Warnings: Don't think there's any -- well maybe an overdose of mush.

How do you measure fear? Have they some sort of Richter scale for it? One is for a little scary -- maybe taking a corner a little too fast in a car chase. Two -- what would two be for? Well maybe it's waking up with a hell of a hangover and remembering what you did the night before. Hazily recalling the bits and pieces that went into an evening that started out normally but ended up badly. Yeah! The small fear that makes itself known in the tiny piece of your brain, which doesn't hurt like hell. Will she, Jean or was it Joan, take the silly proposal as the stupid joke it was meant to be? Or will I have to explain very gently about my level of inebriation and in doing so hurt another lonely soul?

Three -- Oh level three -- I definitely remember this one and even now after all these years it still pops up. Career choice -- that's level three for me. Going through college and absorbing knowledge like a sponge but not being quite sure what to do next. I can still recall the fear as I stood in the gymnasium for the welcome talk on that first day as a police rookie. I remember too the feeling of ease that settled the butterfly wings in my stomach when you stuck out your hand and introduced yourself. If I'm honest, then I often hit level three on the scale. After a while being a cop isn't easy and some days the fear of making the wrong career choice niggles in my gut like a bad batch of clams. But usually a beer and a chat helps to push fear number three down.

Four -- I know this one well. Where I grew up failure was not seen as a learning experience it was seen as something ugly and shameful. I guess for most of my life I have been afraid to fail. My partner taught me that to fail is okay. He sees failure as a learning curve and through him I am learning to accept myself.

Five -- This was and I suppose still is a biggie with me. I always wanted the happy ever after fairy tale and for a while with Vanessa it looked like I'd got it. Then it -- no we -- fell apart and that's when I faced number five -- fear of loosing someone you love. After my divorce I pushed number five down far into my psyche but then I met Gillian. I was so in awe of the happiness I felt that number five pushed its way into my brain. After her death I was held together for a long time by the scotch tape of my partner's friendship.

Six -- The fear of pulling my gun from its holster. Every time I reach for my gun I feel the fear rise through my body. I've had to use it far too many times over the years and still I feel the familiar fear when my hand closes over the butt of the weapon.

Seven -- The older I grow the more aware I become of the inevitability of death. I fear the phone call that will come some day telling me that I have lost my Mom or Dad. I am a grown man but still I fear loosing them. I fear that my Mom will die before I get to tell her how much I love her and value her wisdom. I fear loosing my father before he realises that although we are different in so many ways, and that I have chosen a path he could not walk, that fundamentally he taught me right from wrong.

Eight -- We're really climbing the scale here and I guess this is a biggie with me. I fear loosing my friendship with my best friend. I guess that's a pretty soppy thing to say but it's true. David Michael Starsky is my best friend and he's the brother I longed for as a child. I fear that someday I will do something so stupid or cruel that our friendship will end and to envisage life without him at my side sends the tendrils of fear from my stomach up into my throat.

Nine -- Not backing up my partner. Just the thought of not protecting his back, in some alley or firing a second too late to save him, sends icicles down my spine. I play a scene in my head sometimes where he is running down an alley into the bullets of the bad guys but I don't lay down any covering fire. It's not a nightmare -- I did that once to him -- I had my mind on my life with Gillian and I froze -- but we survived.

Ten -- Oh God! This is the worst fear of all. I am terrified that my partner will die. That some cold breeze will extinguish the light that is my partner, David Starsky.

I am sitting in Dobey's temporary office in the hospital. I have just witnessed my partner's heart restarting. I sit in a fog of fear that feels so real that I am tempted to reach out and try to punch a hole in the inky blackness. But there is no opaque cloud here just the ugly reality of my worst fears. I sip the water from the paper cup that Dobey hands me and it is his voice that breaks through the blur. "Starsky's holding on, Hutch and that's what you've got to do too." The Richter scale of my fears has suddenly become redundant. I know what I must do -- I have to hold on for my partner because he's holding on for me.

The End