just jealous."

"She's half your age, Romeo."

"Some women appreciate a more mature gentleman," Hutch responded, a bit pretentiously.

"Then she ain't gonna go anyplace with you, so keep your eyes to yourself."

"Don't let me interrupt you," Jim said sarcastically as he returned from the printer with the picture in hand. He knew his tone came out harsher than he intended, but even though he understood the banter was keeping the two older men relaxed through the crisis, it still grated on his raw nerves.

"We're as worried about Blair as you are, Jim," Starsky said. "He's my son, the only kid I've got. But if I let myself dwell on that, I'd go in there and beat the shit out of that guy and then ask him where Blair is."

"Yeah, I know. Blair's usually the one who keeps me lightened up a little. I guess we'll all be better off when he's back," Jim said, handing Starsky the photo. "I heard you talking about the printer so I grabbed the photo off it," he said, leading the way to the interrogation room.

Starsky barged into the room first and slapped the photo on the table and grabbed DuPont's shirtfront, pulling him forward until his nose was nearly on it.

"We're going to cut right to the chase here. Kidnaping is a federal offense and carries up to a life prison sentence. That's not even addressing murder, which can land you on death row, especially if a little conspiracy is thrown in for good measure. Now, any ideas where he might be?"

"I'll sue this police department for police brutality if you don't take your hands off me," DuPont said, though his voice had a slight waver to it.

"Save your time, asshole. I'm retired, so knock yourself out. The only thing I am right now is Blair Sandburg's father, and you're going to tell me where my son is, or I'm gonna do things to you that even your twisted college professor pal hasn't heard of yet." Starsky let go and shoved at the same time, causing DuPont to struggle to keep his chair upright, barely succeeding. "That photo is from the hospital security camera. It shows you, and it shows the back end of your van, and we have eyewitnesses who can confirm what's on the tape. So you've got one worthwhile option here, and that's to start talking."

"I didn't kill anyone," DuPont said. "It was all over by the time I got involved. The killings, I mean. I just...I helped...set things up afterwards."

"What about Blair Sandburg? Where is he?" Jim insisted.

"Look, that was *not* my idea. Garrison read about him in the newspaper, and he thought he'd be able to help him get credibility with the cops, because he was an academic who rode with cops. He's not planning on killing him. I swear. I never would have helped if he was."

"You just set up disembowelings and crucifixions," Hutch said, taking notes in his usual calm manner.

"Do you know where my son is?" Starsky leaned on the table, encroaching on DuPont's personal space again.

"He's at my grandmother's farm just outside of town."

"He's not in Oregon?" Hutch asked.

"No, the Oregon plates have nothing to do with anything, except that my permanent address is still in Oregon."

"Give us directions, and make 'em good ones," Starsky said, shoving a pad and pencil in front of the suspect.

"I could refuse to do anything for you, you know."

"You could," Jim responded. "But the only shot you've got at not spending your entire life behind bars is if Sandburg lives through this and you help make that happen, and you give us the information you have on the Nichols killing, and the murder of the professor up in Seattle."

DuPont sighed. Reluctantly, he started writing out directions.

********

"Now, this is a basket of hot coals, Blair," Garrison explained as he moved a slatted metal container, shaped more like a giant urn, into Blair's line of vision. "Well, it's just a basket of coals right now, but they'll heat up as soon as I light them." He took a can of lighter fluid from the shelf on the wall and squirted it liberally on the coals before striking a match and lighting them. Soon, many of them were glowing nearly red with the heat, sparks flying as he stoked them with an ominous-looking metal object. "And this, Blair, is a branding iron," he said, holding it up a moment. It was smoldering a bit now from the heat. "Now that the coals are burning, I'll put this down into the heat for a while, let it get literally red hot."

"You're sick," Blair spat out angrily.

"If you continue to insult me, you're going to earn yourself a second branding, so you better keep still. I think one will be more than enough." He strolled around behind Blair, and Blair could feel his heart thundering in his chest, sweat breaking out all over his body despite the fact he was shivering from the cold temperature. His whole body jerked when Garrison's finger traced an area of flesh over his left shoulder blade. "You need to calm down a bit, Blair. That was just my finger. Imagine how you'll jump when I press that hot iron into your flesh?"

"I didn't do anything to you, Garrison. Maybe you can tell yourself that what you did to Tony Edwards and Ethan Nichols was justice for them doing you wrong, but I never did anything to you. This is just torture for torture's sake. I can't get away from you, and you can tie me up to keep me from trying another escape attempt. This is just cruelty for the sake of it, and that's why no one's listening to your theories. Because they're unnecessarily cruel."

"Ah, but you see, if you experience one of these punishments first hand, I think you'll be my greatest proponent. What criminal would engage in petty theft if he had to endure a branding for it? Would the $25 out of the cash register of a convenience store be worth losing a finger? Would raping a woman be worth losing both testicles?"

"You're talking about criminals, Garrison. I'm not a criminal. You can't justify torturing me. Not to me, not to anyone else, and not to the academic community. You're going to end up discrediting yourself by doing this."

"I'll take that chance. You know, maybe I should just brand your behind, what do you think?" he asked, swatting Blair's bottom. "Then every time you stick it up in the air for Ellison, he'll think of me, too."

********

"Son of a bitch, can't this thing move any faster," Starsky cursed, the accelerator rammed to the floor in the borrowed police sedan.

"We're already traveling at death speed, Starsk. Short of flying, I think you're doing all that can be done."

"We've gotta get there," Starsky said, determined.

"That was the stand of trees!" Jim shouted, and Starsky jammed on the brakes. Fortunately, they were alone on the country road, so when the car stopped, skidded, then spun around in the opposite direction, no other motorists were nearby. Starsky raced back toward the stand of trees and barely kept the car within the narrow confines of the path that led back to the small dairy farm, now deserted, that had belonged to DuPont's grandparents, before his grandmother's death earlier that year. Tied up in an estate and contested by bickering relatives, the house had stood empty, and probably would for some time.

"You think we should walk in the final stretch?" Hutch asked.

"I think I'll pass on the wild dogs, if you don't mind. DuPont said they were a problem," Starsky responded. "Besides, I don't wanna lose that much time."

"I was worried about tipping him off with the sound of a car approaching. It's pretty quiet out here," Hutch said.

"I think we better take a chance on it. The sooner we get to Blair, the better," Jim concurred.

********

"Almost ready," Garrison said, using a towel around his hand to grasp the handle of the iron. Blair pressed his face against the wood of the post, angry that tears were coming despite his best efforts to control them.

"Don't do this to me. You're making a mistake, Garrison," he managed.

"You made the mistake, Blair, and now you have to pay for it. Now picture all the terror you feel right now, being felt by a criminal being punished for a crime. Do you think he'll go out and do it again? I don't." Garrison raised the iron out of the basket of coals, and admired the glowing orange-red end of it. "Don't try to fight the pain. Give in to it. Hold onto the chains, that may help a bit."

"No!!!" Blair shouted at the top of his lungs. "Help me! God, somebody, help me!!" he screamed, tears running down his cheeks now as he dissolved into sobs. No one would hear him out here. It was no use. And Garrison was walking around behind him, out of view, with that cursed iron glowing...

********

Starsky brought the car to a stop at the edge of the woods. The three cops got out of the car and froze when there was a faint scream for help from somewhere on the property. To Jim's hearing, Blair's voice was crystal clear, as was the direction it came from.

"The barn!" Jim shouted, starting out on a dead run, drawing his gun, Starsky and Hutch right behind him.

********

"We don't want your hair to catch on fire, now do we?" Garrison said, pushing Blair's long hair off his back, over his shoulders, making him shiver at the touch and at the utter exposure of his back to the horrors of the iron. "This is for trying to escape when you were told not to. Do you think you'll try to escape again?"

Blair was crying too hard to answer, and it didn't matter what he said anyway. He was going to be tortured and disfigured no matter what his answer.

"Answer me, or you'll be branded twice."

"No," Blair sobbed.

"You won't answer or you won't try to escape?"

"I won't...escape," he conceded miserably, his whole body shaking with his sobs. "Please..."

"Move away from him, Garrison!" Jim's voice came from behind. "Put the iron in the coals and then get your hands where we can see 'em."

"Do it now!" Starsky's voice came from a slightly different angle.

Garrison made the mistake of moving the iron toward Blair.

Blair clutched the post and cringed as several shots rang out in the barn. A momentary silence was followed by a scramble to get the hot poker off the hay-covered floor of the barn, someone's coat smothering a few newborn flames as Hutch put the poker back in the basket, towel still wrapped around its handle.

"I'm here, sweetheart," Jim said, his body pressed against Blair's from behind. "Starsky, can you get these damn things off him? I can't do it with one hand."

"Hey, there, kiddo, you're okay. The cavalry's here," Starsky said, unfastening the manacles. "They just work with a latch. No key," Starsky said.

"Where's Garrison?" Blair managed.

"He's dead, Chief. It's over." Jim caught Blair and knelt on the ground, turning him around and pulling him close. Starsky covered Blair with his jacket and knelt beside them, his hand on Blair's hair.

"Did he hurt you, son?" he asked gently.

"Not yet," Blair said against Jim's shoulder. "I want to go home."

"We will, baby. As soon as we stop at the hospital--"

"I don't want to go there. I'm okay. I just wanna go home."

"There are no wounds we need to document," Starsky said, moved by the anguish in Blair's plea. "Blair, did he feed you, give you water?"

"Yes. Everything was fine until I tried to get away. He was keeping me in a nice room with all the comforts."

"You weren't released from the hospital when you were taken out of there. We need to let the doctor check you over. If nothing's seriously wrong, we'll go home, I promise," Jim said, kissing Blair's forehead. Then he kissed his cheek and his mouth. "God, I love you," he whispered against Blair's hair.

"I've got your clothes here, Blair," Hutch said, approaching the huddled group. "My cell's out of range, so I'm going back to the car to radio the Tacoma and Cascade PD's. I'm not positive whose jurisdiction we're in here," he explained to Starsky, who had accepted Blair's clothes.

"Cascade," Jim said. "Get Simon on the line if you can."

"Will do." Hutch hurried outside to the car while Starsky began putting Blair's socks on him.

"Come on, kiddo. Time to get you dressed before you freeze to death in here." Starsky picked up the jeans next, and Jim helped Blair to stand.

"I'm okay. I'll do it," Blair insisted, and took over the task of dressing himself, with his father and Jim close by. "Which one of you shot him?" he asked, looking over at the corpse, blood oozing out into the straw beneath it.

"We both shot him. Which one of us killed him'll be a ballistics puzzle for the lab to figure out," Jim said.

"Did you have to kill him?" Blair asked, looking up at his father.

"Yeah, we had to kill him, Blair. He wasn't going to put down the poker, and we weren't chancing him burning you."

"He thought if he did that to me, I would understand what he was trying to accomplish with his theories."

"He was sick, Chief. He's not going to do this to anyone else."

"How'd you find me?"

"Your dad brutalized a suspect into talking," Jim said, and Starsky shot him a look. One corner of Jim's mouth lifted in a slight grin.

"I just forcefully questioned him, that's all," Starsky responded, grinning wickedly. "We do owe Serena a night out on the town. She really got us that photo in record time. The jerk we nabbed for questioning was on the hospital security camera from the night they grabbed you at the hospital."

"What is this place?" Blair asked, happy to lean into Jim, under a sheltering arm, as they walked out of the barn.

"Wesley DuPont's grandparents' farm. It's in an estate. Wes DuPont was a grad student, and general nutcase, who helped Garrison with his activities. He swears he didn't do any killing, just some of the follow up work." Jim squeezed Blair's shoulders. "You're sure he didn't do anything else to you?"

"No. I might've scratched myself up a little climbing the tree."

"You were out climbing trees?" Starsky asked, his eyes widening.

"I tried to get away. I pried the hinges open and got out of the locked room he had me in, and I made a run for it. Trouble is, he was telling the truth about there being wild dogs in the woods. I had to climb this old tree...and then Garrison showed up." He paused. "Did you get my letter?"

"We sure did, Chief. You gave us some good clues, confirmed our suspicions that it was Garrison, and let us know about the blue van and about being somewhere wooded."

"Wow, it did work."

"Yeah, it worked all right," Jim said, his voice a little strained as he pulled Blair tighter against him.

********

Hutch gave his statement at the scene, then took Blair to the hospital while Jim and Starsky answered the necessary questions about the shooting to get IA started on their routine investigation. Simon paused at the basket of coals to look at the branding iron, still sticking out of the cooling embers.

"I don't think IA's going to make much trouble over this one. Well, aside from the fact you were supposed to be on sick leave and were tagging along with two semi-retired federal agents on loan to us from a serial killer task force to investigate a case that hadn't even officially been classified as a serial homicide."

"DuPont's a good witness, and he seems inclined to sing like a canary to save his own ass," Starsky said, visibly restless.

"Simon, we'd really like to head to the hospital," Jim said.

"I don't suppose we need to drag this out any longer. Thank God you got here when you did. I can't believe he was actually going to use that thing on Sandburg."

"He was a real psycho, Simon. Really bought into this whole idea of torture and maiming and killing as a good thing for the justice system," Jim stated, sighing.

"In other words, let's just do an about-face and go back a thousand years or so."

"More or less. What's really frightening is that he had accomplices," Starsky said. "And I really want to round up the blonde who delivered Blair's letter, and the 'nurse' he had with him at the hospital."

"Hopefully DuPont'll give her up when we get a chance to question him more thoroughly," Simon said as they walked back to his car.

********

"Well, Blair, your recovery hasn't exactly been taking place under ideal conditions, but you're doing very well," Dr. Farraday said, making a couple of notes on his chart. "I would like to keep you overnight for observation--"

"No way. I want to go home."

"There'll be three of us with him, and Ellison's had some medical training in the Army. Do you think there's any serious danger in him not staying here?" Hutch asked.

"Everything checks out all right. It's not unusual he's having pain. That's normal even in a restful recovery situation. The main thing he needs is rest and something for pain. He can do that at home. My principal reason for suggesting overnight observation was just because of the extreme stress he's been under so soon after the injury."

"I'm not staying," Blair stated, leaving no room for further discussion. "Are Jim and my dad coming here or are we meeting them back at the loft?"

"They're coming here," Hutch said. "Thanks, Doctor. We'll get these meds on the way home and make sure he goes to bed and stays there for a while."

"Just take it easy, Blair. I want to see you for a follow up appointment in a week. Don't worry about that right now. I'll have my office get a hold of you at the home phone number."

"Thanks, Dr. Farraday."

"Let's go get some food into you. We'll ask the nurse at the desk to send Jim and Starsky to the cafeteria when they get here."

"Take my advice," the doctor said, heading for the door of the room. "Avoid the tuna surprise. A group of internists couldn't determine what was in it at lunch."

********

Blair sat at a table in the cafeteria while Hutch made them both salads from the hospital's salad bar and filled two bowls with a hearty-looking chicken noodle soup. After adding two bottles of spring water to the order, he checked out and returned to the table.

"I don't know if I can eat," Blair said, taking a drink of the water right away. His hand shook slightly as he raised the bottle to his mouth.

"Just relax and take your time, Blair. If something looks good, eat a little of it. Part of your headache is probably from hunger, in addition to your injury."

"I just want to go home." Blair pressed his lips together tightly and swallowed. He blinked a couple times. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just shakier than I thought."

"No apologies necessary." Hutch squeezed Blair's arm. "You're doing just fine. If I had a dime for every time I felt shaky or not quite on top of things after a bad experience, I could have retired a lot sooner."

"My dad wouldn't have let you anyway," Blair said, smiling.

"No, you're right about that. He's never going to be content to be totally retired. I guess that's a good thing."

"You'd like to be?"

"I want to be with Starsky. We're partners for life, in whatever ways that means. If he's working, I'm going to be there with him. I've been with the old fart too long now to trust someone else to cover his ass." Hutch paused, poking at the salad. "I guess I've thought about just being normal retired people who work in their garden and take a lot of trips. Maybe buy a Winnebago or something," he added, chuckling.

"Do you really want Dad driving a Winnebago down the expressway?"

"Dear God, no," Hutch responded, laughing out loud. "Thanks, Blair. I think you just cured my retirement wanderlust." Becoming serious again, he added, "I was hoping for a few years where we didn't have to spend all our time wallowing in the depravities of society. But inasmuch as Starsky could go around and lecture the way I do, he doesn't have much interest in it. To him, it's like talking about what you love instead of doing what you love--and why talk about it when you can do it? Sometimes I think he's still trying to prove that Gunther didn't slow him down. Even though Gunther's been six feet under for decades now."

"I just hope he doesn't stay at it too long. That you both don't." Blair paused. "I really wouldn't be able to handle losing you guys to something stupid that didn't have to happen." Blair sighed. "After my mom died, I really spent a long time trying to come to terms with how pointless her death was, and all the years she was robbed of, and all the time I was robbed of with her. You and my dad..." Blair let the sentence trail off.

"We're careful, Blair. We've been at this a lot of years. We're not out chasing down street punks like we did in the old days."

"Good. Just don't let yourselves get shot for something stupid, okay?"

"Okay," Hutch agreed, smiling and patting Blair's shoulder.

"Hey, Chief," Jim's voice surprised Blair as his partner pulled up a chair close to him and leaned over for a kiss. Right there in the cafeteria. Jim took Blair's hand in his, and Blair held onto it like a lifeline. Starsky took a seat next to his partner.

"Hey, don't I get one'a those?" Starsky said to Hutch, gesturing at Jim and Blair, referring to the kiss.

"I don't know. Ask Jim," Hutch retorted, deadpan.

"Asshole." Starsky leaned over and planted a big, sloppy, noisy kiss on Hutch's cheek.

"God, just like being nailed by a giant carp," he said in mock disgust, wiping his cheek with a napkin. "I think one or two people behind the counter didn't hear that, Starsk."

"Then we better do it again to make sure."

"Let's save that for later. Blair, you ready to head for home?"

"Anybody else hungry?" Blair asked, noticing that Jim was already stealing tomatoes out of his salad.

"We can drive through and get a bucket of chicken or something," Jim said, stealing a cucumber this time.

"Good. Health food again," Blair said, curling his lip.

"I tell you what. I'll go out and pull some weeds for your lunch tomorrow." Jim kissed Blair's temple and slid his good arm around him. "You need to get rested up, because we have a wedding to plan, remember?"

"I thought you said all that was contrived and it wasn't us."

"Yeah, well, I was wrong."

"I didn't die, Jim. You don't have to do this out of some kind of guilt."

"It's not guilt, sweetheart. It's love. And I want us to have a special day so we have an anniversary to celebrate every year. That's always a great excuse to unplug all the phones and stay in bed all day."

"Like we need an excuse to do that. We did that on your last day off anyway."

"Too much information," Hutch said, laughing.

"Don't be such a prude, Hutch. It's not like our sex life has exactly waned since we don't have work schedules to keep up."

"Tell me about it. I've started carrying a tranquilizer gun around the house with me," Hutch responded, elbowing Starsky.

********

Blair was never so glad to see anything in his life as he was to see their bed turned back and waiting for him. He nearly stumbled toward it, and despite his arm being in a sling, Jim was hovering over him, tucking him in and making sure his pillows were just so. Finally, the light was out and Jim was sliding into bed next to him. Blair lost no time in abandoning the pillows and his side of the bed and snuggling against Jim's good side, careful not to put any pressure on the cracked ribs on the other side.

"It's okay, baby. I've got you now," Jim said gently, wishing he had both arms to wrap around Blair, but doing his best to cuddle him with his good arm, his hand stroking the soft curls.

"I missed you. It seems like forever since we were together like this."

"Blair, I know you said it was all right, but I'm so sorry you got hurt. That truck was a stupid idea. I never thought about a crash, or what would happen if we had one. I guess since I haven't had one where I was actually in the truck at the time, it didn't even occur to me when I picked that one out. And it did hold up pretty well when we were getting slammed by that truck chasing Sweet Roy's promoter--"

"Jim, just stop." Blair raised up on one elbow. "I know how you feel about me. I know you didn't mean for me to get hurt, and I know that you did your best to put your body in front of me to hold me back. Do you have any clue how hard I would have hit the dashboard, or maybe the windshield, if you hadn't done that? You saved my life, Jim."

"But if you'd been in a vehicle with airbags, or at least shoulder straps, you probably wouldn't have hit your head at all."

"It was a violent accident. We're just lucky we both lived through it."

"Your skull is fractured, Blair," Jim said, reaching up to push a couple of stray curls off Blair's still-bruised forehead.

"People live through skull fractures just fine as long as they aren't really awful ones that expose the brain or damage it. Athletes get skull fractures and once they've recovered, go back and do it all again. Why, I have no idea, but they seem to live through it, usually. The point is, I'm getting better, and by the time you get that cast off, I'll probably feel pretty good again." Blair smiled. "Besides, if you were really guilty of anything too bad, my dad would have killed you by now." Jim had to laugh at that, and truthfully, had to agree with it. He'd have a lot less problem finding forgiveness from Blair than he would from Starsky, who made the most overprotective mother hen look harmless and laid back by comparison when something threatened his son.

"Lie down, Chief." When Blair had returned to his spot on Jim's shoulder, Jim kissed the top of his head. "Try to relax. You need some sleep," Jim said softly, pulling Blair close.

"I knew you'd find me somehow," Blair whispered, his voice sounding a little strained. "I'm glad you got there when you did."

Jim shuddered inwardly at the thought of that horrible branding iron, and the painful, scarring wound it would have seared into Blair's soft flesh. Jim's hand slid under the tank shirt Blair wore and rubbed over the unmarred skin of his back and shoulder, more to reassure himself than Blair. As Blair cried a few quiet tears on his shoulder, letting out some of the fear and stress and pain of the last couple days, Jim relished the chance to kiss and cuddle and caress him the way he'd wanted to since the accident. Blair had gone through too much hurt with too little of this, and now, he was going to get more than enough to make up for it.

Smiling at that thought, Jim let himself drift off to sleep.

********

Wesley DuPont proved to be a good witness, willingly providing names and addresses for two other "disciples" of Garrison's bizarre doctrine. A second man was located and arrested, but the blonde woman whose description matched that of the of the woman who delivered Blair's letter to the Cascade PD remained at large. Garrison's apartment, as well as DuPont's family farmhouse contained a wealth of concrete evidence that Garrison was, indeed, the killer. DuPont's role in the killings was somewhat more difficult to prove, and the information he was providing was causing the DA to lean heavily toward accessory-after-the-fact charges instead of conspiracy to murder.

Sitting around the dinner table at the loft, the four men enjoyed the first really peaceful evening they'd shared in a long time. Jim offered to do some one-armed cooking, and Blair was regaining enough strength to help out a bit, but Starsky overruled both of them and went to a nearby Chinese restaurant and returned with a veritable buffet of goodies. With the table strewn with delicious food, the four of them relaxed and gorged themselves.

"I've been thinking," Starsky said.

"God help us," Hutch retorted, grinning as he got the expected kick under the table.

"You've both got some time off, even if you didn't exactly plan for it. What would you think of making that trip out to New York to meet your grandmother, Blair?"

"I think it's a great idea. Jim, how about you?"

"I don't see why not. It wouldn't break my heart not to go on desk duty right away."

"Then it's settled. I'll call Sophia tonight and we'll set it up."

"Are you sure you both feel up to making that trip right now?" Hutch asked.

"I think we ought to take it easy for a few days," Jim responded, reaching over to lightly caress the back of Blair's head. "You're still having some pretty nasty headaches, Chief."

"I guess you're right. But I want to go soon. We keep putting it off."

"I'll set things up with Sophia for about a week from now. If something happens and it doesn't work out, we'll just reschedule. She's very flexible, and she loves company, so she won't mind."

"How's your mother doing, Starsky?" Jim asked.

"She's slowing down a little bit, but she still loves to be with the family and have big gatherings. She's having fun being great-grandmother now to another whole generation of Starskys. She'll be really excited to meet you, Blair. She's been bragging to all her old lady friends that her grandson is a college professor."

"That's a little premature," Blair said, laughing. "I still have to finish my Ph.D."

"You teach classes at Rainier, right?" Starsky asked.

"Sure, but--"

"Then to her, you're a college professor. Besides, you'll get the Ph.D. as soon as you find time to finish it. No point in splitting hairs."

********

Jim resisted the pull on his consciousness at first. He was enjoying a peaceful night's sleep, and whatever was disturbing him wasn't welcome...at least not until he realized what it was. A determined hand was inside his shorts, fondling his balls and teasing his rapidly responding cock. It had been way too long.

"You must be feeling better," Jim said, grinning as he looked over his shoulder at Blair, whose head was close to his own as he'd raised up on one elbow to reach his goal in Jim's shorts. He could see Blair's answering smile in the dark.

"I missed you. We've had to be careful for so long, or one of us didn't feel like it. I feel like it. How about you?"

In response, Jim rolled over and pounced on Blair, pulling him into his arms and kissing him intensely, not releasing him until they were both breathless. Blair felt some protest in his head to the excitement, but nothing powerful enough to slow him down. He wrapped his legs around Jim and thrust upward, bringing their hardening cocks into electric contact. Jim reluctantly surrendered that friction to lick a path down Blair's chest to his nipple, pausing only to rapidly divest Blair of his tank shirt, tossing it to the floor. He spent a long time making love to Blair's chest, licking and sucking at the little pink nubs until they were hard and sensitized, and Blair was moaning and thrusting up against him in response.

He licked his way down to Blair's navel, probing the little valley with his tongue, then nipped and teased the sensitive skin beneath it. The scent and sight of Blair's arousal was hard to ignore, but Jim was determined to spend some time on this. He wanted to immerse himself in Blair's body in every sense of the word, and he wanted Blair to writhe with ecstasy so mind-blowing that it would eliminate all the pain and stress and fear of the last few weeks.

He ignored Blair's little whine of protest when he worked his way around the rigid cock and moved lower, pushing Blair's thighs up and apart. His casted arm protested a bit of the weight, but he ignored it, and Blair was soon eagerly holding his knees up, freeing Jim's mobile hand for more worthwhile uses. He licked and sucked Blair's balls, then, sticking his finger in his mouth quickly to wet it a bit, he began rubbing and teasing the entrance to Blair's body. His own cock throbbed at the thought of sliding into that tight heat, and if Blair's moaning and flexing of the muscles in his center were any indication, Blair was more than ready for something more exciting than his finger.

Jim released the oval he'd been sucking with an audible pop, and dragged his tongue over Blair's perineum before poking it into the tight little hole he'd been teasing with his finger.

"Oh, God, Jim...yeah, that's so good," Blair gasped, pulling his legs back impossibly further, bearing down on Jim's invading tongue. Jim withdrew his tongue and reached into the night stand for the lube. He began stretching Blair with a slippery finger, and then two. He pushed in just the right direction to hit Blair's prostate, eliciting an unstifled cry of pleasure. Hoping their guests were sound sleepers, he rubbed the little button again, but this time Blair managed muffle the shout with a pillow. "Now, Jim...please."

"Well, since you said 'please'," Jim teased, leaning down to kiss Blair's slick, loosened center before coating himself with a fine sheen of the lube. He eased his way into the tight channel, giving Blair time to adjust to his presence. The process didn't take long, because Blair was as excited to be filled as Jim was to fill him.

Jim rocked back and forth, setting a steady rhythm Blair was matching eagerly. Momentarily forgetting he only had one arm to lean on, Jim leaned forward over Blair to kiss him, and instead, lost his balance and fell on top of Blair, aggravating his bruised ribs, bringing a smothered "oomph" out of Blair, and slipping out of Blair's body in the process.

"Shit," Jim grumbled eloquently. He was at first aggravated when he felt Blair's whole body shaking beneath him and the first stifled giggles bubbled forth, but once he recovered from the jolt to his bruised body, and his much more seriously bruised ego, he couldn't resist laughing himself. "Are you okay, Chief?" he asked, regaining his composure for a moment or two until he raised up and looked at Blair, and they both started laughing again. Blair held onto his forehead.

"I'm okay," he managed. "Just hurts when I laugh," he said, before laughing even harder.

"That was satisfying," Jim added, still laughing a bit. "God, that hurt," he complained, which made Blair laugh harder. "You unsympathetic little shit," he accused, laughing again.

"Can you laugh and keep an erection at the same time?" Blair asked, looking down at himself, seeing that his had faltered a bit. Jim's was a bit the worse for wear, but it still had some life left in it.

"Stop laughing and you'll get your dick back," Jim chided, trying very hard to be stern and failing miserably.

"You wanna try another position?"

"How about you straddle me, Mr. Giggles?" Jim teased, rolling onto his back and stuffing some pillows behind himself so he was in a more upright position. "Come on. Just stay off my ribs."

"My aim might not be perfect, but I don't usually sit on your ribs when I'm looking for your cock." Blair snorted inelegantly a time or two. "I need to blow my nose." Blair went for a kleenex on the night stand, giving Jim a titillating view of his bare butt.

"Take your time there, Chief. Don't let me rush you," Jim needled, having worked his somewhat confused and frustrated cock back to life again with a determined hand. "Bring your ass over here before I come and get it."

"Ooh, I'm scared. You had it once and it got away, remember?" Blair teased. Jim smacked the ass in question once, sharply. "Ow! Hey, that hurt," Blair protested.

"Yeah, sure it did. You can file a domestic violence report with Simon in the morning. Now come on."

"Careful of the arm, there, Jim," Blair teased, straddling Jim.

"You just worry about watching your mouth, Chief," Jim retorted, sliding a hand behind Blair's neck and pulling him in for a kiss. "And what a mouth it is," he added, smiling and bumping noses with Blair.

Blair smiled brightly at that, squatting over Jim so his hard cock slipped between Blair's cheeks and enjoyed some friction there, but didn't achieve the full satisfaction of penetration. They kissed again, slower and deeper this time, regaining some of the mood they'd essentially destroyed a few minutes ago.

Then Blair lifted up a bit and guided Jim's cock to his center and sank slowly down on it until he was fully impaled. He leaned forward carefully and put his weight on Jim's good side, loving the closeness of being in each other's arms while they made love. The wild, acrobatic stuff was fun, but this was something special. Their rhythm was a little sluggish and uneven at times, but they were as absorbed in kissing and caressing each other as they were in their union. Eventually, their bodies demanded something bolder, and Blair picked up the pace of his rocking and Jim increased the power of his thrusts until they rode the tides of each other's climaxes, stifling their shouts in sloppy, lingering kisses. When Jim slipped free of Blair's body, they snuggled together, drawing the comforter up over their cooling bodies.

"Why'd you change your mind about the wedding?" Blair asked, kissing Jim's chest as he rested his head there.

"Because I decided that us being together for life was too important to let pass with just a bottle of wine and a nice hotel room or something. It deserves an occasion...a ritual of some kind."

"That's a nice way to look at it," Blair said, smiling.

"I didn't mean to hurt you before, when I resisted the idea of all the plans."

"Some of them were getting a little out of hand. We can have a nice party with our friends, exchange some vows, maybe get the honeymoon suite at the Towers--"

"Or maybe go on a slightly better honeymoon than that. I think we should have a real honeymoon. I'll get some time off from Simon. Maybe we could do it over the semester break, when you aren't teaching anything."

"We could stay at the Towers for our wedding night, but we could plan the trip for later this year."

"Exactly. Maybe you better make it a couple of nights at the Towers. I'm not letting you out of the sack for at least twenty four hours after we tie the knot." Jim kissed Blair's forehead. "How's your head, baby?"

"It's kind of pounding right now. I think I overdid it a little. I'll be okay."

"Yeah, you'll be fine after you take something for it." Jim kissed him again and started dislodging him so he could go get Blair a painkiller. "My ribs could use a little something to take the sharp edge off, too," he added, throwing down a couple Tylenol and swallowing them with part of the nearly full glass of water they'd left on the dresser in case either of them needed a pill during the night.

"I'll sleep 'til noon if I take that now." Blair accepted the pills anyway.

"So will I, but I'm sure your dad and Hutch can figure out a way to entertain themselves until we get up."

Blair took the pills and then handed the water back to Jim, who set it on the dresser again, then got back into bed and helped Blair arrange the pillows so they'd both be comfortable. They nestled in the bed together, close enough to share a pillow.

"Have I told you today that I love you?" Jim asked, and Blair grinned.

"I don't know if you said the words, but you say it to me all the time."

"Just in case I missed the words. I love you." He kissed Blair gently. "You're all there is, sweetheart. You know that, right?"

"I know it," Blair said, his voice a little husky. "I couldn't make it without you, either. I love you, Jim."

"I'm sorry it took us so long to track down that damn farmhouse."

"You got there at the perfect time, man. No complaints."

"You should have been resting and recovering," Jim said, kissing Blair's forehead again. "Not outrunning mad dogs and maniacs. And I should have been at the hospital. None of this would have happened--"

"Hey, stop it. I told you to go home. Don't blame yourself for everything bad that happens, Jim. It wasn't your fault."

"If I'd been at the hospital, Garrison couldn't have gotten at you."

"Maybe not, but there was no reason to think I was in danger, and no reason for you not to go home and get some sleep. You were hurt, too. You needed some rest."

"I caused you to get hurt like this and then I turn around and leave you at the hospital--"

"And there are people starving, wars starting, and corruption in politics. Damn it, Jim, you should be ashamed of yourself." Blair smiled and Jim had to chuckle a little even though he didn't want to. "Not every bad thing that happens is your fault. It all just *happened*."

"You hate chases. You're always scared to death. Sometimes you hit your head on the side window in that old truck..."

"I don't remember you ever pulling your gun on me and pushing me into the passenger seat. I'm smart enough to know what risks I'm taking."

"You do it for me. And I should have known better than to risk your life to save a few bucks on my insurance."

"You didn't put me at any worse risk than you put yourself."

"I shouldn't have put either one of us at that kind of risk. But least of all you. You're not a cop, and whether or not you're my life partner, it's still my responsibility to protect you when you're out on the job with me."

"Would it make you feel better if I sued you?" Blair asked, frustrated.

"Probably would be fair."

"Look, we were chasing a hit-and-run driver--someone who's going to face homicide charges as soon as they're caught. It was a worthwhile chase. And if that airhead in the SUV hadn't pulled in front of us, none of this shit would have happened. Now that jerk I'd like to have a little talk with."

"You and me both."

"You know, Jim, we could have both been killed. There isn't a day that goes by that I'm not grateful for how things turned out. Nothing would have been worse, for me, than you not making it. I'm so glad to have you, so grateful you're alive and okay, none of the rest of it matters. Not even Garrison really mattered compared to that." Blair slid closer, wrapping his arms around Jim, careful not to put pressure on his ribs. "I can't think about what could have happened. In that instant, I could have lost you. Lost everything that mattered to me. Do you know how little it would have mattered to me what happened to me if you hadn't made it?"

"I feel the same way, sweetheart. I never would have made it through losing you. While you were unconscious...when the doctor wasn't sure if you'd wake up okay..." Jim closed his eyes and buried his nose in Blair's hair, taking in the healthy, living scent of his lover. "I would have loved you no matter how you woke up, but I was so afraid you wouldn't be able to have the life you want, the life you deserve..."

"We're both okay. That's what matters."

"Starsky thinks we ought to buy a Hummer. I think he's right. I want the biggest, safest, bad-ass truck on the road. The safest place for you," Jim added, pulling back to kiss Blair.

"How about a yellow one?" Blair asked, enthused.

"Yellow? You're kidding, right?" Jim asked, smiling in disbelief.

"Well, I wasn't, but I guess it wouldn't be a great subtle stakeout vehicle, would it?"

"Must be genetic. Starsky with the red and white muscle car and you with a yellow Hummer. It's a wonder you don't both get yourselves killed undercover." Jim laughed, hugging Blair closer. "If you want neon lime green with purple polka dots, that's what we'll get."

"How about black?"

"Black is good," Jim agreed, nodding.

"Let's go test drive one tomorrow."

"I'm a little disabled in that department, and you need to take it easy and let your head rest. When I get this plaster thing off my arm, we'll do it."

"Okay." Blair yawned widely, then settled against Jim. "Love you."

"Love you, too, baby. Always." Jim smiled, dozing off to sleep, feeling all was right in his world.

********

Simon was more than agreeable to giving his star detective some vacation time to go along with his sick leave. Jim was no good stuck behind a desk, and even less effective when he was distracted by Blair's absence, and Blair wasn't ready to take on the pace of Rainier and the Cascade PD just yet. The University was equally understanding, and located another grad student to cover the classes Blair was teaching until he was able to resume his duties during the winter semester.

The four men embarked on a flight to New York on an uncharacteristically sunny October morning. They were expected at the home of Sophia and Daniel Meyer, Starsky's cousin and her husband, by dinner time. Starsky wasn't sure where Sophia planned to put all of them, but she had emphatically insisted they would stay there at the house, and not in a hotel. After all, they were family.

The flight was smooth and uneventful, and they arrived at the airport close their scheduled arrival time. It wasn't long before Starsky spotted his cousin, bobbing up and down and waving in their direction. She was every bit a Starsky, with long, dark curls and striking blue eyes. Dressed in a blue sweater and jeans, she carried a chubby, apple-cheeked toddler with the same dark curls with her as she hurried over to greet her guests.

"David!" Hugging Starsky with her free arm, she lost little time in stepping back from him to greet Hutch.

"Hey, let me look at this guy," Starsky said, taking his tiny young cousin from Sophia. "Hey there, Davey," he said jovially, delighting in the giggle from the little boy who had obviously been named for him. "I can't believe he's a year old already."

"You ought to come visit more often, dummy, then you'd see him. Your mother loves having another little 'David' with dark curls to play with," Sophia said, smiling.

"Sophia, this is your cousin, Blair," he said, pulling Blair over toward him.

"He's got the hair," she said, laughing and hugging Blair.

"It's great to meet you, Sophia. Hey, Dad, quit hogging the baby. He's my cousin, too," Blair protested, taking the good-natured baby from his father. "He's really beautiful," he said to Sophia.

"Thanks. We think so," she said, smiling proudly.

"Sophia, this is Jim, my partner," Blair said, finishing the round of introductions.

"Hello, Jim." She shook hands with Jim, then pulled him into a little hug. "You're sort of a Starsky now, and we do a lot of hugging," she said. "Besides, he's gorgeous. I'd have to be nuts not to hug him," she said, elbowing Blair and winking.

"Thanks, I think so," he said, and Jim laughed at that.

"Where's Dan?" Starsky asked.

"He's out front with the car. I wanted to come in and get you." She accepted the baby back from Blair as two pudgy arms started reaching for her insistently.

Dan Meyer was a tall, stocky man with a full head of brown hair, brown eyes, and a ready smile. He greeted their guests warmly and helped load the luggage in the back of the Chevy Suburban while Sophia got little Davey situated in his car seat. Once they were on the road, Sophia spoke up.

"We have a guest bedroom and a den with a sofa bed upstairs. Our room and Aunt Rachel's room is on the first floor," Sophia explained. "David tells us you're a cop, too, Jim."

"That's right. Blair is my partner in that, too. He's a consultant to the department, but he rides with me," Jim said, a little note of possessiveness coming through in his voice.

"Our family seems destined to marry cops. Guess what Dan does for a living."

"Gee, accountant, maybe?" Blair guessed jokingly.

"Homicide detective, NYPD, five years," Dan said, laughing. "I got into a nasty pile-up during a pursuit a couple years ago. Similar to what happened to you guys. Some half-wit ignored the siren and broadsided me going through an intersection. My partner got really smashed up. It was on his side."

"Is he okay now?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, he's fine. Still has some problems with his right arm, but not enough to keep him on desk duty. I felt real bad about it at the time, but when you're doin' 90, you can't stop on a dime."

"Unfortunately, that's true. Did they catch the guy you were chasing?" Jim asked.

"A black and white nailed him a few blocks on. I hear your guy got away. That really sucks."

"The investigation's ongoing," Jim responded. "We were chasing the jerk because he hit and killed a pedestrian practically in front of us. Turned out it was a pregnant woman trying to cross the street to go back to work from her lunch hour."

"That's horrible," Sophia said, shaking her head. "Blair, your grandmother is just on cloud nine waiting to meet you. She's so excited. I'm afraid you're going to get quite a family history lesson. She's called every relative in New York State to round up photo albums."

"Oh, that's fine. I'm looking forward to it. I'm an anthropologist, so studying people and putting my family tree together sounds like fun. I like all those old anecdotes about people."

"Well, we'll just say goodbye at the door, because Ma's gonna love you and probably not let you out of her clutches until we leave," Starsky said, laughing.

"I figured we'd just have a quiet dinner tonight and let you guys have time to relax and get settled and visit with Aunt Rachel. Tomorrow night, we're having some family over," Sophia said.

"That means the entire East Coast branch of the Starsky family will be crammed into Sophia's living room, gorging themselves on home-cooked food, hugging everything that moves, laughing like idiots, and drinking too much wine until about three in the morning," Hutch explained to Blair. "At least, that's what I hope it means. Last time we were here, you had a great party for Starsky's birthday," Hutch said to Sophia.

"We've got a small group coming." She paused, smiling. "I'm figuring on about twenty for dinner."

"Gee, just twenty, huh?" Blair responded, laughing.

"They're as excited as they were when little Davey here was born. It's another new cousin to check out. There's Aunt Marie and Uncle Stan, Grandpa Nick--Blair, that's not your uncle, but your great-uncle, your grandfather's brother, Nick. My grandfather."

"How's he doing?" Starsky asked.

"He's okay. He's a little scrambled upstairs, but he's in pretty good health, and he can still take care of himself. He's too stubborn to move into an apartment. It gives Mom fits. My mom and dad will be there, and your cousins Jeff and Diane from Albany... Well, you'll meet everybody tomorrow. And you let us know if we run you ragged. I know you're still getting over the accident."

"I'm doing a lot better, thanks. But I'll let you know. Besides, Jim'll look out for me."

"Jim, you gotta tell me about that Garrison character. After we get settled at the house, maybe you and I and Hutch can grab a few beers and talk shop while the Starskys congregate and talk themselves to death."

"Sounds great," Jim responded genuinely. Truthfully, the thought of hanging out with a couple other cops and talking about cases held more appeal than hearing the entire history of the Starsky family tree, complete with photos.

"Dad, I meant to ask you, what are Grandma's favorite flowers?"

"White roses," Starsky said, smiling. "She carried them at her wedding, and my dad used to get them for her for every anniversary. I always send them to her on her birthday."

"I was thinking maybe if it's not too far out of the way, we could stop by a florist. I'd like to take her something."

"We can manage that," Dan said from the driver's seat. "She'll be ticked pink. She loves getting flowers."

The Meyer family home was a well-kept two story house in a middle class suburb of New York City. The van was kept company in the family garage by a small blue Pontiac Sunfire, and a growing collection of plastic outdoor toddler toys.

"Davey's kind of small for those yet, but come Spring, we'll be fixing up the backyard for him to do some serious playing," Dan said, stopping the van outside the open garage to give them more room to unload both people and luggage. "Aunt Rachel probably heard the car, so why don't you take Blair inside?" Dan handed the house keys to Starsky. "Leave the door open and we'll bring in the luggage."

"Sounds good. I can't wait to see Ma. It's been way too long." Starsky got out of the van, followed by Blair, Jim, and Hutch.

"See you later," Jim said to Blair, kissing his mouth quickly, earning him an ear to ear grin from his lover.

"Newlyweds are so cute," Sophia said, smiling.

"Not yet. We're getting married when we get back to Cascade. We haven't had the official ceremony yet."

"How wonderful! Are you going up to Canada or doing an exchange of vows kind of ceremony?"

"Exchanging vows. When it's legalized here, we'll do all the paperwork, but it's legal enough for us. We already have a joint checking account," Jim said, smiling. "That's about as married as you can get."

"Tell me about it," Dan grumbled as he pulled the first of the luggage out of the truck.

"I'm not the one who forgets to enter things," Sophia reminded him, hoisting little Davey into her arms out of the car seat.

"I'm not the one on a first name basis with the sales girls in Bloomingdale's." Dan winked at his wife to take the sting out of the words.

"Beauty doesn't come cheap, Dan," Blair said, nodding sagely.

"Oh, wow. I love this guy. I'm glad we're related," Sophia responded, laughing.

Starsky led Blair into the house, and as soon as they'd made it to the foyer, a small, elderly woman with wavy white hair tamed into an upswept style on her head came into view. Dressed in a blue dress with a white sweater, the blue in the fabric picked up the blue in her eyes. Despite her age, she still wore a light amount of red lipstick and her nails were done perfectly in matching red nail polish.

"Ma!" Starsky embraced her right away, and it was returned enthusiastically. She laughed when Starsky carefully lifted her off the floor briefly, then set her back on her feet. "Ma, you look beautiful."

"Then you're the one with the failing eyes," she chided, tapping Starsky on the end of the nose with a slightly arthritic finger. "Oh, my goodness," she said, moving past Starsky to Blair. "You sent me pictures, but he's just beautiful," she said, her voice a little shaky as she framed Blair's face with both hands.

"I'm so glad to meet you, Grandma," Blair said, smiling, presenting her with a single white rose. She hugged him and he returned it. She held on a long moment before moving back.

"And look at this," she said, taking some of the hair that hung loose on Blair's shoulders in both hands. "Look at these curls!"

"Yeah, we really didn't need any paternity tests when we saw those," Starsky said, smiling proudly.

"And those eyes. He has your eyes."

"In case you haven't looked, Ma, he's got *your* eyes. That's where I got mine."

"You're all right from that awful accident?" she said, touching lightly the very faint trace of bruising on Blair's forehead.

"I'm fine, Grandma. The worst I get is a headache once in a while if I overdo it. I'm doing great."

"You need to get lots of rest. Don't let Sophia tire you out with all her dinner parties," she said, linking her arm through Blair's and leading him into the house. Starsky had to chortle as he brought up the rear, essentially forgotten now that his mother had her hooks in a new grandchild. Even if he was in his thirties, he was still a new grandchild to her. "Now you sit here beside me and I want to hear all about you." She sat on the couch, and Blair sat next to her as instructed. "We've never had a college professor in the family before!"

"Actually, I'm just adjunct faculty right now," Blair said, then saw the confusion on the elderly woman's face. "It means I'm teaching there part time. I'm still working on my dissertation, to get my Ph.D., and I work with Jim at the Cascade PD."

"When do you sleep?" she asked, her eyes widening. Blair and Starsky both had to laugh at that.

"It's a challenge making it all work, but it's worth it." Blair's smile positively glowed as he saw Jim walking into the room. "Grandma, this is Jim, my partner," Blair said, infinitely grateful that his father had already pioneered bringing a man home to his family. He already felt close to the kind, warm-hearted little lady that was his grandmother, and it would have been a painful blow if she wasn't able to accept the man he loved.

"Mrs. Starsky, it's a real pleasure to finally meet you," Jim said, taking her extended hand and kissing the back of it instead of shaking it.

"Oh, he's a smooth one, Blair. And so handsome. Pull that chair right up here, dear," she said to Jim, gesturing at a small chair near the couch. Jim followed the directions and was soon sitting close to the side Blair didn't occupy. Starsky was sitting a slight distance away, amused by watching his mother "hold court" in Sophia's living room as she sniffed at her rose. "David tells me you're a police officer, too," she said.

"That's right. I'm a detective with Major Crime."

"How is that different from Homicide? That's where David's father was, and where David and Ken always were."

"We handle homicides, but also larger scale drug operations, theft rings, and so on. It's rare that homicide *isn't* involved in those cases somehow, but it's not always the central focus of the investigation. We work with other departments within the PD, like Narcotics, Missing Persons, Sex Crimes, and so on."

"Must be very dangerous work. They let Blair go with you on those cases without being a cop himself?"

"Blair's very capable in a tight spot. He's a great partner." Jim caught Blair's gaze and held it. "I wouldn't want anyone else watching my back."

"You just watch out for him," she said, patting Blair's cheek. Then she added, sadly, "We've suffered enough loss in this family from police work."

"Dad said you had photo albums to show me," Blair said, hoping to cheer her up a bit. It worked, and she smiled brightly.

"Why don't you two get settled, and I'll help Sophia make some snacks, and we'll have a look at them in a little while?"

"Sounds great," Blair responded, returning her smile. "It's so good to meet you, Grandma. I never...I never had a chance to spend time with grandparents before," Blair added, swallowing a lump in his throat. His thoughts touched briefly on the coldness and rejection he'd felt from Naomi's parents, and how much he'd always wished he could just experience a little of what was supposed to be so great about grandparents. It was obvious Grandma Starsky had enough love to pile on him to do for all four grandparents.

"Well, you do now," she said decisively. "You know," she said, taking a hold of Blair's hands. "You have your great-grandfather's hands." She smiled. "I remember watching him hold a cup of coffee, or gesture at the dinner table...and they were just like your hands. Slender, strong, long fingers. And you have Starsky eyes," she added. That dark blue...just like your father and your grandfather. Your features might come from your mother's side, but I would know you were a Starsky and a Goldman without being told. That was my maiden name," she added. "I have photographs of my father, and some of my brothers. I think you'll see a bit of resemblance there."

********

"Your grandmother seems like a pretty special lady," Jim said, hoisting their suitcase onto the sofa bed that had been made up nicely by Sophia before their arrival. Jim had offered for them to take this room, instead of the room with the real bed, in deference to Hutch's back problems, but the older men had insisted on flipping for it. Hutch had won the toss, and seemed to feel perfectly justified in claiming the better bed on that basis, rather than his age or his bad back.

"It's weird. I only met her a little while ago, but it feels like she's always been my grandma."

"She has. You just didn't meet her before now," Jim said, pulling Blair into his arms, cursing at the awkward flipper in its sling. "Damn, I'll be glad to get this thing off me."

"You've only got a few weeks left." Blair nestled into the embrace. "You broke it saving my life, you know."

"Saving both our lives. Without you, I wouldn't have wanted to live through the accident. Or anything else."

"You think they'd hear us if we...?"

"Not if we were really quiet," Jim said, grinning, then becoming more serious as he moved in for a long kiss, sliding his hand into Blair's hair, claiming his mouth completely. "Love you," he muttered against Blair's lips before kissing him again. Blair's response was eager and hungry, hands grasping at the back of Jim's shirt as he returned the kisses with all his energy.

Blair unbuttoned Jim's shirt, parting the fabric and growling in frustration when he was met with a t-shirt. Jim laughed quietly and cooperated with removing it, both of them cursing as they eased Jim's arm out of the sling and got the t-shirt over the cast. Even limited to one hand, Jim was amazingly skillful at disrobing his lover, that one hand seeming to reach everywhere at once, making short shrift of Blair's sweater and the henley shirt under it. Once jeans, underwear and socks were tossed in the pile with the rest of the clothes, they slipped between the sheets and wrapped arms and legs around each other, kissing and caressing, forgetting for a moment their impending social obligations downstairs. After all, if they were really unpacking, it would take them a little while to do that, and Starsky surely wouldn't mind a little time to spend with his mother without them present.

Being in each other's arms seemed too wonderful to sacrifice, even for more acrobatic lovemaking. Humping together was deliciously exciting and frustrating at the same time, the friction enough to arouse but not quite enough to bring them to a quick finish. That was fine with Jim, as he buried his nose between Blair's neck and shoulder, taking in his lover's scent, relishing the silky brush of curls against his face. Most of all, he relished the warm, living body that moved in his arms. Since the accident, Jim had become acutely aware of how fragile and uncertain life was, and how quickly the one thing that you lived for could be taken away.

He ran his hand up and down Blair's back, finally sliding down to rub and cup a cheek of the perfect ass he loved so much. But more than that, he loved Blair, and everything about him, and the unhurried rubbing of their cocks against each other, and the warmth of holding each other close was more exciting than the most creative position he could imagine.

Blair was planting hot little kisses all over his neck and chest, those warm hands moving over his back and sliding down to massage his ass as they rocked together. Jim moved up to run his tongue along the shell of Blair's ear, blowing into it hotly. He smiled as Blair giggled a little, though Blair would vehemently deny that he ever giggled. He knew the light motion of his tongue tickled Blair a bit, and he loved hearing his lover's laughter. Blair's laugh was always soothing to his soul, and made him smile.

Pulling Jim even tighter into his arms, Blair peppered his face with kisses, making Jim laugh this time. He licked at Jim's lips until he claimed them in a kiss, his tongue slipping inside to dance with Jim's, the kiss deepening until it seemed as if the whole world had narrowed to that one wet union of flesh. When Blair tore his mouth away, he let out a little gasp of pleasure as he came, stifling the sound against Jim's chest.

The broken little moans and the warm, slippery moisture between them brought Jim to his own climax, and a moment later, they were lying there together, their come mingling as they stayed entwined, just soaking up the closeness.

"You think we could just stay here for the rest of the day?" Jim asked, smiling at one of his favorite sights in the world--a mellow, post-sex Blair, lids heavy, curls a bit tousled, and smiling with all the love in the world.

"That would be kind of rude, wouldn't it?" Blair asked, nestling against Jim's chest.

"Probably. Besides, I could make love to you 24/7 for the rest of our lives, and I'd never be ready to let you go."

"Wow." Blair was quiet a minute. "I feel the same way."

"Then why the 'wow'?" Jim asked, smiling and kissing Blair's forehead.

"Because it still kind of...awes me that we could have so much love, and be so happy."

"Well, we can, and we do, and we are." Jim held him close and ran his hand up and down Blair's back in long strokes. "Anytime I'm with you, it's all I can do to keep my hands off you."

"Don't try," Blair said seriously, kissing Jim's chest. "I love it whenever you touch me. I know it's probably selfish, but I really love it when you touch me in front of people. I guess it just makes me feel...special. Like you're proud of me. Of us."

"I'm always proud of you, sweetheart." Jim thought he knew the origin of the comment, thinking back to his initial reluctance to exchange vows in front of their friends. "What we have is so special, and so...intimate...it's just hard to put it into words sometimes, but when I didn't want us to have the ceremony, it was never about not being proud of you, or of us. When we touch in public and someone stares, I know they're thinking what a lucky guy I am." Jim smiled as Blair's face split into a huge smile. "And you know what? I don't really give a shit what they're thinking. As a matter of fact, I usually don't even notice anyone else is there when I'm looking at you."

"It's funny, but I always feel like people are wondering what a gorgeous, tall, built guy like you is doing with me when he could be with just about any woman he wanted."

"That's what they think I should want, Blair. Not what I want. I have what I want right here."

"Me, too. Aren't we lucky?" Blair asked, snuggling against Jim.

"The luckiest guys in the world, I'd say."

********

"I'm glad Ma's room's on the first floor," Starsky said, shaking his head and smiling.

"Why?" Hutch was busily unpacking their clothes.

"Listen a minute. Do you hear a very rhythmic squeaking coming from the next room?"

"They're worse than we are, and I didn't think that was possible," Hutch said, chuckling.

"So how come we're unpacking clothes while they're breaking in the bed?"

"Because we're older and wiser and you haven't made a pass at me yet."

"Me? How about you?"

"We're in *your* family's house."

"Now that's a new rule. So next time we visit your mother, I have to wait for *you* to make a pass at *me*?"

"It's that whole 'home team/visitor' thing." Hutch was grinning, his back still to Starsky as he closed the dresser drawer. He wasn't even surprised when Starsky moved up close behind him and nuzzled his neck, a hand sliding down to squeeze the bulge in his pants.

"Consider yourself passed at," Starsky said, pulling him back toward the bed. "You just can't scream."

"I don't scream."

"You do when I give you one of my special Starsky prostate exams."

"I do *not* scream. I may get a little loud..."

"Yeah, well, I don't want Ma runnin' up here thinking we're being murdered or something and walking in on us."

"Lock the door, and I'll stuff the sheet in my mouth."

"It's a deal."

"There's just one stipulation," Hutch said as Starsky locked the door. "Since I'm liable to scream, as you put it, when you hit my prostate, the only solution to that is to leave my prostate alone. Which means only one thing..." Hutch flexed his eyebrows and grinned.

"You don't have to ask twice, Blondie," Starsky responded, and soon they were both eagerly undressing, tossing their clothes in a pile on the floor. "Let me get you ready, babe." Starsky knelt in front of his partner and took the slightly hardened cock into his mouth, one hand fondling the lightly hair-dusted balls, the other squeezing a smooth ass cheek.

"Oh, God..." Hutch gasped, leaning back against the dresser, bracing himself there, never truly prepared for the rush of sensation, or for the sight of that dark head hovering over his groin, bringing him such pleasure. It was as hot and amazing now as it had been twenty years ago. He only hoped they had twenty more years to look forward to. But then, ten lifetimes wouldn't be enough.

Just when he thought he was approaching his climax, Starsky pulled back, releasing his cock with a wet slurp. Starsky got up, and moved over to the bed, Hutch close behind him, though reeling a little from the loss of sensation. Having snagged the tube from his shaving kit, Starsky tossed him the lube as he got up on the mattress on all fours. Hutch used the gel to lubricate and stretch his lover's center, though it didn't take long to get Starsky ready. After coating his cock with the gel, he stood behind Starsky, who had thoughtfully positioned himself near the side of the bed, and pressed inside, smiling as Starsky worked hard to stifle his own groans of pleasure.

Gripping Starsky's hips, Hutch thrust in and out of the slick channel, watching Starsky stuff the blanket into his mouth to stifle his reactions as his prostate got the kind of workout that usually had him yelling, swearing, and, yes, screaming, when they had more privacy. Starsky dropped from his hands to his elbows, thrusting his ass up higher and back against Hutch, his signal that the pace was not only good, but could stand to be a bit stronger.

Hutch was happy to oblige, working hard to control his own moans and gasps as Starsky's muscles clamped around him, squeezing and milking him even as he pumped hard and fast into the perfect ass before him. Starsky let out a long, guttural groan as his muscles flexed and he came, the sound and movement bringing Hutch closer to his own completion as he pumped a bit harder and faster, biting his lip to quiet his own instinctive shout as he filled his lover.

Spent, Hutch slipped free of Starsky's body and flopped on his back on the bed. With a little chuckle, Starsky stretched out next to him, moving into his arms.

"Wore you out, eh, babe?" Starsky leaned up on one elbow, carding his fingers through Hutch's hair.

"Don't be so smug, buddy. You're the one who'll be shifting in your chair at dinner."

"And every time I do, you'll be doing the ninety-degree salute under the table." He leaned down and kissed Hutch. "That was great, darlin'."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Hutch agreed, grinning. "We better get downstairs."

"Okay. Uh, Hutch...you wanna see if the coast is clear so we can go clean up?"

"The water's running," Hutch said, listening a moment. "I think somebody else beat us to it."

"Well, they started before we did," Starsky said, snorting a laugh. "It was a long, dirty flight. We all needed to bathe before going downstairs."

"I love your family, Starsk, but this could be a long week," Hutch said, shaking his head.

********

Sophia, with the assistance of Rachel, who would have none of being an inactive elderly matriarch, had prepared a lovely spread of cheese, meats, crackers, and fresh fruit. Extra chairs were brought from the dining room to the living room so the whole group could gather there. Starsky and Blair sat on either side of Rachel while she started with the first of many photo albums, showing Blair a pictorial history of the Goldman-Starsky clan beginning with her parents, her childhood in New York, and continuing until she met the dashing young Michael Starsky in high school and love blossomed.

Blair was genuinely fascinated with the photos, with seeing a bit of the family resemblance he bore to Rachel's father, though it was not strong. His great-grandfather did, indeed, have hands that resembled Blair's, and his build was very similar. He was 5'8" tall "when he stretched as far as he could," according to Rachel.

Jim was more fascinated with watching Blair take it all in, and was overjoyed for his lover to have finally found this branch of his extended family. There was no shortage of love and hospitality in the Starsky clan, and after the way Blair was treated by Naomi's parents, especially her father, Jim was even happier to see him finally bonding with a grandparent. Naomi's mother had kept up a spotty correspondence with Blair, which delighted him to no end, but she was unable to visit and unable to do more than send a few letters back and forth, using a post office box. Her husband didn't approve, and being of the old school, she didn't defy him openly. Still, the occasional brief letters in his maternal grandmother's shaky script were among his treasures. He wrote her voluminous replies, always reassuring her that he understood her situation, and loved her for keeping in touch with him.

"You really look like Grandpa," Blair said to Starsky, and his use of the word seemed to please Rachel greatly. Her husband had been dead and buried for many years, but something about Blair including him as "Grandpa" made her smile.

"Just wait until you see this," Rachel said, handing Blair the current photo album while she pulled out another and opened it, pointing to Starsky's police academy graduation picture.

"Oh, wow. Next to each other, it almost looks like the same guy," Blair said.

"The resemblance is pretty strong," Starsky said, smiling fondly as he looked at the photo of his father as a very young man. "Hard to believe he's been gone so long," he said, a bit sadly.

"Forty-nine years," Rachel said quietly. She stared at the photo for a long moment. "It's been a long time to be apart."

Blair was glad to feel Jim's arm behind him, the warmth of his body close by. Though it had to be one of the more uncomfortable spots in the room, Jim was sitting on the arm of the couch, close to Blair, who rested his arm casually on Jim's leg.

"I know we've all been gorging ourselves on the munchies, but I do have a really gorgeous roast in the oven," Sophia said. "I'm going to go check on that and see about setting the table. Dan, you want to give me a hand?"

"Sure thing." Dan stood and handed his small son to Starsky, who happily bounced the little toddler on his knee. "I was thinking later maybe we could take a little footage with the video camera. I know some people don't like being on candid camera, so I didn't want to start capturing the moments without asking you," he said, heading toward the kitchen.

"That'd be great, if we can get a copy of the tape," Blair said.

"No problem. I'll dub you one."

Sophia was as adept with preparing large, hot meals as she was serving delicious snacks. The long dining room table, which had been in the Starsky family for at least three generations, was adorned with a beige lace cloth and several large serving dishes of piping hot food.

"This dinner is amazing, Sophia. You didn't really have to go to all this trouble for us, but I'm glad you did," Jim said, chuckling. Sophia laughed.

"I love to cook, especially for family. We have a big dinner gathering at least once a week here. Aunt Rachel loves to entertain, and it gives me a chance to try out my new recipes on a live audience."

Little David made his frustration known, since he'd run out of the carefully prepared plate of finely shredded meat and mashed potatoes his mother had placed before him.

"He's getting chubby," she said, smiling as she put another small portion of potatoes on his plate.

"He's not alone," Dan said, laughing. "Her cooking's *too* good," he added. "Doesn't matter how long I spend at the gym."

The doorbell rang, and Sophia frowned, confused.

"We aren't expecting anyone until tomorrow night," she said, glancing at the clock.

"I'll get it," Dan said, getting up and leaving the dining room to go to the door. They could hear his voice and a second male voice. Dan seemed surprised by whomever the visitor was, and Starsky got up to investigate. He stopped when his mother put a hand over her mouth in surprise and moved out of her chair faster than he'd seen her move in the last ten years. He followed her to the living room, and was as stunned as Dan, as he hadn't immediately recognized the visitor's voice.

Nicholas Marvin Starsky, newly released from prison, stood in the living room, duffle bag at his feet, talking with Dan. Rachel rushed to him and embraced him, and her greeting was returned with mutual affection and enthusiasm.

"You didn't call! You didn't write! Why didn't you tell me when your parole hearing was?" she demanded.

"You were so disappointed when the last one didn't go through, and I wanted to surprise you if this one did, Ma. Sorry if I came at a bad time. I figured dinner'd be over by now," he added, casting a glance at Starsky, who hadn't flown to his side with the same excitement.

"Nick," Starsky said, still standing his ground.

"Oh, David, for heaven's sake, greet your brother!" Rachel said, motioning to Starsky, who reluctantly moved forward, and for his mother's sake, shared a stiff embrace with Nick before moving back. By now, the rest of the group had left the dining room to see what all the excitement was about in the living room.

Nick Starsky was similar to his brother in height and build, his dark hair blended with some gray. Four years younger than Starsky, Nick looked that much older, and more tired, years served in prison having aged him more than the same years had aged his brother. He was slender, and wore jeans and a battered brown leather jacket over a black turtleneck.

"Uncle Nick, do you have a place to stay?" Sophia asked.

"Well, not yet. I just got out, but I have a friend in Brooklyn--"

"Nonsense. All we can offer you right now is the couch, but you're welcome to it," Sophia said, earning a delighted smile from Rachel. "And we're right in the middle of dinner, so why don't you just leave your bag and your coat here and join us?"

"Thanks, Soph," he said, smiling gratefully. Then his eyes settled on Blair. "Hey, I know you," he said, moving toward Blair with his hand extended. They shook hands as Nick pulled Blair into a one-armed hug. "Thanks for all the letters, kid. I appreciate it."

"It's really great to meet you in person," Blair said, smiling. He knew there was a lot of tension between his uncle and his father, but Nick Starsky seemed like a good enough man; a good man with really bad judgment who had a knack of landing back in trouble as fast as he got out of it.

"I didn't think I'd get in on a family reunion," Nick said. "You have to be Jim," he said, extending his hand, which Jim shook.

"Got it in one," Jim said. "Your timing was great. I know Blair wants to meet as much of the family as he can while we're here."

"Hutch," Nick greeted, smiling a bit stiffly.

"Nick," Hutch responded, forcing a smile and a nod for Rachel's sake. Over the years, he'd watched Nick keep his brother and mother on an emotional roller coaster as he got into one scrape after another, and he didn't imagine it would take him long to get into the next one. He couldn't remember hearing of Nick Starsky holding a legit job in his life, and he was unlikely to change his ways now that he was in his fifties.

Back at the dinner table, Sophia asked Nick about his plans for the future.

"A friend of mine has a furniture store, and he's lookin' for good help. I'm gonna go see him about a job."

"This furniture store have an address and a front door or four tires and a loading ramp?" Starsky asked, pinning Nick with an intent gaze.

"David, please," Rachel said calmly but firmly.

"That's a fair question, Ma. See, I ended up in the joint for selling hot carpeting," Nick said to Blair.

"Hot carpeting?" Jim asked, his eyes widening. "We've had some pretty bizarre theft rings in Cascade, but I can't remember carpeting ever being a big item on the black market."

"Well, see, this friend of mine--"

"Another one of his reputable friends with a business of his own," Starsky interjected. "For God's sake, Nick, don't you want to spend a few years on the outside?"

"This is a legit job, David. Not that you'd believe that anyway," he added, glaring at his older brother. "Anyway, this friend of mine said he got this great wholesale deal on some rolls of top quality carpeting--like ends and remnants, but they were big enough to do small rooms. We were selling them in the parking lot of a shopping mall, and the cops show up. Turns out, he'd gotten them from a guy who stole a truck from a carpet store. I was trying to go straight, and I didn't know the stuff was stolen."

"But the judge wouldn't buy that because you had a record," Blair said, recalling what Nick had said in his letters.

"Right. Well, and since the last thing I was in for was selling hot stereos that I *did* know were hot, it was a pretty hard sell. I've been trying to get my act together, but you know, getting thrown back in the joint for three more years didn't help much, and I'm not gettin' any younger."

"None of us are," Starsky said flatly. "This in and out of the slammer thing is getting older than we are, Nick," he added, real fatigue coming through in his voice.

"Can't you two get along for just a little while?" Rachel asked, and Starsky sighed. For his mother, he'd put a lid on his more negative comments. She didn't deserve more discord.

"You're right, Ma. Let's just drop it," Starsky said, taking a drink of his wine.

"So, Jim, Blair tells me you're a cop, too," Nick said, assessing the fact that he was the only man in the room without a direct tie to the right side of law enforcement. No wonder it was a stressful dinner.

"That's right. Major Crime, Cascade PD."

"Yeah, you worked that one case. I read about it in the papers...Blair told me a little more about it when I asked him in one of my letters. That nut who tied the scarves around his victims and drowned them in duck ponds?"

"David Lash? He was a first-rate headcase," Jim said. "Blair and I have been through quite a few headcases in the last several years, but I think he takes the prize." Jim reached under the table and squeezed Blair's knee. Mention of Lash's name could still send shivers down the younger man's spine.

"And this last wacko? He actually gutted somebody?"

"Nick, you wanna take it easy at the dinner table?" Dan said, annoyed, as it was obvious Sophia didn't care for the direction of the conversation. Rachel, however, was hardened to such things, having lived her whole adult life in the company of cops.

"Sorry, Soph. I'll have to get all the details later from you two. That sounds like quite a case."

********

"I don't believe him," Starsky sputtered as soon as the bedroom door was closed. "Can you believe him?" he asked Hutch, his voice rising an octave. They'd retired early, while Jim, Blair, Sophia, Dan, Nick and Rachel still visited in the living room.

"Starsk, you might as well relax. We're only here for a week. Your mother's on cloud nine with both her boys *and* her new grandson here. Let her enjoy it."

"You know I don't wanna hurt Ma, or stop her from enjoying this big reunion, but I'd still like to wring his fucking neck. He always does shit like this. Well, he's not gonna take Blair on that ride, too."

"Blair's a big boy, Starsk. Nick's his uncle. You can't stop them from having a relationship. Why would you want to try?"

"Because Nick's a fucking user, Hutch. You've said that yourself, more than once. You've never been able to stand being in the same room with him for more than an hour or so, so why are you sticking up for him now?"

"I'm not sticking up for Nick. You know me better than that." Hutch sat on the side of the bed. "I'm sticking up for Blair's right to make his own decisions about his family. How could Nick use Blair, anyway?"

"If there's a way, he'll find it." Starsky sat on the bed next to Hutch. "You know I love Nick, even if he's a screw-up. I just know he's gonna be out of the joint for a year or so, get back in with the same old crowd and end up spending his twilight years back in there. And bottom line? I feel like there should have been something I could've done for him. Like I failed Ma. I failed Pop for that matter. I was supposed to look out for Nick."

"Starsky, we've been over this just about annually for the last twenty-five years. You did what you could for Nick, but you can't do much from the opposite coast. Your mother made the decision to send you to California. That wasn't up to you. Why she kept Nick here, I don't know. He was in worse trouble than you ever thought of being."

"Yeah, but he was a better liar. Ma knew what I was dabbling in, hanging around with the junior high hoods that turned into the full-fledged juvenile delinquents that ended up being Nick's role models. Nick managed to charm his way around her, and she thought he was on the straight and narrow until it was too late."

"You can't change what course Nick's life took, babe. Maybe you can try to have some kind of relationship with him now. He seems to want to change, and that last mess that got him this stretch of time could have been an honest mistake."

"Sure it was."

"Starsk, if your mother can get some happiness out of having you both here, and Blair can get some pleasure out of meeting his Uncle Nick, let's just try to go with the flow. Nobody's getting any younger here. We don't have another thirty years to fuck around with this stuff."

"I know."

"You know how I feel about Nick. I don't love the guy--he's not my brother. All he's done is made you miserable and put most of the gray hairs on your mother's head. But I think someday you're both going to be miserable old men if you don't at least try to get along and bury the hatchet. Nick's not going to change, and neither are you."

"I know you're right. I'll try not to rip him a new asshole between now and when we go home. Fair enough?"

"Well, it's not exactly unbridled brotherly love, but it's a start," Hutch said, chuckling.

********

Blair slipped out of bed and though he knew he never escaped Jim's heightened senses when he got up through the night, Jim didn't move or acknowledge the change. Jim often left Blair to his nocturnal wanderings, since Blair was not accustomed to the earlier bedtimes that suited Jim. If they turned in early, it was only a matter of time before Blair got restless and did a bit of wandering before settling down again. He pulled on his plaid robe over his t-shirt and sweat pants and quietly left the room.

The Meyer house was silent, even though it was packed to its capacity. Blair hadn't eaten much at dinner, despite the excellent cooking. Nick's arrival had put a real tension in the air, and Blair never did eat much when he was nervous. As he made his way stealthily down the stairs, his stocking feet not making a sound on the carpeted steps, he could see a faint light from the living room, and remembered belatedly that Nick was sleeping on the couch there. He thought of going back upstairs, but then decided that if he crept quietly enough, he probably wouldn't disturb the other man. He had just entered the living room when he noticed the couch was just a mess of tangled sheets, its occupant nowhere to be seen. There was, however, light under the door that led from the dining room into the kitchen, so Blair figured his uncle was having a similar attack of late-night hunger.

He pushed the swinging door open, and found his uncle sitting at the table in the cheerful yellow and white kitchen, two of Rachel's photo albums in front of him.

"Hi," he said, hoping not to startle Nick too much by appearing in the doorway.

"Blair," Nick responded, smiling. "I hope I didn't wake you wandering around."

"Nope, I didn't know you were up. Eleven's kind of an early bedtime for me, so I was getting restless," Blair said, noticing that it was a little after one by the clock on the wall over the table.

"There are leftovers in the fridge."

"Yeah, I was thinking about those," Blair said, smiling as he opened the refrigerator and took out the foil-wrapped bundle containing the left over roast beef. "I won't take much. Sophia's probably counting on this for sandwiches to feed the masses tomorrow. You want some?"

"No thanks. Blair, I need to talk to you," Nick said, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

"Sure," Blair said, placing a couple pieces of the meat on a small plate before putting it away and taking out a bottle of spring water. He joined Nick at the table with his snack.

"There's a reason my parole came through. Well, it's not the whole reason. I've really made an effort to be the kind of model prisoner they wanted me to be so I could get out, but that wasn't the real clincher."

"What was?" Blair asked, nibbling on the first of the pieces of meat.

"I'm sick."

"Sick? How sick?" Blair asked, feeling his stomach drop. //They don't let you out of prison early for a head cold.//

"The doctor says about three months, if I'm lucky. It's cancer."

"Oh my God," Blair slumped back in his chair. "Does my dad know?"

"No, no, he has no idea. Neither does Ma. God, I don't know how to tell her. She's lost so much, with Pop dying so young, David out on the West Coast, and me...in and outta jail most of my life."

"You have to tell her. You know she wouldn't want you to keep something like that from her."

"No, I know. I just don't know how to tell her."

"Maybe if you tell my dad, the two of you could talk to her together."

"This is going to sound really bizarre, but hear me out. I'd like to reconcile with David, really bury the hatchet. But I don't want it to happen because he feels sorry for me or guilty about me because I'm dying. I want it to happen because we finally come to some sort of understanding. I think pity would be worse than disgust."

"Can't they do anything with chemo or surgery? Where is it?"

"It's pancreatic cancer, Blair. You can buy it off with drugs for a while, but you don't beat it. I don't have anything I need to be around for an extra few months for, especially all eaten up with cancer and riddled with side-effects from the meds."

"What if there's a chance it could go into remission?"

"It won't. I talked to the doctor about that. I'm not in a hurry to cash out, even though my life hasn't exactly meant much to anybody but me. He said I could probably buy a few months, but that was about it."

"That really sucks, Uncle Nick." Blair pushed the food aside and looked sadly at his uncle. It didn't seem fair when he'd had so little time with anyone on his father's side of the family that he was about to lose his uncle before he barely knew him. "Why didn't you say anything in your letters?"

"That's not the kind of thing you dump on someone in a letter," he said, smiling and shaking his head. "You know, Blair, I just want you to know that no matter what else happens, I'll never forget all the letters you wrote me in prison. Ma writes when she can, God love her, but it's getting hard for her to write long letters. David usually falls into silence when I'm inside, like he's disowning me. I don't blame him. I should have learned my lesson by now and gotten a decent job. Honestly, though, I never could stand punchin' a clock or going into some stuffed shirt office for the day and doing the same thing over and over again. So I always was looking for the fast buck or the get-rich-quick deal of a lifetime. Fastest way to get yourself on the wrong side of the law." He paused. "You didn't judge me. Other than Ma, you're the only person I ever ran into who didn't. We were family, so you wrote to me, sent me cards, even called a couple times. You didn't put me on trial all over again. That means a lot."

"I'm sorry," Blair said, wiping at tears that were starting to roll down his cheeks. "You're the one who's sick and I'm sitting here sniveling. I know we don't know each other very well, but I feel like we know each other a lot better...from the letters. Like we're friends."

"We *are* friends, Blair. And we're family. I shouldn't have dumped this on you. I guess I did because I feel like you're one of the few friends I've got who would give a shit."

"I do," Blair said, swallowing and sniffing a time or two.

"Besides Ma, not too many people are gonna be all torn up over this. Don't apologize for feeling bad. I'm sorry you feel bad, but you don't need to apologize to me for that. You have to care about somebody to cry about them dying."

"Do you want me to tell Dad?"

"No, I already told you...I want us to mend our fences regardless of this. Not because of it." Nick reached over and squeezed Blair's arm. "It's not really all that bad, kid. I'm not a spring chicken anymore, and I never could seem to find my niche. Maybe if I get up to Heaven, Pop can straighten me out."

"Are you in pain?"

"Not too much yet. I have good days and bad days. The doctor warned me the bad days would start outnumbering the good as time goes by. I figure I've got a month or so to really do anything worthwhile."

"I'm sorry," Blair said again, covering his face with his hand and crying.

"Hey, nothing for you to be sorry about." Nick scooted his chair closer and put his arm around Blair. He smiled when Blair's arm went around him and Blair rested his head on Nick's shoulder. "You're a good boy, Blair. David's lucky he found you. And you're gonna be good for Ma. And I'm real glad we hooked up, even if it was just for a little while."

"It's not fair."

"Nobody ever promised life was gonna be fair. I always used to say that when I'd get caught doin' a deal and end up in jail. I mean, I was just selling some hot stereos to people who couldn't afford retail, right? That was pretty noble of me." Nick smiled when he felt Blair snort a laugh at that. "But you know, it's not so bad. I got out, so I can spend some time with Ma, and maybe even get through to your stubborn old man before it's too late. And all that's not really his fault. He's got reason to be mad at me. I've used him, I've made fun of him for risking his ass for a cop's salary. You want to talk guilt? I felt so bad about the way I'd talked about his job when he got shot and we all thought he was gonna die. I didn't go see him in the hospital. And when he first got together with Hutch--you know, really *got together*? I didn't accept it very well."

"Times were different," Blair said, straightening up and grabbing his napkin to wipe his nose.

"That's real gracious of you, Blair, but I was an asshole. I called him a faggot. I asked him if Hutch was light in the loafers and turned him queer."

"Can't picture him letting you get away with that without decking you."

"He did deck me. We didn't speak again for years. Then Ma got us back together and we patched things up, mostly for her sake. I still thought he was a hypocrite--a self-righteous fairy playing cop. That's how we were raised, Blair. Gays were tinkerbells, not men. After a few more years went by, I could see he was still my brother, still a good, decent *man*, and not some limp-wristed drag queen. I got over it, and we had a few years of not being at each other's throats, and then I got into this deal selling hot couches."

"Hot couches?" Blair paused to blow his nose, but he had to smile at that thought. "I gotta say, Uncle Nick, you've fenced more boring stuff than any crook I ever met." Blair was surprised when Nick laughed out loud at that.

"Yeah, well, I'll tell ya, it ain't all Ferraris, drugs, and diamonds, kid. There's a lot of boring stuff out there to be fenced, and I just got lucky."

"Tell me about the couches."

"Don't you dare tell your father, but the guy who offered me the job in the furniture store has been out of the joint about four years now, and has a legit business and all--but he's the same guy I was selling hot couches with. We set up a little furniture store in an abandoned warehouse with a stolen shipment of couches. We'd'a made more money if we'd had chairs and tables, but all we had were these sort of ugly couches. We didn't make much money off 'em, but we did some hard time for it. Soon as Frank got out of jail, he got his mother to float him the money for a storefront, and he opened a furniture store. So that's where I was gonna work when I got out."

"Does Frank know?"

"Yeah, he does. He isn't gonna tell Ma or David, and I wanted him to know why I turned him down flat for his job offer. He was the only one who offered me a job for when I got out, so I wanted him to understand why I wasn't taking it."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You've done it, Blair. You're a good friend, and a better nephew than I could have asked for. You don't need to do anything else. I just wanted to be honest with you."

"Thanks. Uncle Nick, do you think you could make a trip back to Cascade? Jim and I are having a commitment ceremony after our visit here, and it would mean a lot to me if you were there. But I don't want you to do something that would hurt you or make you sicker."

"If I'm still okay, of course I'll come. I don't want to miss something like that."

"I'm really glad we had a chance to be friends."

"Me, too, kid." Nick smiled, his own eyes filling a little. "You better get some rest. Sorry I killed your appetite."

"Don't worry about that. It doesn't matter. Red meat's not that good for you anyway," Blair said, and as he smiled, Nick laughed.

"I'll remember that. Now tell it to your dad."

"I gave up on that a long time ago. I figured if Hutch couldn't reform him in all these years, I wasn't gonna have any luck."

"You're wise beyond your years," Nick said, nodding and smiling.

********

When Blair returned upstairs, still carrying the bottle of spring water he'd had downstairs, Jim was sitting on the side of the bed.

"You heard?" Blair asked.

"I heard you crying. I heard Nick's voice and you didn't seem to be fighting with him, so I didn't want to intrude. I didn't hear what started it all."

"He's dying," Blair said, sitting on the bed next to Jim. "He has cancer." Blair didn't have much left in the way of tears at the moment, but he was glad to scoot under Jim's arm as it came around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Chief. I know you've been corresponding with him for a while, even though you didn't meet him until now."

"Sometimes I think you get to be friends with someone faster that way. You talk so much. About yourself, your thoughts, your opinions... Anyway, the worst part is he doesn't want to tell my dad. He wants them to reconcile without it being out of pity."

"So he expects you to keep this to yourself and just let things work out naturally?"

"Yeah, that's about the size of it. I can't do that, Jim. You know how my dad would feel if Uncle Nick died and he didn't have a chance to reconcile with him, and then found out I knew about it all along? He'd be furious. And hurt, and betrayed."

"Maybe you ought to play it by ear for a little while. How sick is he?"

"The doctor gave him three months. But sometimes doctors are wrong and it's actually not that much time. I asked him to come for the ceremony if he's well enough. I'd really like him to be there."

"Good idea. I can ask Dad to send the corporate jet for anybody from New York who wants to come. They still let him use that perk, even though he's retired. A private plane would be an easier trip than a commercial airline if Nick's not feeling well."

"That'd be great."

"Why don't you give it a little time while we're here. See if there's any genuine thawing out with your dad and Nick. I agree that if he's really dead set against reconciling with Nick, you should tell him. I know that's not what Nick wants, but not telling Starsky at all would be a disaster."

"I agree." Blair snuggled into Jim's embrace. "I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart. Think you could get some sleep now?"

"I guess so. I need a Tylenol. My head's killing me. Where are they?"

"In my shaving kit. I'll get you one." Jim kissed Blair's forehead and got him a pill from the small bottle, which he took with a couple gulps of water. "Come on, get in," Jim tucked Blair in and then got in his side of the bed and gathered Blair close so he rested on Jim's good side, head on Jim's shoulder.

"It's scary how fragile life is. I mean, Nick's only in his fifties, and he looks fine, and yet there's this...*time bomb* inside him..."

"I know. I'm sorry, Chief."

"This'll be really hard on my dad, however he finds out. I mean, if they reconcile, and then he finds out, it's like they've wasted all this time and then they don't have any. If I tell him, he's still going to feel guilty and miserable about all the tension between them..."

"There's nothing you can do about that, sweetheart. I know you want to make this as easy for your dad as you can, but there's no easy way around it. We'll just have to get through it the best way we can. We've got a pretty amazing family between us. God knows, they're a diverse lot, but they all pull together pretty well in a crisis." Jim smiled. "Never thought I'd say that about my family."

"Your dad and Steven are great. We're really lucky on both sides."

"You're right. Try to get some sleep, Chief. Sophia'll probably put us through the paces of meeting ten thousand Starskys tomorrow. I don't know about you, but I need my sleep for that."

********

Jim's prediction proved accurate as the Meyer house slowly filled with Starskys by late afternoon. The local branch of the family seemed untroubled by Nick's shady past, and his release from prison was cause for rejoicing as well as Blair's first introduction to the clan. Sophia provided another dazzling array of hors d'oeuvres for the large group, and soon the house was filled with the constant buzz of conversation and the occasional ear-splitting round of group laughter.

Marie and Stan Goldman were Rachel's younger brother and sister-in-law. Marie was a short, plump woman in her seventies with a wonderful laugh and an engaging sense of humor. Her husband was a man of average height and build, slightly older than Marie at eighty years old, with a ready smile but a slightly quieter personality than his wife.

"Grandpa Nick," as Sophia called him, bore a strong resemblance to his brother, Starsky's father, and therefore to Starsky himself. At eighty-five, he was still quite spritely but a bit forgetful. He took great delight in playing with little Davey, the newest member of the family.

Ann and Fred Simons, Mike Starsky's younger sister and brother-in-law, were in their mid-seventies. Ann was an attractive woman with gray hair elegantly upswept. Her jewelry was unique, and spoke of someone who spent a fair amount of time at art fairs. She had tried, unsuccessfully, to teach Rachel's boys to paint when they were young children. Fred was a towering man of nearly six-foot-five, with a booming laugh and a warm personality.

Jerry and Elaine Starsky, Grandpa Nick's son and daughter-in-law, and Sophia's parents, were in their early sixties. Jerry, who bore a faint resemblance to the rest of the Starsky clan with his dark hair streaked with gray, was a newly-retired salesman for a pharmaceutical company, and Elaine, a petite woman with dyed blonde hair and striking blue eyes, was a life-long homemaker who had devoted her time to her children and her extended family.

Sophia's brother, Jeff, and his wife, Diane, were a young couple in their mid-twenties. Jeff, a stocky man with his mother's blue-eyed blond coloring, had played football in high school and was now a financial advisor with a major investment firm. Diane, a pretty redhead with green eyes and a bubbly demeanor, was expecting her first baby, and was an elementary school teacher in their hometown of Albany.

Jim was quickly drawn into the family, his choice of occupations immediately meeting with their approval. Both men were relieved that Sophia had composed a guest list of family who were not only tolerant of another all-male couple in the clan, but were completely at ease with the situation. But then, he realized Starsky and Hutch had been pioneering that territory for years now, and they were enjoying the fruits of the older men's struggles.

The men slowly but surely gravitated to one area of the room, all of them insistent on hearing all the details of the high-speed chase that had landed Blair and Jim both in the hospital. Though Jim was not really happy to relive that experience, it was pretty hard to deny the group's curiosity. And after all, Blair had repeatedly forgiven him and insisted it wasn't his fault. Still, the fact remained that he was behind the wheel, and Blair had suffered a dangerous and painful injury, though no one would have guessed that to watch him mingling among his new relatives, as full of life and energy as Jim had ever seen him. //Blair was born to have a family like this one--big, warm, clannish, and close-knit,// Jim thought, smiling as he watched Blair finally settle on a couch next to his father, and nearby the elderly Grandpa Nick, who finally relinquished the toddler he'd been holding to Sophia's mother, so he could focus on the other "newest" Starsky in the room.

Nick Starsky was there, but he didn't say a great deal. He'd been subjected to a flurry of welcome greetings, which he'd endured with smiles and returned hugs. But it was obvious to Jim as he watched Nick that something was wrong. He didn't even know the man and still his coloring and his demeanor spoke of someone who did not feel as well as he should. Jim was glad that Blair seemed to have put that horrible news to the back of his mind for the moment to enjoy this gathering.

When Dan managed to come up with a good cop story to keep the male contingent busy, and the women were wheezing and laughing and clucking the way only a large group of women could, Jim extricated himself from the group and, picking up a piece of summer sausage and a cracker to nibble on, approached Nick where he was leaning against the doorframe, a bit apart from the group.

"Blair told you," Nick said.

"He had to tell someone," Jim said. "That's rough."

"Yeah, it's ironic. I was supposed to have a parole hearing in four months, but they moved it back because of the cancer. I did everything right this time, kept my nose clean. Even the warden was on my side about getting me out before it was too late. I used to hate these get togethers."

"There probably were a lot of them when you were kids, huh?"

"All the time. Before Pop died, we had people in the house constantly. Ma's a great cook--like Sophia is now--and she loved to put on parties. Big dinners where there was always enough if one of the relatives showed up. But this kinda stuff, it's a bore to kids. I'd wait my chance and slip out and go meet my friends someplace."

"Your older brother, of course, never did that, I suppose," Jim said, chuckling.

"Actually, he didn't. Not if Ma wanted him there. He's always been real loyal to her. And to Pop. When he started getting into trouble, he still didn't lie to her, which is why he got sent away. She knew what he was up to. Now me," Nick said, smiling. "I lie like a rug when I have to and I'm good at it. Looking back, I'm not real proud of that, but it's what kept me outta hot water with Ma. Pop was harder to fool. He was a cop through and through. He knew what we were up to just by lookin' at us."

"I tried lying to my father on occasion, but it never worked. He might not have been a cop, but he had the instincts for it. He can still look right into somebody's soul if he stares across a board room table at them long enough. I guess when you spend your life sizing people up and figuring out what makes them tick in order to get the best of them, you're pretty hard to fool."

"He's a hot-shot corporate type, huh?"

"He claims he's retired, but I don't think he ever will be. He's still on a number of boards for non-profit organizations, and he still has a seat on the board at Pacific Coast Plastics and can get his hands on their corporate jet when the need arises. Looking back, my name is probably on a few of his gray hairs, too." Jim chuckled, then became serious. "You know that you put a real load on Blair, swearing him to silence with his father."

"I know it was selfish of me, but I actually feel closer to Blair than I do most of the family, even though I never met him before yesterday. We've corresponded a lot, and he's sent photos of himself, his mother, the two of you... And he never once judged me. I was family, and that was all he needed to know."

"Blair's the most exceptional person I ever met. Guess that's why I gave up women and wanted to marry the guy," Jim said, smiling lovingly toward Blair, who caught his eye and positively beamed at him in return.

"You ever miss it? I mean, with women? Hey, I know I'm outta line, but I couldn't ask Davey a question like that. He'd think I was slamming his lifestyle choice."

"No, I don't miss it. I never missed it once Blair and I got together. Anything I could do with a woman...it wouldn't mean anything because it wasn't Blair, and there's nothing I could do with a woman that would be any better than what I can do with Blair."

"I just can't picture it, you know? No breasts and chest hair. Don't think I could get excited about that."

"Neither can I. It's not that simple. It's the whole package with Blair. It's not what he's got or what he doesn't have...I can't explain it, I guess. It's Blair, and that's what I want."

"No reason you have to," Nick said, taking a drink of the beer he was holding. "Maybe you just did. Maybe I just never met anybody that mattered enough that I looked at more than the curves first."

"If someone had told me ten years ago that I'd be getting ready to marry a guy, I'd have probably decked him." Jim laughed softly. "Life is weird."

"That's the truth." Nick sighed. "I wasn't changing the subject--I know what you said about Blair was true. That I was putting a major burden on him. I just don't want to reconcile with my brother because I'm dying. I want it to happen because...it happens. Maybe because he can forgive me for not being a model son. That's always been what pissed him off more than anything else. That I was upsetting or disappointing Ma. He's always been super-defensive of her since Pop died."

"How long are you going to make Blair keep this vow of silence? You know he'll feel awful if the reconciliation doesn't happen, and it'll leave him with something difficult between him and his father for the rest of their lives."

"I hadn't thought about all that."

"I did, because Blair is my number one thought. I'm sorry about your situation, but I won't let Blair get stuck with a lifelong guilt trip."

"I guess I'm still thinking about myself. Maybe David's right about me."

"Sometimes the reconciliations that happen because of something like this are the only good parts of what you're going through. They're the only paybacks you get for getting screwed out of part of your life. Why not let them happen?"

"You mean just tell everybody?"

"Yeah, tell them. I don't mean tonight, necessarily, but soon. Especially your mother and your brother."

"Maybe you're right. I guess waiting for David to get over the things I said about him and Hutch all those years ago...bein' in and out of jail...probably not gonna happen."

"Not without something else more meaningful coming along. I wasn't too interested in this whole commitment ceremony idea the more we got into checking on banquet facilities and hotels and caterers and all that stuff. It seemed too much like my first wedding, which wasn't the start of a beautiful thing. I talked Blair out of it, more or less, so we were going to go off somewhere and say a few words to each other and call it good. But when he was lying in that hospital bed, and I wasn't sure if he was going to wake up at all, let alone wake up with all his marbles, all I wanted to do was go find his notes about the hotels and the caterers and plan the most elaborate ceremony I could. Anything to make him happy."

"But your real feelings were that you didn't want the ceremony. Until you thought Blair might die, you didn't want it."

"My feelings weren't any less real. But almost losing him brought into focus what was important. I love Blair, and if a big party with all our family and friends there was what he wanted, then the thought of giving him that, of going along with it, made me happy. It's not that it made me feel something phony. I think you're robbing your family of the time to make peace with this, with you. That's not doing them any favors."

"I'll think about it. I just don't want pity. Pity's a lousy thing to build a relationship on. I wanted to know if I weren't dying, if David and I could make peace with each other. I still want to know that. If it doesn't look like it's working, I'll say something so Blair's off the hook."

"Good. Because if you don't, I will. I know Blair won't break a confidence, but I'd rather break it and tell Starsky the score so he doesn't end up blaming Blair for keeping it quiet."

"He couldn't stay mad at Blair for ten minutes, so don't worry about that, but your point's taken."

After his chat with Nick, Jim gravitated back toward Blair, glad Starsky had vacated his seat on the couch to go talk with his mother and his aunt. Jim happily appropriated the seat for himself, resting his good arm on the back of the couch behind Blair. A moment or two later, the arm was around Blair's shoulders. Blair was listening to a very long tale from the elderly Grandpa Nick about something the old man and his brother, Blair's grandfather, had gotten into as teenagers that had landed them at the police station. From the slightly glazed expression in Blair's eyes, Jim figured the old man had probably retold at least some part of the story at least three times since they'd sat there. Still, he managed to ask questions and make comments and delight the elderly man with having an enraptured listener.

Once this round of the story was finished, Grandpa Nick asked Jim about his work as a detective, and his time with the military. Jim took his turn at spinning a few stories, including a few unclassified Covert Ops activities, which kept them busy until the whole group adjourned to the dining room for dinner. The guests, who had divided along gender lines prior to dinner, now seemed to blend effortlessly back into one giant, chattering clan around the table.

"Sophia said you and Jim are going to have a commitment ceremony when you get home," Elaine said. "I've never been to one of those. How do they work?" she asked.

"It's similar to a wedding," Blair responded. "Friends and family are there, you exchange vows, with or without a minister. Jim and I are thinking about just exchanging the vows with each other, without someone presiding. The important thing is that we want to do that with our loved ones there. Something to make it...formal, I guess. Then we'll have a terrific party, and go away together for a couple days."

"Or more," Jim said, smiling and taking Blair's hand in his. "I've got a lot of vacation saved up."

"Or more," Blair said, returning the smile and squeezing Jim's hand.

"I wish we could all be there to wish you both well," Rachel said, taking a sip of her wine. "Cascade is such a long way from here."

"I can't promise anything until I talk to him, but if my dad can get access to the corporate jet, we might be able to fly anyone from here who would like to be there, to Cascade for the ceremony. Hotel accommodations would be on us."

"A corporate jet?" Sophia asked, her eyes widening. "You're not serious."

"He was CEO of the company, and chairman of the board for a few years after that. He's still on the board, and the company lets those guys have access to the jet when it doesn't conflict with regular business usage of it."

"Oh, my goodness. I knew you came from an affluent family, Jim, but I had no idea," Sophia said, smiling.

"Soph," Dan scolded, frowning at her.

"That's okay. The jet makes us seem a lot richer than we are. The jet's not ours, and my dad worked for his fortune."

"And Jim takes care of himself. And me," Blair added, leaning into Jim a little.

"Yeah, well, you're a good investment, Chief."

"It would be wonderful if we could all go to the ceremony," Marie said, smiling enthusiastically. "I've always wanted to see the West Coast. Stan, we could drive down and visit Al," she said, referring to Starsky's Uncle Al, now a widower living in California. Al, and his wife, Rose, had raised Starsky from adolescence to adulthood when his mother sent him out to California to live with them, away from the influence of the street types who had ultimately pulled Nick into their web.

"You could stay with us for a few days, too," Starsky said. "We've got a guest room, and we're right on the beach."

"Oh, that would be delightful. Stan, we should do it, even if the jet ride doesn't come through. We could fly out there on our own."

"Would be a nice break from the cold weather that's coming up," Stan said, nodding. "Is Cascade pretty warm this time of year?"

"Not really. Damp and rainy, mostly," Blair said. "But California's always nice."

"I've enjoyed being out here this time of year, though," Hutch spoke up . "I miss seeing the seasons change."

"Fall's always a pretty time of year here," Rachel said. "Blair, where did you and your mother live before you moved to Cascade?"

"We traveled quite a bit, but I guess we spent the majority of the time in California, ironically not all that far from Dad and Hutch. Mostly in L.A."

"I wish we could have met her," Elaine said, shaking her head. "I was so sorry to hear that she had passed away."

"Thanks. I know she would have loved meeting everyone," Blair said, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice. Even now, the subject of Naomi's death still wasn't an easy one for him to handle, and he doubted it ever would be.

"I regretted not having more time to get to know her in the present," Starsky said. "She was a special lady."

"Was she ill?" Jeff asked.

"No," Blair responded, not sure if he could get the words out. They always sounded so horrific, even now. "She was...she was murdered three years ago," he managed, swallowing.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry. We didn't know," Jeff said, looking uneasy.

"It's okay. It was a logical question," Blair said, taking a drink of his wine to force down the lump in his throat.

"Did they catch whoever did it?" Diane asked.

"We did," Starsky said. "Jim, Blair, Hutch, and me. We worked the case together."

"That must have been difficult, working that case when you were so close to it," Sophia said. "A friend of ours was murdered a couple of years ago, and they wouldn't let Dan on the case at all, because he was personally involved."

"It took some doing, but our captain was broad-minded enough to let us take it on," Hutch said. "Besides, I think Dobey had passed on to him the old, 'you can't beat 'em so you might as well join 'em' approach to working with us."

By the time the evening was finished, and the last guest had left, Rachel retired for the night, tired out from the entertaining, and Sophia and Dan shooed their guests out of the kitchen to clean up the mess.

"I feel like we should be helping," Blair said as the five men sat in the living room, sipping at hot chocolate.

"She's always the perfect hostess, never lets her guests do dishes," Starsky said, smiling. "I'm not sure Dan shares her enthusiasm for that idea, but he goes along with it."

"You're awfully quiet tonight, Nick," Hutch said, leaning back in his chair.

"Guess I'm just a little tired. Been a long few days." As soon as the words were out of Nick's mouth, Blair got up and left the room with a muttered "excuse me."

Starsky watched him go, confused. He glanced at Jim, and as quickly as Jim schooled his features neutral, Starsky had caught a fleeting glimpse of something that let him know that Jim knew exactly what was wrong, and it was more than a quick trip to the bathroom.

"Everything okay, Jim?" he asked, pinning Jim with an intent gaze.

"I don't know. I'm sure it is. Blair probably went to the john," he added, chuckling a little uneasily.

"He seemed upset."

"Maybe he had to go real bad," Nick added, smiling, though his joke fell flat.

"Fine. If it's a big mystery, I'll see for myself," Starsky said, rising and heading in the direction of the stairs where he'd very distinctly heard Blair's footsteps making a hasty ascent.

"Great," Nick said, shaking his head.

"So you do know what the problem is?" Hutch pressed. "Obviously you do, too," he said to Jim.

"You're all gonna know soon enough. Jim knows because I told Blair already." Nick sighed. "I've got cancer," he said quietly, keeping an eye on the living room doorway, not quite ready to share the news with Sophia and Dan. "It's not gonna get any better. The doctor thinks I've got about three months."

"My God," Hutch muttered, rubbing his forehead. "You told Blair but you didn't tell your brother? What about Rachel?"

"I wanted some time to smooth things out with David before I told him. I didn't want to reconcile with him because I was dying. I wanted to do it because...because we reached some kinda understanding. He'll know now," Nick said, gesturing at the stairs behind them.

"No he won't. You swore Blair to secrecy, and he'll honor that," Jim said.

********

"Blair?" Starsky tapped on the door of the den. When there was no reply, he opened it a ways and looked inside. Blair was sitting on the couch, one hand over his face, his body shaking with tears. "What's the matter, kiddo?" Starsky sat next to him, pulling him into a hug that Blair readily accepted. "You can tell me, son. Even if it's something Jim did, I promise I won't go downstairs and kill him. Right away." That brought a little laugh from Blair.

"It's not Jim."

"Any chance you're gonna tell me what it is?"

"I can't," Blair said miserably. "I promised."

"Who'd you promise?"

"I can't tell you that, either." Blair started to stem the flow of tears, but didn't move to break the embrace just yet. Between bringing up his mother's death again, and knowing about Nick's illness, he needed the TLC, even if he couldn't tell his father what he wanted to know.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me. But I'm here to help you, whatever it is. I don't care if it's something awful. You know that doesn't matter, right? That I'll be here for you no matter what's wrong?"

"I know." Blair was quiet a minute, then he said, "I love you, Dad. Just stay healthy and don't die on me, okay?"

"I'll do my best, son." Starsky tightened his embrace on his son, assuming it was the talk about Naomi that had upset him. "It's funny, but old as she is, and old as I am, I'm still afraid of how it's gonna feel when Ma dies. It's natural to be scared of losing people you love. But you know even when something happens to me, I'm always gonna be right with you. Keeping an eye on you. And Jim, making sure he behaves himself," Starsky added, patting Blair's back and smiling as Blair snorted a little laugh at that. Starsky noticed that Blair's head hadn't moved from it's resting spot on his shoulder. "Your head hurtin', kiddo?" He rested his hand lightly on the back of Blair's head.

"When I get upset, it pounds like crazy," Blair admitted.

"Just stay there a minute and calm down," Starsky responded, rocking slightly. "Relax. Come on, you're still all tensed up. Just relax and close your eyes."

"You're gonna hate me when you find out what I was upset about and that I didn't tell you," Blair blurted. "You'll never forgive me and I couldn't live with that."

"Hey, come on, what'd I just tell you?" Starsky scolded gently. "There's nothing you could tell me, I don't care how awful it is, that would make me stop loving you, and I sure as hell couldn't hate you, no matter what you did."

"But you'll always feel like I betrayed you, and I don't wanna do that, but I can't tell you."

"It's okay, kiddo. Really it is. Whatever it is that's tearin' you up like this, stop worrying about what I'm gonna think about it. I love you. You're always gonna be my little boy, even if you're thirty-five and smarter than me."

"I'm not smarter than you."

"Sure you are. All those degrees, all those good grades." Starsky smiled. "My kid's a genius."

"I don't feel like a genius. I don't even know what to do about this."

"I'm gonna make it easy for you, Blair. Do what you need to do to keep whatever confidence this is, and I give you my word, I won't be angry at you when I find out about it, because I know how it's tearing you up inside, and I don't want anything to do that."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can, and I just did, so don't worry about it. Whatever it is, it'll work out, and I'll find out about it one way or another, and I'm telling you right now not to tell me. I'm taking the decision off you, Blair. Whatever it is, don't tell me about it. Now you're honoring my wishes by keeping it to yourself."

"I always thought it would be like this, having a dad. That he could fix anything," Blair said, smiling. "I don't know how you did it, but you fixed this."

"Hey, that's part of the dad job. Comes with the territory of looking out for your kid."

"I don't think I'm going back downstairs tonight. I'm really wasted." Blair pulled back a little and wiped at his eyes. "I didn't mean to lose it like that."

"You've been through a lot in the last few weeks. And whatever this thing is, don't worry about it. It'll work itself out."

"I'm not worried about it now. I mean, it doesn't change what it is, but I kept feeling like if I told you, I was ratting out a friend, and if I didn't, I was betraying you."

"I know that if I really put it right to you, right now, you'd tell me what this thing is about."

"I would, if that's what you wanted."

"I also know you'd feel like a rat fink for doing it, so I'm not asking. You're not betraying me." Starsky looked around. "You have any pain pills you can take?"

"I took a couple Tylenol before the dinner party. Maybe I could take another one now and get into bed. Tell Jim to stay up as long as he wants. I'm just winded for tonight."

"Okay." Starsky went to the desk they were using as a dresser and found the bottle of pills. He handed one to Blair, and went across the hall for a cup of water. After Blair had taken the medicine, Starsky shooed him off the sofa bed so he could open it up and smooth up the bedding. "Get in your PJ's, kiddo."

Blair followed the directions, finding his favorite sweat pants and a t-shirt among his things. After stopping in the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the facilities, he went back to the den and got into bed, smiling at the experience of being "tucked in" by his father. Starsky and Hutch had both been there for him when he'd had pneumonia, but some of the nicest memories he had of that otherwise miserable time were the times Starsky tucked him in or sat by his bedside watching over him until his fever was down at a safe level.

"How's your head?" Starsky asked, sitting on the edge of the bed after Blair was settled.

"Better." Blair shifted on his side and let his eyes drift shut. He opened them again to look at his father. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome," he said, grinning at Blair, smoothing the hair back from his face. "Go to sleep. Everything's okay."

Blair sighed and closed his eyes again, happy to relinquish his grip on consciousness and the dilemma about Nick's condition and the memories of his mother's death that seemed to plague him since it was mentioned at dinner. Where he was drifting was a peaceful place, and he told himself that his father would take after Rachel, and live to be a very old man. Right now, he had to believe that.

********

On to Part Three