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Part One

Hutch, although exhausted, lay awake most of the night, consumed with worry over where Barbara would go from here. She'd go on, he told himself. There was nothing else to be done. But would he be able to go on like that, if it had been Starsky who had been killed? A resounding "no" had repeated itself over and over in his mind like a lullabye, until, at almost dawn, he finally fell asleep.

Barbara saw him there as she snuck a peak from her room around 8:00 am. He was a puzzle still, a paradox in a leather jacket. Her stomach still churned when she thought about Karen, and here was her brother, who she should feel comfortable leaning on, but just didn't. Resigned for the moment, she tightened the belt on her robe and padded toward the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. By the time she returned, Starsky, who had apparently not had as difficult time sleeping as his partner did, stirred from his spot on the couch, his legs stretched languorously over the coffee table and a blanket draped over them.

David Starsky cracked a dark-lashed eyelid and looked up into the innocent yet haggard face of his best friend's sister. Forgetting in the bleariness of his first wakeful moments, he opened his mouth to speak to her. Knowing what he had in mind, she put a long-nailed finger to her lips, then diverted the man's attention to his slumbering partner next to him. He quickly got the message and threw off the blanket, following the pretty blonde into the kitchen.

Starsky settled in at the small table there while Barbara poured two steaming cups of the brown liquid. "Do you want cream or sugar, Dave?"

"No, black is fine," Starsky signed, studying the young woman. "How are you this morning?"

It occurred to her that if her brother had asked the question, she might have become defensive, but she didn't feel that with Starsky. Her eyes watered, glistening, as she responded, "I'll be okay. I just need awhile."

Starsky knew better than to push the point, and let her go about, putting sugar and cream in her own coffee, then bringing both mugs to the table and sitting across from the handsome man.

After they had been sitting, not communicating, for a few moments, Barbara dragged her eyes from the cup in front of her to the bright, vibrant blue ones across from her. "David, will you tell me about my brother?"

She wants me to tell her? Starsky questioned himself. "What do you want to know?"

"I think I understand a lot." She seemed to lighten her mood, smiling into the vibrant eyes as Starsky followed her lead. "So, tell me. You two must have had an exciting life since you joined the police force. Any interesting stories you can share?" She propped her chin on her palms, looking years younger than her actual age.

"Yeah, I guess," he responded, and told her about many of their cases, accentuating the ones that would tell her, by actions instead of words, what her brother was like. When he got to the kidnapping case and the ransom drop, her eyes were large circles.

"What?" she prompted, trying to get him to go on.

"So he was all right, then." Barbara stated, not questioned, starting to act more and more concerned about her brother.

"It's hard to believe you're talking about my brother. I never thought of him that way." She made a mental note to herself to ask again about any other injuries Ken may have gotten in his job as a police officer. Starsky talked about it so casually, maybe it just wasn't as big a deal to him as it was to her, and she wanted to know what else he might not have mentioned.

"But, Barbara," he told her, taking her hand for a moment before going on, "that's who he is."

"That's okay. It'll give me something to keep my mind on besides Karen." At the mention of her friend's name, her eyes began to tear again, and Starsky gently reached up to wipe the water droplets from her cheeks. She took his hand gently as he touched her, turning it over and kissing the palm. "Thank you, David," she said gratefully. Barbara released his hand and they finished their coffee with a silent warmth, the woman's thoughts reaching out to Bridget and Hutch in the next rooms.

**************************

The following days were filled with arrangements being made and the difficult event of Karen's funeral. It was held in a small church near the university, and Bridget left later that day to take her beloved daughter's body home for a memorial service and her burial. Starsky and Hutch tried to ignore Barbara and Bridget's sobs as they drove them to the airport behind the hearse that would deliver Karen to the jet. Her mother seemed beaten, old as they'd never seen her.

Barbara watched, crying, as Hutch gallantly helped Bridget from the back seat of the LTD. Starsky retrieved her luggage from the trunk as she watched the large black car in front of them disappear around the corner of the terminal. The tragic foursome walked hand in hand in hand in hand through the gates as the surrounding throng watched. They were oblivious to it, though, as the two men studied with concern the women who walked between them. They were almost too quiet, with not a word exchanged between them for the entire ride.

As they approached the ramp that led to the plane which would take her home, Bridget turned to Barbara, her eyes brimming again. She spread her arms wide and Barbara walked into them, each woman clinging to the other as if for dear life. When the loudspeaker announced the final boarding call, Bridget pushed away from the small blond figure.

"I've got to go," she told her protoge. "I love you! Please be careful!" She kissed Barbara on the cheek and rewarded Starsky and Hutch the same before rushing, sobbing, into the ramp.

The two officers watched Barbara's back as she stared after the woman. Starsky noticed the longing look in his partner's eyes. "Go ahead," he told Hutch, motioning to Barbara with a nod.

"I'm not sure I should," he whispered, although he knew he wouldn't have had to. "Seems like she'd rather it be you than me lately."

"Are you sure?" Starsky questioned. "You really haven't talked much since Karen was killed. Maybe she's changed her mind."

"What could have happened?" Hutch asked doubtfully, ignorant of the conversation his partner and his sister had had concerning him.

"Well, you told me yourself that she cried on your shoulder that first night. That should mean something, y'know?" Hutch looked at him, the fear in his eyes different than any he's shown his partner before. "G'won, blintz. If all else fails, just turn on the charm."

"She'd never fall for that," Hutch muttered. "She's my sister, not a beautiful woman."

"I got news for you, partner," Starsky said, grinning, "your sister is a beautiful woman."

Hutch stepped from his partner's side and went to Barbara, wrapping his long arms around her from the back and pulling her close to his chest. She surprised him when she turned around and buried her face in his shirt. He could feel the dampness from her face as it penetrated his shirt down to the skin. Her thin arms encircled his waist, and Starsky smiled at the sight of the siblings. Maybe they weren't happy, but they were certainly making great strides in establishing the trust they wanted.

*************************

Hutch was deathly afraid of leaving Barbara alone the following day while he went to work, not yet having the security of knowing she'd be in school. He and Starsky had management to talk her into spending the day at Metro, with Dobey playing a kind if not totally willing host. He found her to be a most charming young woman with a gentle nature, very much like her brother.

"We've got to go out on patrol," Hutch told her gently as he and Starsky headed for the door. "Promise you'll stay here?" She had been so upset by the death of her friend, it frightened him to admit that he wasn't sure what she was capable of. She nodded her head at him gently, and he reminded her before he left that she'd have to write any requests to the people here because they didn't know sign.

Once they were gone, Dobey let her settle in the comfortable chair in his office. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?" he asked her, being sure to face her so she could read his lips. She nodded her head and he left her to her thoughts while he fetched the toxic brew from the squadroom.

When the black man returned to his office, he found the young woman had been writing. She handed him the note thoughtfully in exchange for the mug. The Captain read over the neat handwriting. "You want to read your brother's police file? Why?"

She looked at him with pleading eyes and wrote again. "I need to know what kind of man my brother is. I haven't seen him in many, many years. Please!"

"Well, we don't usually let just anybody read the officers' records, but since you're his sister, I guess it would be okay." The cabinet along the wall rewarded him with a thick file with the details of Ken Hutchinson's work, major cases, and accomplishments on the force. He laid it in her hands almost reverently, forgetting that the file also contained the documentation of his on-the-job injuries.

*************************

"Do you really think she'll have enough to do all day, hangin' around the station?" Starsky wondered aloud.

"I'm sure she'll figure something out, Starsk, so stop worrying!" Hutch told his partner. "Dobey'll give her some coffee and don't forget she brought all her books to study from. The day'll be over before she knows it!"

"Hutch, why did you insist that she spend the day there? It's not like either of us will be able to help her if she starts feelin' depressed or anything." The dark haired officer braked for the stop light and looked over at his partner in the passenger side. The expression told him that Hutch was uncertain, and begged him not to pursue it. "Oh, gut instinct, huh? Okay, never mind."

Hutch nodded slightly, knowing Starsky understood the difficulty he sometimes had in putting these feelings into words. The impulse he felt that Barbara was in some kind of danger didn't make sense, but there it was, nonetheless, and he was powerless to ignore it. At least he could feel secure in the knowledge that his sister was back at the station under the fatherly eye of Captain Dobey.

As if reading his mind, Starsky said, "Did you see Dobey's face when we introduced him to Barbara? You'd think we were doctors saying `it's a girl' or somethin'!" He smiled; knowing what a good father the captain was, she was in good hands.

"Attention all units and Zebra 3," suddenly interrupted them from the radio. "Reports of a woman screaming in the alley between 1093 and 1097 Halloway."

"Think that could be our man?" Starsky questioned as he spun the car in a wide arc, making it difficult for Hutch to grab the mike and inform control that they were responding.

"I don't know. He's never been sloppy enough to let the victim get out a scream. Probably somebody totally different," he added as he reached out the window to put on the mars light.

With Starsky at the wheel, it was only a couple of minutes before they skidded to a stop in front of the alley--long before any marked police cars arrived. The alley was devoid of life, and the reaction of the passers-by indicated they hadn't suspected anything. Perhaps one of the residents of the apartments above had heard the commotion and called the police, not going so far as to go down and check it out themselves.

Both officers drew their guns as they approached the alley's mouth; too many rookies got killed assuming a perpetrator had left the scene when he was really in hiding. A thorough search of the alley netted them no suspect, then Hutch eyed the large garbage container warily.

"You gonna look, or should I?" he questioned his partner.

"I'm older--you do it!" Starsky muttered to Hutch.

"Starsk, that makes absolutely no sense."

"Sure it does. I'm older, so I give the orders. You check it out!"

"Oh, all right! You can be a real baby sometimes, y'know that, partner?" Still, Hutch hesitated a moment before approaching the dumpster. Starsky watched his face turn green as he looked inside, instantly appearing at the blond's side with a reassuring hand on his arm.

The young woman inside didn't move as Starsky and Hutch climbed inside to check for a pulse. She was unresponsive and there were no vital signs. "Another victim," Hutch muttered, his voice echoing inside the otherwise-empty container. "What a waste."

"She hasn't been dead long; her skin's still warm.... I'll go call a meat wagon," Starsky volunteered, beginning to lever himself out of the dumpster.

When he returned, Hutch was still standing inside with a puzzled expression on his face.

"C'mon, partner. There's nothing you can do for her now." His voice was soft, for Hutch's ears only, and Hutch heard it clearly despite the cacophony of the sirens of several arriving squad cars.

"Something's not right here, Starsk." He stood still for a few more moments, testing everything his senses were telling him, then looked once more at the victim. Having been interrupted this time by the approach of their siren, the killer hadn't gotten the victim's head totally shaved. A small section of straight, auburn-colored hair remained still.

"Maybe it'll come to you after awhile, partner," Starsky responded, still trying to convince his partner to come out. "We'll talk to forensics later and see what they find out."

Finally, Hutch climbed out of the dumpster, landing gracefully at his Starsky's side, then stepping out of the way to allow the crew to remove the young woman and any evidence the killer might have left behind. Interviewing the passers-by was a boring and unproductive job, but it had to be done, so they set to the task. By the time they were finished, the victim had been removed and was under a white sheet on the sidewalk.

Both men came back to stand beside the body, wondering if there was anything more they could do at the moment. Starsky watched his partner with careful eyes; cases like this made Hutch so tired....

The blond suddenly began to sniffle, and for a moment Starsky wondered if he was crying. But his eyes were clear. "What's up, Hutch?"

"You smell that, Starsk?" He sniffed again.

"No, I don't smell anything."

"I smell some kind of amonia. No, not that exactly, but something close. I can't remember what it is." Hutch's brow furrowed as he concentrated harder, trying to reach for a distant memory.

A moment passed when Starsky stayed silent, hoping that it would help the blond. Finally, Hutch looked up sharply. "Starsk, she smells like permanent solution."

"Permanent solution? You mean permanent glue?"

"No, dummy! You know, the stuff hairdressers put on ladies' hair when they give them perms?"

"Oh, yeah. I didn't recognize it. The only time I ever was around something like that was that case when we were under cover in that beauty salon. And even then I was distracted `cause Huggy kept calling for help every couple minutes. I was never so glad as when he closed that PI business!"

"Well, I do remember it. And she's got that stuff on her, I'm sure." Hutch suddenly had a spark in his light blue eyes, like he was ready to take on the world.

"Take it easy, buddy," Starsky warned. "Maybe she was comin' from gettin' a perm."

"Starsk, look at the hair that's the killer missed. It's straight. No way she just had a perm."

"Well, then, maybe she's a hairstylist."

"Or maybe the killer is," Hutch added, looking optimistic."

"It's possible, but don't get your hopes up. After all this time, there's not a lot of chance he'd make a mistake like that now." From Hutch's left, Starsky lay his right hand on the blond's shoulder, steering his partner to the waiting car. "Let's file the report and check on Barbara; she's gotta be climbing the walls by now."

*************************

Going through her brother's file for the second time, Barbara was oblivious to the passing of the hours. It took a great deal of convincing on Dobey's part to talk her into walking down to the cafeteria with him for some lunch. But as soon as they were done, she buried herself in the reports once again.

"Did Ken really do all this?" she wrote, asking him for reassurance. How could one man have done so much in only ten years. Dobey nodded, smiling.

"Your brother is one of my two best men." She looked at him with eyebrows raised, waiting for him to go on. "And, yes, Dave Starsky is the other one."

"What is this about a `formal reprimand' a few months ago?" The report wasn't clear about what Hutch had done wrong, the actuality of the incident confused in complicated terms.

She watched Dobey chuckle to himself, though clearly trying to hide it. "Ken and Dave did an exceptional job on a case awhile back, so they were invited to address the graduating class at the police academy. Everyone was so anxious to hear their speech, thinking they'd get an idea of how they did so well. The commissioner could have killed them when they told those rookies to forget all the rules they'd been taught. Everybody knows that cops these days have to bend the rules to do their jobs well, but it's not something people really talk about, and saying it to 200 new recruits isn't exactly the correct procedure."

Barbara nodded that she understood, returning that particular sheet to the file and withdrawing several more which were stapled together. When he saw what she held, Captain Dobey's expression was one of surprise.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you see that! Injury reports are supposed to be confidential."

She flipped the pages, watching as each report went through her fingers. There were so many! "How can Ken have gotten hurt this many times?!" she wrote.

"Look," he told her, smiling in a way he never did in front of his men, "There's one sure thing about your brother and his partner. They go all out, no matter what. They'll risk their necks if there's a chance it'll save a civilian. They're very brave, but brave men get hurt, sometimes killed. And yes, there have been some very close calls. But they're still here because they cover each other; that helps more than you'll ever know."

"Is Dave's as bad as Ken's?" she asked, not certain she wanted to know the answer.

"Actually, it's worse. In addition to everything else, Dave tends to be a little accident prone. But then again, he's not the one who caught that plague."

"I don't think he ever told Mom and Dad about that because they've never said anything to me. Why wouldn't he tell us? We're his family!" Barbara's writing was getting harder to read as she rushed to get all her thoughts down.

"I'm sure he didn't want you to worry. That's the way Hutch is sometimes: closed off from everybody except Starsky. Some day, all he's kept pent up is going to explode, and I'm afraid that some suspect will take the brunt of it."

"You don't really think that, do you?" The comment wasn't wasted on Barbara, her having seen the smoldering passion behind the blue eyes when her brother was upset. But it never dawned on her that he was capable of hurting anybody.

"No, not really. Not unless that somebody were to make the mistake of hurting Starsky. Then his life wouldn't be worth a nickel. The same is true of Starsky when Hutch is injured."

"How could Dave let Ken get hurt all these times? It's unbelievable!"

"He didn't exactly `let' him, Miss Hutchinson," Dobey responded, shaking his head. "It's a hazard of the job. Like I said before, Starsky's been injured at least as many times, probably more. They try to take care of each other; it just doesn't always work out." He looked at the puzzled girl for a moment, almost seeing the wheels turning in her head. "Why don't I leave you alone for awhile. I've got some warrants to check out anyway." He left her in his office, bent over the folder. "Oh!" he said, coming back to her for a moment. "Please don't tell Ken that I let you read his file." He smiled gently and left the room, his demeanor reminding her of her own father's.

*************************

When Starsky and Hutch stumbled, exhausted, back into the squadroom at the end of the shift, the young woman who greeted them was changed from the Barbara they had left there that morning. The grief was still shaddowed in her eyes, but there was also a very strong note of concern there. And relief too, which confused Hutch.

"I'm sorry you had such a boring day," he told her, feeling like she was anticipating something from him.

"I'm just glad that you're okay!" She hugged him briefly as he and his partner exchanged puzzled expressions over her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Starsky asked her when she'd release her hold on her brother. "You seem...." he wasn't sure of the right word, either in speach or in sign.

"I'm fine," she told him, a brilliant smile replacing her concern. "I've just heard so many stories today around the station about you two getting into trouble. You just had me worried."

"We're both fine," Hutch reassured, hugging her back this time. "Don't worry!" How could one day at the station cause this change! She genuinely seemed to care about him, not that he thought she didn't before, but this was more intense.

"I'm sorry, we've got a report we have to file first. Why don't you let Starsky take you down to the commissary for a cup of coffee while I finish it up. He's never much good at them anyway." Hutch was a little surprised at himself for voluntarily sending his libidinous partner along with her. But he was the man he most trusted with his life. How much danger could there be in trusting him for a half hour or so with his sister?

Barbara nodded her agreement as Starsky slipped an arm around her waist and led her through the double swinging doors. Plopping himself down behind his desk, he inserted a form into the typewriter and began to pick at the keys, one by one, until the report was finished.

Starsky lifted the two styrofoam cups and returned to the table where Barbara waited. He was very much aware of the eyes that were on them as he sat across from her. Did they know this was Hutch's sister, or were they just interested in any woman that Starsky liked enough to actually bring to the station?

He was paying too much attention to those around him, and the hot coffee sloshed over the side and onto his knuckles. "Yeow!" he shouted, gritting his teeth and shaking the coffee from his burned left hand. Barbara's eyes immediately became sympathetic, and she reached a thin-fingered hand to examine the damage, pulling the hand closer to her own side of the table.

"It's okay," he told her as she read his lips. "It's just a little burn. I was more surprised than hurt." She twisted her hold on the hand until their palms were together, and she felt a shiver up her spine when she felt the warmth there. He didn't pull away, the two of them sitting that way for quite some time. Finally, they returned both hands to their cups.

"We'd better finish up," Starsky said, smiling. "Hutch is a lot faster than you'd think on that typewriter." She looked a little regretful at that, Starsky's heart skipping a beat when he saw the reaction. "Hey, how would you like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night. Maybe even a movie afterwards? We could find a foreign one with subtitles, that way we'd both be in the same boat!"

Barbara laughed silently, knowing that he was hoping to cheer her up with the evening out. "I think the three of us will have a great time!" she enthused.

"No, that's not what I meant," Starsky blushed a little, surprised she had misunderstood. In reality, she had suspected what he was really trying to say, but wanted clarification. "I meant just you and me. We'll leave Hutch at home this time."

"Okay," she signed, her smile brighter than the stars in the heavens. "I'd enjoy that, Dave."

"Good! I'll pick you up at your place about 6:00?" She nodded happily, also feeling a little guilty that she was anticipating such happiness only a few days after her friend's death. Guilt, like stubborness, was also something that ran very strongly in the Hutchinson clan.

Barbara practically bounced back into the squadroom, just as Hutch pulled the final report from the typewriter. Starsky followed a ways behind her, allowing her to tell her brother in her own way about their date. Once they'd dropped her at home tonight, they could talk out anything they needed to, man to man.

Unknowing, Hutch smiled at the spirit he saw in his sister. "What's going on? I'm done here; are you two ready to go?"

"Really?" he said, stunned, his eyes traveling from the girl to his partner. "That's nice." It wasn't nice, but he wasn't sure what he was feeling. Protectiveness? Jealousy? Fear of what would happen if they started something that couldn't work? Hutch decided it was all these things, and maybe more.

"Are you finished up here?" She asked, interrupting his pondering.

"Yeah, let's go. It sounds like you've got a big day planned tomorrow." To Barbara, Ken didn't look particularly happy. But he hadn't said anything either, and she was willing to take that as the best compromise she was going to get.

*************************

The apartment virtually trembled with the ringing of the telephone, breaking through the soft nest of sleep that surrounded the bed in the Venice apartment. Struggling to the surface, Hutch fumbled for the phone, nearly knocking it off the bedside table in his desire to silence the cacophony.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, his bleary eyes noticing that the clock said only 6:00.

"Excuse me," he voice on the line said, "may I speak to Ken Hutchinson?"

"Yeah, that's me. Who is this?" And why are you calling me at the crack of dawn, he questioned mentally.

"This is the relay service, sir. I have a call for you from Barbara Hutchinson."

"Oh!" he remarked, pushing himself awkwardly to a sitting position. "Okay. I've never done this before. What do I do?"

"If you'll give me one moment, I'll inform the caller that I have you on the line. She'll tell me what to say, I'll relay it to you, and then relay your answer to her."

"Sure, I'll wait. Go ahead." Once involved in the exchange, Hutch was amazed that it could work, but he also found the slowness of the process a little frustrating. He listened as his sister finally got to the point of her early-morning call.

"I talked to Meredith here on campus, and she told me about the best salon. I want to have my hair done for tonight. She said she could drop me off for my 11:00 appointment, but I wonder if you could pick me up about noon." It seemed strange to hear Barbara's words, and to keep his mind on what was being said.

"That shouldn't be a problem," he told the service, "but why don't you just take a cab? I thought you liked the idea of being independent."

There was a pause while the message was typed to Barbara's TDD and she typed her response back to him. Finally, "You know I do, Ken. But I sort of wanted a man's opinion before I see Dave tonight."

"Can I presume, then, that you'd like me to leave Starsky back at the station?" He asked, a wry grin on his face. For a moment, he let the worry slip away and just noticed how sweet his sister was acting.

"Yes. Is it possible?"

"Sure. I'll see you at noon, okay?"

"Thank you, Ken," the relay operator said after another pause. "Goodbye."

Hutch wasn't sure whether he was supposed to say goodbye to the operator as well, so he compromised. "Goodbye, Barbara. Thank you for the relay, Miss."

"You're welcome, sir. Goodbye." The woman was very polite, impressing Hutch with her professionalism. She must hear so many intimate details of people's lives, yet she has to learn not to think about it. That must be a very difficult job, he thought as he pryed himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

*************************

Since Starsky and Barbara were planning an evening of entertainment and good company, Hutch saw no reason why he should have to wait at home worrying. About mid-morning, a brainstorm came to him. After managing to convince Starsky to pull over at a pay phone, he dialed the University, asking for Meredith Sparks' extension. Luckily, she was in her office, and it took very little convincing to entice her into spending the evening with him. He returned to the Torino smiling, with the background hope that he'd be able to distract himself from Starsky's date with his own sister.

Leaving Starsky at the station to get lunch at the commissary and type up some reports from their mostly-uneventful morning, Hutch borrowed the Torino and went to pick up Barbara. He'd never heard of the salon she'd mentioned, but with address in hand, he felt sure he'd be able to find it. Hutch noticed the letters on the front of the building, Beautiful You Salon, as he drove by, and grumbled as he pulled around the block to approach again. Passing through the doorway, he laughed aloud at the list of stylists who worked there. Third on the list was Tyrone Simpson. And I thought I was the only Mr. Tyrone, he thought. Didn't think there was a real one!

"And what, may I ask, do you find so amusing?" The voice came from a snooty-looking woman behind the counter, her glasses pulled down to look over them at him.

"Ahhh..." he cleared his throad, "nothing, really. Just something I was thinking about."

"Oh. Well, what can I do for you today? Maybe a perm, or a more modern haircut. We could even put in some high-lites--might help to bring out the blondness in your hair.

"No, thank you, ma'am," he said, accentuating the "ma'am" in the hope of rattling the older woman. "I like my hair just fine the way it is. I'm actually picking up my sister, Barbara Hutchinson. Is she ready?"

"Just a moment, Mr. Hutchinson," she smiled venomously. "I'll check." The narrow-featured woman disappeared for a few minutes. "She'll be out in about five minutes. The stylist is just finishing up her hair. You may have a seat if you wish." She motioned to a chair in the vestibule area, which he took slowly. The magazines available were uninteresting, he noted, standing to walk the area instead.

Rows and rows of shampoos and conditioners were lined up under many Styrofoam heads which wore wigs of various styles and colors. White tags hang from each one, and after he'd read the labels on all the shampoos, he started looking at the price tags. "Why would a woman pay $50 for one of these things?" he whispered to himself, thinking again how little he understood the female of the species. The prices varied from $50 to $75, depending on the length and style. The last in the line was a shorter style, and Hutch gasped when he looked at its tag.

"This has got to be a mistake!" he said out loud, addressing the receptionist who had returned to her desk. "This price tag says twenty-five hundred dollars!!"

"Of course it does. It's supposed to," she answered haughtily.

"Why is that one so expensive?" he asked, curious.

"My dear boy, that is a real human-hair wig. They're very expensive because they're very rare."

Before he could say anything, the woman's eyes went to the person behind him. "Oh, here she is! Isn't she beautiful?!"

When Hutch turned around to look for his sister, instead he saw a striking blond woman with a full, curly head of luxurious hair reminiscent of Farrah Fawcett. Her hair was normally straight with very slight waves, very much like his own. He staired for a full thirty seconds before realizing it was Barbara. "On second throught," he said to her when he'd found his voice, "maybe your going out with Starsky isn't such a great idea." What would his partner think--or feel--when he saw her looking like this?

"Don't you like it?" She asked, hesitantly. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know, based on the look her brother wore.

"Thank you!" she told him, reassured. "Shall we go now?" She motioned toward the door, and he held it for her as she alighted onto the street, frowning at the men who gawked as they passed by.

*************************

Barbara waited impatiently for Starsky to pick her up, her mind straying to her brother's date with Meredith. She liked the pretty teacher very much, and made a silent wish that they would have a pleasurable evening together. For herself, she was eager, yet still nervous. An actual date was very different than a short kiss on the couch in her room. Although her social life had always been very full, she'd rarely dated a hearing man before; Barbara knew this particular man, plus her new surroundings, could introduce her to a great deal of new experiences, not necessarily all of them pleasurable.

The lights flashed at exactly 6:00, surprising Barbara. From what she had seen and heard lately, she'd expected him to be late. She'd chosen something to wear that was somewhere between dressy and casual, deciding on an above-the-knee T-shirt dress that she knew hugged every curve as if it were made for her. When she opened the door, she was surprised at the vision that she beheld. Apparently on the same wave length, Starsky had donned a pair of freshly pressed navy dress pants and a pristine white polo shirt. The white and blue set off his eyes remarkably as she smiled into them.

Those blue orbs looked mildly surprised, examining her from toes on up until their gazes locked silently. Her stare was pulled from his by a warm, gentle smile that spoke volumes to the girl. He said nothing, only offering his arm to escort her out of the apartment. "Let me get my purse," she told him, disappearing into the bedroom and returning after only a moment.

Three hours later, Starsky escorted Barbara into a family-style restaurant that smelled of mashed potatoes and roasted beef. It was nice, clean, and above all, comfortable. It was a place where Barbara couldn't help but smile, her grin growing when a fatherly-looking grey-haired man came from the kitchen to greet her date.

"Dave!" the owner called, quickly wrapping Starsky in a bear hug. She noticed him blush, but endure the hug, which ended just short of cracking ribs. "Where have you been? Do you realize how much my business has been off since the last time you brought a lovely lady in here?" He turned the smile to Barbara, grabbing her hand and pumping it madly. "And what a lovely lady she is too! Much more beautiful than any of the others." He raised his eyebrows expectantly, apparently waiting for a name to be spoken by one of them. The candles adorning each table reflected in the friendly eyes.

"Marcus, this is Barbara," he signed, and spoke at the same time, eliciting a confused expression from the restaurant owner. "Barbara is deaf, but she can read your lips."

Marcus smiled and spoke directly to her. "You look very familiar to me, Barbara...you're face and those blue eyes! Have you ever been here before?" Barbara shook her head, and gave Starsky a shy smile, allowing him to decide whether or not to tell.

"There's probably a good reason she looks familiar to you, Marc, `cause Barbara is Hutch's sister." He laughed at his friend's surprise as the man turned back from where he had been leading them to a quiet corner table.

"This little girl is Ken Hutchinson's sister? And he actually let her go out with you?!" He laughed again, neither noticing nor caring about the patrons' stares. As Starsky sat down, he held the chair for Barbara, remarking over her head that he'd better behave himself tonight or there'd be hell to pay. Starsky nodded , grinning, as he handed them their menus then walked away.

They each looked over their menus for a few minutes before the burly waiter came over, ready to serve them. The man was practically a giant--Starsky estimated him at taller than 6'5"--with brown hair, a bushy mustache, and a black pants-and-vest outfit that was strained to the limits.

"May I tell you about tonight's specials?" he questioned, not actually allowing the customers time to answer before he went on. "We have a very nice chicken fricassee over biscuits; and if you prefer seafood, we are also offering shrimp in a basket. We also offer a vegetarian platter with eggplant and tofu."

Barbara scrutinized the waiter carefully, but no matter how hard she concentrated, she was unable to discern what he was saying. The bushy mustache was too much in the way. She looked to Starsky, hoping for an interpretation, but he was busy nodding and listening to the waiter, apparently unaware of her circumstances. At a loss for anything else to do, she went back to perusing the menu. Eventually, the waiter left them to make their own decisions without his looking over their shoulders.

"So, what do you think?" Starsky asked Barbara, laying a gentle hand on her arm to get her to look at him. She smiled at him and went back to the menu. Finally, she set it down.

"Well, you could always get that special he was tellin' us about." She looked at him, a little embarrassed, because she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Dave, could you tell me about that special? I'm afraid I couldn't tell what the waiter was talking about because of his mustache." The admission was difficult for her--she hated to admit needing help--but she managed it without too much embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Dave told her, all apologies. "I didn't think...I didn't realize..." He cleared his throat, knowing she couldn't hear it anyway, and went on to tell her about the vegetarian special he'd heard all about.

"I'd like that, Dave. Would you tell him?" Normally, she had no problem pointing out on a menu the item she'd like. This was very different. The waiter returned, and he ordered for both of them, interpretting when they were asked about salad dressings and bread preferences. Barbara was very uncomfortable; she hated feeling like she couldn't communicate.

"So," Starsky asked once the waiter had left, "how did you like the movie?"

"It was okay, I guess," she admitting, taking the stink out of her statement with her smile. "A little bit high-brow for my tastes, but still pretty good. Next time, though, I could go for one with a little more action in it! Maybe even a little science fiction!"

Starsky laughed openly at that. Barbara might look a lot like her brother, but her tastes were very different!

It did get better after that, once the interaction with the restaurant staff was finished. As they waited for their orders and ate them, they discussed their lives and likes, with the subject often returning to the one person they both had in common. She wanted to ask him about a particular subject, but wasn't sure how to bring up the subject. Finally, she just said it straight.

Starsky blinked a little in surprise, but had given up trying to predict this very unpredictable woman, so it didn't last long. "Well, we have dangerous jobs. I'm afraid sometimes it simply can't be avoided."

"I learned about a lot of them at the precinct the other day. He seems to have recovered from all of them just fine, though. I guess I'm just a natural worrier," she silently laughed, but the concern was still in her vibrant blue eyes.

Starsky hesitated, then decided to tell her everything. It might help her understand him even better; to heal the final rifts that still remained between them. "He's been through even more that don't show up on the records and that nobody at the office knows about. And it wasn't all physical, although that's a big part of it."

"Tell me," she said simply.

"I'm afraid so. Someday, take a look at his upper left arm. He's got a hell of a scar where she got him with a butcher knife. He was in the shower at the time. He was really shook after that, always locking the door after going in. He doesn't think I know that, though," he smiled.

"Yes. There have been so many, but the ones he really cared for hurt him the worst. He dated Abby for a long time. Then she got attacked because he was a cop, and once she recovered, she left town. That hurt him bad. Jeannie was probably the hardest on him, though." As soon as he brought up Jeannie, he realized it might have been his biggest mistake. All he could hope was that she'd not pursue it too much. It was too much to ask for, though.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, trying to squirm out of revealing Hutch's secret. "I shouldn't have brought it up. Please, forget I said anything."

"I guess it's the best I can do." She nodded and he went on. "He was dating this girl, Jeannie, who had gone with this mobster before Hutch. She was really scared because this guy wanted her back, and had the power to force her if he found her. Hutch stashed her in a beachhouse somewhere and didn't tell anybody where she was--not even me. Well, I guess Forrest and his goons decided that Hutch was still their best lead, so they grabbed him one night when he got home from work."

"Yeah, and even worse." He hesitated for a few moments, silently arguing with himself over whether or not he should reveal all the details to Hutch's sister.

"Dave, what did they do to him?" She demanded, giving him no escape. He couldn't lie to her, especially not if he was as bad at it as Hutch always claimed.

"Okay, but you've got to promise to keep your cool and keep this to yourself. Hutch would kill me if he knew I told you. Well, what happened was...well, they..." finally he decided that the only way he was going to get it out was to just say it. "They beat him up pretty bad trying to get him to tell them where she was. When that didn't work, they got really nasty." Barbara's eyes went up expectantly when Starsky hesitated again. "They had him for four days. Except for the first few hours, they were shooting him up with heroin every few hours all that time." Barbara looked horrified and scared at the same time. "You see, they figured if they could get him really hooked, then stop giving him the shots, the withdrawal pains would be enough to make him talk. Unfortunately for Hutch, they were. He got away eventually, and I helped him go cold turkey, but he still had to live with the knowledge that not only was he a drug addict, but he had also given them what they wanted. I'm afraid that's scarred him more than anything else we've been through."

Starsky hadn't realized he had been avoiding looking into her eyes until he had to raise his head to see them now. When he did, he saw her brother's pain reflected in their blue depths. As a few drops escaped from her mascara'd eyelashes, she looked at him, unable to come up with anything to say. Then she saw the pain in his eyes as well. "It must have been almost as painful for you, I'd think." It was a surprisingly rational thought, she realized, to be coming from somebody whose insides felt like they were coming out. Every organ in her body felt like it was trembling of its own accord from the unsettling news about her brother.

He reached up to wipe the free-falling tears from her cheeks, and she took his hand gently. "I can tell it wasn't easy for you to tell me about this. Thank you. I think I can understand a little why he kept his distance. Even if he doesn't consciously realize it, I think somewhere deep down, he's been trying to protect all of us all this time."

"You mean by not being in contact with you or his folks a whole lot?" Starsky looked thoughtful, wondering if it could be something he'd never considered.

"This isn't exactly the way I'd imagined this date going," Starsky admitting, smiling to try to dispell the depressing mood. He glanced at his watch. "It's almost midnight; I'd better get you home."

"How about stopping at your house for coffee first," she volunteered, smiling at her handsome date. "I'd ask you to mine, but I'm out of coffee." He hesitated, causing her to flush with embarrassment. "Unless you don't want to..."

"No, I do," he answered, surprising even himself with his boldness with his partner's sister. "My coffee's not very good, though." It was lame, and he knew it.

"Then I'll make it!" She practically bounced out of the restaurant in front of him, waiting politely while he opened the passenger door of the Torino and helped her in.

*************************

It was almost 1:00 now, their having arrived at Starsky's apartment almost 45 minutes ago. Once the coffee was on, they'd sat on the couch awkwardly until Barbara finally made the first move. Standing from her end, she replaced herself next to Starsky, fully realizing what her nearness was doing to him. She placed a gentle hand on his cheek and turned him to look into her expectant eyes.

The will to fight what he was feeling was finally just too much for Starsky, who leaned close, covering her lips with his own. The kiss lingered, longer and deeper than any they'd stolen before, as Starsky pulled her form against his own. Their breaths came heavier, both parties willingly wrapping around each other.

Regaining a semblance of his control, Starsky pulled away for a moment. Was he out of his mind?

"I think we'd better go a little slower than that," Starsky told her, staring at her lips.

In answer to her question, he drew her into his arms, kissing her deeply again. One side of his brain was fighting the other's instructions to sweep this beautiful young woman into his arms and carry her off into his bed. Fortunately for his peace of mind, he never had to make that final decision.

Starsky knew right away that the car door he heard slam was in his own driveway, and he pulled away from Barbara, quickly rushing to the window.

"It's Hutch!" He told Barbara, flushing guiltily. "What am I going to do? He'll know!" He plopped back down on the couch next to her.

She smiled warmly at him, not seeming to mind if her brother found out. "I suppose you could always take a cold shower," she suggested, squeezing his thigh suggestively, causing his entire body to react to her touch.

"Water don't come that cold, sweetheart!" She laughed at his comment, but responded when he pushed her to the other end of the couch, just before Hutch came through the door.

By the time Ken Hutchinson arrived in front of the couch, his sister was sitting up straight, smiling innocently, while Starsky sat cross-legged at the other end. It was an unusual position for his partner, but he didn't dwell on it.

"We were just going to have some coffee, Hutch. Would you like some?"

"It should be ready in a few minutes." Barbara watched him settle into the armchair. "So, what are you doing here?"

Hutch laughed at her inquisition. "Starsky made me promise to let him know how my date with Meredith went, and since I had to pass by here on my way home from dropping her off...I have to admit, I'm surprised to find you here, too."

"Like I said, we're having coffee. The food at that restaurant was great, but their coffee was terrible." Hutch looked from her face to Starsky's, trying very hard to ignore the pink lipstick stain on the white collar of his shirt.

"Its true, partner," the brunet confirmed, nodding to make more of a point. "Actually, I'm glad you stopped in anyway. I wanted to check if we're still on for the department picnic a week from Sunday. I figured all three of us could go. You could even bring Meredith if you wanted."

"I'm in, but I'm afraid Meredith won't be. I've got a feeling she'll be tied up working on this research paper she was talking about. She's trying to get more letters to put after her name!" Hutch smiled, then chuckled. The woman had ambition, there was no doubt about it. Plus, she was excellent at her job.

"Then it'll be just the three of us," Barbara agreed, joining in. "I'll have to go to class the next day, but since my Sundays are usually free, it sounds like a blast. It'll be fun to get to know some of the people who work with you two!" She deviously winked at them both. "Which day did you say it was? I'd better write it in my date book." She reached for her purse on the end table, which Starsky finally retrieved and handed to her. After a moment of reaching inside, she looked up, puzzled. "My calendar was in here, but now it's gone! I hope I didn't lose it--my entire class, lab, and seminar schedule is in there! What am I going to do?!!" Starsky noticed her face conveying how distraught she was feeling; apparently she was just as annoyingly organized as her brother.

"Well, first, just take it easy," Hutch suggested, ever the voice of reason. "When did you last use it?"

"Well, then," Starsky smiled, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, "I guess that would be the best place to start."

"Gee, d'you think?" Hutch laughed. "Have you ever thought of taking up policework as a career?" They all laughed, even though the joke was old and overused to the two men. Hutch turned back to his sister. "If you'd like, I can call and check tomorrow. I have to go downtown to the health food store anyway, so if it's there, I could pick it up for you. Okay?"

"Okay, big brother! Thank you!" Barbara surprised both men by jumping up at that moment, wrapping her arms around Hutch in a quick hug, then heading for the kitchen for their coffee.

"Wow! I can't believe she was so nice! I knew things were getting a little better between us, but I never dreamed that she'd...." He blushed, then saw right through Starsky's innocent expression. "What did you say to her?"

"Nothing, really! I just talked about some of our exploits on the job. She obviously just has very good taste in men. Even brothers!" Hutch was willing to accept that answer, for that moment, anyway.

After finishing his second cup, Hutch finally seemed to be ready to leave. He stood, turning to Barbara hopefully. "I'd better get going. I could drop you at home along the way if you'd like? Might save Starsky a bit of a drive."

Starsky jumped up to intercept his partner, seeing in his face that Hutch didn't particularly want to leave the two of them alone here. "It's okay, buddy. I'll take her home. It's just about time for me to get some sleep too." Both men knew that Barbara's place wasn't even close to being on the way from Starsky's to Hutch's apartments; the look Starsky gave Hutch communicated that mutual knowledge.

"I'm really sorry Meredith won't have more time to spend with ya, partner," Starsky said, smiling, enjoying needling his partner.

"I didn't say I wouldn't be seeing her. I just said she'd be busy next weekend. And as a matter of fact, Mr. Smartass, I'll be seeing her again tomorrow night. Well, actually tonight," Hutch said, looking at his watch. Starsky's eyebrows rose inquiringly as Barbara searched Hutch's face for more information. "As a matter of fact, it's a function at the university. Some kind of a department get-together."

"Oh, my!" Barbara covered her mouth in surprise. "I'd forgotten all about that mixer. Dave, would you please come as my date? Please?" She repeated, beseechingly.

"Of course, I'd love to! Now I think I'd better get you home," he said, exchanging glances with Hutch. "Shall we?" Starsky motioned toward the door as Barbara nodded and followed, all three leaving the apartment simultaneously. "I'll see you tomorrow!" Starsky yelled to his partner after settling his date in the passenger side of his car.

As he drove back to his Venice apartment, it occurred to Hutch that he hadn't even gotten to tell his partner about his date.

**************************

"Excuse me, Miss," Ken Hutchinson said into his telephone the following morning. It was his morning off, and he'd waited until he was sure it'd be open to call the salon. "My sister thinks she left her datebook there yesterday. Did anybody report finding one?"

"If you'll hold on a moment, I'll check." As he listened to the music over the phone, he realized that this was definitely not the woman he'd spoken with when he picked Barbara up yesterday. This one sounded younger and much friendlier. "Is her name Barbara Hutchinson?" she said when she came back on the line.

"Yeah, that's her."

"Well, I have it here, so she can pick it up anytime she wants."

"Good. I'll be in to pick it up in a bit, okay?"

"Sure. If it's before noon, you can just ask for me--I'm Sharon--and I'll stash it until then."

"Okay, I'll see you in awhile. Thanks again." Hutch knew that Barbara would be in a class for the rest of the morning, so he put off calling to tell her the good news. It would be easier to just take it to her anyway. She'd be home until her afternoon class started around 1:00.

He realized he wanted to stop at the grocery store, too, as he stood in front of the open refrigerator, evaluating its meager contents. Definitely time to restock, he decided. He was reaching for a notepad when a voice sounded at the same time as the knock.

"Hey, Hutch! You here?"

"Yeah, c'mon in Starsk!" For a moment after he entered the apartment, Starsky searched for his partner, finally noticing the denim-covered posterior that showed behind the open refrigerator door.

"Hey! You got anything good in there?" Starsky asked as his stomach rumbled.

"Not so's you'd agree," Hutch answered, his voice falling, "or me either for that matter." He shut the refrigerator door, discouraged.

"How about we go out for a late breakfast?" Starsky volunteered, his eyes brightening. He was actually looking forward to the opportunity to talk alone with Hutch about both of their dates the prior evening. Of course, he had no intention of telling him the intimate details of Barbara's interrupted seduction, but they could still cover all the pleasant details.

"Yeah, I guess," Hutch muttered, not sounding very happy at the prospect.

"I'll tell you what, partner," Starsky replied cheerily. "I'm feelin' so good this mornin', I'll even let you pick the place." He diligently wished he wouldn't live to regret that particular promise.

"Great! Thanks! And since you're being so agreeable this morning, you can drive. Just so long as we can stop off on the way to pick up Barbara's datebook."

"They have it at the beauty shop?"

"Yep! Y'know, there's somethin' in there that I've got to show you too. You'll never believe it, Starsk!"

"What is it?" Starsky pleaded as they left the apartment, but Hutch was determined to show him instead of telling him and being deluged with a million questions he had no idea how to answer.

*************************

"Starsky, will you come on!" Hutch hurried him along into the salon.

"I'm not particularly thrilled with bein' seen goin' into a ladies barbershop!" Starsky managed to look macho and embarrassed all at the same time.

"We're only going in for a minute! I'm sure that won't tarnish your image." The brunet meandered in behind his partner, who went right up to the reception counter.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Could I see Sharon please?" The young girl behind the counter certainly looked like she belonged here. Her hair was perfectly coifed, and her nails were manicured to perfection.

"Yes, sir," she responded, inciting a cringe from both men.

"I hate it when they say that. Makes me feel like an old man!" Hutch whispered it quietly to Starsky as the girl reached for an intercom button.

"Sharon to the front, please. Sharon to the front." Then she turned back to them. "I think she's just finishing up a shampoo; she should be with you in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Miss," Hutch muttered, watching her go back to her bookwork.

Hutch turned and took a seat, gancing up at his partner. He looked bored, and they both knew it.

"Hutch, why did you want me to come in here?! I don't see anything interesting except you going through a premature midlife crisis!" At Starsky's comment, the blond remembered the item he wanted to show his partner.

"I'm sure you'll think this is interesting. Take a look at this." He led him along the line of wigs, stopping at the very last one.

"So what?" Starsky said, frustrated. "It's just a wig!"

"Take a look at the price, dummy!" Hutch grinned, waiting for his friend to react. He didn't have to wait long.

"Twenty-five hundred dollars!! Are they out of their ever-lovin' minds?!" Hutch laughed, inciting the clerk to come over and see what they were up to. "Why the hell is it so expensive?!"

"Starsk, that wig is made of real human hair! Can you believe that?"

"No, I can't," Starsky cringed. "Even if I knew somebody who had the dough to blow on something like that, I don't know why they would. It's gross!"

"Actually," the clerk said, smiling at the men's reactions, "they're the only thing a lot of the upper-crust ladies will buy. They're expensive because they're pretty hard to get."

"Gee, wonder why?" Starsky mumbed near his partner's ear. "This one is so short, I can only imagine how much a long-haired one would be!"

"Long-haired wigs like these are almost impossible to come by, but they're very much in demand. I've heard of a place the other side of town that has them from time to time--and they can be over $10,000. They've had a real run on them lately--we'd give our eye teeth to know where they're getting them. You see, they have to find a woman with very long hair who was getting it cut very short in order to get a workable length of hair. Then what was cut off has to be hand-sewn into a wig."

"Wow," Starsky said, "and these society ladies will actually pay ten grand just because they don't want a man-made one? I guess it takes all kinds," he continued, shaking his head.

Hutch had begun to shake his head as well, disbelieving, when a woman in a smock came up to the counter. "Hi, I'm Sharon. You are Mr. Hutchinson?"

"Yes. We spoke earlier?"

"Oh, yes. I'm not about to forget it! We don't get that many men calling in here, let alone handsome ones stopping in." She winked at Hutch, then at Starsky as well. Both men blushed as the brown-haired woman perused them from head to toe. When she'd finished, she withdrew a rectangular object from her pocket. "Here's your sister's calendar," she said, handing the object to Hutch and being sure her hand brushed his as she placed it in his palm. "You look just like her, you know."

"So I've been told," Hutch smiled. "Well, thank you, Sharon. Take care." As they walked out the door, the clerk watched Sharon's eyes following the two men.

"Boy, the stories that I could write about those two!" Sharon said under her breath.

"Oh, not those stories of yours again!" the clerk laughed.

"Mark my words. Some day one of those romance magazines is going to print one of `those stores', and I'll make a bundle!" She turned, nonplussed, and went back to her station, her mind half into the plotline she was concocting.

*************************

"Hi," Barbara signed, stopping off at Meredith's office between classes. The teacher noticed right away that the girl looked unhappy.

"Hi!" She smiled and signed back. When Barbara still didn't smile, she began to worry. "What's the matter?"

"What makes you think there's anything wrong?" Barbara asked, making a point of avoiding the question. Instead of answering right away, Meredith reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a large mirror. It was one she used to help her students who were learning to speak practice. She raised it in front of Barbara so that it reflected her image back at her, not needing to explain further. "Well, it's not exactly that something's wrong. I just have a problem that I can't decide how to solve."

"I can be an objective ear if you need one," Meredith offered, encouragingly.

"I promise," Meredith said, using her hand to make a crossing sign over her heart.

"So," Meredith said, trying to make the girl's choices more clear to her, "you have to choose between two men who you want in your life and the chance to have all your professional dreams realized. I have to tell you, I don't envy you your choice."

"Oh, Meredith," she said, seeming distraught, "I wish I knew. I wish I'd had the chance to find out before this came up. I do know that if I did, and if he loved me too, there wouldn't be a doubt in my mind about staying. If you're asking if I can see he and I together long term, like married or something, well, I can't answer. I've tried to imagine it, but somehow it never comes out right. Maybe I've just dated too many men who are like me to be able to imagine committing to a man who can hear. And that's if he even wants to."

"Two weeks," Barbara cringed.

"Well, that gives you a little time to think about it. I know we've only known each other a short time, and I'm not about to tell you which way to decide, but I will give you a little piece of advice. Trust your instincts; don't second guess them. I've learned from experience that they'll usually steer you in the right direction. So take some of that two weeks, and try to figure out what your instincts are telling you to do." Meredith stood from behind her desk and smiled at the small figure in front of her. Abruptly, Barbara was wrapping her arms around the older woman. This was even a better way to say thank you than sign.

*************************

The organizers have done a great job, Meredith thought as she walked into the large conference room on Hutch's arm. All the tables and chairs had been cleared away, allowing for easy mingling among the hundred or so people there. Food and drinks lined one wall, but for the most part, the guests seemed most interested in each other.

Barbara, on Starsky's arm, and Meredith saw people they both recognized, some of whom came over to say hello and be introduced to the women's dates. "This can't last much longer," Hutch whispered out of the side of his mouth to Starsky as they were pushed aside by students and teachers talking to their dates.

"It's already lasted too long," Starsky whispered back. Finally, the crowd seemed to taper off, returning to their smaller groups distributed around the room. Barbara returned to Starsky, leading him off to one of the groups.

It wasn't quite dark yet, but the setting sun was shining brightly through the windows. "Ken," Meredith said, returning to the blond's side and taking his hand, "do I remember you saying you had an interest in plants?"

"Yeah, I do. I even have a greenhouse back at my place." He had a moment's impulse to take her back there tonight, then a moment later realized that it was too soon.

"Well, the University has the most exquisite gardens on this side of the building. Would you like me to show them to you?" She smiled up at him, the blond detecting a sparkle in her eyes.

"Is it such a good idea for you to leave the party so soon?" The last thing he wanted was to get her in trouble, regardless of how attractive the reason was.

"I've made an appearance, and we'll be back later. What more can they ask of a poor, overworked teacher?" She winked at him, drawing him toward the door by the hand, Hutch only too willing to follow to get out of the crowd.

Meanwhile, Starsky and Barbara had been drawn into a political conversation taking place among a small group of deaf students. It was obvious to Starsky that they didn't all agree, but the signs came so fast and so furious that he really had no idea what was going on. He stood politely by Barbara as she made a point, then noticed several of the other students were nodding and signing yes, so he did likewise, doing his best to fit in.

Starsky's attention was drawn by a raucous laugh from the other side of the room. Another small group there, obviously students able to hear and speak, were laughing and talking--he could hear the buzz of conversation--and he found himself wanting to go over there, to see what the discussion was about. He tried to hear from his place, concentrating with all his power, not realizing that he was being remiss in his participation in their current group.

"Dave," Barbara signed, using her left hand to turn Starsky's face toward her. "Dave," she repeated, "John just asked you a question. What's the matter with you?"

"I'm sorry," the brunet said, blushing, "my mind's just been on this case we're investigating. I'm afraid it doesn't leave much room for anything else."

"That's quite all right," John, a medium-height redhead, told him. "Actually, it was your job I was talking about. Barbara says you're a police officer. That must be fascinating work."

"Do you feel like it's worth it, Dave?" another man in the group asked.

"If I didn't, I would've quit a long time ago, believe me." Talking like this, finally being able to discuss something he knew, made him feel a little better, but he still felt a strange longing to go over to the other group. Well, maybe not so strange, he thought, but certainly not something he was proud of. He felt he should be able to feel just as comfortable in his current group as in that other one, but he doubted he would.

They spent several more minutes talking with this group before moving on to others around the room. Starsky noticed, but it seemed Barbara didn't, that they always spent more time in the groups who only signed, passing only minutes with the talkative, hearing groups that Starsky enjoyed. However, when they were with those people, he was quick to notice how uncomfortable and out-of-place Barbara looked, so he allowed her to lead them on to the next.

It was almost an hour and a half before Hutch and Meredith returned to the party, drawing up along side Starsky and Barbara. Starsky smiled wickedly at his partner when he realized that Meredith smelled of Hutch's cologne.

"You have a nice `walk', buddy?" he whispered as Meredith joined the current topic of discussion.

"Fine. Just fine," Hutch told him, smiling himself. Starsky was instantly more at ease, having his partner to talk to when there was nobody else. The last thirty minutes of the two-hour function went fairly quickly for the brunet, who didn't mind standing on the sidelines, as long as Hutch was standing there with him.

*************************

"Okay, partner. Out with it." Starsky tried to watch his partner and the road at the same time; there was no reaction from the blond, who was obviously lost in thought. "Hutch!"

"Wha?" Starsky's abrupt call brought Hutch's attention back into the car. "Oh, sorry. What did you say?"

"I said, out with it! Where were you?" Starsky wasn't sure whether he should be worried or amused; Hutch rarely got distracted that badly while on duty.

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't know?" The pale complexion was suddenly pink from Hutch's collar to his hairline.

"It depends. What d'you mean by that? This isn't about your and Meredith's `walk' last night, is it?"

"No, it's not that! I feel like there's been something on this case that I've missed. Something I went right by, and it's real irritating. It's like an itch that I can't reach!"

"Well, you know what you gotta do when that happens, buddy." At Hutch's puzzled look, he smiled. "Get a good friend to scratch it!"

"I wish you could, Starsk. I just get this feeling that we're on the wrong track with this one. A psycho killing coeds in broad daylight shouldn't be this hard to catch!"

"It's gotta be a nutcase! No sane person would kill girls like that. None of them were friends, or even knew each other for that matter. They had nothin' in common--not even their ages."

"Suppose...." Hutch blinked for a moment, concentrating. "Suppose the killer really only wanted one of them dead, and the rest were done to cover for it. To give us a lot of false leads. It's possible." Starsky heard the words, but knew by the look in his partner's eyes that he knew it wasn't right. Hutch's instincts amazed Starsky sometimes; this was one of those times.

"You don't believe that, though. Now tell me what your gut is tellin' you." Starsky urged him on, knowing that Hutch sometimes fought his God-given gift.

"What it's really telling me?" He drew in a deep breath, purposefully looking away from Starsky. "Okay. I feel that we're not even close. That we're so far on the wrong track that we're practically derailed."

"Okay. Then let's go back to the office and go over the files again. It's gotta be there, we just have to get ourselves to see it." Starsky could see that this case was eating at his partner. The light blue eyes were shadowed with the vision of his sister's horror and tragic loss at the death of her best friend.

*************************

"DO NOT DISTURB". The crooked, left-handed scrawl was emblazoned across a sheet of standard notebook paper and taped over the small window of Interrogation Room 6, effectively barring entrance from anybody who wasn't approved. The tiny initials "DS" in the bottom corner was enough warning to the rest of the precinct that an intrusion would not be tolerated by the energetic author of the sign or his equally explosive, at times, partner.

Inside, the large table in the center of the room was covered with paper. In the center, lined in perfect order that only Hutch would have taken the time to do, were photos taken by the coroner of the victims. Above each one, Hutch was laying a picture of the same woman provided by family or friends from when she was still alive.

"Starsk," the blond said when he'd finished, drawing his partner's attention from the folder he had opened on the edge of the table.

"What?"

"Take a look at these, wouldya?" Starsky shut the folder with more force than necessary and stood to join his partner.

"Might as well. This file's not tellin' me anything it didn't the last four times I read it." He looked over the long line of pictures. "So?"

"Okay, let's try this," Hutch began. "Look at all these pictures, try and forget everything you already know about the case, and tell me what these girls could have in common."

"Well...." Starsky studied them carefully, but nothing unusual came to mind. "They're all pretty foxy, but that's about it. All different color eyes and hair, different nationalities; they're not even all around the same age."

"Are you sure, Starsk? Look closer."

"Well, all but this one," he pointed out an attractive brunette with a pixie haircut, "could be in their early twenties. But this one can't be more than seventeen or eighteen."

Hutch picked up that particular picture, turning it over to read the back. "That's because it's an old photo. Date's 1972--guess nobody thought to get anything more recent. It's probably her high school graduation picture, for Pete's sake."

"So they don't have anything in common that we can track. So we've gotta find something that's not so easy to trace. Anything come to mind?"

Starsky watched, fascinated, as his partner walked the circumference of the room once, then again, and then a third time, all the while rubbing a hand on his face, deep in thought. "Starsk!" he finally said, raising his eyes to look into Starsky's even bluer ones. "Remember when we found that last victim? The killer had to run off because somebody called it in before he could finish the job?"

"Yeah," Starsky answered, smiling slightly, "and she smelled like ammonia."

"Correction, partner. She smelled like permanent solution! Did anybody think to check if all these girls went to the same hairstylist?"

"Hutch, this case is gettin' to ya. Don't you remember? That was one of the first things they tried, what with the shaved heads and all. About half went to the same place, with the rest spread out over a bunch of different places."

"Are you sure?" Hutch questioned tiredly.

"Sure! Here's the file with all the names." He handed over a ragged-edged manilla folder which Hutch opened and studied. He looked back at the photo of the last victim.

"Wait a minute, Starsk!" the blue eyes brightened markedly. "The last victim smelled like permanent solution, right?" Starsky nodded and the blond continued to explain. "Did anybody check with her hairstylist to see if she'd been in there that day? That might tell us whether the smell was actually on her or whether it was on the killer."

"Sounds like that's our next stop, buddy," Starsky said, throwing an arm around Hutch's shoulders. "Let's clean up this mess and go over there. After that, I think it's time for some sleep for both of us."

"I can't argue with that," Hutch muttered, rubbing his eyes. He piled everything into a folder except the photograph of the last victim, which he slipped into his pocket. Then he thought again, bringing the entire file along anyway. So what if you weren't supposed to do that.

*************************

The gaudily dressed man who greeted them at the Salon Royale was more than what the duo would have considered as odd. It actually reminded them of the undercover stint they'd done as beauticians around the time Huggy had opened his own detective business. But this guy was so far past even the ridiculousness they'd put on that it was difficult to keep from laughing.

"Excuse me," Hutch said, interrupting the extended gushing the stylist was doing over the current weather. "Do you think you could tell me if Heather Harrison had an appointment here on the sixteenth of last month?" He flashed his badge as Starsky did the same, watching the peculiar man carefully.

"Well, sure, darling! Whyever didn't you say something sooner?" He accentuated his gestures as he pulled out an appointment book and laid it open on the desktop. Hutch turned to his partner, who slowly mouthed the word "darling" to his partner, smiling wickedly at Hutch's uncomfortable expression.

"Don't look at me like that!" the blond whispered to Starsky. "You'll make us both lose it!" At this prompting, Starsky decided to leave the questioning to Hutch, busying himself with reading the different signs around the reception desk.

"Yes, here it is," the clerk finally said, finding the correct page. "But I don't see any appointment for her on that day." He flipped the page again, saying, "and none the day before either."

"But she is a regular client here, right? I'm talking about this girl here." Hutch showed him the photograph of the girl, at which the stylist blanched.

"Yes, that's her. Only that was before she starting coming to us. We never would have given a girl her age such a horrible haircut. Long hair was much more flattering to her, so we kept it as long and wavy as we could. She had such beautiful hair--she didn't even need a body wave!" He seemed to notice Starsky again, silently examining the signs. "Oh, Sargent, dear! You must tell us who has been doing your perm! It's simply dreadful--all wrong for you! We would do a much better job of it here at the Royale!"

"Mr..." Starsky's eyes shot lightning bolts at the man.

"You can just call me Lee."

"Well, Lee, I'll have you know that I don't have a perm, and I like my hair just fine the way it is." He voice was quiet, but cold, and the man almost quiverred at the chill of Starsky's anger.

"So you're saying," Hutch asked, bringing the beautician's attention back to the case, "that she hadn't been in here, and that she wore her hair long now?"

"Why, yes. Of course that's what I'm saying, you silly boy!"

"Well, thank you, sir. We'd better be going." Hutch started to turn toward the door when Starsky called to him.

"Hey, Hutch! Look at this." The brunet pointed out a large sign on a wall of the salon, behind a shelf of shampoo bottles.

WE SPECIALIZE IN ALL-NATURAL HUMAN-HAIR WIGS

ALL LENGTHS AVAILABLE

ASK FOR DETAILS

"I thought that these were rare. How is it you can have a full inventory of them?" Starsky addressed Lee gruffly, the man taking on a scared expression.

"Well, actually, Officer, they are. The owner must have come up with a fantastic supplier, though, because we've been selling quite a few of them. He must be making a fortune from the sales, what with the high cost of them, especially the longer ones."

Starsky's and Hutch's eyes met, silently communicating, as Hutch motioned that they should leave. Starsky didn't understand why they were going, but said their goodbyes and left behind the blond.

By the time he arrived around, Hutch was leaning against the brick wall of the adjoining building, his eyes closed and his face pain-filled.

"What's the matter, buddy?" Starsky asked, concerned.

"Has this world really gotten so sick, so greedy, that...."

"That what? C'mon, let me in on it."

"Could somebody--this shopowner or the guy who sells `em to him--be killing these girls just to get their hair?" He swallowed hard and finally looked his partner in the eyes. "Could they be that sick?"

"I'm afraid we both know the answer to that one," Starsky answered, laying a gentle hand on the blond's arm and leading him back to the car. "We've got a lot of work to do, though, if we're gonna make this case stick." They climbed into the red car, Starsky still noticing how lost in thought his partner seemed.

"Hey, Hutch," he said suddenly, hoping to draw Hutch out of his silence. "When we get back to metro, why don't you track down the address of that salon owner, and I'll work on the victims. If he did kill those girls, he had to have seen the ones who ain't clients somewhere. If we can figure out where, that'll be a big help in gettin' the judge to issue us a warrant."

"Right, Starsk. I really want this guy!" The hate blazed in the blue eyes as Starsky saw his pain there as well.

*************************

Hutch was practically asleep on the phone as he waited for I&A to look up his request for information on the salon and its owner. He really didn't mind, though. His eyes had been trying to fall shut ever since they got back to the precinct; this was the first opportunity he'd had to accommodate their enticement of rest. Even Starsky's voice as he talked into the phone at his own desk wasn't enough to keep him from slipping off.

"Hutchinson!" the phone screamed at him, pulling him back into the world of consciousness.

"Uhhhhh...oh, yeah.... What'ya got, Hank?"

"The info you wanted, what else? The Salon Royale is owned by one Frederick Easton. The salon is making a huge profit, based on its business statement, as one of the most elite places in town. Mostly patronized by the very well off and showbiz types, although not exclusive to that." He continued to listen, taking notes, as he watched Starsky doing the same.

Starsky hung up his own phone a fraction of a second before Hutch. "Well, that's one in our favor. All the girls who didn't have their hair done there walked past it on their way to work, classes, or regular shopping. Some were at kind of odd hours, though. That could be a problem."

"No, it isn't. R&I just found out that the owner, Frederick Easton, lives in an apartment above the salon. He could've looked out his window and seen them at any time of the day or night. Think it's enough to get us a warrant?" Hutch looked doubtful, knowing they were reaching.

"Maybe not an arrest warrant, but I'll bet we could get a search warrant to check out those wigs. It could be enough."

"We just have to make sure it is enough," Hutch muttered, standing and following Starsky to Captain Dobey's office. They outlined everything on the case and what they'd found out, and with Dobey standing behind them on the matter, soon had a search warrant in hand for both the salon and the apartment above it.

Before leaving for the salon, taking along a patrol car as backup, Starsky placed a call to the coroner's office. "Hey, Ginny. What's the chance of my gettin' a hair sample from Heather Harrison. She should still be down there in a drawer."

"Hi, Dave," Ginny said warmly. She always welcomed a call from her favorite detective, even if it was only business. "The sample's no problem, but what do you need it for?"

"We're gonna search the place of the guy we believe did it. I thought it would be good evidence if we found hair that matched."

"That's a good idea, Dave, but it'll only work if you have somebody with you who has the expertise to be able to match them. Give me five minutes to get ready and I'll come along."

"No, wait!" Starsky shouted, trying to catch her before she hung up the phone. "It's too dangerous--and you're not a cop. You could get hurt!"

"Don't worry, Dave. I'll stay in the car until I'm called, I promise."

"Okay," Starky said grudgingly. "Meet Hutch and me in the parking lot at my car. Five minutes!"

True to her word, and excited at a chance to get out and see a little excitement, Ginny was right on time. Sandwiched in the front seat between the blond and the brunet, she felt a spine-chilling thrill as the Torino raced through the streets with the siren blaring. So this was police work--at least the way the infamous Starsky and Hutch did it.

The Salon Royale was closed, and all the doors were locked, including the one they suspected of running to the upstairs apartment. There were lights on showing through the drawn shades, but there was no answer to the pounding the officers inflicted on each of the doors.

"Well," Starsky volunteered, speaking to the nearest uniform. "I guess we let ourselves in. Go get a crowbar, Jerry. We might as well start on the beauty parlor."

Hutch took the bar from Jerry when he returned, sliding it into place and putting his weight into forcing the door open. Minutes later they were combing the place with a fine toothed comb.

"Nothing! Dammit!!" Hutch shouted savagely, bringing his partner to his side.

"There's still upstairs, partner," he whispered, trying to calm the blond. "Let's go get `im." Starsky pulled him by the arm until Hutch came willingly.

"Hear that?" Starsky asked, freezing on the stairs.

"No. What is it?" Hutch looked puzzled. He turned abruptly to silence the backup coming up behind him, still trying to hear what Starsky heard. "Shhhhhh!" They quieted and he listened again, this time picking up the faintest trace of a voice. "Could it be the television?"

"I doubt it. Sounds too real." His sneakers helped him climb the stairs without a sound. As they grew closer to the door, the voice grew louder, finally becoming discernable.

"Yes, Mrs. Witherspoon. Your wig will be ready first thing in the morning. You'll bring the payment, I presume? In cash, as I said...? Good, I'll see you then." He hadn't gotten the phone into the cradle when the resounding voice sounded.

"Police, Mr. Easton. Open up! We have a warrant to search the premises." Starsky smiled to himself--Hutch was always so good at those kinds of things.

They could hear scrambling inside the apartment, so, fearful that the culprit could be destroying valuable evidence, Hutch nodded to Starsky, who, with two well-placed kicks, forced the door open. "Freeze!" both detectives called, storming into the room.

The man who froze en route to the fire escape was not what they expected at all. Quite probably in his late 30's, he looked as squeaky-clean as a member of the Mickey Mouse Club. But his face radiated fear, like a trapped animal. Trapped animals are the most deadly, Hutch thought to himself, stepping forward to cuff the man.

From out of nowhere, Easton produced a pair of razor-sharp scissors, proceeding to take swipe after wipe at the approaching blond. Seeing Hutch's situation, Starsky began circling in the other direction, his eyes communicating silently with his partner's as he moved in the opposite direction on the arc. The stylist was deadly, but inexperienced and not terribly bright, because he failed to notice Starsky's movements until he grabbed the hand holding the scissors, confiscated them, and snapped on the cuffs. "Get Ginny up here," Hutch called to one of the officers after opening a closet to reveal several wigs on Styrofoam heads. "Let's hope she can get us a match."

By the time she made it up to the apartment, Easton had been removed and they had moved all the wigs to the dining room table where she began her examination. "This one kind of looks like what he left on the body," Starsky volunteered, pushing one toward her.

"Dave, you're amazing!" Ginny said after studying the wig closely. "This is a definite match."

"Johnson," he said to one of the uniformed officers, "get a crime lab team over here to collect the evidence and get these," he motioned to the wigs, "sealed as evidence." When he turned to his partner, he noticed Hutch's pallor was slightly green. "What'sa matter, buddy?"

"All those girls...so much ahead of them...killed for this...." He definitely looked like he was going to be sick now, so Starsky quickly dragged him from the room, into the cool air of the evening.

"Okay, take some deep breaths...again.... Again...." Hutch gulped the air greedily, his color seeming to improve with each breath. "Better?"

Hutch nodded, smiling faintly. "Let's go write it up so we can go home. This's been a helluva long case."

*************************

"And so, the victims he chose from his shop, he seemed drawn to double-initials. But when the pickings got scarce and he started killing other women he saw in the area, he had to choose what was available." Starsky finished telling Barbara about the case, both of them waiting for Hutch to finish getting ready to go to the picnic.

Wow! and to think that you guys got the killer because I can't keep track of my calendar! She laughed silently, but Starsky thought he saw a sadness behind her blue eyes. Well, anybody is entitled to a little depression once in a while.

"Well, it did have something to do with two very adept police detectives who were on the case too, you know," Hutch said as he finally emerged from the bathroom, showered, shaved, and dressed in a pair of white shorts Barbara had never seen before.

Are you sure you want to wear those, Ken? Barbara asked him. It could get cold later. Besides, aren't they a little...short?

"Who are you, my mother?" Hutch laughed as he pulled the knit top he wore down as far as it would reach over the shorts.

The Torino took them all to the park where the policemen's picnic was already in full swing. Barbara's presence brought bear-hugs from Captain Dobey and some of the officers she'd met at the station all those months ago. She sat with Minnie and Ginny as the guys played in an amateur softball game.

There was no scoreboard, but Dobey, armed with a megaphone, announced the score after each batter. When her brother hit a home run in the fifth inning, Barbara believed the runner he'd driven home had tied the game, but it was uncertain. All the spectators stood and cheered, but she couldn't tell what they were shouting. It made her feel uncomfortable and alienated, although she did everything in her power to cover it up.

The festivities went on into the evening, and at dusk a huge bonfire was built. Officers and their wives or girlfriends cuddled around it, enjoying a rare day of total and carefree rest. The fire-light bathed everybody in a soft warm glow. From her seat between Cal and Rosie Dobey, she could barely make out the wagon that had taken the children on hayrides earlier in the day. Suddenly, perched on the bales of hay inside, the firelight illuminated the shadowed forms of Starsky and Hutch, both holding the guitars she hadn't known they'd brought with them.

They began to strum the instruments, singing together softly, facing each other. The picnic goers swayed in time to the music that Barbara couldn't hear, wishing for a moment that either man would turn toward the impromptu audience so she could see what they were singing. As the singing ended and everybody drifted off toward their cars, she thought that she hadn't felt this alone since her early days at the boarding school. She watched as the fire was extinguished, waiting for Starsky and Hutch to join her. She didn't blame them--it wasn't their fault. It was a difference between her world and theirs. Bridget had warned her about it when she first announced she was coming to Los Angeles, and she'd sworn up one side and down the other that she'd be able to handle it. But more and more, it was becoming clear to her that she couldn't handle it--or rather, didn't want to.

Starsky and Hutch wrapped arms around her shoulders as the three of them walked to the Torino, the first stop scheduled to be dropping Barbara off at her place.

Would you guys come up, please? she asked as Starsky pulled the car up next to the curb. I need to talk to you both.

Starsky nodded as he shut off the car. Both men wondered what was going on, but since their work had taught them patience; they were willing to wait.

This isn't easy for me, Barbara said after they closed the door to her apartment. I want both of you to know that. I've had a decision to make for some time now, and I didn't tell you about it because I wanted it to be mine and mine alone. I've been offered a scholarship to Gallaudet in Washington, DC, and I think I'm going to accept it.

Hutch stood in stunned silence, a disbelieving look on his face. Starsky was a little more objective, but no less confused. "But I thought you liked it here. You were doing so well, and we..."

I know, Dave. I like it here very much. But I like it to visit, not to live. I don't feel I belong here, and Gallaudet is the best college for the deaf in the country. I could even get a job teaching there after I get my degree! I'll be with other people who are like me. She stood close to Starsky, looking deeply into the blue eyes she was so mezmerized by. We have fun, Dave, but I don't think we live in the same world, and I don't think we ever could. I'm sorry.

Barbara turned to her brother, immediately seeing the pain in his face. I know how much you've gone through to make this feel like home to me. I wouldn't change one second of it. I've got what I thought I'd never have--I found my brother. And he's a wonderful man! She had to stand on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck, hugging him hard as she felt him tremble under her. He held on tight, returning the hug, lifting the small woman off her feet.

"I can't even keep my own sister from leaving me," he said to Starsky through glistening eyes. "It's no wonder my record with women is so bad." He chuckled slightly, knowing that it was half true, as Starsky wrapped both Hutchinsons in his arms. When the tears were finally spent, they all released each other. "I want you to know that I understand why you're going, even if I'm not happy about it. Now that I've found you, you better be ready to get a lot of letters from me. I'm not going to lose you again, even if you are a continent away." Barbara watched his hands, realizing how much improved their sign was as a result of being exposed to her for a few months. It was still far from perfect, but it was wonderful all the same.

An idea sprang into Barbara's mind as she said goodnight to her brother and his partner, thinking of the perfect going away present for these two very special men in her life.

*************************

Starsky, Hutch, and Meredith stood waving to Barbara as she boarded the plane bound for the East coast. They'd said their goodbyes earlier, determined not to make a scene at the airport. Meredith saw how forlorn Hutch looked after she was gone.

"Would you two walk me to my car?" she asked.

"Sure," Starsky agreed, Hutch nodding his consent as well.

As they approached a green Pontiac in the parking lot, they were surprised when she went to the trunk instead of the driver's door. Meredith opened the trunk as they arrived by her side. There were two identical gift-wrapped boxes in her trunk.

"Barbara made me promise to give you these before you left, and to help you in learning to use them. I'm afraid it didn't take too much convincing for that part." She smiled sheepishly at the two handsome men beside her as she handed each a package.

"I remember this thing," Hutch said, examining the item once he'd removed the wrappings. "Barbara called it a TDD."

"Your memory is very good, Ken," Meredith commended. "It'll let you--both of you--talk to her without having to use the transfer service. It allows for much more personal conversations and a much higher level of privacy. You see, with these you can type directly to Barbara's TDD--without the transfer service operator hearing everything you say."

Starsky looked puzzled. "But I thought she said the operators were obligated to keep everything they heard confidential."

"They are, but it seems there's always a semblance of doubt for anybody using the service. She wanted to be absolutely sure she didn't lose touch with either of you." She smiled up at Starsky and Hutch. "Hey, this doesn't mean I'm not going to see you guys anymore, does it?"

"Are you kidding?" Hutch laughed, feeling much better because of Barbara's thoughtful gift. He knew it meant she had no intention of losing their relationship again, just because they weren't nearby geographically. "We've still got that class next semester."

"Okay, well, I guess I'll see you in ten weeks then." She looked slightly depressed.

"I think," Starsky told her as she started the engine and began to pull away, "that you'll hear from at least one of us well before then." Her smile shown brightly as she turned the car out of the parking lot, imagining which of the men Starsky had been talking about when he'd made his last statement. She looked out the rear view mirror and saw Starsky and Hutch walking toward the LTD Hutch drove, a comfortable arm around each other's shoulders. No matter what, she though, at least they'll have each other. It seemed so right that she never even questioned it anymore.

The End