"DISCOMANIA"

    Starsky didn't know why the hell he was here.
    It wasn't for the music (using that term loosely). During the Mariposa case he'd had his fill of the disco shit. They'd only been here an hour and already his head was throbbing to the beat.
    And he hadn't come for the watered-down, over-priced drinks. A cold beer from his own fridge would have been cheaper and also tasted a whole lot better.
    That left the women.
    Maybe he was here to pick up women.
    But if that was the reason, why wasn't he out there hustling chicks, instead of sitting in the corner, staring at his partner?
    Aha. That was why he was here. Because his partner had wanted to come. A strange suggestion, coming from Hutch. Have an evening out, he'd said. We deserve some fun, he'd said.
    Some fun.
    And also: Hutch was drunk.
    Not the first time for that, of course. But there seemed to be something different about it this time. Something nasty and sullen.
    "Hey," Starsky said loudly enough to be heard over the music.
    Hutch raised his eyes.
    "Let's get outta here, huh?"
    "'Kay
    They pushed their way through the mob, until, finally, they emerged into the cool night air. It felt good. Hutch leaned against the Torino, waiting for Starsky to unlock the door.
    "Can I ask you something?" Starsky said over the top of the car.
    "Sure."
    "How come you've still got that stupid thing above your upper lip?"
    Hutch grinned at him. "Beats the hell out of me, lover."
    Starsky got into the car and reached across the seat to unlock the passenger door. He was feeling a vague sense of...unease. Something was askew here, but he couldn't figure out what the hell it was.
    Maybe it would blow over. He could wait it out.

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    They didn't want to let me ride in the ambulance. I quietly threatened to shatter a few kneecaps, which didn't thrill Dobey, but fuck 'em. An accommodation was reached: I got in next to Hutch and everybody's kneecaps survived intact.
    Hutch was awake, staring at nothing. I tried to keep clear of the medics without letting go of his hand; the contact seemed important.
    God, we were so stupid. So fucking stupid.
    Maybe we had some kind of death wish. Otherwise, why would we keep carrying on like this? Hide-and-seek. Jesus.
    Hutch's lips moved and I bent closer so I could hear. My ear was practically in his mouth. "...Sorry."
    "I'm sorry, too," I said.
    "...Dumb...games."
    "No more, babe. From now on, we deal in honesty."
    His head moved a little, side to side. "...Scared...scared."
    Huh? Scared of the truth? Is that what he meant? I didn't get a chance to ask him, though, 'cause we reached the hospital then and things got real busy.
    They say he's gonna be okay. Lucked out again. Not bad, for a couple of terminally stupid bastards.
    Gotta remember to ask him what he meant. What's he scared of?
    How could anybody be scared of the truth?

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    Starsky was sitting on the sofa, looking complacent, when Hutch came back into the room. "I coulda been killed, you know," the blond said.
    "Nah. I've gone down those steps head over heels at least half a dozen times. I'm still here. Extra-cushioned mat at the bottom."
    "Uh-huh." Hutch sat at the opposite end of the sofa. "Can I clear up something that's been bugging me?"
    "Sure."
    There was a pause, during which both men seemed to sober. "No more games," Hutch said. "Isn't that what we decided?"
    Starsky looked stricken. "This? Hey, Hutch, this was just a joke. A stupid joke, yeah, but…."
    "I'm not talking about my journey down the steps."
    "What, then?"
    "This whole thing with Emily Harrison."
    "Hey, I was on a massive guilt trip, okay? You can understand that, right?"
    "That, yes. But what I don't understand, is why you shut me out. Starsk, you didn't have to run so hard from me."
    "I know. I'm sorry. It was just that I felt so crummy."
    "So how do you think I felt?" Hutch was looking at the sofa, not his partner. "It made me feel like things were changing. Ending." He took a deep breath. "I was scared, damnit."
    Starsky bit his lower lip. "Hutch...I'm sorry. I never thought...."
    "You might try thinking next time, okay?"
    "Okay." Starsky held out a hand. "Friends?"
    They shook.
    "Friends," Hutch said. "Who else would have either one of us?"

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    Images to be sorted through.
    Some were so old that they seemed to come from someone else's life. The war. Soldiers, all so young, and some of them dead years now, and he still didn't understand why. Snapshots of a country and a battle he would never understand.
    The past.
    Home again and then into the Academy. Graduation day. Real live cops now, but looking like a bunch of little boys playing dress-up. One picture of Hutch on that day, impossibly blond and young. They were both sure that the day marked an end. Different assignments. He had never let on how scared he was to be facing things on his own. But the time apart didn't last long. Fate seemed to be with them.
    Other pictures. Terry. Rosie. Some girls whose names he couldn't even remember now. All of them. All of them ghosts now. Fading images on his heart.
    One picture of his father: stiffly formal New York City cop. One of his mother, recent, holding a grandnephew on her lap and probably wondering when it would be her grandchild.
    Los Angeles: his city, which he loved, though he never said so aloud--it would sound too 1950's cop show. But these pictures were his own private tribute.
    A lot of pictures of Hutch, who was always around and therefore an easy subject. The shining knight in all of his moods. In some ways an almost too-intimate study of another man's life.
    And now, inspired by Marcia Fletcher, the newest additions to the collection: And, of course, Hutch again. Not so young now. Not so golden. Shaggy-haired, with that damned moustache. Some extra pounds.
    It made him sad to look at the pictures. This wasn't his Hutch. This was a tired, out-of-shape, middle-aged man with bleak eyes.
    Starsky closed the photo album.

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    Starsky brooded into his beer. Some partner. Going off to a dumb dance contest and leaving him alone at Huggy's. Sometimes life was crummy.
    He swiveled on the barstool and surveyed the weeknight crowd glumly. No action here. Then his gaze fell onto a face that seemed vaguely familiar. He searched his memory quickly and came up with a name to go with the slender features and curly brown hair. As the recognition came, so did a mild sense of righteous indignation. Starsky slid from the stool and walked over to the table. "You cost me twenty bucks," he said.
    The young man looked up at him, the blue eyes puzzled. "What?"
    Starsky dropped into the chair opposite him. "I said, you cost me twenty bucks."
    "Hey, pal, I don't even know you."
    "But I know you. You're Skidmark McCormick, right?"
    "Yeah, so what?"
    "Well, I had twenty dollars riding on you in the Outlaw Championship race."
    McCormick sighed. "Oh, sorry about that."
    Starsky swallowed some beer. "Thought you had that sucker won."
    "I thought so, too. But the car had other ideas." McCormick shrugged. "Some guys just don't ever get a break," he said. "Be smart and don't bet on me next time."
    "You sound low, man," Starsky said.
    "I'm okay."
    Starsky looked at him for a moment. "You in town to race?"
    "Nope. Up from Florida on a car repo."
    "Must be some car."
    "Yeah." He smiled a little. "When they really want a car back, they send me."
    "Crummy way to make a living."
    "Well, I've got this habit. I like to eat once in a while." McCormick glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, I better split and get to the job."
    "Lemme buy you a beer first."
    But McCormick shook his head. "Next time, man, I really better get moving."
    Starsky took out a card and slid it toward him.
    "Gimme a call sometime."
    McCormick picked up the card. "You're a cop?"
    "Yeah.".
    A smile flickered across the face, then vanished. "Take care, Detective." He got up and was gone.
    Starsky sat still. Nice kid. But what the hell was he doing working repo? That was a dirty job and also a real easy way to get into trouble. Too bad; the kid was a helluva racer.
    Starsky raised ·his beer in a silent toast to the driving skills of McCormick.

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    It sounded like distant thunder.
    Finally Starsky realized that somebody was pounding on his front door. He rolled over and peered at the lighted clock face. Why was somebody beating the hell out of his door at three A.M.?
    God, his neighbors were going to be pissed at the noise. He slid from the bed and headed for the living room, pulling his robe on as he moved. "Awright, awright, I'm coming." He reached the door and yanked it open. "What?"
    Hutch grinned. "Hiya, partner."
    Starsky sighed. "You're drunk."
    "Yep."
    "And you're gonna get me evicted. Get in here, you dumb bastard."
    Hutch wobbled through the door and kept moving until he collided with the couch, where he dropped.
    Starsky shut the door very carefully, then turned to survey his partner. "I like a party," he said mildly. "If you were having one, why didn't you invite me?"
    Hutch was trying to prop his feet on the coffee table; in the process, he knocked several magazines, an ashtray, and an empty coffee cup to the floor. He didn't seem to notice. "Wasn't a party, you know."
    "So what was it?"
    A genuinely bewildered look crossed Hutch's face. "I'm...not sure."
    "You need some coffee," Starsky said, going to put the kettle on. He spooned coffee into a mug, then returned and perched on the back of the sofa. "Talk to me, babe."
    "Started thinking about Slate. I don't know...it just got all fucked up in my mind. I was wondering if we could ever go bad."
    "Nah. Not us. We're the good guys, remember?"
    Hutch shook his head. "But he had cause. Good cause...maybe if I had something like that. Like maybe somebody killed you...."
    Starsky fought down a sudden tightness in his chest. "I'm too mean to die. 'Sides, even if something like that did happen, you'd still do the right thing."
    "I don't know."
    "I do," Starsky said firmly.
    The kettle began to whistle and he went to make the coffee. It was very strong. Just what was needed.
    But when he brought it to the couch, Hutch was asleep. Or passed out. Starsky set the coffee down, smiling grimly. What kind of a system chewed up good cops and left them in such a mess? What kind of justice had Hutch hurting so?
    He went to get the afghan to cover his partner.

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    "You can be pretty scary when you're mad."
    Hutch grimaced, but whether it was at Starsky's remark or the taste of the hospital cafeteria coffee wasn't clear. "Are you sure you ought to be leaving?"
    "They said I'm fine. Quit fussing."
    "I'm not fussing. But that was a pretty close thing."
    "Ahh, I had faith. Knew you'd save me." Starsky grinned, adding another packet of sugar to his coffee. "Man, what a beautiful sight when you came barreling in there. My heart went pitter-patter."
    "Funny.
    "The blond Superman."
    "Are you enjoying this?"
    "Yeah. After all, a man's gotta take his fun where he can find it, sweetheart."
    Hutch drained the cup and clunked it down. "Well, you just sit here and yuck it up all you want. I'm going home."
    "You know I need a ride."
    "All done with the Henny Youngman routine?"
    Starsky raised a hand. "Promise."
    "Okay."
    Neither man said anything as they left the hospital and walked across the lot to where Hutch had parked. Once behind the wheel, Hutch stuck the key into the ignition, but didn't turn it over. "I thought you were dead in there," he said hoarsely.
    "I know." All hint of joking was gone from Starsky's voice.
    "We're getting too fucking old for this shit."
    "Maybe. But do you have a better idea of what we could do?"
    "Nope. Maybe take slow poison."
    Starsky looked at him and smiled gently. "Isn't that what this is?"
    Hutch gave a snicker of agreement and then he started the car.

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    "Maybe we should think about hairdressing as a steady gig," Starsky said.
    "Maybe. Except that I don't like the way that permanent lotion makes my fingertips all wrinkly."
    "Ahh, well, every job has its risks."
    Hutch laughed and opened the door of his apartment. A man with a gun was sitting on the couch. The gun was casually aimed at them. They both froze, then Hutch automatically reached toward his holster.
    "I wouldn't, sunshine," said a second voice. At the same time, a gun barrel was placed against the back of Starsky's head.
    "Don't get into a bleeding panic," the stranger on the couch said. "We're good guys, too." He had a tangled mass of brown curls and a face that seemed vaguely out of alignment.
    "Good guys?" Hutch said doubtfully.
    "Sure. We just want to have a little chitchat about a mutual acquaintance. Known rather whimsically as the Baron. We understand he managed to elude arrest."
    "Yeah?" Starsky said. "What about it?"
    "We've been after this chap for some time."
    "'We' being?" Hutch asked.
    "I'm Doyle," the man on the couch said. "Other bloke is Bodie. We're, well, let's just say we're sort of coppers, too. Civil servants, like you. From across the pond."
    "And you came all this way to catch a jewel thief?" Starsky asked skeptically.
    Bodie took the gun away from Starsky's head and walked around to sit on the back of the couch by Doyle. Bodie was lean and edgy, with short-cropped hair and a smile that looked dangerous. He smiled now. "Once upon a time," he said, "there was a silly sod who called himself the Baron and who liked to make off with other people's pretty stones. One day, unfortunately, he lifted a necklace that was more than it appeared to be."
    Hutch moved to a chair and when nobody shot him, he sat. "What the hell are you two talking about?"
    They glanced at one another, exchanging a look that told Hutch something about them. He recognized in that moment the same wordless communication that he and Starsky had. He relaxed a little, although there was something in Bodie's face that kept him on guard.
    Doyle nodded slightly and Bodie spoke again. "You understand, we can't say much. The necklace contained a microchip. Several of your more major governments are very interested in obtaining said microchip. We're supposed to make sure the right side gets it."
    "Our side?"
    "Right. And we hoped that maybe you chaps might be able to give us a line on where the Baron might be heading."
    Starsky grinned ruefully. "If we had any ideas about that," he said, "don't you think we'd be after him, instead of standing here looking dumb?"
    Bodie sighed. "Right. Well, we thought it was worth a try." He got to his feet. "Might as well push off, sunshine."
    Doyle nodded and stood. "By the way," he said. "If you try to inquire after us, no one will have heard of the Baron or the microchip.
    "Or Bodie and Doyle," Hutch said.
    "Right."
    "That makes sense. Starsky here never misses a James Bond movie."
    Both men laughed and then they slipped silently out of the room.
    Starsky gave a low whistle. "Whaddaya think about that?"
    "I think that maybe we should give some more thought to hairdressing as a career, Starsky."
    "Right. After all, I've already got the ladder."

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    He stepped through the shabby curtain and into the darkened theatre. It took several moments for his eyes to adjust. There weren't many people in the audience for the double bill of two obscure French films. Starsky shook his head. Trust his partner to pick a couple of losers to see.
    He spotted the blond hair, a beacon even in the dim light, and moved toward it. His shoes stuck unpleasantly to the floor as he walked. Hutch was sitting alone in a row near the center of the place, apparently engrossed in the screen.
    Starsky dropped into the seat next to him and held out the box. "Popcorn."
    "My mother always warned me about talking to strange men at the movies," Hutch said, still watching the film. He reached for the popcorn and took a handful.
    "She was right. But my intentions are honorable. Promise."
    "That's what they all say."
    "Aha."
    "Aha what?"
    "Never mind," Starsky said.
    Somebody behind them shushed and they slumped into their seats, lowering their voices. "Thought you had a date with your other partner," Hutch said.
    "Yeah. It was a short date."
    "Problem?"
    "Nope."
    "You're not going to tell me why you're here instead of out with Meredith?"
    "Nope. Watch the movie, Blondie."
    Hutch looked at him for a moment, then reached for the popcorn again. "Too much salt," he said.
    "Bitch, bitch, bitch," Starsky replied.
    They both settled back to read the subtitles.

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    Hutch spent some time mulling over the various implications of Starsky's date with Melinda Rogers, and came to the conclusion that they were negligible. A cop groupie was definitely of the one-night stand breed.
    That decided, he glanced around the Pits.
    "Not everybody wants to wear suits and ties and punch a time clock," the man next to him said suddenly.
    "Right," Hutch agreed tentatively.
    The guy didn't seem to be into any of those things. He wore faded khakis, a stretched-out Marine Corps tee shirt, and had a kerchief tied around his head. He was no kid. "Some of us just want to live."
    "Right."
    He apparently felt as if he'd discovered a kindred spirit--maybe because of the bowling shirt that Hutch was wearing--because he ordered up a couple of beers and held out a hand. "Rick," he said.
    "Ken."
    They each gulped beer and nodded approval; neither man was entirely sober.
    "My problem, Ken, is that I've got this brother."
    "Yeah? I know what you mean. I got a partner."
    "Then you know. I mean, he's a great kid. Love the kid. But A.J., that's his name, he's got this mentality."
    Hutch nodded knowingly, then asked, "What mentality?"
    "Ties. Suits. Working. That. Chasing me all over the damned country."
    "Why?"
    "Why what?"
    "Why is he chasing you all over the damned country?"
    "'Cause he wants me to work. He's got this idea, keeps trying to get me to work with him. Do I need that?"
    "Maybe not."
    "Damned straight." Rick licked at his foam moustache. "Not saying he ain't a good detective. He's the best. So why's he need me anyway?"
    "You ever ask him?"
    Rick shook his head. "Nah. Probably he'd feed me some line about us being brothers and all. I know that. But he'd probably go further without me."
    Hutch, feeling philosophical, nodded. "But it might be a real lonely trip."
    Rick looked at him through bleary eyes. "Yeah. Yeah. A lonely trip. Ain't that the truth." He struggled to his feet. "Better go. Kid's waiting for me."
    Hutch grabbed his wrist. "You're not driving, are you?"
    "Nope. Nope, just walking. So long, Ken."
    "So long, Rick. Good luck."
    He watched the over-aged hippie weave toward the door. Everybody was trying to be happy and nobody knew how. That was the joke.

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    "A Starsky without a Hutch don't look right," Huggy said. "Looks unbalanced."
    Starsky smiled a little. "Yeah, well, tonight I feel a little unbalanced."
    Without waiting to be asked, Huggy set a beer in front of him. "Problems?"
    "Just life."
    "Ahh, the eternal conflict."
    "You got it."
    Huggy leaned against the bar. "Usually it's your better half who comes in to mope over a beer."
    "He's bidding farewell to Kate."
    "Uh-huh. Another one bites the dust."
    "What?"
    But Huggy wandered off to wait on some thirsty customers. It was several minutes before he returned. Starsky picked up a peanut from the basket on the bar, shelled it, and ate it thoughtfully. "You know, Hug, I'm sorta worried about Hutch lately." He glanced up, perhaps hoping to see dismissal or even ridicule of his fears reflected on the black face. But Huggy only looked at him, revealing nothing, and for some reason, that scared Starsky. "Don't you want to know why I'm worried?"
    Huggy shrugged. "Your blond partner needs worrying about sometimes."
    "You think so?"
    "We both know so."
    Starsky crushed another peanut. "You know how many cops end up wrecked? Boozers, maybe? Or even eating their weapon?"
    "I'd guess a lot."
    "Right. A lot."
    Huggy grabbed a rag to wipe absently at a puddle on the counter. "You think Hutch is liable to do something like that?"
    "Some days I wonder." Starsky was quiet briefly. "He wouldn't even be a cop, if it wasn't for me. I talked him into it."
    "So now you're responsible for his whole life? That what you're saying?"
    "Aren't I?"
    "Everybody's gotta take control of their own fate, Starsk. Hutch ain't no different. He chose. He'll choose what happens next."
    Starsky's glanced sharpened. "You think something's gonna happen?"
    "Absolutely. Don't you?"
    It was a long moment before he spoke. "Yeah. Yeah, I think something's gonna happen, and it scares the shit outta me."
    Huggy leaned closer. "Maybe you should say something to him."
    "Like what? Don't drink so damned much? Don't put a bullet in your head?"
    "Not necessarily. Maybe just let him know that you've got a whole lot invested in this partnership. You need him as much as he needs you."
    "He knows that."
    "Does he?" Huggy shrugged and moved off toward some new customers.
    Starsky took a whole handful of peanuts, piled them in front of him and began to shell and eat them, one by one.

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    "I guess you're feeling pretty clever about now." Hutch leaned against the door, watching Nicholas Starsky pack for his return to New York. His brother had made a quick trip to the bank.
    "What's that supposed to mean?"
    Hutch shrugged. "You got out clean. Guys like you always think they lead charmed lives. Until you take a fall."
    "You'd be happier if I was in jail, right?"
    "I think you'd be better off. It might force you to grow up."
    "Hey, pal, I've got one big brother on my case. I don't need another one."
    "Believe me, I've got no desire to be your brother. I've seen how you treat Dave."
    Nick looked bored. "Is there some point to this conversation?"
    Hutch moved into the room. "Yes, there's a point."
    "So why the hell don't you get to it?"
    Without warning, Hutch reached out and grabbed Nick's arm, gripping tightly. "Shape up, Nicky. Shape up or stay away from Dave. Is that clear enough?"
    "Who the hell do you think you are?"
    "I'm the one you'll have to answer to if you hurt my partner."
    "How touching. Mind if I cry?"
    Hutch raised his free hand. "I'm going to get along with you for the next couple of hours. For Dave's sake."
    "Does he know how much you care?"
    He might have hit him then, but before the decision could be made, the front door opened. "I'm back," Starsky called.
    The two men in the bedroom moved apart, staring coldly at one another. Then, smiling, they both turned to greet Starsky.

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    Dobey left them, without any hint of what was going on. Why the summons bringing them directly from the party to his office? Or why he was now leaving them here with the two men. Or even who the hell the strangers were.
    Starsky surveyed them suspiciously. IA? But he knew all those jerks, most of them too well, and these two guys didn't belong. Feds, maybe. Yeah, that could be it. At least the one now occupying Dobey's desk looked like a government man. A little past middle age, but slick looking. Expensive suit, cufflinks, and a cool attitude.
    The other one was a little harder to get a fix on. Maybe a little younger, with shaggy blond hair that looked like early Beatles, black turtleneck, and a tweed jacket. His air was one of vague amusement. He stood behind the desk, leaning against the wall.
    Starsky glanced at Hutch, who shrugged, then they both sat.
    "My name is Solo," the fancy dresser said. "My associate is Mr. Kuryakin."
    "I'm Starsky. This is Hutchinson."
    "We know."
    Something in Solo's arrogant manner annoyed Starsky. "Now that we all know who we are, maybe we should take the act on the road."
    Kuryakin almost smiled.
    Solo seemed less amused. "Your Captain was kind enough to arrange this meeting. Although it was clear that he disapproved of our objective."
    "Which is?" Hutch said with matching coolness.
    "Job recruitment," Kuryakin said.
    "Job recruitment?" Starsky echoed. "You want to hire us?"
    "We are exploring the possibility."
    "Who the hell are you?"
    "Have you heard of an organization called UNCLE?" Solo asked.
    After a moment, they both nodded.
    "Spies and stuff, right?" Starsky said.
    "In a manner of speaking," Kuryakin replied.
    "Why us?"
    "Because, Sergeant Starsky, we are always on the look out for promising talent. Your careers have not gone unremarked upon."
    Hutch seemed to find something Solo had said funny. "In case nobody mentioned it, we're not exactly your basic button-down team player types."
    Kuryakin and Solo glanced at one another, smiling at what must have been some private joke. "That would not be unprecedented within UNCLE," Kuryakin said.
    "So you want us to play James Bond, is that it, Solo?"
    "We would like you to consider the option, Sergeant Starsky." Solo took a card from a silver case and pushed it across the desk. "That is all we will say for now. If you are interested in pursuing this further, contact us here."
    Starsky picked up the card. It was embossed. "We work as a team, you know."
    "As you Americans say, it's the only way to fly." Kuryakin looked rather pleased with himself.
    Solo, on the other hand, looked pained. "Perhaps we'll be hearing from you?"
    "Maybe," Hutch said.
    That seemed to end the meeting. Solo and Kuryakin took their leave with no fuss. Hutch, followed by Starsky, walked over to the window. They could see the two men in the parking lot below. They stood, talking, for a moment, then got into a small blue convertible, and disappeared.

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 How can I just let you walk away,
Just let you leave without a trace,
When I stand here taking every breath
With you?

    "Hutch, there's something we need to talk about."
    "You gonna ruin brunch, Starsk?"
    "Probably. But I gotta say this."
    "What?"
    "For the first time, I almost hated you. The night when you walked out of the office."
    "You hated me? Why? I was only doing what I thought was necessary."
    "Yeah. But it seemed like what I thought, what I was feeling, didn't matter at all."

 You're the only one who really knew
Me at all.
How can you just walk away from me,
When all I can do is watch you leave?

    "That's not fair, Starsk. It mattered."
    "Just not enough, huh?"
    "It mattered."
    "Then why were you so goddamned willing to play hero and get killed?"
    "I didn't get killed, did I?"
    "Damned near."

Cause we've shared the laughter
And the pain,
We've even shared the tears.

    "I didn't want to die, Starsk."
    "Didn't you? I wonder about that."
    "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
    "I don't know. Probably it doesn't mean anything."
    "I thought I was doing what I had to for Marianne."
    "Marianne, yes."

You're the only one who really knew
Me at all,
So look at me now.
There's just an empty space,
There's nothing left here to remind me,
Just the memory of your face...

    "She was a victim, Starsk. I had to try to save her."
    "I know. I know, damnit. Save the world."
    "Oh, babe, I gave up on the world a long time ago. But sometimes, I have to make an effort to do something. Maybe just for old times' sake."
    "How about making an effort for me. Try to fucking stay alive."

And you coming back to me
Is against the odds,
And that's what I've got to face.

    "I'm trying, I'm trying."
    "Are you? I'm still wondering about that."
    "You're talking crazy."
    "Maybe. Oh, shit...maybe I am crazy. I just know that on that night, when you walked away, I thought you were gone for good. I really did. And what was worse, I thought you wanted it that way. So I hated you. That hurt, you bastard."

I wish that I could just make you
Turn around, turn around and see
Me cry.
There's so much I need to say to you,
So many reasons why...

    "I don't know what you want me to say, Starsk."
    "Me neither. Except that we matter. Maybe more than anything else."
    "You matter to me, damnit."
    "We matter."
    "Yeah."
    "You can't do that to me again. There's chances we take in this damned job and there's craziness. That was craziness. Don't do that again."
    "And if I do?"
    "Then maybe I'll fucking kill you myself."

You're the only one who really knew
Me at all, so look at me now.
There's just an empty space,
There's nothing left to remind me,
Just a memory of your face.
And you coming back to me is against
The odds.
But to wait for you is all I can do,
And that's what I've got to face.
                                      Collins      

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    The squadroom was quiet and, except for the pool of light cast by the lamp on Hutch's desk, dark. A quiet night and the on-duty dicks were apparently all out by the coffee machine.
    The only detective in the room wasn't on duty. Hutch was leaning way back in the chair, his feet propped on the desk. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep.
    Dobey came into the room, his heavy step unmistakable. "Why aren't you out of here?" he asked gruffly.
    Hutch shrugged, not opening his eyes.
    Dobey dropped into Starsky's chair. "Shame about Luke," he said.
    "Yeah," Hutch agreed bitterly. "A real shame."
    "Guess the pressure got to him."
    "I guess."
    "I know it hurts, but you can't let something like this get you down, Hutchinson."
    "Why not?" Hutch crashed forward, his feet colliding with the floor as his eyes opened. "A man that I trusted, admired, cared about turns bad and betrays everything I thought we stood for--things that he helped teach me--a man like that turns out to be just another bad guy. So why shouldn't I let it get me down?"
    Dobey shifted uncomfortably. "I only meant that you should keep it in perspective."
    Hutch smiled and shook his head. "You know, Cap'n, sometimes I think about chucking this job."
    "If you think about that a lot, maybe you ought to do it."
    "Is that advice?"
    "That's common sense. If you can't do the job, don't want to do the job, then you're useless to the department. To me. To your partner."
    "Right. But my partner needs me."
    "Nobody is indispensable."
    "You don't think so?" Hutch smiled again.
    Dobey gestured impatiently. "Why don't you just try shaping up instead? You're a damned good cop, Hutchinson, when you're not so damned busy contemplating your own navel. Shape up, man." With that, Dobey got to his feet and stalked out.
    Shape up. Yeah, good advice. Too bad it was already too late or he might do it. Maybe Dobey didn't know it was too late. Maybe nobody knew but him.
    Hutch picked up the phone and dialed slowly.
    Starsky answered on the second ring. "Yeah?"
    "Love your telephone manner, Starsk."
    "You oughtta see my bedside manner."
    "Yeah, I've heard."
    "What's up?"
    "Can I come over?"
    "Sure. Something special?"
    "No. Just didn't want to be alone."
    "So come on over."
    Hutch hung up.
    Maybe tonight he'd tell Starsk that he wanted to quit. Maybe.

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    "I never thought about getting old, did you?" It was obvious that the encounter with Joey and her boyfriend had rankled Starsky. Even now, several hours later, he was still brooding over it.
    Hutch shook his head. "No, I don't think a whole lot about it."
    "Maybe we'll be like Peter Pan. You know, stay the way we are forever." Starsky's tone turned wistful. "Wouldn't that be great?"
    "I guess," Hutch said doubtfully.
    "Sure it would. Rousting the snitches, turning over the garbage cans, busting the bad guys. You and me, cruising the city and playing the game." Starsky looked at him, a small, uncertain smile flickering across his face. "I mean, it's not all bad, is it, babe?"
    Hutch stared at him for a long moment before answering. "No, godamnit, it's not all bad."
    "But I guess since neither one of us is Peter Pan, it can't last forever. What happens when we get old, Hutch?"
    "Well, probably we'll sit around and bore everybody to death talking about the good old days."
    "You think?"
    He was like a kid asking for a gift and Hutch, out of love, gave it. "Sure. You bet."
    Starsky nodded. Then, as he pulled to a stop in front of Venice Place, he turned to look at Hutch. There was a sadness in the azure eyes. "It really could be that way, couldn't it?"
    Hutch sighed. "Maybe."
    "Maybe," Starsky said.

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    Thomas Wolfe wrote it. And I guess Huggy lived it. And, me, I've finally realized that it's so damned true. I'm not sure exactly when the truth hit me--maybe I'm a slow learner. As I remember it, though, it was in the middle of the night.
    You can't go home again.
    Wow. Profound, huh? Ken Hutchinson, deep thinker. But the important part of all this is that when I finally figured out that nugget of wisdom, something else became clear, too. This, as they used to say on that old television show, is my life. I can't turn back the clock and have things work out differently. I can maybe change tomorrow, but only if I do something about it, instead of just boozing and bitching.
    I really can't go home again.
    And, damnit, I don't want to. I want to be happy here, meaning not just Los Angeles over Minnesota, but this Kenneth Hutchinson over what I was back there. So all I have to do is figure out how to make myself happy.
    Then, when I've done that, when I know what it's going to take to satisfy me, I have to have the guts to go after it.
    If I can't do that, then I don't deserve to be happy.

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    Starsky stood in the entrance of the small greenhouse. The only light came from the pale glow of the silvery moon, but he could easily see the figure of his partner in the shadows. The blond hair gleamed like burnished gold. "May I come in?" Starsky asked quietly.
    "Yes," was the soft reply. "Of course."
    Without speaking again, both men moved over to the small table and sat, facing one another. "I don't know how to begin this," Starsky said after a moment.
    "Maybe I should start."
    Starsky nodded. "If you want."
    Hutch raised an impatient hand and swept blond strands from his face. "Can you...could you forgive me?"
    "I already have."
    "Thank you." Hutch studied the tabletop for a moment, as if it were a strange new place, then looked up. "I know why I behaved like such as ass, if you're interested."
    "It doesn't really matter to me. But if you want to tell me, I'll listen."
    "I was afraid," Hutch said simply. "Don't ask me why, but all of a sudden I got so damned scared. Maybe it has to do with this nightmare I have sometimes. I'm trapped inside this wall, shut off from everybody else in the world."
    "Except me," Starsky said.
    "Yeah, that's right. Except you. And then, in this nightmare, you figure out how to escape and then you're gone." Hutch tried to smile. "Dumb."
    "Scared people do dumb things." Starsky reached out and touched the waxy leaf of a plant hanging over him. "It was all just one more goddamned game. Except that this time I was playing and so was Kira. It was a sick game, Hutch."
    "Yeah."
    "So what are we gonna do now?" The blue gaze was painfully direct.
    "I don't know." It was a whisper.
    Starsky sighed. "I love you, Hutch."
    "I love you, too."
    "That sounds so simple. How can it get so fucking complicated?"
    Hutch wiped at his eyes. "Because we're so fucking stupid?" he suggested with a touch of humor in the tone.
    "Could be," Starsky agreed. "We keep saying that we're gonna stop this. Cut out the shit. And then we go right on doing it. Christ, sometimes it makes me want to cry."
    "I don't want to lose you."
    Starsky shook his head. "No. We can't let that happen. So?"
    "So I guess we have to make some promises. Right now." Hutch stretched one hand, palm up, across the table.
    Starsky reached out and grasped it.
    Hutch seemed lost in thought for a moment. "We matter," he said. "More than the job. More than anybody else."
    "Okay," Starsky said. "Anything tries to come between us, we smash it. Anybody tries to screw us up, we deal with 'em. Including us. I'll pound you into the frigging ground, Hutchinson, the next time you pull some of the shit you've gotten away with over the years. Okay?"
    "Okay. Same goes for you, buddy."
    "Anything else that needs to be said?"
    "I don't think so, Starsk."
    Starsky nodded.
    Neither man made a move to pull his hand away. Not yet.

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    They waited in silence until the door to Dobey's office opened and the black man waved them inside. He looked frazzled. "Everything's falling apart today," he complained, taking his place behind the desk. "Now what do you two want?"
    Hutch sat, while Starsky remained standing by the water cooler. The blond, after a glance at his friend, spoke. "We just came from the beach," he said.
    "Working on your tans, were you?"
    "We threw our shields into the Pacific," Hutch said flatly
    "I see." Dobey looked from one to the other. "Both of you?"
    "Of course."
    "Of course. You sure you're not making a big mistake?"
    "No, Captain, we're not sure of anything at this point. Except that we're fed up with the shit that we've been wallowing in for so long."
    "Not everybody wallows quite as much as you do, Hutchinson. Some of us try to clean it up."
    "Whatever."
    Dobey's gaze fixed on Starsky. "I'm a little surprised, Dave. Is this what you want?"
    "What I want is for Hutch and me to get our lives straightened out."
    "And for that you have to quit?"
    "I guess so."
    "Because he does?"
    "Or he's going because I am. However you want to put it, sir."
    "All right," Dobey said then. "I'll put through the paperwork."
    They both nodded and headed for the door.
    "Take care of yourselves," Dobey said.
    Hutch opened the door. "Guess we'll have to," he said. "We're all we have."

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    Starsky wheeled into the parking lot with his usual abandon and brought the Torino to a stop. However, neither man made a move to get out of the car immediately. Vacation was over and now it was time to face the job again.
    "Well," Hutch said at last. "Here we are. Ever get the feeling that we're moving in circles, Starsk? Round and round the same old spot and never getting anywhere."
    "Really." Starsky glanced at him. "This is the right thing to do, isn't it?"
    "I don't know. But it does seem to be all we can do right now."
    Starsky nodded absently at two uniforms passing by outside. "Do you feel trapped into coming back?"
    "A little, maybe." No more secrets.
    Starsky frowned. "You're not doing this just because you think it's what I want, are you?"
    Hutch shook his head. "No, I want it, too. We're cops, Starsk. Maybe it's the only way we can keep what we have. Until and unless something better comes along. I want us to work together more than I want to leave this job is what it boils down to. Does that make any sense at all?"
    "Only to you and me, lover, but don't worry about it, 'cause nobody else matters anyway, right?"
    Hutch smiled at him. "Right."
    They got out of the car and Hutch waited while Starsky locked it up. "'Fraid somebody's gonna rip it off, Starsk? In the police parking lot?"
    "Probably not." Starsky glanced around, then grinned and shrugged. "No place is safe these days."
    "Cynic."
    Instead of answering, Starsky clamped a hand on Hutch's shoulder and turned him toward the building. "Come on, Sherlock, let's go see about saving the world."
    "Fuck the world, let's just go see about doing the job and staying alive."
    "For sure."
    They moved in unison toward the door.

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    Hutch lurked just outside the door until the bored and tired security guard went for coffee, then he slipped inside. He moved quickly through the lobby, avoiding the elevator and headed for the stairs.
    When he reached the right floor, it got tricky again, but he kept his back pressed against the wall and slithered around the corner.
    Luck was with him. The nurse on duty at the desk was busy recording medication orders. Hutch ducked, creeping along the length of the counter until he reached the room chart. He needed to know where they had moved Starsky after the unexpected dousing from the fire sprinkler. All visitors had been immediately expelled, of course.
    But Hutch was determined. He'd dashed over to headquarters, salvaged some dry sweatpants and a tee shirt from his locker, changed, and returned. Damn the rules.
    With one hand, he maneuvered the chart around to where he could see it. Room 314, just across the hall from the water-logged accommodations. Hutch clamped his teeth down on a triumphant chuckle and crawled away quickly.
    Only when he was around another corner and safe from sight, did he straighten. The room was dark, except for a small nightlight over the desk. Starsky made a medium-sized lump in the middle of the bed. Hutch tiptoed over. "Hey," he stage-whispered. "Hey, Starsk? You asleep?"
    "Mostly," came the answer. "What the hell are you doing back here? Thought they threw your ass out."
    "They did. Fuck 'em, is what I say. We're partners."
    "Right."
    "Scoot over.
    "Isn't this how we got into trouble last time?" Starsky grumbled, but he scooted anyway.
    "No food this time. No nothing, except me." Hutch crawled into the bed and pulled the sheet up over both of them. It was a tight fit, but they curled together like two sleepy children and somehow got comfortable.
    "Thank you," Hutch said after a moment.
    "What for?"
    "For not dying."
    "Well, that's okay. Don't mention it. Just remember that you owe me one now."
    "One what?"
    They were both whispering. "One not dying."
    "Oh. Yeah, okay. I went a little crazy at first, didja know that?"
    "I heard. But you came through and you did it right. That's what counts."
    "No. What counts is we both made it. That and nothing else."
    Starsky laughed softly. "You got it, lover. Hutch--"
    "What?"
    "Can we go to sleep now?"
    "Right."
    Hutch closed his eyes. There wouldn't be any bad dreams tonight, he knew. Next to him, Starsky gave a small sigh that turned into a snore. Hutch pulled closer to his partner and promptly fell asleep, too.

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How can I convince you what you see is real,
Who am I to blame you for doubting what you feel?
I was always reaching, you were just a (guy) I knew,
I took for granted the friend I have in you.

     I was living for a dream,
    Loving for a moment,
    Taking on the world, that was just my style.
    Now I look into your eyes,
    I can see forever.
    The search is over,
    You were with me all the while.

Can we last forever, will we fall apart?
At times it's so confusing, these questions
Of the heart.
You followed me through changes,
And patiently you'd wait 'til I came to
My senses through some miracle of fate.
Now the miles stretch out behind me,
Loves that I have lost,
Broken hearts lie victims of the game.
The good luck, it finally struck, like
Lightning from the blue,
Every highway leading me back to you.
Now at last I hold you, now all is said and done.
The search has come full circle,
Our destinies are one.
So if you ever loved me, show me that
You give a damn.
You'll know for certain the man I really am.

    I was living for a dream,
    Loving for the moment,
    Taking on the world, that was just my style.
    Then I touched your hand,
    I could hear you whisper,
    "The search is over."
    Love was right before my eyes.
                                       Survivor