This story is written for entertainment purposes, and not meant to infringe on Starsky & Hutch.

Starsky dropped some bubblegum into the Halloween bag of a trick-or-treating vampire. "Okay. There's some for you."

----And some into a werewolf's bag: "Some for you."

----Some into a witch's bag: "And some for you."

----And to the troll: "Can you check into reversing the holiday so that you guys start giving US the candy?"

The troll poked its tongue at him through the mouth of the mask, and the rest of the little kids squealed with delight as they all clamored down his steps and headed for the next house.

"And hey!" he called after them. "Egg my Torino and you're Spam!"

The kids were chattering too loudly to hear.

Starsky closed the door, set the bowl of bubblegum on the coffee table, and picked up the TV Guide. "Scary movies," he said as he ran his finger down the page. "Let's see. We got The Exorcist and Rosemary's Baby." He glanced at his watch. "Where the hell are you, Hutch? You said you'd hold the popcorn and keep the boogies away."

A ring of the doorbell made Starsky toss the TV Guide aside and pick up the bowl of gum.

"Hold your horses," he said opening the door.

Surprise came to his face when he saw the tall Halloween ghost with a white sheet over its head.

"Hutch?" he asked as he tried to confirm the blue eyes.

"Trick or treat," came the muffled voice of the ghost as it raised a gun and fired a silent shot.

The impact to his shoulder spun Starsky around and off his feet.

The wounded detective landed on his side, gasping for breath and trying to raise his head as his shaking hand reached for the holstered gun on the coffee table.

But the ghost stood over him and shot him again, this time in the chest.

The detective's hand slipped from the coffee table and dropped to the floor.

After getting no response from nudging Starsky's head with the toe of his boot, the sheeted figure left the house without drawing attention.

Starsky tried to keep his eyes open, tried to make himself breathe.

Oh God, I can't move.

Nothing is working.

Sorry, Hutch.

Gunther again?

Sorry I punked out on you.

The doorbell rang again -- kids -- "Trick or treat!" -- but he was not able to raise his voice for help.

Just get to the phone and call Hutch.

All you have to do is tell him.

But it wasn't so easy to do. His body felt weighted down, as if with concrete -- too heavy to move -- tons of earth crushing his chest.

"Huh..."

He was on his belly, pulling himself an inch at a time across the floor to the sofa, and the phone, leaving a smeary trail of blood beneath him.

Somebody help me.

When he got to the sofa, he pulled himself up with leaden arms and reached for the phone, and, on his knees and collapsing forward, head on the seat cushions, he punched up a number.

Please be home.

He heard one ring.

Please pick up.

Finally, Hutch's voice: "Hello?"

Starsky held his chest, trying his best to keep the blood from spilling out. "Hutch?"

"Hey," Hutch grouched. "Anybody there?"

Say it out loud, he can't hear you.

"Well," Hutch grumbled, "trick or treat to you too--"

"HUTCH!"

Starsky's mouth opened but (remember the night Bellamy poisoned you?) nothing moved past his clenched throat.

Hutch's voice (he must have remembered too) was a mere breath on the line. "Starsk?"

And then there was nothing. No goodbye. No click of the phone. Nothing.

He's coming. He's already on his way.

A smile played at Starsky's heart.

Hutch radioed an ambulance, but he made it to Starsky's well ahead of it, spilling from his car -- "STARSKY!" -- and bounding up the steps to throw open the front door.

Halloween prank, is what his eyes wanted to believe -- Starsky on his knees and slumped forward onto the cushions, the telephone receiver lying loosely in his hand, something red (catsup, paint, juice, anything but blood) seeping from beneath his chest and soaking into the sofa -- but his mind grasped the dreadful truth.

"Oh my God."

Hutch ran to him and grabbed him from behind -- roughly in his panic -- and Starsky's body came limp and bloody.

Hutch felt for a pulse, found none.

"No," he sobbed stubbornly as he shoved Starsky onto his back and started CPR. "Not again."

Poundings -- "Trick or treat!" -- came at the door, and Hutch didn't hear it.

"Come on," he panted as he tried to force his own life into his partner's lungs. "Come on, Starsk."

Starsky remained lifeless and unconscious.

Hutch tried to bully a stubborn heart into beat again by shoving on his chest.

The sirens sounded outside but Hutch didn't hear that either.

"Starsky!" he screamed as his hand clutched Starsky's throat for a pulse. "Please!"

Hutch continued CPR even after he felt something in Starsky's chest give way, continued artificial breaths until he was nauseous and his lungs ached, until the paramedics forcefully moved him aside so they could take over.

Dobey was there with a hand on his shoulder, but Hutch, on hands and knees, seemed not to know it as he dry-heaved into his sleeve.

"Hutch, they're taking him. If you want to go with him--"

Hutch climbed to his feet and stumbled toward the door.

"Wait!" he shouted as he followed the paramedics and stretcher down the steps. "Don't stop! Keep trying!"

As they loaded Starsky into the back of the ambulance, one medic turned on Hutch like a pit bull. "Back off! We're doing all we can!"

Incensed, Hutch shoved him into the ambulance. "THEN GET THE HELL IN THERE AND SAVE HIS LIFE!"

Dobey held Hutch back. "Ride with me, Hutch."

Hutch struggled against him. "No. I'm riding with Starsky."

"The fuck you are," the medic said as he closed the ambulance doors.

Hutch started for the ambulance again but Dobey pulled at him. "Come with me, Hutch. They'll do what they can."

Hutch was already at the emergency room entrance and pacing when the ambulance arrived.

"How is he?" he asked as he stalked toward the back doors that were opening. "Is he all right?"

"We lost him once," one of the paramedics said jumping from the back.

Hutch's pale face went even whiter as his hand groped behind him. "Wha--?"

Dobey steadied him.

"Don't hope for much," the other medic finished.

The paramedics wheeled Starsky through the double doors.

"Hey," Hutch said following them. "I want to be with him."

The paramedics motioned to a security guard, who, along with Dobey, moved in front of Hutch. "Let the doctors work," the captain told him.

"Cap," Hutch pleaded into his face. "You know. If he dies... I have to be there. You know that. Please tell them."

It was touch and go. Wait and see. By a thread. Life or death.

Starsky was in surgery and they wouldn't let anybody in.

Hutch sat in the waiting room with his head in his hands, body tight and rocking, a pressure cooker ready to blow.

"Who did it?" Huggy asked quietly. He and Dobey sat side by side on the brown leather couch.

"I don't know," Hutch said with his head still down and his hands in his hair.

"Gunther could have ordered it," Dobey said grimly. "Even from a prison cell."

Huggy nodded. "I'll put my ear to the ground and see if--"

"Does it matter?!" Hutch yelled as he jumped to his feet. "Does it fucking matter who did it?! They want him dead, and it looks like they get their wish!"

Huggy started to say something else, but Hutch picked up a chair and threw it toward the window, where it crashed through the glass and went hurtling toward the parking lot below.

Hutch ran to the window and leaned out into the night air.

"COME ON, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! YOU WANT ME TOO? COME AND GET ME!"

A couple crossing the parking lot pointed up and commented.

Both Dobey and Huggy hurried to Hutch and pulled him back from the window.

"He fought so hard," Hutch said as he suddenly went limp between them, sinking to his knees as they held onto his arms. "He fought so hard to recover..."

"They brought him back in the ambulance," Huggy said as he crouched beside him, an attempt at hope.

Hutch shook his head no, back and forth. "The doctor said," he sobbed openly. "He said Starsky couldn't take anymore. What's he supposed to do?"

"He's got a chance," Huggy said squeezing his arm. "It ain't over yet."

A handful of nurses and doctors ran to see what the crash was all about.

"Ten percent chance," Hutch said wearily as he staggered away from Dobey and Huggy and went out the door, shoving past the ogling hospital staff. "What the hell is that?"

Hutch stood with his back against the wall, just around the corner from where Starsky was in surgery. The doctors wouldn't let him in while they worked, but they did allow him to be close by.

He barely heard their conversation, their machines, their instruments. He would give his own breath if it would help Starsky breathe. Give every drop of blood. His own heart. His life.

Gunther, Marcos, Bellamy.

Appalling how we mark time by the madmen in our lives.

How we measure the depth of our love by them.

"You might want to come in now," Doctor Fulton said as he lowered his green surgical mask. "I'm sorry. He's on life support but... there's not much to work with."

No time for a tirade, no time for demands to save him. No time for words. Time only for his partner.

Hutch crossed the room, his face a colorless shade, his eyes full of dread and helpless love.

A nurse stepped to one side, allowing Hutch to view the lion's share of his heart.

They had cut his shirt open, and now his chest was covered in blood and wires. IV, monitors, and machines crowded the bed. One dark hand dangled from the side of the mattress, and his face held an odd peace.

Sobbing quietly, Hutch leaned over him, arms encircling his neck.

"I love you," he whispered as he held the back of Starsky's head. "I'll love you till the day I die."

Oh how he wanted Starsky's arms to come up around his neck to return the hug. He wanted to hear a frightened whisper, a cry of pain, a bad dream, a boyish plea, a sarcastic impression, an impossible request that Hutch would always, always, somehow, fulfill.

"I'll miss you," Hutch breathed tearfully as he put a small goodbye kiss on his temple. "I'd go with you if I could."

Doctor Fulton approached him. "We need to get him up to Intensive Care."

Hutch nodded and lowered Starsky from his arms, then slowly backed from the room, feeling he would never see his sweet face again.

Hutch didn't know how he'd found the small hospital chapel, but he was here, and alone, and all he could do was fall to his knees at the altar and pour his heart out to God in the warm, intimate candlelight.

"Please," he prayed with tightly clasped hands. "Spare him. I'll do whatever You want. I'll follow You, live for You, serve You, till the day I die. Please save him. I vow. I promise. I swear."

It's happening again.

I'm losing him, and I don't think he can hang on this time.

Please.

Take me.

I'll be the sacrifice.

I don't know what else to do, what else to say, what else to give, except my life.

Dobey and Huggy found Hutch in the chapel where he'd prayed, pleaded, and begged himself into exhaustion on the altar, curled up on his side in childlike sleep, one arm clasping a Bible to his chest.

"Hutch," the captain said touching his sleeping shoulder. "Wake up. They think he's responding."

Hutch tried to snap to attention, but only managed to look disoriented. Dobey and Huggy pulled him to his feet and led him from the chapel.

"Thank you," he whispered as he kissed the Bible. "Thank you, God." He turned a peaked smile to Huggy. "He's going to be all right, Hug. I know he is."

Words floated around the nurses' station and doctors' lounges like confetti:

"Stronger."

"Amazing."

"Nine lives."

"Miracle."

"Hanging on."

Under water.

Or under the ground.

Separated from all that he knew and loved.

Just like before.

Alone once, but not anymore.

Because he was slowly -- a long second at a time, one precious breath at a time -- working his way toward daylight, toward sunshine, toward a familiar, comforting voice, toward a place where he wanted to be, and was wanted.

And along with the comforting sound came the sight, a picture of the sunshine he was struggling to return to, who paced slowly beside the bed, a black book (a Bible?) to his chest, his face full of calm hope.

It's all right. Hutch is here and everything is all right.

Hutch?

Hutch wasn't sure if his name spoken was aloud or in his head, but he looked toward the bed and saw Starsky's eyes fluttering open. His knees buckled with relief at the sight. "Oh God," he wept as he sank to one knee beside the bed. "Thank you." He picked up Starsky's lax hand and pressed it to his lips. "You're back, Starsk."

Starsky's forefinger moved a little, a bare touch against Hutch's cheek.

"Sshh," Hutch said as stroked his hand across Starsky's forehead. "I love you too. Don't try to talk. Just rest. I'm here and everything will be all right."

Starsky's eyes fluttered closed, and this time Hutch was at peace knowing they would open again.

An elderly pastor joined Hutch at the vending machine in the lobby of the hospital and waited his turn, looking at the Bible tucked under the blond man's arm.

"If I can be of spiritual guidance..." the man offered.

"That's kind of you," Hutch said as he lifted a bag of sunflower seeds from the tray. "But the The Boss and I have things worked out."

And the look of calm certainty on his face convinced the pastor.

One heart beat at a time, Doctor Fulton had said.

Hutch looked down at his slumbering partner, noting the purpling bruises around his mouth, saw his bandaged ribs -- injuries Hutch had inflicted upon his partner trying to keep him alive.

"Sorry, buddy," Hutch whispered as he brushed Starsky's hair back. "Didn't mean to hurt you."

He touched his own mouth and found it to be tender as well.

"Who shot you, Starsk?" Hutch asked as he leaned over him.

For the longest time Starsky didn't answer. He was so pale, weak, and groggy.

Just when Hutch thought he wasn't going to speak, a small whisper -- "Ghost" -- came from him.

Hutch moved closer, Starsky's breathing in his ear. "What?"

Starsky's eyes blinked lazily, but he managed to stay awake long enough to tell his partner what he knew.

"Ghost?" Dobey asked Hutch in the hallway outside Starsky's hospital room.

"That's what he said. Dressed as a Halloween ghost. Tall. Blue eyes. White sheet over his head." Hutch paused. "He thought it was me until he saw the gun. So the gunman and I have the same build."

"That's all we have?"

"That's it."

Dobey sighed heavily. "Not much to go on."

"No, it's not. But when you find out who did it, let me know."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I won't be here," Hutch told him.

Dobey waited for further explanation.

Hutch opened his Bible and took out a business-sized envelope. "My resignation letter, Cap. Sorry it's such short notice, but I have a promise to keep."

Dobey looked down at the envelope, then back at Hutch. "You'd better explain yourself pretty damn fast, Hutchinson."

Hutch took a deep breath. "I promised to live my life for God if He spared Starsky's life. I'm leaving the force. Going away for a while to figure out what He wants me to do."

Dobey stared at him. "This better be a joke."

"I don't expect you to understand," Hutch said as he looked down.

Dobey looked toward Starsky's closed door, an unspoken question.

Hutch raised his head. "I'll tell him when he's stronger."

"I ain't turned a thing," Huggy said to Hutch in the hospital's gift shop as he watched his blond friend looking through the various trinkets -- figurines, vases, coffee cups, model cars. "You and Starsk ain't exactly popular with the perps, so it could be any of 'em. But, bars or no bars, I place my bet on Gunther."

"If you hear something," Hutch said looking over the collection of greeting cards, "give it to Dobey or Starsky. I'm leaving, and I don't know if or when I'll be back."

The Laurel and Hardy porcelain figurine Huggy was considering for Starsky fell from his hand and shattered to the floor.

"Young man," the stern cashier said over her reading glasses. "You'll have to pay for that."

Without taking his eyes off of Hutch, Huggy pulled a credit card from his back pocket and handed it to her. "I'll take two." And to Hutch: "This better be a bad dream, Hutchie boy, 'cause I ain't in no mood for this particular reality."

Hutch gave a simple, easy shrug. "I made a vow to God: If He saved Starsky's life, I'd follow Him."

"You mind explainin' what follow means?"

"It's hard to put into words."

"Try it."

"I knew you wouldn't understand, Hug. But I have to do it."

"Hutch, I know you think you're doing the right thing, but dude, look at the big picture. Look what you're leavin' behind."

Hutch turned a cool shoulder to him and kept looking at the items on the shelves. "I'd rather leave it all behind as to lose it."

"You need to think this through. You're makin' a mistake."

But Hutch was more interested in picking out a gift for Starsky. Nothing seemed appropriate. Everything looked too cold or impersonal. Until he saw the stuffed puppy -- blue plush terrycloth with floppy ears and somber velvet eyes -- just the right size for his partner's hand.

"Somebody tricked you," Hutch said gently as he cupped Starsky's sleeping hand around the blue softness. "So here's the treat. To help keep the boogies away, okay?"

Hutch was bowed on one knee in the hospital chapel when the elderly woman made her way in with her cane and sat down on the front pew.

"Excuse me," she said in her rice-papery voice. "Are you available to pray with me?"

He looked around, then at her, not sure if she'd spoken to him or someone else, but realizing he they were the only two here.

"Uh..." He rose to his feet and sat beside her. "I'm not the chaplain. But I can go get him."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. "My mistake."

But in his white turtleneck, and with Bible in hand, and crucifix dangling against his chest, it was easy to mistake him for a man of the cloth.

Starsky could see that something was not quite right with Hutch, but didn't know exactly what it was. The blond moved restlessly around the hospital room, pouring a cup of water for him, opening the curtains, straightening the items -- tissues, stationary, newspaper, telephone -- on the bedside table. More attentive than usual. More compassionate. So eager to help. As if he'd never get another chance.

Uneasy. Stalling.

Like he had something to say. Or somewhere to go.

Starsky pushed himself up in the bed, and Hutch rushed to his side to help.

"Easy, Starsk. Don't overdo it."

Starsky still held the blue puppy in his hand. During the past few days, in his struggle for strength, it had become a link to Hutch -- a reminder, a security, a symbol. And as ridiculous as it seemed, his hand felt cold and naked without it. He was afraid to let go of it.

"Hutch, what's wrong with you?"

Hutch gave a half-smile, trying to disguise the truth. "We can talk about it when you're stronger."

"Is it somethin' the doctors aren't tellin' me? Is there--"

"God, no. Nothing like that. You'll be fine. Getting stronger every day."

Starsky's finger stroked absently at the blue terrycloth. "Hutch, I gotta know why you're walkin' around here like you got a one-way ticket to somewhere."

Hutch sighed deeply and pulled his chair over. "I've made some changes, buddy. I know it'll be hard to understand, and things will be very different for me. And I guess for you too."

Starsky sat up a little straighter to get a good look at him, holding the blue puppy close to his chest. "What?"

Hutch squeezed his shoulders. "No, Starsk. I don't want you to worry about this."

"Hutch, how can I not? You're holdin' out on me, talking about changes, and you tell me not to worry about it?"

"You know, this is exactly why I wanted to wait until you were out of the hospital."

Starsky gripped Hutch's shirtsleeve in one hand, breath coming quicker, face flushing deeper. "Hutch, tell me what's goin' on."

Hutch didn't look down. "I'm leaving the police force."

Starsky's weak fingers fell away from Hutch's sleeve altogether, and his flushed face turned pale.

"I made a vow, Starsky. To God. To serve Him, follow Him, whatever. If He would spare your life. And He did. So I have to honor that."

Starsky was shaking his head no but Hutch kept talking.

"I need to go away. I don't know for how long. To pray, study, figure out what I should do for Him. Maybe ministering. Maybe missionary work. I don't know yet. But I owe Him. Look what He did for me."

Starsky stared at him, hoping to see a doubt, a reluctance, a loophole.

But he saw only honesty and sincerity. Hutch had made up his mind, was wearing an exquisite cross, stained glass, on a gold chain around his neck -- expensive by the look of it -- several hundred dollars, maybe a thousand -- and he was going. Going wasn't the problem. He knew now what the problem was: The problem was saying goodbye.

Starsky looked down. "You didn't stop to think about my side of things?"

Hutch slowly shook his head no. "I couldn't."

"I don't want you rearranging your life because of me."

"Don't you get it, Starsk? I'd give it up for you. I made this promise for you. And I'm going to keep it. He saved your life."

Starsky shrugged a shoulder, trying not to let his tears show. "Maybe my life doesn't mean as much without you in it."

Hutch put a hand to the side of the dark head. "I'll always be in your life. No matter where I go or what I do."

Starsky looked down at the blue puppy in his hand. "This is a goodbye present, isn't it?"

"Starsky, it won't be forever. I'll be back. I want you to go on with your life and be the best cop you can be."

Starsky slumped back onto the pillow. "You think I want to be a cop without you?"

"Starsky..."

Starsky turned his head away, suddenly weak and nauseous.

"Starsk..."

Starsky lay an arm across his eyes, the one holding the terrycloth animal. "God, Hutch," he sobbed. "I'm not even out of the hospital and you gotta tell me somethin' like this?"

"I wanted to wait."

"Like it would make a difference? Man, if I'd known I'd come back to this..."

I wouldn't have come back at all?

"Don't say it, Starsk."

He didn't.

His quiet, open aching was too much for Hutch, who finally had to get up and leave the room.

Starsky continued to recover, but there was little joy in it. He was closing up, a figure content to sit by his hospital window looking out most of the day.

Hutch came every day to help, but it wasn't the same. Minutes not devoted to Starsky were spent reading the Bible or praying.

And when it was time for Starsky to be discharged, Hutch arrived at the hospital only to discover that Huggy had already taken him home.

Dobey carried the pizza into Starsky's kitchen, where he sat on a stool staring at the clock on the wall. "Starsky, I had the old couch moved out of here. Your new one's coming today."

But Starsky wasn't impressed. Not with the pizza, and not with the captain replacing the couch.

"Don't worry," Dobey said kindly. "He hasn't left yet. He'll come to his senses."

"His senses?" Starsky asked with his eyes still on the clock. "He's not crazy."

"You're defending him now? What do you call it when a man walks away from his entire life? His job, his home, his friends, all that's important to him?"

You mean me, don't you, Cap? How can he walk away from me? Isn't that what you're really trying to ask? How can he leave me high and dry, fresh from the hospital, still in bandages, with only the home nurses to take care of me, and the Halloween ghost still not apprehended?

And, Cap.

Maybe.

Just maybe I want to ask those questions too, but I'm too afraid of the answers.

"You haven't asked him to stay, have you, Starsky?"

Eyes still on the clock, he shook his head no.

Starsky answered the knock at his door and cracked it open far enough to see that it was Hutch.

"Yeah?" Starsky asked through the crack.

"Can I come in?"

"Suppose you'll knock the door down if I say no?"

"No. I'll go away."

"You're goin' away anyway, so just go now."

Silence between them.

"Starsk, I'm leaving today, and I don't like the way things are with us. Can I try to explain it again? I don't want this to hurt you. Just let me in, okay?"

Starsky opened the door and stepped aside. Hutch came in and immediately noted how pale and strengthless he looked. His untied shoes, plus unbuttoned and un-tucked shirt, told Hutch he hadn't had the stamina to do any of it.

Starsky held his chest and looked around as if for a place to sit down.

"I want you to stay with Huggy for a while," Hutch told him. "Till you get on your feet. Till they catch whoever--"

"I don't care what you want. You don't care what I want."

Hutch grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward. To shake him, shove him. But he didn't. Because Starsky was expecting it. And didn't seem to care. "Don't do this to me, Starsky."

"I'm not doing anything to you."

"I made a promise and I can't break it."

Tears jumped to Starsky's eyes and he shoved Hutch back a step. "What about me! Where does that leave me!"

Hutch grabbed for the doorframe, staring at him.

Starsky collapsed onto a footstool and buried his head into his hands, weak sobs catching in his throat. "You promised me too. Said you'd always be here for me."

Hutch stepped toward him. "Starsk..."

Oh God, Hutchinson, what are you doing to him? He's never shoved you before in his life.

Hutch crouched in front of him. "I'm sorry."

"Just go," Starsky said wearily without raising his head. He held his chest again.

"Starsk, I don't want to leave you like this."

"Just go!" Starsky cried as he jumped up, and, tripping over his shoelaces, went to the wall and leaned his forehead against it.

Hutch wanted to walk over to him, to talk to him about it, but knew it would only make matters worse.

He waited to see if Starsky would say anything else, and when he didn't, turned and walked out.

Starsky heard him going down the steps.

Just ask him to stay.

That's all you have to do.

One word.

Stay.

And he would.

You know he would.

Even Cap knows that.

But that would be like blackmail.

Manipulation.

He has to stay because he wants to, not because you ask him to.

Hutch had the trunk to the tan Ford up and was packing suitcases into it when the Torino parked a few car lengths behind him.

"Hutch?"

Hutch heard Starsky's voice but pretended not to.

Don't look at him, Hutchinson. Don't let him say anything.

Because if you look at him, if he says something, he just might convince you to stay, or make you feel guilty enough to, and you can't break your promise, he means too much.

"Hutch?"

Hutch stopped, with one hand on the raised trunk, the other on his suitcase.

Don't turn, don't look.

But he did turn, and he did look, and Starsky, who earlier today hadn't the strength to raise his arms high enough to button his own shirt, raised them around Hutch's neck, squeezing as hard as he could, which wasn't very hard at all.

"Bye, Hutch," he whispered into Hutch's ear. "I'm sorry I shoved you."

Hutch held him tightly, but not too tightly because of his chest. "It's okay, Starsk. You didn't hurt me."

Hutch broke the hug and opened the car door, and that's when he noticed something on the street that must have fallen from Starsky's pocket.

The blue terrycloth puppy.

Starsky tried to bend down to pick it up, but Hutch stopped him and leaned over to pick it up for him. Smiling, Hutch handed it to him.

Starsky pushed it into his jacket pocket again. "Thanks."

Hutch got in the car and drove away.

Starsky watched the tan Ford go down the street, and as it disappeared around the corner, couldn't help but feel that the sunshine itself had disappeared along with it.

Huggy parked his car behind the Torino and saw Starsky slouched on a step halfway up the stairs that led to his front door.

"What the hell!" Huggy called as he hurried up to his friend.

Starsky was pale, holding his chest, looking disoriented as he lifted his eyes to Huggy.

"Hey," Huggy said crowding next to him on the step and putting an arm around him. "You don't look so hot, dude. Must be hurtin' bad. What the hell you doin' out here?"

"Dropped it," came his vague mumble as he held his chest. "Can you get it for me? I tried, but..." he smiled a little. "Didn't get very far."

Huggy looked around for what he could have dropped, and saw the blue plush toy at the foot of the stairs.

"No prob," Huggy said as he quickly descended the stairs, then came back up with the puppy.

Starsky's hand was open but he was in too much pain to reach for the toy.

"Here," Huggy said closing Starsky's hand around it and helping him to his feet. "Let's get you inside for some major painkillers and a good night's sleep."

But Starsky stopped on the step and clutched weakly at Huggy's arm. "He's gone, Hug."

"Yeah," Huggy answered, unable to hide the sadness and bitterness in his voice. "Sucks. I would've been here sooner, but traffic gave me hell."

Starsky held the plush animal to his chest for fear of dropping it again. "Gonna stay for a while? 'cause, you know, they haven't caught that ghost guy yet, and, well... my shoulder like it is, I don't know how I'd handle a gun..."

"Kiddin' me?" Huggy asked as he assisted Starsky to the door. "I'm stickin' to you like flypaper. I'm crashin' here with you till you're back to your old pain-in-the-rump self. And don't worry about handlin' no gun. Hutch gave me a spare. I wanted the Magnum, but he had to turn it in to Dobey. If the blue-eyed ghost man comes back to finish his job, I got a couple of bullets with his name on 'em."

Starsky tried to laugh, but a whimper came out instead.

They stopped, one of Huggy's arms around Starsky, the other hand on the doorknob. "Starsk, I don't mean to be barkin' at you when you're feelin' bad, but I got to ask you one question."

Looking woozy, Starsky gave a bare nod. "Okay."

Huggy paused, then forged ahead. "Why didn't you ask him to stay?"

Starsky closed his eyes, and Huggy didn't know if it was from the pain, or from the question itself. "Has to be his idea, Hug."

Huggy considered the answer for a long time.

"Get me inside, huh?" Starsky asked as he slumped against Huggy's side. "Everything's slidin' sideways on me."

Days of healing went by. Huggy felt odd taking care of Starsky.

It should be you, Hutchie boy. Not me.

Not that he minded it. He didn't. He'd always wanted a bigger hand in helping Starsky out, especially after Gunther, and until now neither of them would let him in edgewise. Hutch was always the primary caregiver when it came to Starsky, and Huggy had learned to live with it. Now Huggy was the one taking care of business, free and clear, and he didn't like it. Not this way.

The understudy finally gets the big role when the star bows out.

I accept, and I'll do my best.

But I wish I could've inherited it some other way.

Huggy brought a steaming dish of lasagna over to Starsky's kitchen table.

Starsky sat near him, but looked out the window.

"Special of the day, my man," Huggy piped cheerily. But it wasn't a very big dish, because as usual, Starsky wasn't eating very much.

"Starsk?"

Starsky finally heard him. "Huh?"

"Gonna eat with me? You know I cook the meanest lasagna in town."

Starsky joined him at the table and dished out a spoonful, then merely picked at it with his fork.

"You don't have to eat that to make me feel good," Huggy told him.

"It's okay," he said, and managed to eat a bite or two.

"We need to get you out of this house," Huggy said as he poured two glasses of iced tea. "You're startin' to remind me of a love bird who's lost its mate."

Starsky only produced a half-hearted smile. "Nah," he said glumly as he swirled the ice in his tea. "Maybe tomorrow."

The visiting nurses checked his temperature, blood pressure, and condition of his wounds every time they came.

"He's not mending as quickly as we'd like," they would tell Huggy privately on the doorstep as they left. "And we're worried about his emotional healing too. He seems to have no interest, no energy. Doesn't he have anything to look forward to? Can you give us some insight so we can talk to him?"

Lady, there's only one person who can fix him, and he's not here.

"He'll come around," Huggy said with surety, and could have kicked himself for lying to her.

Days later Captain Dobey came to the house with a bouquet of flowers.

At least Huggy had coaxed Starsky into coming outside. He was sitting on the top step, looking a little stronger but still pale, the blue plush toy stuffed bulkily into his shirt pocket as he sat with a glum chin in his hand, his eyes watching the street.

"From Hutch," Dobey said handing the colorful bundle to Starsky. "Asked me to pick them out personally. Said the arrangement had to be just right."

Starsky's face brightened as he sat up straighter and took the flowers. "Oh yeah?" he said as he read the card which simply read: A surprise from Hutch.

Starsky looked the arrangement over. The florist had added feathery orange butterflies to bounce happily over the yellow wildflowers.

"Wow," Starsky said as he pulled himself to his feet with the stair railing. "These'll look good with the painting." He pushed his face into the fragrance and inhaled. "Man, that's good."

Dobey couldn't help but smile. "It took three flower shops to find what he wanted."

"Thanks, Cap. Want to come in? Huggy went to the store for some rootbeer."

Dobey looked at his watch. "Actually, no. I don't have the time. But I did want to ask you if you're coming back to work."

Starsky's hand was making its way to the blue plush toy, as if for comfort. "I um... well, I don't know yet. Gotta think about that."

Dobey nodded. "All right. I won't rush you. But you need to think about it. And think about looking at some mug books so we can get your man behind bars. I still don't like you staying here at this house like a sitting duck. It's not safe for Huggy either."

Starsky spoke weakly, without taking his nose from the flowers. "Ghost Man's not gonna run me out of my own home."

The weak voice pricked the captain. Normally Starsky would have yelled a remark like that.

"No use talking to that thick head of yours," Dobey said as he turned and went down the steps. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

"And get your mind on looking at some mug books."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Dobey's eyes twinkled over his shoulder. "Enjoy your flowers."

Starsky heard the knock at the front door, but it took him a long time to respond. Partly because he was in so much pain, and partly because he didn't know who would be on the other side of it. He stood to the side of the door, his grip tightening around the blue terry cloth in his hand. "Who is it?"

An unfamiliar voice answered: "David? It's Danny Monohan."

Starsky didn't reply.

"I worked with Hutch while you were in the hospital...."

More silence.

"After Gunther."

Starsky's grip tightened on the stuffed animal.

Oh, I know who you are, Danny Monohan.

Hutch told me what a good partner you were.

He opened up to you instead of me.

He needed you when I was in the hospital and wasn't there -- couldn't be there -- for him.

Why would I want to talk to you?

You took my place.

Not for long, no, but you took it.

He didn't open the door. "What the hell do you want?"

Danny cringed at the sharpness in the weak voice. This wasn't going to be easy. Starsky hadn't wanted to meet him, and Hutch hadn't wanted him to. And all three knew why. Danny had somehow found a place in their world -- in Hutch's world -- that hadn't included Starsky.

"Dobey sent me over. I have some mug books he wants you to look at."

"I thought you were a priest? Since when do priests lug around mug books?"

"Why don't you let me in so I can explain."

Long moments passed, and Danny was about to speak again when the door slowly cracked open and a pair of careful sapphire eyes peeked out, then down.

"Look at me, David."

And he did.

His eyes.

Green, not blue.

The door opened a little more and Danny was soon standing in the apartment, adjusting to the darkness of the room. Every curtain was drawn. Every light out.

Starsky shuffled noiselessly to the couch.

"So, Danny Monohan. Ex-priest. Explain."

A command.

Danny stood, nervously juggling the heavy mug books in his arms.

"Dobey called and asked if I could help."

Starsky looked up. "Dobey calls, so you just leave the priesthood? Change your mind again and decide to be a cop?"

The questions tore into him. He could have been a suspect in an interrogation room.

What am I doing here?

What is Your plan this time, Boss?

He shifted again.

"Can I set these down?"

Starsky motioned toward the coffee table. Danny put down the books, getting a closer look at the man on the couch.

Wrinkled T-shirt, slept in.

Stubble on the chin, hasn't shaved in a few days.

Dark circles under the eyes.

Breaths, short, strained. Wheezing really.

One hand holding his chest, the other......a stuffed animal. A little blue puppy.

Starsky became aware of the scrutiny. "I said explain."

Danny saw the drain of energy as Starsky tried to add anger to the words.

"I was a cop for ten years, a detective for six of those. Sergeant first class for three."

"I didn't ask for your credentials. "

"I'm sorry."

The words came out as a whisper. "Don't apologize, just answer my question."

Danny watched Starsky's fingers clutch at his chest. The dark blue eyes closed against an almost visible wave of pain.

"Do you want me to get you anything? Water? Your medicine?"

The curly head shook no. "Not time yet. Another hour."

God, Hutchinson, where are you? How could you leave him?

Danny knelt in front of the couch.

Starsky felt a hand reach under his, taking hold of his fingers. A voice, so soft, so caring, wove its way through the fog. "Here, squeeze my hand."

Hutch?

Hutch, is that you?

He opened his eyes, focusing on the figure bent before him.

Eyes...

Green, not blue. Not Hutch.

A whimper: "You're not him."

Danny felt his chest tighten. He was trespassing again.

"No, I'm not Hutch."

If he had the strength, Starsky would have pushed him away, Danny knew. But all he could do was fall further into the cushions, as far from the intruder as possible.

"Why are you here?"

"To find The Ghost. You need to look at the mug books. Dobey asked me to help."

"Another Divine mission?"

Starsky's body started a slow drift to the right.

"Just a favor."

"I'm Jewish, you know."

Sliding a little further with each passing second.

"Same God, different sons."

"All I saw were his eyes."

Almost on his side now. Eyes closing.

"That may be enough."

Blue terrycloth clutched to his chest. Voice barely over a whisper.

"'kay. In a minute. I need to close my eyes, need to rest, just for a minute." His head landed on the arm of the couch. "And I don't need a partner." Mouthed more than spoken.

"Maybe I can just be a friend."

Asleep.

Danny lifted Starsky's feet into the couch, surprised at the lightness of the body, then carefully covered him with a blanket lying on the floor nearby.

He stood and watched the steady rise and fall of the chest. Absently he reached down to tuck the blue puppy further into the now-lax grip.

"I'm not sure what the plan is this time, Boss, but I hope You're stickin' close to me on this one. I have a feeling it's gonna get worse before it gets better."

They came to a red light. Danny looked over at the man next to him. Starsky sat slumped in the seat, his eyes fixed on something out the passenger window, the blue puppy still firmly in his grip.

He somehow didn't look right. Danny looked a little closer. Sad, pale, yes. But that wasn't it.

He looked even closer.

It was the car. This was the wrong car. He looked out of place in the old green Dodge Dart that the church owned. He didn't fit.

"We could have taken your car." He didn't mean to upset him. He wanted to be nice. Let him know he cared.

But it didn't work.

The hand gripped a little tighter on the blue terrycloth. "I don't want you driving my car."

The light turned green. Danny continued toward the police station.

A few minutes passed.

"You sure you feel up to this?"

"I wouldn't have agreed to go if I didn't." Blue eyes still looking out the window.

"You didn't see any possibles in either of those books?" Danny nodded slightly towards the back seat where the mug books lay.

"If I had, don't you think I would have said something?" The sarcastic response echoed back from the glass.

Danny continued.

A few more minutes went by.

"Uh..Sta.....do you want me to call you Starsky?"

"NO!" The dark head turned in Danny's direction, sapphire eyes upon him "No...Dave.... David... call me David."

Danny took his eyes off the road and looked at him, understanding in his face.

Starsky didn't want to see it. He turned back to the window.

"David. Are you hungry?"

"No..." The hand holding the puppy raised to his chest.

Danny continued driving, his eyes resting for just a moment on the small statue of Jesus on the dashboard.

Any time, Boss. Feel free to jump in anytime...

The squad room was busy with officers taking complaints, making phone calls, discussing cases.

Dobey emerged from his office, squeezing past two uniformed rookies who were in a heated discussion over a case, and nearly tripped over the janitor's cart.

"Can't you come back later?" the captain growled at the man.

"That's what you told me this morning, Captain. This is later."

Dobey grumbled something under his breath and motioned for Danny, who was pulling more mug books off a shelf.

"How's he doing, Monohan?" he asked as he nodded toward Starsky, who sat at the squad room desk surrounded by stacks of mug books and photographs of convicted felons.

"Oh, hi, Cap." Danny juggled the books sliding around in his arms.

Dobey, smiling a little at the sight, repeated the question: "How is he?"

"Okay, I guess. He's lookin'. Nothing yet."

"Not that."

"What?"

"I wasn't asking about the case. How is Starsky?"

A look, almost guilt, came over Danny's face. He remembered Dobey's phone call.

I need your help, I need you to bring another one of my boys back to me.

He had a job to do and so far things weren't going very well. Starsky was proving a tough case.

"Well?" Dobey stood his ground, wanting his answer.

"He's.....um, well...he's..." The green eyes stayed on the books in his hand, unwilling to face the man in front of him.

The captain grunted. "He's stubborn. That's what you're trying to say. Right, Monohan?"

Danny slowly raised his head, "Yeah...that about sums it up."

Dobey nodded, a knowing look on his face. "Don't give up, Danny. I don't want to lose that man, and right now you're about the only hope I've got."

"I won't, Sir."

I can promise I won't give up. I just wish I could promise not to fail.

Dobey nodded again, then turned and walked into his office. Danny waited until he left, then let his eyes wander upward. "Really, Lord. Anytime. Honest."

"Excuse me," Starsky said as he reached past the janitor to pull another mug book from a shelf.

The janitor smiled an apology and moved his broom aside, and it was then, when their eyes met, just briefly, that Starsky's heart shrank in his chest and he stumbled back.

Danny caught him from behind, setting him upright. "Dave, what is it?"

Starsky's eyes were wide and full of fright as his finger came up and pointed to the janitor, who was now wheeling his supply cart casually out the door.

"David?"

Starsky's hand was to his mute throat. Officers in the squad room were beginning to stare.

Danny moved into his line of vision, concern heavy in his voice. "David, talk to me."

No response, the dark blue eyes just remained staring at the door.

Danny took him by the arm. "Come on David. Come on. I'll get you out of here. I'll take you home." He was scared now.

Dammit, Hutch!

Starsky's feet were stalling on the floor as Danny pulled him, his eyes on the janitor's back as the custodian made his way down the hall with his supply cart.

Danny's heart skipped a beat as he felt Starsky's arm dampen with sweat under his hand. He thought the man was going to have a heart attack on the spot.

"David, what is wrong with you?"

Starsky didn't answer.

Lord, please. Don't let anything happen to him. He has to be okay. Please.

Water, he thought. A drink of water. Water on his face. It will help. He looked around and saw the men's room. "In here," he said as he moved Starsky through the door.

Once inside, Starsky broke away from him and headed for a stall, where he leaned over to retch into the toilet.

Danny held onto him. "For God's sake, please tell me what is happening."

"It's him," Starsky gasped as he spit.

"What?"

Starsky ran a sleeve across his eyes. "The janitor."

"You mean--"

"He's the Ghost Man."

Danny tore from the men's room in pursuit of the tall janitor with the cool blue eyes.

But the supply cart had been abandoned in the hallway.

He knows.

He knows Starsky recognized him only by his eyes.

Danny was torn between pursuing the janitor and going back to Starsky.

Ghost Man can wait.

He'll flee.

Probably gone by now.

Consulting with Gunther or one of his men on what to do.

Danny heard Starsky's thin cry -- "Danny!" -- and the green-eyed detective returned to the men's room.

Starsky was leaning against the wall, fumbling in his jacket pocket.

Danny helped pull the soft blue puppy from the pocket and placed it in the grasping hand. "Come on." He reached under Starsky's arms, holding him up, and Starsky didn't resist. "I'm getting you out of here. Then I'll check into Mister Blue Eyes myself."

"Tell Dobey," Starsky mumbled, leaning on Danny, drained from his encounter and from the retching.

"I will."

Officers continued to stare as Danny put an arm around Starsky and helped him down the hall, their eyes lingering on the blue plush toy.

Starsky sat on his bed trying to shrug his shirt off his shoulders, the movement causing obvious pain. Danny walked over from where he had been standing in the doorway. "Here, let me help you."

Weak with pain, the voice still snapped. "I can do it."

Danny gave a half smile. "I know." He helped anyway.

"Now finish getting undressed. I'll be right back with your medication." He went to the kitchen, filled a glass with water and grabbed the bottle of pills off the sink, and headed back.

He stopped at the door to the bedroom. There was Starsky, perched on the side of the bed, trying to kick off his shoes. The laces still tied. "I'll do that." Danny set down the water and bottle then knelt to untie the blue Adidas.

"I said I don't need help!" He was out of breath from effort.

"I know. I know." Danny responded patiently as he removed the shoes. Pants were next. He reached for the man's belt. A dark hand batted him away. "I can do the rest."

Green eyes laughed at the stubbornness. "Are you sure?"

Starsky answered by undoing his jeans then slowly standing to slide them off, his hand on Danny's shoulder for support. He looked up when done, triumph in his eyes.

A laugh accompanied the words. "Guess you showed me."

"Smart ass," was the response. A laugh accompanied that too.

Danny smiled.

Small crack in the armor, David?

Danny pulled back the covers and helped Starsky into the bed. He gave him his pills, and waited until he washed them down with water. Then, putting a pistol in his hand, he covered him.

"Safety's on," he told him. "And Huggy's on his way over."

"I'll be okay," Starsky said tiredly. "Go get that fuckin' ghost."

"I'll do my best."

"As long as your best includes nailin' the bastard, (you really know how to cheer a guy up, Hutch.) (Well, I do my best.) then that'll be fine." His eyes drifted shut.

Danny stood for a moment watching him, his eyes resting on the blue puppy tucked safely under the sleeping arm.

That's all that's left, isn't it?

Ghost man took it all away.

Time for an exorcism.

Shaking his head, he wandered from the room, thinking he heard a small murmur, unguarded by sleep -- "Thanks, Hutch," -- behind him, but couldn't be sure.

In pain. On the floor of the restaurant. Shot by mobsters.

You wouldn't stay put, Hutch. I was on the floor and they told you not to move. But you told them. They wanted to kill you but you didn't care. You couldn't stand seeing me hurting alone on the floor. You wanted to be with me, and you would die for it.

In pain. In the back of the restaurant. How had he gotten here?

I hadn't -- couldn't have -- walked.

You, of course.

You carried me.

I heard what you said, Hutch.

Keep him covered, warm. His face cool.

And if he needs me.

You call me.

Hutch?

I need you.

I'm calling.

"Hutch?"

A groggy hand slid from beneath the pillow to grope in the darkened room.

"Hutch?"

But met only air.

Dobey stared at Danny. "He identified the janitor? Bill Wesley? He's got to be kidding. Bill's worked here for a year now. We see him every day. If he thinks..." But the look on Danny's face told him he was convinced of Starsky's conviction. "We'll never prove it, Danny. A guy with a sheet over his head? How many men have blue eyes and have Hutch's build? If Wesley walked in here right now, I don't think we'd have enough to arrest him. Starsky is sure he's the one, but a defense attorney will rip that to shreds. Blue eyes and a certain build is not a positive ID, and it doesn't place him at the scene, and it doesn't give him motive." He waited to see if Danny said anything else, and when he didn't, said, "What if Starsky is wrong? What if he over-reacted?"

"Then we've lost nothing by checking him out. I'll get on the computer. We've got to tie Wesley to Gunther to have it stand up."

Danny and Dobey accessed personnel files on the computer.

Dobey: "Bill Wesley worked as janitor for James Gunther five years ago. After Gunther's arrest, he got a job at this police station and has worked here for a year."

Danny, grim sarcasm: "Guess Gunther promoted him to hitman, huh?"

"Is it a crime working for James Gunther?" Wesley asked as he lit a cigarette in the interrogation room.

"No. But it's a crime if you try to kill David Starsky for him."

Wesley shrugged. "I'm not your man. A lot of people who worked for James Gunther had to get other jobs after he was taken over by that other corporation. Wasn't my fault. I'm just a working stiff trying to make a living, and you're trying to pin attempted murder of a police officer on me. Based on what, my work history, my build? Give me a break."

"So why'd you take off like you did when you saw Starsky's... Dave's... reaction?"

Wesley remained calm. "You kidding? I thought the guy was having a stroke. Looking at me like I had leprosy or something. What was I supposed to do in a roomful of cops?"

Danny sighed and looked at the clock on the wall, then back at Wesley, who filled his lighter with fluid from a tin can. "Am I under arrest, Detective?"

"No, this is just an interrogation."

"Ask me anything you want. I got nothing to hide."

"Where were you Halloween night?"

"Home."

"Doing what?"

"Giving out candy, what else?"

"Alone?"

"Of course alone. I live alone."

"Anybody verify that?"

"Yeah, how about a dozen kids in my neighborhood?"

The janitor smiled and brushed lint from the name patch -- Bill -- stitched across his chest pocket. "The shooter's a guy with a sheet over his head, huh? Blue eyes like me? Build like me? Hell, that could be anybody. Could be Hutchinson himself. And unless you got something more to hold me with, unless you got some eye-witness, or some fingerprints, or some other stuff tying me to the scene besides Starsky's wacked-out perception, you need to excuse me, because I got some mopping to do. He ain't pinning anything on me just because he wants to see somebody go down over Gunther pumping him full of bullets a year ago. He's paranoid. I could go through this building right now and bring back ten people with my build and blue eyes."

"Right," Danny sighed tiredly. "But he didn't point out ten other guys. He pointed out you. And I'm going to dig until I find out one way or the other."

Wesley gathered his cigarettes and lighter and put them in his pocket. "Peace, man."

Danny had no choice but to let him go.

Danny held up a picture of Bill Wesley for children on the playground to see. "Know this guy?"

A girl in pigtails smiled at the photo: "Sure, that's Mr. Wesley. He's a cleaning man."

"Carries buckets and stuff to his truck every day," a gap-toothed boy added.

Danny nodded. "Did any of you kids stop at his house for candy on Halloween?"

A third child: "Yeah."

"Was he home?"

A fourth child: "Yeah."

A fifth: "And he gave us a lot of candy too."

The detective was disheartened. It still wasn't enough.

Come on, Huggy. Danny. Somebody. I don't feel so good here by myself. Where is everybody?

Starsky heard the light rap at his front door but wasn't sure he could even get out of the bed to go answer it. His chest ached despite the painkillers, and his head was too foggy from all the medication to figure out why.

"Comin'," he said, and wondered if he'd said it loud enough.

Chest pain from bullet wounds or the beginnings of heart failure?

You're overdoing it.

Getting worse instead of better.

And you don't give a damn, do you?

Matter of fact, it feels pretty fucking fitting.

"Hold on," he wheezed as he rolled out of the bed. He held onto the dresser to steady himself.

A little girl's voice accompanied the next knock.

"Officer Sharky? Are you home?"

Starsky tried to say that he was, to wait a second till he could get to the door, but his chest hurt too much to allow such an intake of air.

He made his slow, painful way across the bedroom and into the darkness of the living room. No light on. No open curtains. No sunshine. He leaned against the furniture for support. One hand held the blue terrycloth to his chest. The other held the pistol at his side.

He opened the door and leaned against the frame, looking down at a little girl of about four or five years of age he'd given Halloween candy to. Kimmy. She and her mother lived in the house across the street. Only, now, she was out of her witch costume and dressed in a pink jumper and hair ribbons.

"Officer Sharky?" she asked as she raised big gray eyes to him and held a tiny polished fingernail secretively to her lips. "Sshh. Mommy doesn't know I crossed the street by myself. But I looked both ways. I promise."

He nodded and tried to give her a smile, but it just wouldn't come. "Sorry, honey. I'm all out of candy. You better go back across the street to your mommy."

She shook her head no. "I saw you sitting outside on your steps, and you looked so sad. Mommy said it's 'cause your bestest friend moved away, and 'cause that mean old Halloween ghost shot you with his quiet gun."

He blinked down at her, sure the girl was a trick of his imagination.

"Huh?"

She held up her finger like a gun. "I watched him take his costume off when he was done shooting you."

"You know what he looks like?"

She nodded.

"You saw me getting shot?"

She looked down. "I was hiding behind your chair on the porch. Wanting to spy on you 'cause it was Halloween. I was afraid to tell you." She started crying. "I'm sorry for spying, Officer Sharky. It was the only time. I promise."

He couldn't kneel down to her and console her, which is what he wanted to do, but he did tuck the little blue dog under his arm long enough to put his hand on her head. "It's okay, Kimmy. I'm not mad at you. I'd like you to tell my cop friend Danny what you saw, okay? Tell him everything, and don't leave anything out. Come on inside and we'll call your mommy, and then she can take you to the police station to talk to Danny, and you can tell a sketch artist what he looks like."

Kimmy's mother came and took her little girl to the police station to talk to Danny.

Starsky wanted to go with them, but didn't feel up to being out twice in one day. He did, however, manage to set a pot of water on the kitchen stove to boil. Huggy was on his way over to fix spaghetti, and Starsky had promised to eat an entire meal with him tonight.

But as was custom these days, when he sat down at the kitchen table to wait for Huggy, it wasn't long before he fell asleep, his head bobbing drowsily and sinking lower and lower, until his cheek rested on the place mat and his eyes were closed. His gun, and blue dog, of course, were still in hand, resting easily in his lap.

Danny got in the green Dodge. It had been a long day, and he didn't feel any closer to keeping David safe than he had that morning.

He rubbed at his tired eyes taking a minute to go over the case. What did he have? Anything?

Bill Wesley. Right build. Right eyes. Starsky's ID. And a dozen kids who'd swear he was home handing out candy the night of the crime.

Kimmy Masters, Starsky's neighbor. A little girl. What? Five? Six? She saw a man about Wesley's size get into a dark blue car after taking off a sheet.

She thinks the car had two doors, but maybe four. Or maybe it was a station wagon like her mommy's.

And she thinks the man had brown hair, but maybe it was lighter. But he was tall like Wesley.

How would she do testifying in front of a jury?

Sighing, he gripped the steering wheel and laid his head back on the seat.

What is it, Lord? What am I supposed to be doing?

Solving the case?

Taking care of Starsky?

Holding his hand?

Getting him back on the force?

Or helping him to move on?

Hutch.

What about Hutch?

His eyes found the small statue of Jesus on the dashboard.

"I'll do whatever You need. I'll go wherever You send me. Just tell me.....tell me what it is You want me to do."

He waited a moment, as if expecting a vision, or a sign. Something. But nothing came.

Discouraged, he started the car and turned in the direction of the church.

"Like taking candy from a baby," Bill Wesley said as he took the pistol from Starsky's lax hand and stuck it into his belt.

"Huh?" Starsky said as he raised his groggy head.

Wesley smashed his own pistol across his face, knocking him from the chair and onto the floor. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth and he groaned in pain, but still tried to get up.

Wesley kicked him in the stomach and he went down, gasping.

"Just do it," Starsky panted up at him from the floor. "If you're gonna do it, then do it."

No sheet this time. But Wesley's blue eyes were as cool as ever, almost friendly as he aimed the pistol at Starsky's head.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, cop?"

Starsky didn't answer him.

Wesley kicked his side, making him yelp out.

"Wouldn't you!"

On his side, Starsky moaned into the floor.

"I'll kill you all right," Wesley assured him as he nudged Starsky onto his back and reached down for Starsky's wrist. "But not yet."

"Oh fuck," Starsky murmured lazily as he gave a half-hearted attempt at pulling his wrist free. "What the hell are you gonna do to me?"

Wesley dragged him to the back door, cuffing both wrists to the doorknob.

"Prick," Starsky mumbled as he hung without struggle from his wrists. He tried to hold his head up to watch Wesley, but his neck quickly tired and he was resigned to let it drop backward.

"No," Wesley said as he walked to the stove and picked up the pot of boiling water. Then walked back. "This makes me a prick," he said as he poured the scalding water on him.

Starsky's mouth opened for a squeal of pain but Wesley stooped and clamped a hand over it, snuffing out all the sound.

Starsky stiffened with the pain and struggled to breathe, eyes rolling back, small whimpers pushing against Wesley's hand.

"Shut up," Wesley growled, but the small sounds were already dying out as Starsky blacked out.

Wesley stood up and reached on the floor for a can of gasoline. "Gunther said I could enjoy it," he rasped as he opened the can and poured the contents over Starsky's body. "So here's the grand finale."

He tossed the can aside and hunted in his pockets until he found a lighter.

"Put the motherfuckin' thing down," a distinct voice sounded behind him.

Wesley turned to see a tall black man with an angular face, and intense, mica-shiny eyes.

A pistol shook in Huggy's hand, but he steadied it with both fists. "I said put it down."

Wesley laughed and flicked the lighter on. "I go, he goes."

"I'm a bettin' man," Huggy said as he pulled the trigger.

Wesley crashed back into the kitchen cabinets, then fell dead to the floor, the lighter skidding a safe distance across the floor.

A tiny mouse squeak came from Starsky, and he still couldn't raise his head. Gasoline dripped from his hair. He began to gasp and cough. "Hug? Why -- why'm I hot? What -- what'd he do?"

"Oh fuck." Huggy said as he knelt next to Starsky. The skin around his eyes was red and swelling, and the splash burns ran down his face and neck, but were concentrated mostly on his chest and stomach. He tried to open Starsky's shirt to assess the degree of burns, and the adhering cloth told him all he needed to know. "Oh man."

"Cold," Starsky whispered. "Huggy, I'm cold. Help me."

Huggy moved over to the dead man and searched his pockets until he discovered a keyring, sorting until he found one small enough to be a handcuff key.

"Son of a bitch!" Huggy yelled shakily as he slipped one arm under Starsky while unlocking the cuffs with his other. "Fuckin' bastard!"

Huggy caught Starsky as he fell against him and reached for the phone, dialing 0 for the operator. "I got you, baby. Hold on for me. I'm gettin you some help."

Starsky moaned against him. "He burn me? Pour water on me? Huh? What'd he do? I can't open my eyes, Hug. What's--"

Huggy took his jacket off and wrapped Starsky in it, trying to rock him in a soothing motion, the receiver wedged under his chin as he waited for the operator to pick up. "Sshh. It's under control. Don't worry no more about that motherfucker, 'cause I got him for you. You just stay with me."

"David?"

Danny walked into the room.

Starsky sat in a chair next to the bed, toward a dark window, his eyes bandaged.

Danny moved closer -- "David." -- No response.

A little closer. "David, I need to talk to you."

Nothing.

He was by his side now, kneeling, his hand hovering over the burned and gauzed arm.

"David, please."

Still no response.

Danny looked at the bandages.

On his eyes. His arms. His chest.

The burns. Second, third degree.

"Painful. Very painful," was what the doctor had said.

And the eyes. "Don't know about the eyes yet. Have to wait and see."

Danny breathed another small prayer -- please, Lord, keep him whole -- how many had he said in the last few hours? He had lost count.

Your eyes.

How I wish I could see your eyes.

I was just learning to read them. To interpret them.

He lowered his head, his hand resting gently on Starsky's arm. "David, Huggy's.... Huggy's at the station. I need to ask you a few questions."

Still no answer.

Danny swallowed

Hutch, where are you?

"David, I need you to tell me what happened."

The arm was pulled from below his hand. Danny could almost see, almost feel the wall coming down to shut him out.

Hutch.

Only Hutch is allowed.

"Starsky." The name slipped out, but so much care in the way it was said.

The bandaged head turned slightly towards him, a small crack in the wall. Danny saw it, felt it but then it was gone. Patched up. Strong as ever.

Damn you, Hutch.

He got up and slowly left the room.

He turned the green Dodge onto the dirt drive. A long, twisting road leading to a little cottage perched on a cliff, overlooking the sea.

Perfect religious retreat, Danny mused. Far away from all real life.

He pulled the car up next to the tan Ford. "Well, he's home at least."

Danny sighed. He was not looking forward to this. How do you tell a man he made the wrong choice? And that it almost cost his best friend his life? How do you do that?

He rubbed at his eyes. He knew all too well what this would do to Hutch. He just hoped it didn't completely destroy his friend, that he could keep him together somehow.

He looked out toward the cliff. A movement caught his eye. A lone figure staring out at the sea. A sparkle -- sun on metal. Something in his hand. A cross? Danny closed his eyes. "Please Lord, guide me well on this one." He exited the car.

He approached the tall figure. Blond hair blowing, Bible in one hand, cross in the other. He called out -- "Hutch" -- but the wind pushed his voice away. So he came up to him silently, placing his hand on the broad shoulder. The gentle touch didn't even cause the man to jump. It was as if he had been expecting it.

"Danny! I was just thinking about you. How funny you should come by. How did you find me?" The blue eyes, the color of the sky, were calm, open. The features tan, relaxed.

You really think you are doing the right thing, don't you, Hutch?

You just want to help him. Whatever it takes.

Danny felt his throat tighten.

"How's Starsky, Danny? Have you seen him? I know he hasn't come to terms with what I'm doing, but hopefully he'll realize... maybe you could talk to him? He may not open up to you just yet, but..."

Hutch trailed off at the somber look on his friend's face.

"Starsky's hurt, Hutch," Danny told him quietly. "He's in the hospital. The Ghost Man... I mean... Bill Wesley... the janitor at the police station?... He got to Starsky again. Burned him. They're worried about his eyes. Huggy had to shoot him. They're questioning him now..."

Bewildered, Hutch staggered, but Danny grabbed his arms, the Bible and cross falling to the ground. "Oh my God... Danny..."

"You should have been there."

The words were probably too wrong, probably too emotional, but they came out anyway, and Danny didn't care.

Hutch's eyes roamed crazily about. At the sea, the sky, the ground. And finally caught on Danny's face. "Oh my God. Don't tell me that, Danny. Why wasn't anyone with him? How did they get to him? I don't--"

Danny swallowed a lump in his throat. "And you know what? He's not even mad at you. Hurt, yes. Crushed, yes. But not mad."

"Fuck you! I don't need you to tell me anything about Starsky's feelings!"

"Then why? Why did you leave him in his condition? Help me understand, Hutch, because I'm really having a hard time here."

It was building. Pain, fear, anger, love -- all in Hutch's voice at once. "I MADE A COMMITMENT!"

"You left a commitment!"

"I--" Hutch stared at him, already starting to crumble.

There's no good way to do this, Danny thought. No right way, no easy way. Just do it. He has to see. He has to know.

"What were you thinking? What were you trying to accomplish?"

"I made a deal...." Hutch's voice came out shaky, he grabbed Danny's coat trying to stop the slow decent to his knees. "I swore to follow Him. To devote my life to Him. I made a promise. I had to keep the promise. So Starsk....so he wouldn't die...it felt right. My life for his."

Danny closed his eyes, tears fighting their way out, his throat closing up more.

Dear Lord, please.

Hutch went to his knees, Danny with him, his hands moving from Hutch's arms to his face. "Hutch..." His green eyes, bright, found the blue ones. "Hutch, what made you think God wanted your life for Starsky's? He loves you both. He had you right where He needed you, doing exactly what He needed you to do."

Hutch lowered his head and reached for the ground as if he were trying to get as far away from heaven, and his oath, and himself, as he could.

Danny pulled him up, finding the blue eyes again. "Hutch, you have been serving the Lord your entire adult life." His voice was soft. He gently wiped a tear from the blond cheek. "Starsky needs you. And the city needs you. And the Lord needs you -- not staring out at some ocean contemplating miracles -- but back doing what you do so well. Helping those truly in need and watching over another of His soldiers. The one with the dark curly hair. You're the only one who can do it. He won't talk to anyone else. Believe me, I know. I've tried." A small smile played on his lips. "Please."

Hutch looked at him, tears in his eyes. "I just wanted him to be okay....I just wanted him to live...."

"I know."

The warmth of God's love filled Danny's heart.

Show your friend. Show him you understand.

Danny almost heard the words.

He placed his arms around the blond man's shoulders, pulling him close, close enough to feel the warmth, and love, and care. "He knows, Hutch. The Lord knows. He understands. It's okay."

Hutch fell against him. "I just wanted him to live. No more pain."

"I know. It's okay."

Danny held him until he felt the shaking subside, until he no longer heard the tears.

"I have to go to him, Danny. Right now. He needs me."

The green eyes smiled. "Yes. Let's go." He pulled away, and helped Hutch to his feet. They walked silently to the green Dodge.

The Bible and cross lay on the ground.

Huggy was at the front desk of the police station, waiting for the desk sergeant to return his belongings, when Hutch and Danny walked in.

"Huggy?" came Hutch's tentative voice.

Huggy barely glanced at him, then turned back to signing forms and gathering his wallet, watch, ring, and other belongings that had been in his pockets.

"Hug--"

Huggy punched him in the face before Hutch could finish his name, and the blond man went reeling backward to the floor.

"Was it worth it?!" Huggy shouted at him. "You left Starsky wide open! And you left me to fuckin' kill somebody!"

Danny and the officers moved toward Huggy.

"Don't!" Hutch ordered from the floor, and they retreated.

Panting, Hutch raised up on his elbow, back of his hand to his mouth. "I'm sorry."

Huggy reached down for his shirt and pulled him to his feet, the anger melting away to sadness and confusion. "Don't be sorry," he said quietly. "Just be here."

Danny started to say something, but thought it best just to let them work it out.

Hutch was out of the green Dodge before Danny even brought it to a complete stop at the front entrance of the hospital.

"Hutch," he said as he exited the car, trying to keep up. "I want to prepare you..."

But Hutch was already inside the building.

Hutch walked down the corridor to Starsky's hospital room.

Hutchinson, how could you do that to him, when all he's ever done was stand by you, through thick and thin, better or worse, sickness and health, no matter what it was.

He would never desert you like you did him.

He's the one who knows what a vow is.

Danny stepped off the elevator and saw that Hutch was already standing inside the doorway of Starsky's room.

He started to follow Hutch in, but decided they needed time alone, so he pretended to be interested in the display of pamphlets on the wall.

Hutch paused in the doorway of his partner's room.

Starsky stood by the hospital window, dressed to leave, bandages around his eyes. The blue puppy in his hand was now a little smudged and worn from handling.

Hutch's heart ached at the red splash patterns that he saw on Starsky's face and neck. He moved softly into the room.

Starsky took a small step back from the quiet presence he now felt in front of him. "Who is it?" he asked nervously.

He's scared, Hutch thought. He doesn't know who it is. Gunther's man is dead and can't hurt him anymore, and he's still afraid. Won't he ever feel safe again?

He hated the faint, weak sound of his partner's voice, because he knew he was responsible for most of it.

"It's me," he answered in a trembling sigh, and touched Starsky's arm.

Starsky took another step back, but his back found the wall and he could go no further.

"Starsky," Hutch whispered to him. "I know I hurt you. I just... thought I was doing the right thing. And I realized... you're my vow, Starsk. God doesn't want me to abandon the person I care most about. And that's what I did."

Starsky's hand came up and his fingers hovered tentatively at Hutch's chest, as if to touch him, as if afraid to find out if he were real.

God, Starsk. Tell me to go to hell. Tell me to jump off a cliff. Punch me. Spit on me. I deserve it.

Starsky's fingers lightly grasped the material. "It's okay, Hutch."

Hutch touched the side of his head. "It's not okay, Starsky. This is my fault. If I'd been here... God, your eyes."

You're just so sure of yourself, aren't you, Hutchinson? You knew he'd forgive you no matter what. How smug. You didn't even apologize. If you had walked in here without saying a word, he'd have forgiven you. Love means never having to say please forgive me because he already has. Love means you better be tough enough to take whatever it sends your way, because it's not always easy, and it's not always pretty. Love means he loves you even after all you hurt him, neglected him, abandoned him.

"Please forgive me," Hutch whispered.

Starsky lifted his bandaged arms as far as he could, and Hutch put his arms gently around him, pulling him close.

"Let me, buddy. I owe you a big one."

Starsky's fingers patted at Hutch's back "Doc says the skin around my eyes was burned," he said into Hutch's shirt collar. "But my vision should be okay when the swelling goes down. Says I can go home but I gotta leave the bandages on for a while."

Hutch held the back of his head. "Thank God it's not permanent." And he tensed suddenly. "Fucking ghoul is what Wesley was."

Starsky tried to soothe his tense back while trying to control a shudder of his own. "It's okay. Huggy got him. But... he's sorta havin' a bad time with it. He never killed anybody before, you know?"

"I know. I talked to him. I left him in a bad position too. But he'll be okay. He's just glad he saved your life. And so am I."

Starsky still clung to his neck. "Know what?"

"What?"

"You smell like the beach. You been to the beach?"

"I've been to the beach."

"And Old Spice. Went all out, didn't you?"

"I went all out."

Hutch patted his back gently. "Uh... Starsk. You want to let go now?"

Hutch felt Starsky's body shaking with silent laughter against him. "Starsk? What's so funny?"

Starsky's uncontrollable chuckle made Hutch laugh too. "Starsky? What the hell is it?"

"Can't," Starsky laughed against his shoulder.

"Can't what?"

"Can't move my arms down. They're stuck. They hurt."

"Good grief."

Very carefully Hutch took Starsky's arms and gingerly moved them down, wincing when Starsky said "Ouch!" through his chuckle.

"Big baby," Hutch accused as he gently pulled back. He took Starsky's shoulders and smiled. "Are you ready to blow this joint? Danny and Huggy are going with us to this new ice cream parlor I found. I think it was made just for you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. They got, like, dozens of flavors, and they crunch up your favorite candy bar in it."

"Oh yeah?"

"If you think you can eat it without spilling it all over yourself."

"Well, if I have any trouble, you can spoon-feed me."

Hutch ruffled his hair. "In your dreams."

Hutch and Danny were holding up the line with Starsky's order.

Hutch studied the menu on the wall. "I want the chocolate double brownie fudge ice cream with Reese's Peanut Butter cups in it." Hutch watched as the clerk began preparing Starsky's dessert. "Put some peanuts in there too."

The clerk nodded.

"And some marshmallow cream," Hutch added.

The clerk nodded again.

"With a cherry on top."

Danny smiled. "You forgot the caramel, butterscotch, and chocolate chips."

"I'm thinking about it." He looked over at Danny, laughter in his eyes.

But it didn't last. The blue eyes turned serious and the smile disappeared. "Danny..." Hutch looked down, suddenly very interested in the napkins in his hands. "Danny... I want to thank you."

"It's alright, Hutch."

"No. No, it's not alright."

Hutch raised his head, his eyes suddenly too bright. "I want to thank you for taking my place, for stepping in and taking care of him. And for understanding what I did. And for helping me understand."

Danny squeezed his shoulder, "No problem. It's my job. Just don't make a habit of it. I don't think hanging out with a priest is David's style."

Hutch smiled. "Deal."

Huggy sat in the booth across from Starsky, his eyes on the two men at the counter: Danny -- his hand on Hutch's shoulder. And Hutch -- smiling, laughing like he hadn't a care in the world.

He looked over at Starsky. Arms, neck, chest -- eyes -- burned and bandaged.

He looked down at his own hands. The hands that had killed a man.

He had killed a man.

A man that had almost killed Starsky.

Because Hutch wasn't where he should have been.

He looked back at Starsky. He and Hutch had walked into the place laughing and joking as if nothing had happened, Hutch guiding his unseeing partner to the booth, one hand affectionately squeezing the back of Starsky's neck, his other carefully draping his jacket over Starsky's shoulders, all the while reading off the flavors of ice cream and candy bars, making suggestions, and kidding him about his eating habits.

And, Starsky. Smiling. For the first time in weeks. Smiling.

And that stupid blue puppy in his hand.

"It don't take much with you, does it?"

"What?" Starsky turned his head in Huggy's direction.

"I said it don't take much with you. Blondie fuckin' leaves you in the lurch, you almost get killed because of it, but you're ready to take him back. No questions asked."

The anger in Huggy's voice threw Starsky back. "Huggy..."

"What? What, Starsky? Tell me what is goin' on inside that burned-up head of yours that makes what he did ok."

"Huggy, it's not like that." Starsky absently squeezed the soft puppy.

"Oh? What's it like then? And don't tell me it didn't fuckin' hurt. The last thing he gave you, a fuckin ten dollar stuffed toy and you been hangin' onto it like it was a goddamn gold piece. Tryin' to keep him close, grievin' like he was dead."

Starsky shuddered, Huggy's words cutting through the bandages, through the darkness, and right into him.

Huggy continued. "Explain it to me. Tell me why it's okay he did what he did."

Starsky's fingers rubbed at the blue terrycloth in his hand. "I wouldn't think I'd have to explain to you."

"I watched you dyin' day by day, bit by bit." The dark eyes searched the bruised and bandaged face. "Try."

The words were soft. "He did it for me, Huggy. Everything. Everything he did, he did to help me. That's all that matters. Not his actions, but his reasons. He left for me, and now he's back for me."

Huggy looked at Starsky's fingers rubbing the soft terrycloth.

Not his actions, but his reasons.

Huggy reached over and played with a terrycloth ear.

Not his actions, but his reasons.

"He does love you." It was meant to be a thought, but he said it. And that was okay, because Starsky smiled.

"Yeah."

Huggy smiled too, his dark fingers dropping the puppy ear so they could wrap around Starsky's hand. "How long are you gonna hang onto that thing?"

"I don't know."

"It's getting all dirty."

"I'll wash it."

"Yeah."

"You did the right thing, Hug. Shooting Wesley. I know it may not feel that way now, but you did."

Huggy smiled. You're a smart man, Starsky, a very smart man.

"Yeah. I know."

The four of them sat in the booth. Two of them were drawing stares and chuckles from the other customers.

"Starsky, I can't believe the mess you are making." Hutch removed the ice cream-soaked napkin that was tucked into his partner's shirt, replacing it with a clean one.

"I told you to feed me," Starsky smiled.

"Oh brother." Hutch grabbed the spoon from Starsky's hand and proceeded to feed him a glob of ice cream.

Snickers came from both Danny and Huggy. It was a very funny sight, Starsky with his napkin bib, his hand wrapped around the blue puppy, and Hutch feeding him ice cream. Both men fought hard to keep from losing it all together.

"They're laughing at you, Starsky."

"They're just jealous."

"Why? Because they have to feed themselves?"

"Yup." Starsky opened for another mouthful.

The four of them emerged from the ice cream parlor, all but one holding their stomachs and complaining of being full enough to bust.

"Now that my appetite's back," Starsky announced, "time for the main course."

"You gotta be kiddin'," Huggy griped. "I'll have to go on a diet before the day's over."

They approached Hutch's tan Ford, and Danny's green Dodge.

"Okay," Hutch said to Danny. "You take Starsk home. I'll take Huggy."

Starsky shook his head. "No way. I'm not ridin' in that car again. Bad enough I have to ride in that big tinker toy of yours."

Hutch grinned. "Are you saying you actually like my car, Starsk?"

"Well... the lesser of two evils..."

Hutch stuck his tongue out at Danny. "Ha. He likes my car better than yours. Come on, Starsk. I won't subject you to that green monster." He winked at Danny and steered Starsky toward the tan Ford.

Danny looked at Huggy. "Would a paint job help? I could paint it red like the Torino."

Huggy shook his head no. "Then it would just be a red monster."

In the hallway outside Dr. Fulton's office, Danny and Huggy paced, Danny's hands clasped at his chest, Huggy's hands fiddling with any object they could find.

The bandages were coming off today. Starsky would be able to see again.

Or so the doctor said.

Starsky believed it. Hutch was a doubting Thomas.

Danny took a deep breath.

Thank you, Lord.

For guiding me.

And them.

Help Huggy to heal too.

Help all of us heal.

He heard their happy voices raise in volume on the other side of the door:

"Thanks, Doc."

"You're the best."

"Thank you so much."

"I told you it'd be okay, you big crybaby."

"Thank God."

"I'm sorry, Starsk."

"Hey, you don't have to say that. It's over. You're back. Forget it.""

"Let's tell Danny."

"Hey, he ain't so bad."

"Oh yeah? You like him, Starsk?"

"Well, he's not my partner. And he's not your partner. And don't tell him I said this, but he'll do in a pinch."

Danny grinned when the door opened and the two of them came into the hall.

Starsky watched his partner grab Danny in a ferocious hug. "Thanks again, Danny," the blond detective said quietly.

Danny patted his back. "Oh, no thanks necessary." He winked at Starsky over Hutch's shoulder. "Having you back where you belong is thanks enough."

When Hutch and Danny separated, Starsky set the blue plush toy on a bench to shake Danny's hand.

Starsky didn't say thank you, but Danny saw it in his eyes.

"Lookin' good," Huggy grinned as he clapped Starsky on the back.

When they moved quietly down the hall toward the elevator, Danny and Huggy noticed that Starsky had left the puppy behind. Both glanced over at Starsky, whose only response was a smile.

Thanks, guys, they read in his face. But I don't think I'll be needing it anymore.

End