Shame

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Starsky emerges from a six-month undercover job for the FBI asking for Hutch’s help.

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If shame had a face I think it would kinda look like mine.
If it had a home, would it be my eyes?
Would you believe me if I said I’m tired of this?
Well here we go, now, one more time…

— I try, Lifehouse

The bullpen was nearly empty, as the day shift had already gone home and it was that in-between time of the day. There was a light on in Dobey’s office, but other than that, the only other soul in the room was Hutch. The peace would be short-lived, of course, because the night shift would be straggling in at any time, but until then, he had the place to himself.

Sighing, Hutch rubbing his eyes tiredly as he sifted through the mail. The day had been horrendously long and he was more than eager to get out and go home. He’d been pulling double-duty for so long that he couldn’t remember the last time he had an actual night off. He was looking forward to taking a hot shower for so long that the water ran out and then having some real food and going to bed.

You’re living it big now, Hutchinson, he thought wryly.

Maybe he’d stop at Huggy’s so he wouldn’t have to cook. One envelop in particular caught his attention, drawing his thoughts away from food. It was small and plain, with only his name typed on the front. The stamp was upside down, denoting trouble, but there was no postmark, which meant that it had been delivered somehow.

Frowning, he opened it and found a single piece of 1″ x 1″ paper inside with a typed message:

M and TH
11:45pm
wiler St. Alley

His heart thundered in his chest and Hutch instantly looked over at the desk that used to be Starsky’s. The desk that had stood empty for the last six months because Hutch refused to work with another partner and Dobey hadn’t had the heart to force one on him, despite regulations.

The note was from Starsky, no question about it. No, the real question was whether or not he would meet the man who had spit on everything they’d worked for, for so long, and then walked away.

Be honest, Hutchinson, you didn’t leave him any other choice.

The silent, internal words were as damning as always and Hutch winced at the familiar refrain.

“Hutchinson!”

Tearing his eyes from Starsky’s old desk to Dobey’s face, Hutch automatically stuffed the paper in his shirt pocket and ripped up the envelop before throwing it away. “Yeah, Captain?”

Dobey’s rounded, dark face looked at him expectantly. “Did you forget something?”

It took a few seconds for Hutch to remember that before he left, he was supposed to interview a suspect brought in on a string of robberies, one of which had wound up killing a civilian. He was so thrown by the note from Starsky that he couldn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, “Right. Yeah, I’m on it, Captain.”

Dobey frowned at him, but thankfully didn’t comment as Hutch stood and hurried out of the detectives’ area.

In the hall, walking towards the interrogation rooms, Hutch couldn’t help thinking, What the hell is going on, Starsky? I haven’t heard from you since you stormed out of here. Since I sent you packing. What is going on!?

* * * *

The alley was dark and dank and smelly, just like most of the other city alleys and Starsky’s nose wrinkled as he waited. Patience wasn’t really his strong suit, but for this, he would wait. For this, he would wait days, never mind hours. He was filthy, despite the pristine condition of his clothes and his washed body. He felt like he’d been dipped in the sewer and left there over night.

That was the problem with his current line of work, there was no moral certainty like before, when he’d been Hutch’s partner. He was so tired of it. So tired of everything. He was about ready to scream and break and rail at the slightest provocation, and he knew it. Leaning in the lee of the building, he waited, part of the shadows that hid him from sight. Everything was so screwed up that he didn’t know what to do. The only thing he knew was that he needed a break. He needed to get away, just for a little while. He needed…

A car pulled into the alley without its headlights on. It was plain, nondescript and battered, a car like any other for someone who couldn’t afford better. It stopped a short distance away and from it, Hutch climbed out, searching the alley with a frightening intensity. Through the darkness, somehow, the blue eyes latched onto Starsky and the other man strode down the alley to stop directly in front of him.

For a long moment, Starsky couldn’t speak. All he could do was stare at his partner and ache to hold him, but pretty sure he’d get another punch in the jaw if he tried.

Hutch returned the stare without faltering and after a long, long moment, sigh shakily and muttered, “You stupid son of a bitch, Starsk.”

And just like that, Starsky knew everything was going to be okay. Hutch’s arms opened and Starsky went into them, clutching at the taller man like a lifeline. He was shaking, couldn’t stop it, and breathed in the clean smell and solid male presence of his partner.

“It’ s okay, partner, you’re going to be fine,” Hutch murmured, over and over, his hand rubbing up and down Starsky’s back.

It was several minutes later that he felt strong enough to pull away. Clearing his throat, Starsky whispered, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you.”

“Feds, right?”

“Yeah.”

Hutch’s jaw tightened. “What’re you really doing?”

“Undercover with Samonelli’s crew. I’m an enforcer,” Starsky answered.

“Samonelli!”

“Hutch!” Starsky hissed, looking quickly around the alley.

Practically vibrating with anger and worry, Hutch’s mouth clamped shut. He looked away and asked in a much softer voice, “How deep are you?”

“I, I killed someone last night, Hutch,” Starsky whispered, feeling the cold numbness re-enter his body as he remembered it. “He was bad, one of the worst kind, but…like a dog. He was just trying to get away and I, I shot him!”

“Ah babe,” Hutch murmured, gripping Starsky’s shoulder. “They shouldn’t have tapped you for this. Not you.”

Starsky managed a weak smile and admitted, “I think you’re right. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.”

Firm, Hutch replied, “You won’t. We’ll bring you in right now and the Feds’ll just have to take whatever you can give them.”

As much as Starsky wanted that, as desperate as he was to get out…

“No. No, Hutch, I can’t do that. I want to, God knows, but these guys…they’re planning something big. Something that’ll kill a lot of people,” Starsky countered, knowing as he said the words that they were true. It had been in the works for the too-long six months that Starsky had been moving slowly up the ranks.

Hutch’s hand slid up to grip the back of Starsky’s neck. Leaning closer so that their faces were barely inches apart, he stated, “Starsk, you can’t see yourself, but you’re ready to snap. What happens if they want you to kill a not-so-bad person next? I know you, partner, and that’s not something you can do. Your cover’ll be blown, you’ll be dead, and that’s not acceptable.”

“I can’t think of anything else to do,” Starsky muttered. “I shouldn’t be here now but I had to see you. I feel nasty inside, Hutch, I just needed something clean, you know?”

Nodding, Hutch pulled him in close again and Starsky sighed deeply, holding onto his partner as he rested a cheek on Hutch’s shoulder. He’d been on his own for so long that he was starved for contact and affection. Starsky knew this was a bad idea because he wouldn’t be as edgy as when he’d left that morning and it would be noticed.

Everything was always noticed.

Hutch pulled back and said, “How did you manage to get away today?”

“I just disappeared,” Starsky answered.

Jaw tightening again, Hutch observed, “That wasn’t very smart. How’ll you explain it?”

Starsky shrugged. “I don’t explain anything to anyone except Samonelli himeslf. If someone has a problem with it, I beat the crap out of them.”

Eyes widening, Hutch repeated, “You beat the crap out of them?”

“Mostly, no one asks for explanations. Not after the first two guys wound up in the hospital, anyhow,” Starsky informed him, dry.

Shaking his head, Hutch finally pulled his hand away and said, “You’re not going back there alone, Starsk. I’m going with you.”

“No, Hutch, you can’t. If I show up with you, there’s no telling what will happen,” Starsky exclaimed.

Grim, Hutch stated, “I’m going with you. Me and Thee, partner, remember?”

At that, Starsky fell silent. He couldn’t deny how much he wanted to have Hutch at his side again. He’d wanted it from Day One, when he’d fought with Hutch and provoked his partner into punching him hard enough to send him crashing to the floor.

“It’s settled,” Hutch continued.

Snorting, Starsky pointed out, “You’re a bossy son of a bitch, you know that?”

Hutch’s eyes lit with humor as he agreed, “I’ve been told that a time or two.”

With an echoing grin, Starsky mused, “We’ll have to leave your car here and take mine back. Leave your wallet there, too.”

“What do I do about ID?” Hutch asked.

“We’ll pick something up on the way.”

“On the way where, exactly?”

“San Francisco.”

* * * *

The drive in Starsky’s new Ford LTD was quiet, which was a very damn good thing because Hutch was still reeling. The changes in Starsky might not seem profound on the outside, other than being thinner but more muscled, but the changes on the inside…

Hutch didn’t like the haunted look in the deep blue that had stared back at him in the alley. He hated it. It was a trapped look and one that spoke of pain and suffering, the worst of the self-inflicted kind. The carefree man that he’d lost six months ago could be gone forever, for all he knew, and that would be a real crime. He shivered at the thought, his leather jacket doing nothing to keep him warm with the dark thoughts roaming around his mind.

“Hutch? You okay?”

Glancing over at Starsky, Hutch met the worried look and mustered up a smile. “Fine, Starsk. Just thinking, is all. So what’s the game plan?”

“Samonelli’s been looking for extra guns, so that’s why we bring you in,” Starsky explained. “You could be a marksman, a specialist.”

“A hitman.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Distaste rose on the back of his tongue, but Hutch nodded. It was a good idea. “So I’d be part-time?”

“No one’s part time with Samonelli. You’d live on the compound with the rest of us. I’ll make sure you get the room next to mine.”

“Will it be a problem?”

“Not for me.”

Not liking the distant, cool tone, Hutch asked, “How long have we known each other?”

“Forever and a day,” Starsky replied, grinning briefly at him.

Glad he’d been able to lighten the mood a little, Hutch said, “So we’ve worked together a lot then. What brought you to Samonelli? Other than the Feds, that is.”

Snorting, Starsky answered, “My uncle, believe it or not.”

Hutch frowned. “Wait, a real uncle?”

“Sort of.”

“Okay. I definitely need more than that, buddy.”

A wry grin twisted Starsky’s lips as he explained, “Uncle Joey, whom you do not know, is the husband of my father’s cousin, Louisa. So technically, he’s a third cousin by marriage, not an uncle.”

Hutch just looked at him blankly. Starsky’s family genealogy was worse than a mucked up roadmap sometimes.

Grinning outright, Starsky continued, “In his misspent youth, Joey was a runner back in New York. He got out when he got married because Louisa wouldn’t put up with it, but had a lot of friends left working for Families. That’s how my name came up with the Feds in the first place. Someone told someone who told someone else that Joey’s nephew was a California cop.”

“So how did they use the reality to get you into Samonelli’s?” Hutch questioned.

“One of Joey’s long-time friends was up on a murder rap. They were going to reduce it to life in prison if he vouched for me.”

“Reduce it…oh, right. Death penalty in New York.”

“Right.”

“So where’ve you been all your life?”

“I’m a free-lance. I go from Family to Family, leaving with no hard feelings once the tough times get a little better. My enforcing is usually against minority gangs steppin’ on the Family turf.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a living.”

Hutch grinned. “Not a very good one.”

Smirking, Starsky replied, “You’d be surprised. According to rumor, I’ve got millions stashed away in some off-shore bank account that no one can touch. And according to fact, I’ve never been arrested because I know how to disappear.”

“So where do I come in?”

“We met in Chicago…”

“Where all the fine hoods meet.”

Starsky laughed and continued, “And worked a few jobs together there before I high-tailed it for warmer pastures.”

“We lost touch when you pulled a Houdini,” Hutch guessed, still smiling. “And then I heard about…?”

“Me in Vegas. But by the time you got there, I was gone.”

“So I chased your sorry ass all the way to California?”

Indignant, Starsky exclaimed, “Hey! I’ve got a very nice ass, thank you very much!”

“People are too polite to tell you otherwise,” Hutch teased.

“What?”

“Oh yeah. It’s way too small and flat.”

“I do not have a flat ass.”

“Sure you do. You sit on it too much.”

“Oh very funny.”

God, it feels good to be shooting the shit with Starsky again.

They exchanged grins and Starsky continued, “Yes. You followed my flat, sorry ass all the way to California.”

“Am I really that hard up?”

“Always,” Starsky retorted, wriggling his eyebrows. “But in this case, I think we can say that you decided that you’d spent enough time free-lancing and wanted to start building your retirement fund.”

“And I knew that you’d know how to do that?” Hutch guessed.

Nodding, Starsky agreed, “I’ve got those millions squirreled away, after all.”

“Speaking of, how much flash do we have?”

“I have plenty. You’re just a poor, broke assassin who gambles too much.”

“Starsky, come on. I’m always a gambler. Can’t I be…I don’t know…into girls or something?”

“You mean you’re not?”

The sly tone provoked a laugh from Hutch and he punched Starsky lightly on the shoulder. “You turkey. You know what I mean.”

“Only if you can follow through with having sex with some poor girl who’s got no choice but to offer it,” Starsky allowed with a shrug.

Put that way…

“Gambling’s fine.”

“Thought it would be.”

They were silent for a while after that, each lost in thought. Hutch looked out of the window at the bare countryside that was barely visible in the dark. The part of California that the rest of the country didn’t really know about: dry, dusty prairie-like land with nothing as far as the eyes could see. The occasional trailer home dotting the landscape, but not much else. No beaches in sight, no pretty girls or nightclubs or even towns.

“You know, I thought a lot about you while I was inside,” Starsky said quietly. “Kept hoping that you’d gotten another partner so you wouldn’t be on the streets alone. But, but I didn’t want you to have a new partner, too, you know?”

Nodding, Hutch replied, “Yeah, I know.”

“So, did you?”

Hutch half turned in his seat and gripped Starsky’s shoulder, squeezing it tight. “It’s Me and Thee or no one, partner. I wouldn’t take anyone else in your place, even though I was pissed at you. I kept feeling like, like I missed something. Like you’d had a reason for doing what you did, but I just hadn’t been smart enough to pick up on it.”

“Like the sound of the crowd.”

Half-smiling, Hutch nodded again and agreed, “Yeah.”

“Hutch, I’m sorry,” Starsky whispered. “I never meant to sucker you…well, I did, but I didn’t want to.”

“I know, partner,” Hutch whispered back, rubbing the bare skin of Starsky’s neck and soothing away the tension there. It felt so good to be able to touch him again. To be able to sit with him and talk or be silent or anything. The gaping hole inside was being patched up, minute by minute, and he knew that come hell or high water, Hutch would never lose this man again.

A silent hour later, Starsky pulled into the parking lot of an all-night diner and gas station. Climbing out of the car with a groan, Hutch stretched the kinks out of his back and neck, then fell into step with Starsky on the way into the diner. It was small and faded, like a lot of places on this stretch of highway, and they had the place to themselves, other than a couple of truckers and the waitress at the counter.

Choosing a booth in the back, Hutch sat and wished briefly that Starsky would sit next to him like he often had, but the other man went opposite instead.

The waitress arrived and asked, “Coffee?”

“Coke, thanks. And a cheese-burger and fries and you got any pie?” Starsky asked hopefully.

She smiled. “We’ve got apple pie.”

“Perfect.”

Shaking his head at the happy response and the typically Starsky food choices, Hutch ordered, “I’ll have a coke and a BLT on whole wheat with a salad, please.”

“Sure thing, sugar. What kind of dressing?”

“Anything light, thanks.”

She finished writing it down and walked away.

Stretching his arm along the back of the booth, Hutch stared at Starsky in the light for the first time in six months. The stark diner lights weren’t kind to the darkness under his eyes or the hard lines in his face that had developed in so short a time. His clothes were clean and fashionable, accentuating the muscles and drawing attention to the broad chest and strong arms. His hair was a little shorter than usual, but still long enough to curl around the ears and neck.

“You look tired, babe.”

Startled by Starsky’s quiet observation, Hutch didn’t answer at first. It wasn’t something that he could deny, even though he wanted to. He didn’t want Starsky to know about the hell he’d been through since losing his partner to what he’d thought was greed. The hell of second thoughts and doubts plaguing him, merciless in their quest to make him think that the entire situation had been his fault, not Starsky’s.

Finally, he admitted, “I am, I guess.”

“Dobey overworking you?” Starsky asked sympathetically.

A wry grin surfaced and Hutch explained, as close to the truth as he dared, “More that I didn’t want to go home and have time to think. Dobey’s tried to get me to take time off, but I wouldn’t go.”

“Ah Hutch, I’m so sorry,” Starsky murmured.

Hutch saw his partner’s abortive move to take his hand on the table as the waitress returned with their food. They were quiet as she put everything down and Hutch smiled his thanks as he took a sip of the soda.

When she was gone, Starsky changed the subject with, “We should call Dobey so he doesn’t think that you’ve been disappeared again.”

“How much do you want to tell him?” Hutch asked.

“You think that he’ll believe you decided to take some time off after all?”

“Yeah, yeah he will.”

“Good. That’s easy then.”

Hutch watched as Starsky tucked into his food, pouring on ketchup and mustard and pepper like there was no tomorrow. Grinning briefly at the sight, a flash of warmth going through him, Hutch picked up his own food and started eating with more appetite than he’d had in a long time.

“From here,” Starsky said, mumbling around a half-full mouth. “We’ll stop and get you some papers. What do you think for a name change?”

Hutch grinned and suggested, “Ollie?”

Starsky snorted. “Sure babe. They’ll take you real serious, then.”

They talked it over for a while, shooting things back and forth until Hutch landed on, “David Michaels.”

That stopped Starsky short and his mouth shut with a click. There was a suspicious moisture in his eyes as he took a gulp of soda. “David Michaels it is, then. We’ll pick you up a nice rifle and you can make a really good first impression.”

The glint of evil mischief in Starsky’s eyes provoked an answering chuckle as Hutch demanded, “What’ve you got up your sleeve, Starsk?”

“Oh you’ll see.”

* * * *

Starsky arrived alone at the gated Samonelli compound at 9am the next morning, tired from lack of sleep, but much easier in his mind. Thinking about the upcoming confrontation was enough to get his edge back and put a hard scowl on his face as he was waved through the gate. The compound consisted of a three-story stone mansion just outside the city with a metal fence surrounding a large, landscaped yard.

Parking beside the other cars, Starsky climbed out and walked to the door, ready to face the questions he knew would be leveled his way. Ready to face Samonelli himself, which didn’t happen all that much, despite his new position in the organization.

“Robinson!”

Turning towards Lorenzo’s voice, Starsky stopped and waited for the younger man who’d been trying to show him up since he’d arrived. Handsome and full of himself, Lorenzo was Samonelli’s nephew and dying to get deeper into the business. Starsky hadn’t yet seen signs of a conscience and was looking forward to putting the bastard in jail.

“What?”

“Where the hell you been?”

Starsky eyed him like a bug. “Are you really asking me that? Think careful before you answer.”

Lorenzo swallowed nervously and answered, belligerent, “My Uncle wants to see you right now.”

Not bothering to point out that that had been his original destination, Starsky turned back around and headed over the marble tiles of the foyer towards the study. He felt and saw the stares coming from the men and women he passed and wondered if something had happened while he’d been gone. That would be his luck, after all. Something big going down while he was away would be just the icing on the case.

Knocking twice on the door, Starsky didn’t wait for a command to go in, he just did. Inside was a normal looking study with bookshelves and a desk and sofas along the wall. The back wall was mostly glass, looking out onto a large patio and pool.

Sitting behind the desk was Luca Samonelli, head of the Samonelli family and the bane of the SF PD and FBI for the last twenty years. He was a slight, thin man with large dark eyes, sallow skin, and a perpetual frown. An innocuous looking man, considering the murders, racketeering and drugs that he oversaw in all of northern California.

“Mr. Samonelli,” Starsky greeted respectfully.

Those dark eyes took in his appearance at a glance and Samonelli questioned, “Where were you?”

Starsky shrugged and answered, “I ran into an old friend of mine.”

“What friend?”

“David Michaels.”

“Never heard of him.”

“If you had, he’d be either dead or in prison,” Starsky explained. Samonelli motioned for him to sit, a sure sign that he was over the suspicious part, and he did so, continuing, “Turns out he’d been looking for me since Phoenix.”

“That’s a long time,” Samonelli observed.

Starsky half-grinned. “Not like he was looking hard. He was just looking.”

“What’s he do?”

“He’s a specialist.”

Digesting that information, Samonelli sat back in his big, leather chair and observed him for a long moment. “He’s good.”

On cue, the window behind Samonelli was pierced by a bullet and the glass of brandy on the table beside the older man shattered. Samonelli himself was unhurt and frozen in place.

“He is,” Starsky confirmed, lips twisting into what he knew was a feral grin.

It was the grin that had originally gotten him inside. The grin he got when he thought about hurting anyone who’d ever hurt Hutch. Anyone who saw it, paled and got as far away as possible. Anyone except Samonelli who had, apparently, taken a liking to Starsky because of it.

Samonelli eyed him steadily for a moment before looking over at the damage and then behind to the bullet hole in the glass. “Impressive. Bring your friend in.”

The study door burst in with several armed men, but Samonelli waved them away as Starsky stood and left the room. It had worked! Hutch was as good as hired! And even though he didn’t want to put his best friend in danger, he knew that he needed Hutch beside him again. Something big was coming and Starsky knew he couldn’t do it alone.

* * * *

‘Cause I try to climb your steps, I try to chase you down,
I try to see how low I can get down to the ground.
And I try to earn my way, oh I try to tame this mind,
You’d better believe that I am trying to beat this.

— I try, Lifehouse

Hutch met Starsky at the front gate of the Samonelli compound, carrying the rifle case that housed the suped-up monster which allowed him to shoot a target from a quarter mile away. Well, that and his own skill with a weapon.

Looking through the metal bars of the fence at Starsky, Hutch saw no sign that the other man belonged anywhere but where he was. His stance was completely different, his face and eyes were hard, and right at that moment, Hutch would’ve given anything to see his gentle, funny friend instead.

Hutch’s lips quirked into a mild grin of greeting and he said, “Nice day out.”

“Yeah,” Starsky agreed, unlocking and opening the gate. “Come on in, the water’s fine.”

Taking a breath, Hutch crossed into the yard. He held the rifle case to Starsky, who took it and handed it off to one of the men, then followed his partner inside the house. The others formed a kind of phalanx around them as they trooped through the foyer towards the back.

They entered a study and Hutch found Samonelli again seated behind the desk. It had been all he could do not to just take the man out when he’d had him in his sights, but cold-blooded murder, even for a very, very good cause, wasn’t something Hutch could stomach.

Starsky’s hand gripped his shoulder and steered him into a seat in front of the desk. The same seat that his partner had just occupied. He remained right behind Hutch, a comforting presence like a bulwark in a storm, though of course Starsky was meant to be seen as intimidating.

Samonelli held up a nearly flattened slug and announced, “You used a live round.”

Shrugging, Hutch replied, “I don’t miss.”

“What if I’d moved at the last second?”

“Then you’d be dead and I’d be gone before your men could even figure out where the bullet came from. Well, except for Robinson.”

“Yes, except for Robinson,” Samonelli murmured, his gaze shifting to Starsky. “I understand the two of you have known each other a long time.”

Hutch nodded and agreed, “Long time.”

“You’re looking for work?”

“That’s why he set up the interview.”

Samonelli looked him over, even though Hutch knew the old man’s mind was already made up. Had been made up ever since he’d taken the shot at Samonelli. What that decision was, however, would remain a mystery until it was spoken. They’d find out soon enough if they had to shoot their way out of the mansion.

“What do you want?”

“Steady work for steady pay. I’m tired of free-lancing and Robinson here says that you’re a good boss,” Hutch answered promptly. “I don’t do women or children, not even as collateral, but anyone else is fair game.”

Looking thoughtful, Samonelli leaned back in his chair. “I’ve never heard of you before now.”

“Not by my real name,” Hutch confirmed agreeably. “But you’ve heard of The Ghost.”

Samonelli’s expression sharpened, his gaze narrowing. “You’re claiming to be him?”

Smirking slightly, Hutch sat back in his chair, crossing his legs comfortably as he replied, “I’m not claiming anything. And I suggest that you forget the name was mentioned here.”

The Ghost was a legendary hitman who never missed a target. He didn’t do women and children, not even by accident, and he’d never been caught or even sighted. He took any contract, even on people who had hired him before. Anyone who found out who he was, stood to make a lot of money on the bounties on his head, assuming they could prove it was him.

“No wonder they’re brass,” Samonelli murmured.

Hutch grinned outright at that. Well, he’d been told he had brass balls before. “Thanks.”

“I want you here, on hand, in case something comes up that I need you to take care of right away. You’ll have a yearly retainer and a bonus per kill.”

With a nod, Hutch added, “I like to hit the casinos a few times a year.”

“You’ll have ten thousand starter cash when you go. If you run out, the tab’s your concern.”

Hutch stood and held out his hand. “You’ve got a deal.”

Also standing, Samonelli took the hand. “Robinson will settle you in.”

* * * *

The room that Starsky brought Hutch to was huge. It was just about as big as his entire house put together and Hutch stared at his partner in disbelief. “They live like this?”

“Free rent, too,” Starsky agreed, dry. “That door over there connects to my room. I’ve had a bolt lock on it since I moved in since I trust Danny as far as I can throw him, but I’ll unlock it at night, now that you’re here.”

Hutch noted the door and went exploring to the other two. One was a closet as big as his kitchen and the other was an even bigger bathroom. His lips quirked up and he asked, “What, no steam room? Isn’t that mandatory for mob guys?”

Chuckling, Starsky replied, “There’s a spa thing attached to the pool.”

Lunch was a long, interesting affair as Starsky introduced Hutch to the guys who lived there. He made a note of name to face, but didn’t really interact with them, keeping to his cover as a cold and hopefully disturbing, hired killer. Even though he sat beside Starsky when they first arrived, the dark haired man was up and gone in a few minutes.

Hutch watched as Starsky made the rounds of the table, talking quietly with various men about whatever it was that hoods talked about at lunch. They were there for a good two hours and Starsky made sure to introduce Hutch to all the guys who came in at later times. By that time, Hutch about felt ready to drop from the lack of sleep and tension. He had no idea how his partner had managed to go so long without any help.

He understood, then, the trapped look that had been on Starsky’s face the night before.

* * * *

The afternoon passed quietly as Hutch went on Starsky’s rounds with him. His partner had recently been promoted, thanks to the death of his predecessor, and now oversaw the compound security. Starsky didn’t have to point out the few and far between escape routes, Hutch saw them all on his own.

Dinner was a private instead of communal thing. Some of the guys were out on business and ate out, others grabbed food in the kitchen, and still others ate in their rooms or at their stations. There were thirty men on staff at the mansion and Hutch’s mind boggled at what it took to coordinate that many hired goons.

“Strength and fear,” Starsky explained later, when they were in his bedroom eating supper. “It’s the main thing that keeps tempers from getting out of hand and fights from breaking out. They all know that if anything like that happens, I’ll crack the skulls of whoever was involved.”

Shaking his head, Hutch observed, “I don’t know how you do it, partner.”

Starsky offered a wan smile and replied, “By the hair of my chinny, chin, chin, believe me.”

They ate quietly for a while and Hutch enjoyed just being in the same room as Starsky. And even though he was reluctant for it to end, he asked, “So what’s the routine around here?”

“Get up, go over the station details with the guys, have breakfast, see if Samonelli needs anything done in the city, make rounds, sweep for bugs around the place, have lunch to check in and see how things are going with the goons, check in with Samonelli at the end of the day, have supper, make one more sweep and go to bed. Assuming, of course, that there’s nothing going on and people don’t need hurtin,'” Starsky finished, glum.

Hutch reached across the small table and rubbed the back of Starsky’s hand. Deep blue eyes met his and a faint smile surfaced on Starsky’s face. Smiling back, Hutch asked, “So what should I do?”

“Anything you want,” Starsky answered, shrugging. “You’re not a regular hood, so you can come and go as you want. You’ll have a driver to keep tabs on you, but otherwise, you’ve got the run of the city. And you should take advantage of it so we don’t look joined at the hips.”

“As opposed to…?” Hutch teased.

Starsky’s smile grew and he continued, “Make a name for yourself with the guys fast, it’ll save you a lot of hasslin’ down the road.”

Even though he knew the answer, Hutch asked, “Make a name for myself how?”

“Pick a fight, let a fight get picked, whatever, but shut them down and do it hard,” Starsky confirmed.

“You think they would, even knowing what I am?”

“In a heartbeat. You’re not Family, so you’re fair game.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a bit, then Starsky stood and said, “All right. I’m going to get rid of this stuff and make my final sweep for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow, babe.”

Nodding, Hutch helped gather up the remains of their meal and walked him to the door. Closing it behind Starsky, it occurred to him to wonder how he got information to the Feds and cursed himself for not thinking to ask earlier. It would have to wait until they had another chance to talk privately.

He picked up the case that held his rifle and sat with it on the bed. He spent the next hour cleaning and oiling it, knowing that he had to keep it in pristine condition in case he was given some kind of test. His stomach clenched as he thought about what that test would encompass, knowing that he couldn’t pull the trigger on a cold blooded murder. There was no way, and yet, how else could he stay in cover?

Sighing, he slid it under the bed and went into the bathroom for a long shower. Dressing only in boxers, he stared at himself in the mirror and muttered, “Well this is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”

A few minutes later, the lights were out and he was shifting restlessly under the covers. He froze when he encountered cold metal under the pillow. Wrapping his fingers around the gun handle, he pulled it out and sat up, flipping on the light. The pistol fit perfectly in his hand and he checked for rounds, finding it fully armed. Not surprised that Starsky would think of that, though he was a little irritated with himself that he hadn’t, Hutch smiled and set it under the other pillow, within easy reach.

Flipping off the bedside light again, Hutch closed his eyes, exhausted by the last twenty-four hours.

* * * *

Waking completely, though he didn’t know why, Hutch didn’t move, trying to place what had woken him.

“It’s me,” Starsky whispered.

Pushing upright, Hutch found his partner standing at the foot of the bed. “Starsk? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just…wanted to make sure I didn’t dream you again,” Starsky replied.

His heart went out at the shaky admission and he held out a hand and ordered, “Ah babe, come here.”

Starsky climbed onto the bed and crawled under the covers, rolling onto his side to face Hutch as he said, “I’ll take off in the morning before anyone comes to check on you.”

Cupping Starsky’s face, Hutch replied, “I dreamed about you too, Starsk.”

They’d slept together before when recovering from various injuries over the years. Neither man had been shy about seeking help and comfort from the other, except in the beginning of their partnership. But there was something different about this time, Hutch knew it instinctively. There was something in Starsky’s gaze that spoke to Hutch of permanence and need and desire; things he’d never allowed himself to admit in regards to his partner.

Without a word, Hutch moved closer and wrapped his arms around Starsky, pulling them flush together. He could feel how hard the other man was and smiled at the knowledge that it was him to make Starsky so. Nuzzling the side of Starsky’s throat, he kissed the juncture of throat and jaw tenderly, hearing his partner’s gasp of surprise.

Burrowing as close as he could, Starsky hooked a leg over Hutch’s hip, rubbing them together and provoking a simultaneous moan. Hutch pulled back enough to kiss Starsky properly, thrilling to the way his new lover opened his mouth for the loving invasion. It was a long, deep kiss, the kind that was wet and sucking and went on forever. He rolled Starsky onto his back and moved half on top of him, rocking against his body.

Strong hands gripped Hutch’s back, silently urging him on and he took the cue, moving faster and harder. The kissing quickly grew frantic as their bodies spiraled towards orgasm and Hutch panted into Starsky’s mouth. It was all over when Starsky slipped a finger inside Hutch’s body, probing him gently. Hutch moaned into Starksy’s mouth and came harder than he’d come in a long, long time. Starsky followed not a second later, gasping and thrusting up against him as he spilled between them, his seed caught in his boxers.

Shaking with reaction from the intensity of the sex, Hutch rested his forehead on Starsky’s sweaty chest as he caught his breath. Finally drawing in a long, shuddery breath, Hutch released it and whispered, “I love you, Starsk.”

Starsky smiled against Hutch’s throat and whispered back, “Love you too, ya big lummox, now get off me before I suffocate.”

Grinning, Hutch slid off and wrapped as much around Starsky as he could from the side. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why now? Why here?”

Starsky was silent for so long that Hutch almost regretted asking the question.

“I think what you’re asking is, why? With how I reacted to, to John, why would I do this at all, right?” Starsky questioned softly.

Hutch had to nod and admit, “It crossed my mind, yeah.”

Sighing, Starsky joined their hands, explaining, “I’ve had nothing but time to think here, Hutch. Nothing but time to think about me, you, and us. I’ve thought about John. And I’ve thought about what I think about queers, sorry, gays, and I realized that none of it matters. The only thing that’s ever mattered to me, is you. But I think we were together so much, it never really occurred to me that there could be stuff we were missin’ out on, you know?”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, bringing Starsky’s hand up to kiss. “I know.”

“And I figured out that if I died doing this gig, I’d miss out on something that could be even more special than what we already got between us. I don’t, uh, don’t want to mess this up, Hutch, because I need you more than I ever did and being alone ain’t no way for me to live anymore,” Starsky finished.

Staring into Starsky’s eyes in the dark, Hutch didn’t think he’d ever heard anything so incredible in his life. Pressing his lips to his lover’s temple, he said just as softly, “I don’t want to mess this up either, Starsk. We’ll just have to make sure that we don’t.

Starsky nodded, a smile teasing his lips as he said, “C’mere.”

“Can’t get any closer without being on top of you,” Hutch pointed out.

“Ah so I get a little squashed.”

Hutch laughed when Starsky pulled him partially on top of himself and they struggled to find a comfortable position. Finally getting elbows and knees situated, Hutch sighed deeply and closed his eyes. They’d better figure out what was going to happen and fast because he had to get Starsky out of here before something pushed the other man over the edge.

On that troubling thought, Hutch drifted into sleep.

* * * *

I will dedicate, and sacrifice my every thing for just a second’s worth,
of how my story’s ending.
And I wish I could know if the directions that I take,
and all the choices that I make, won’t end up all for nothing.

Show me what it’s for, make me understand it.
I’ve been crawling in the dark, looking for the answer.
Is there something more, than what I’ve been handed?
I’ve been crawling in the dark, looking for the answer.

— Crawling, Hoobastank

Samonelli called Starsky into his study before breakfast was done and, though not unheard of, it put him on alert. He didn’t look at Hutch as he left the dining room, his thoughts already on what the meeting might be about. There could be a number of things, not the least of which was that Samonelli’s ‘big thing,’ was finally ready to be talked about.

The old man was canny, no doubt about that. He didn’t talk about his plans to anyone until they were almost ready to be carried out. That was one problem the Feds had had with him for so many years. None of their agents had lasted long enough to find anything out.

It didn’t take long to get to the office, and when he did, Starsky found two other men that he didn’t know waiting there with Samonelli. Nodding respectfully to his boss, he greeted, “Morning, Mr. Samonelli.”

“Robinson, this is Lorenzo DiGianni, and Paolo Rienzo. They’re here to work with us on a job that I’ve had in mind for quite a while now,” Samonelli informed him.

Shaking hands with the two men, he noted the unusual, pale blue eyes, almost colorless, for DiGianni and the scar across Rienzo’s right cheek. They both looked familiar, but he couldn’t place from where. Could’ve been from mug shots, or he could’ve actually met them before. He was really betting it was the former, thankfully, since neither man reacted to his presence. “Good to meet you.”

Samonelli motioned them all over to his desk, where Starsky remained standing while the other three sat. The older man continued the explanation with, “We’re going to move on the DiCocco family next week.”

Surprised, Starsky didn’t say anything at first, mentally reviewing what he knew about the DiCocco’s. It would be a risk for him and Hutch, since the other mafia clan was located back down in LA. Not that either of them had personally run across any of the DiCocco crew, but just being back in the area could kick them in the butt.

“Problem, Robinson?” Rienzo questioned.

Starsky turned his gaze to Rienzo and countered coolly, “Just wondering about the timing is all. Not that we aren’t ready for heavy action, but it’s sudden.”

“They’ve got a shipment coming into Long Beach that’s filled with merchandise we want.” Samonelli replied.

“And who, exactly, is ‘we?'” Starsky asked, pinning DiGianni with a sharp stare that belied his mild tone.

Stiffening, DiGianni snapped, “We’re the ones who risked our asses to bring the information here to your Boss.”

Finally connecting who they were and how they’d gotten the information that Samonelli needed for his plan, Starsky glanced at Samonelli. Arching an eyebrow at him, Starsky questioned bluntly, “You’re trusting rats? Not real good business policy, Mr. Samonelli.”

A faint smile surfaced on the thin man’s face as he agreed, “Normally, no, but in this case, there’s a lot to be gained all around, so I’m willing to take the risk.”

With a shrug that showed he’d go where the older man led, Starsky asked, “What’re we going after?”

“Diamonds,” Samonelli answered.

Nonplused, Starsky thought, Well. This is new. He remained silent for a moment longer then, lips pursed, pointed out, “That’s not exactly DiCocco’s style.”

Rienzo stepped in with, “They’re using them to diversify into a money laundering operation.”

Starsky kept his tone even and unassuming as he said, “They don’t do laundering.”

Sneering, Rienzo countered, “That’s the whole diversifying part.”

“And after we’ve taken the shipment,” Samonelli interrupted smoothly. “We’ll take out their main operations in Bay City. That’s where your friend Michaels will come in.”

Dread ran through Starsky because he knew exactly what the older man was going to say. “What do you want him to do?”

“Take out DiCocco.”

* * * *

After Starsky left the dining hall, Hutch felt the temperature drop at least twenty degrees. The eyes boring into him were more than a little disconcerting, but it was easy enough to maintain the façade that had gotten him through tough times. He continued to eat, not showing any sign that he was the least bit uncomfortable with the men around him.

“So who do you think you are?”

Here it was.

Hutch glanced over at where the voice had come from and saw a young man, built like a tank, glaring at him. He turned the chair slightly so that he would have a clear path when the guy made his move and answered coolly, “David Michaels, last I checked. And you are?”

The young man sneered. “None of your fucking business, old man.”

Old man? Hutch thought indignantly. Snot-nosed little…

Forcing himself to keep calm, knowing that he was just being baited, Hutch got to his feet. He felt and then saw the other men get up and move away, forming a loose circle around the two of them. Holding his hands up in a placating gesture that was, not coincidentally, a defensive position, he said, “I’m not looking for any trouble here. I’ve been hired on, just like the rest of you and…”

And the kid made his move in a fast, but fairly clumsy, dash. It was easy enough for Hutch to step aside at the last second and send the kid flying into the table face first. He heard the rush of a second opponent from behind and spun, grabbing the man who had tried to tackle him around the waist, and propelling him after the first.

The third man got in a lucky shot to the kidneys when Hutch was still occupied with the second man. Ignoring the flare of pain in his back, Hutch turned around again, this time to get a fist right in his face. Blood exploded from his lip as Hutch dodged the second punch by dancing back out of range. That gave him enough room to snap out a kick, which caught the other man in the chest and sent him careening back.

Hearing movement behind him, Hutch turned yet again to get a second fist in the face, this from his original, larger opponent. Staggering back under the blow, it took a few seconds to regain his footing and thoughts, and by then he was backed against the wall. The shouts and cheers from the other men faded to a dull roar, like the blood pounding in his ears, and Hutch shook it off.

When all three men were facing him, Hutch spat blood onto the floor and grinned at them, rolling his neck and shoulders to loosen himself up. “Now that we’ve been introduced, let’s get acquainted.”

His grin widened when all three of his opponents almost simultaneously blanched.

* * * *

When Starsky finally got free of the conference, a good three hours of solid planning later, it was to find Hutch waiting for him down the hall. Starsky took one look at the bruised cheek and swollen lip and snorted. “I didn’t mean that you had to do it today, buddy.”

Hutch grinned, then winced and held his jaw as he stood up and they started walking. “Not my timetable, believe me, but I didn’t really have a choice.”

“I assume it went okay, since you’re walking.”

“You should see the other guys.”

Starsky stopped short, a glower surfacing as he demanded, “Plural? Who was it?”

Shrugging, Hutch answered, “Short nose, Stubby, Pointed Head, whatever their names are. They’re in what passes for an infirmary around here, so you might want to check up on them.”

A brief flash of humor ran through Starsky as he shook his head. He could just picture Hutch knocking them down with his fancy fighting. He could go a few rounds with his partner any day of the week, but regular street fighters like these guys wouldn’t know what hit them. They fell into step again, walking towards the kitchen. He was starving and there wasn’t a lot of time before he had to get started on preparations. “Did you cause any permanent damage?”

“I was tempted,” Hutch muttered.

Tossing an arm around the taller man’s shoulders, Starsky grinned again and said, “Thanks for the restraint, buddy. Makes my job a little easier to keep morale up if you’re not sending guys to the hospital.”

He was going to leave the arm there, wanting to keep the contact for as long as possible, when he spotted Gino staring at them from down the hall. Keeping the movement unhurried, despite the young man’s glare, Starsky drew back and continued, “Looks like you’ve got your first assignment.”

Hutch looked at him in surprise, though whether it was for the arm removal, the announcement, or both, Starsky couldn’t tell.

“Already?”

“Yeah. Samonelli wants to take out DiCocco and most of his operations in Bay City.”

Understanding and worry flashed over Hutch’s face, echoing Starsky’s reaction, though not for entirely the same reasons. Starsky knew that Hutch would be worried about getting recognized and having to go through with the hit. Reasons enough, of course, for both of them to be worried, though not exactly what was going through Starsky’s mind anymore. He’d moved on to bigger problems.

Starsky wasn’t due to meet with the Feds for another three days, and now he might not have time to get them a message about what was going down. He’d probably have to risk a phone call to let them know what was going on. It would be cutting things really close for them to do something so that Hutch didn’t have to actually do the hit. They hadn’t wanted Hutch brought in, in the first place, citing just such communications problems, even without knowing what kind of role Starsky would get for his partner.

“Seems a little on the ambitious side, even for Samonelli,” was all Hutch said, eyeing Gino briefly as they passed the young man.

Starsky nodded, ignoring Gino altogether, and agreed, “Very ambitious. He’s set on it though. He’s got a couple of guys from DiCocco’s crew in his office with blueprints and all kinds of plans.”

“And you don’t trust them.”

Starsky just looked at him.

“Right,” Hutch agreed, grinning briefly.

They arrived at the kitchen then, and the conversation stopped, put on hold to be resumed later. It made him itchy, but Starsky knew that talking about private business would have to wait until that night, too. His room and Hutch’s were the only ones in the place that weren’t bugged, either by the Feds or another Family. His sweeps through the compound were really to make sure that the only bugs around were so the Feds could monitor the situation.

Hutch stopped at the counter, while Starsky continued across the room to the fridge, asking, “So you going into the city this afternoon?”

Hutch shrugged and answered, “I was thinking about it.”

“You should go,” Starsky urged, reaching into the appliance and bringing out some cold cuts. “It’s a great city and I know you’ve never been here.”

“Play tourist?” Hutch questioned, lounging against a nearby wall.

Starsky paused at the sight of Hutch looking so calm and cool in the middle of such danger, and his libido raged to sudden existence. It was all he could do to stay casual as he replied, “Why not? You don’t have anything else to do, ya lazy bum.”

Making an agreeable noise, obviously getting that Starsky wanted him out from underfoot, even if he didn’t know the reason why, Hutch replied, “I could do with seeing the sights.”

“Blond or brunette?” Starsky quipped.

Hutch grinned. “Maybe one of each. I’ll let you know when I get back.”

Aware of the eyes on them, and a few quiet, approving chuckles from the guys at the table, Starsky continued, “I’ll be busy when you get back. Probably won’t see you for a couple of days, but I’m sure you can find something to occupy your time. Just try not to cause any permanent damage.”

The grin shifted into a smirk as Hutch’s eyes scanned the room. The other men suddenly found somewhere elsewhere to look as the blond said, “I make no promises.”

Starsky snorted, thinking, And he’s supposed to be the subtle one? God help us.

* * * *

San Francisco really was a great city, and at any other time, Hutch probably would have fallen in love with it. The ocean was now as much a part of him as Starsky, and being this close to the water almost all the time was great. Not that he was far from it at his own home, but there was something of the weather that reminded him of home and an odd nostalgia rose inside as he looked out over the edge of the dock. The weather was gray and overcast and chilly, but it only added to the beautiful sight of the choppy waves in the harbor.

So far, he’d been to a number of tourist traps, his wheelman bringing Hutch wherever his whim took him. He flirted with some pretty girls at a bar, and again when he was walking through one of the main squares. Starsky had been right about him being watched, because he could feel the driver’s eyes on him just about every moment of the day. He picked up some new clothes and shoes, setting them in the car to bring home after supper. It would put some much needed space between himself and his keeper, which he needed if he wasn’t going to knock the other man’s teeth in.

Choosing one of the wharf restaurants, Hutch sat inside and, while waiting for his order, a familiar voice asked, “Is this seat taken?”

Hutch was so shocked that he completely froze for a moment, unable to lift his head to meet the blue eyes that he knew would be waiting. Getting a grip, he cleared his throat and slowly raised his head to, sure enough, find Detective Linda Williams smiling down at him.

She winked at him and drawled, “I mean, I saw you all alone here and thought, ‘Lila, I bet that handsome man could use an ice, cold lemonade, even on such a chilly night like tonight.’ You just look like a lemonade kinda guy. Just my type.”

Lila, not Linda. Relief that she was in on it, somehow, and working with the Feds was the most likely explanation, ran through Hutch. It also explained the three or four times that he’d thought he’d seen a tail throughout the day. The Feds had tracked him down to try and meet with him. And while not thrilled that Linda had been dragged into it, it was great to see a friendly face.

Smiling back, Hutch stood and offered his hand. “I think that sounds great, Lila, is it?”

“It is,” she confirmed, holding out her hand. “Lila Williamson.”

Hutch took the hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing it, and then held the seat out for her. “Please, I’d be happy if you joined me.”

She took the seat and replied, “Such a gentleman.”

The waitress came back with his drink and took an order from Linda. When she was gone, Hutch asked, “So how long are you in town for?”

“Oh I live here,” Linda answered, dimpling at him. “I can show you all the good spots, believe me.”

“I believe you,” Hutch agreed, grinning back at her.

Dinner passed in a fast, pleasant manner, despite the underlying tension. To anyone else, it would look like they were getting very closely acquainted, what with holding hands over the table and the long, searching glances. That was exactly what he needed to do to convince his driver that he could take off so Hutch could get lucky. The other man sat several tables over, keeping a wary eye on them, as if Hutch might disappear in a split second.

Linda was her same, relaxed self, especially now that people weren’t shooting at them or trying to run them down in cornfields. The woman that he and Starsky had come to know after the whole decoy assignment was a relief to be around, her bright eyes, pretty face, and quick sense of humor soothing Hutch. He and Starsky had gotten to know her when she’d stuck around Bay City for an extra couple of days, courtesy of the layover time before going to Paris. They’d shown her around town, taken her to Huggy’s, and enjoyed her company.

When the bill was paid and they walked out towards the end of the wharf, Hutch slid an arm around her waist and leaned in close to her ear. “It is really good to see you.”

She chuckled warmly and snuggled closer as she answered, “I bet.”

Reaching the end of the dock, they leaned on the rail and each other, standing silently for a few minutes. Finally he glanced down at her and asked, “What are you doing the rest of the night?”

A grin flashed across her face, evident in the moonlight, and she replied wickedly, “You, I hope.”

Hutch laughed and pulled her into a tight hug before turning them around and aiming them in the other direction. When they reached the car, he said, “Hold on.”

She nodded and Hutch walked over to where his wheelman was glaring at him. “I been sitting here for three hours.”

Schooling his expression into a hard mask, Hutch looked down at him and stated quietly, “And you’d wait another three if I wanted you to, because I know you weren’t just questioning me.”

The man swallowed nervously, obviously remembering the three men that Hutch had already pounded into the pavement, and stammered, “No, o’course not!”

“I didn’t think so,” Hutch confirmed darkly. “Tell Robinson that I’ll find my own way home tomorrow morning.”

“I’ve got to be with you…”

Hutch’s hand snapped out to grip the man’s throat, shoving him hard over the hood of the car. Leaning down, he hissed, “You’ll do whatever I say, and like it. If Robinson has a problem, which he won’t, then him and me will talk about it when I get back. Just tell him that I met a nice girl who wants to show me her souvenirs from Paris.”

Releasing the man who was by then struggling to breathe, Hutch turned and walked back to Linda, hoping that Starsky would get the message. He put his arm around the policewoman’s waist again and they walked towards the parking lot.

* * * *

Starsky looked blankly at Renaldo. “Souvenirs from Paris?”

“That’s what the asshole said while he was choking me to death,” Renaldo snarled, yanking aside his collar to show bruises forming.

Snorting, Starsky replied, “My heart bleeds, it really does. You should’ve known better after what he did to the others.”

Renaldo’s lip twisted at the taunt, but he only said, “She was a looker, I’ll give him that. She was like the sixth girl to drool over him, only this time, he was interested back. I was starting to think he was soft, what with him not looking back at any of the chicks all day.”

Hutch wouldn’t really be going after some girl, not after what we did last night, Starsky thought, unable to help the hurt from running through him. Especially not after what he said to me.

And hell, even if that hadn’t happened, even if no words had been exchanged, Hutch would never risk an assignment for sex, not a chance. Which meant that the girl he was spending time with was somehow involved with the Feds. And that, in turn, meant that Starsky’s message this afternoon had gotten through. But how would she have let Hutch know who she was? And who was she, that he’d gone off with her when the blond hadn’t done that with any other woman the whole afternoon? Why would Hutch have trusted so readily?

“What’re you going to do to him?”

Renaldo’s voice brought him back to the present and he shrugged. “Congratulate him on gettin’ some when he gets back in the morning, what else would I do?”

Renaldo’s jaw dropped as he demanded, “What!? We don’t even know this gah!”

For the second time that night, Renaldo was grabbed by the throat and shoved over a hard surface; this time the kitchen table. Bending over the choking man, Starsky gave that feral grin and stated evenly, “To question Michaels, is to question me, you got that?”

Renaldo nodded frantically and Starsky released him in disgust. He left the man there and headed for his bedroom, irritated at the loss of control and the lack of knowledge. Not knowing what was going on in his line of work could be fatal; often was, matter of fact. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like he could just call Hutch and ask what the hell was going on.

Sighing to himself, Starsky headed for his room and what he knew would be a lonely night of worry and no sleep.

* * * *

“So how did you get this gig, anyhow?” Hutch asked.

Linda grinned as she pulled into traffic and answered, “It’s amazing what a successful undercover assignment transporting a mafia princess can land you. The Feds weren’t exactly thrilled with me at first, but I won them over.”

Returning the smile, Hutch agreed, “You can win over anyone.”

“Flatterer,” Linda teased, eyes sparkling in the gleam of headlights. She glanced back at traffic and continued, “Anyhow, I’ve worked a few undercover assignments since I got back from Paris and then this afternoon, I get a call that says my old friend Ken Hutchinson had gotten himself into a bit of trouble and could use my help.”

Wry, Hutch informed her, “Blame Starsky.”

She laughed outright and turned onto another street. The city seemed darker and much less friendly in this area, the building almost on top of each other, even more than the hilly location demanded. “I always do. How’s he doing? I heard tell that he was getting a little ragged.”

“Six months under will do that to a man,” Hutch observed with a regretful sigh. He couldn’t wait for this damn thing to be done and over with. He wanted to get his partner home and safe and as close to normal as possible. The fallout from this assignment was going to be a long time coming, Hutch knew that without a doubt.

Linda nodded and said sympathetically, “I’ve only been under a month at the longest, so I understand. Anyhow, he called in this afternoon to report. They’ll get you out of the hit, Hutch, that won’t be a problem.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I have no idea. But I do know that you won’t have to pull the trigger.”

Angry at the thought of everything Starsky had done over the last six months, all the things that the Feds had allowed, Hutch snapped, “But they’d let Starsky do it!”

“Hutch…”

Hutch fell silent, knowing that she didn’t deserve his anger. Linda had only just been brought in on this and was probably playing catch-up as much as he was. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured him quietly, reaching over to grip his shoulder. “I understand, I really do.”

Locked in his own thoughts, Hutch stayed quiet for the rest of the ride. He honestly didn’t know, aside from the man Starsky had shot, what his partner had done during his tenure as a mob enforcer, and that bothered him. He was still upset that Starsky wouldn’t have told him that he’d been tapped in the first place, though that was an argument for another time. There had to be some that Starsky had thought he couldn’t handle this kind of assignment, though it was a mystery as to what that was. The only thing he’d come up with in the scant time he’d been there, was that Starsky was protecting him from something or someone.

His thoughts were interrupted when they arrived at a 1-story motel that looked questionable, at best. They had plenty of fleabags just like it in Bay City and he briefly wondered why it had been chosen as a meeting spot. It wasn’t like the Feds couldn’t afford better. He didn’t say anything about it, though, just followed Linda to an outside room at the end of the row. She knocked twice, then unlocked the door and walked inside.

Hutch looked around the room and found the interior just as bad as the exterior with gaudy, fraying wall paper and stained carpets. He wondered, briefly, what had happened to the original owners who’d surely had much higher hopes for their motel than a pay-by-the-hour fate.

Turning his attention to the men in the room, Hutch listened to the introductions and put names with faces, memorizing them.

A dark haired, blue eyed man in his twenties, too snappy looking for his own good, was… “Special Agent Danny Connelly.”

“Special Agent Mike Salinger,” belonged to an older man in his forties, graying hair and a paunch that he belt just about kept in check.

And finally, “Special Agent in Charge Jack O’Dell,” was in his thirties, blond haired and green eyed with a sharp, calculating air that immediately put Hutch on alert.

He knew that Starsky’s smart-mouthed answer to meeting them would’ve been something like, “There’s an awful lot of Irishmen in this room, where’s the beer?” but all Hutch did was smile politely and shake hands. The first two seemed okay, but his hackles were up with O’Dell. He reminded Hutch too much of the men who thought sending two cops out as decoys without telling them about it was a good strategy.

“Sorry you got dragged into this, Detective Hutchinson,” O’Dell began officiously. “We didn’t anticipate Detective Starsky needing any help.”

As if it was some kind of easy undercover assignment? The man’s smooth tone instantly grated even further on Hutch’s nerves, but he forced a smile and answered, “That’s fine. Just tell me how I’m going to get out of the hit.”

Nodding, O’Dell motioned towards a rickety table where Hutch spotted blueprints and what looked like reams of hand-written notes. He flashed Linda a wry grin, which she echoed, and they all moved towards the table.

Oh yeah. This was going to be lots of fun.

* * * *

“I’m telling you, there’s something queer about that guy Michaels,” Gino insisted.

One of the guys laughed and countered, “Not from the amount of women Renaldo said he was making time with this afternoon.”

“Not like that, idiot,” Gino snapped. “I mean, it’s not right that we never heard of a guy that can make a shot like he did. And my uncle just taking him in on Robinson’s say so? That definitely ain’t right!”

Another man pointed out, “Mr. Samonelli takes a lot of things on Robinson’s say so and it bothers you each and every time.”

Gino snapped, “There’s something really wrong this time!”

There was an almost unanimous shrug as the older men in the room dismissed Gino’s suspicions and returned to their poker game. Robinson had been there for six months straight and saved their asses a lot of times. Everyone knew that Gino was jealous of the position and favor the relatively new man had with his uncle and this was a familiar refrain. Too familiar, like Peter and the Wolf, and the men had obviously had enough of what they thought was griping.

Seeing that he’d lost his audience, Gino turned angrily to Renaldo and demanded, “You see what I’m getting at, right? This guy Michaels is a nobody, never been heard of, but he’s got too much talent to be a nobody.”

Alfredo nodded. “Yeah, but what’re you going to do about it?”

As if suddenly realizing this was a conversation for a more secluded location, but not wanting to draw attention to himself by leaving the room, Gino lowered his voice. “I’m going to find out who he really is and that’s going to tell me who Robinson really is, and then I’m going to bring it to my Uncle’s attention.”

“What if he’s just who he says he is?”

“He isn’t,” Gino stated. “You in, or what?”

Thinking it over for a minute, Renaldo’s eyes darted around the kitchen but no one else in the room was even looking at them. Finally, he fingered the ugly bruise that peeked out from his collar and agreed, “Yeah. I’m in. I owe Michaels and Robinson anyhow.”

An ugly smile crossed Gino’s face and he ordered quietly, “Talk to the guys that Michaels messed over and see if they might want some payback.”

Renaldo nodded and left the kitchen. Gino stayed where he was, enjoying the satisfaction that ran through him. Finally, he’d be doing something about Robinson, exposing the asshole for the chump and fraud that he really was, and getting him where it hurt, too. That pretty boy Michaels was a close friend of Robinson’s, no doubt about that. Gino had never seen Robinson so relaxed, not since the day he arrived, as when he was around the blond assassin. It spoke of a long history and a deep trust, how they sometimes even moved in the same way.

Killing Michaels would knock Robinson down for the count and that, was something he was really, really looking forward to.

* * * *

Does it feel like, Christmas in Hollywood?
Does it feel like, we’re ever going to make it home?
Burn, baby, burn, strung out on a wire,
heart in a cage, you’re so full of desire.
You need fast hands, to deal with all the liars.
So don’t burn, baby, burn, baby, burn.

— Bullet-Proof Skin, Institute

The day dawned bright and clear, but Starsky was already wide awake when it did. The night had been useless, not at all what he’d needed in terms of resting and getting ready for the coming fight. He couldn’t help listening for the door to Hutch’s room to open and close, telling him that his partner had arrived back from wherever the hell it was he’d gone.

It never had, and that was what had kept him awake.

Yawning and rubbing at dry, gritty eyes, Starsky stepped away from the window that overlooked the courtyard and turned to get ready for the day. It was going to be a long one, what with coordinating the attack on DiCocco’s place and trying to find out from the Feds what moves they wanted to make. Being in the middle really sucked, but there was no use bitching about it.

It was about seven thirty that Hutch finally came back and Starsky was in the kitchen waiting for coffee when he did. He saw Hutch go past the kitchen as he walked down the hall, bedraggled and tired, like he’d been up all night, and unreasonable anger lanced through him. Maybe Hutch really had been out with a woman all night. Maybe he’d met some damsel-in-distress type who happened to be into health food, a combination that his partner had as yet to be able to resist.

Taking a breath, Starsky forced the anger back, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good to jump on Hutch about anything, especially not accusing him of being unfaithful when they’d only been together the one time. He knew better, he really did, but the way Hutch dragged his feet as he headed for his bedroom reminded Starsky of all the nights his partner had moved just after being up all night with a woman.

Starsky poured the coffee and drank it without care for how hot it was, scalding his tongue and swearing a blue-streak at the resulting pain.

“You okay, Signore Robinson?”

Glancing over at Bella, one of the younger cleaning women, Starsky forced a smile and answered, “Sure. Just some hot coffee, is all.”

“You should take better care of yourself,” Bella ordered, wagging a finger at him.

The scolding prompted a more genuine smile from him as he replied, “I’ll try, Bella, thanks.”

Leaving the kitchen, he headed after Hutch and called out, “Going somewhere lover-boy?”

Hutch stopped short, then shook his head and muttered something under his breath before facing Starsky. There was a wary look on his face as Starsky got closer and he asked, “Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

“Who, me? Nah,” Starsky brushed off. “Of course, at least I was in my own bed when I got up.”

Eyebrows rising, Hutch paused before saying, “You know, last time I checked, we weren’t married, Robinson. What’s with the attitude?”

Starsky opened his mouth to give Hutch whatfor when he realized from the blonde’s expression that they weren’t alone. Instead of getting personal, he snapped, “We got a big job tomorrow and I don’t need you comin’ in not able to pull your weight, that’s what’s with the attitude.”

That hated little smirk, the one that Hutch got when he thought he knew better than Starsky, popped up and he said, “Just take care of your part, Robinson, I’ll be ready.”

He might as well have patted Starsky on the head and told him to run along.

Smoldering for too many reasons, Starsky grabbed Hutch by the throat and shoved him into the nearest wall, pinning him there, despite the fact that he was shorter and didn’t have as much muscle. He knew, of course, that Hutch let him do it. That if the other man wanted to break free, he could. If they ever went at it for real, without the barriers of civilization, Starsky didn’t honestly know who would win. Because what he lacked in height and breadth, he made up for with speed and deviousness. Hutch was an innately fair fighter, while Starsky instinctively remembered the earliest lessons of street-fighting where survival was paramount.

“When we’ve got a gig, I’m in charge. You know that. That’s why we work so good together, Michaels,” Starsky snarled. “You see a need to change that?”

Hutch stared back at him, arms down at his side, though the anger in the pale blue was unmistakable to anyone with a brain. There was a long, drawn out moment where anything could have happened, but then the taller man relaxed under his hold. His hands came up and out, slowly, and Hutch answered, “No need at all, buddy. I’m just sayin’ that I’ll do my thing. You don’t have to worry how much sleep I get, okay?”

A second later, Starsky gave a clipped nod and stood back, rolling his shoulders and neck, apologizing, “Yeah, sorry about that. Guess I need a little more sleep myself.”

Hutch laughed, a sign that all was forgiven, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You always get stressed before a big job, I take that into account.”

“Robinson.”

They both turned, in sync once again, and Starsky grimaced to himself that it had been Gino to witness the scuffle. Behind him was Renaldo and a couple of other guys. Keeping a little of his impatience visible, he asked, “What?”

“That delivery came in.”

“Takes four of you to tell me that?” Starsky questioned, mocking. “Gino, do everyone a favor and stop trying to be a made guy when you’re not. The rest of you, get your asses in gear. We’ve got a truck to unload.”

He left Hutch there to supervise the unloading, though there wasn’t much needed. It was more weapons than Starsky ever wanted to see in the hands of a mob famiglia, no damn doubt about that, but the guys knew what they were doing. It was done in twenty minutes, the crates of handguns and semi-automatic weapons piled up in a work shed around the back of the mansion.

Once that was taken care of, Starsky headed over to see how plans were going with the Rat Brothers, as he’d taken to calling them. Despite the fact that Starsky had no personal stake in them betraying their own people, he couldn’t help the disgusted looks. Betrayal like that, it didn’t sit well with him for any reason. Even knowing that what he did was right, Starsky couldn’t help a smidgen of guilt for worming his way into this family and taking their trust and using it against them.

From there, the day went pretty fast. It was one thing after another that had Starsky moving around the mansion. He was in his own office, arranging things by phone. He was in Samonelli’s office, going over the timing of the attacks. After lunch, he was back in a study, going over blueprints with the Rat Brothers. And then, finally, when it was almost time for dinner, he was in a different study, going over those same blueprints with Hutch to line up the kill shot.

His anger over the other man being out all night had tempered into a resigned acceptance. No matter what Hutch might have done, it couldn’t touch what the two of them had together and Starsky knew it. Their fingers met in the center of the plans and Starsky’s breath hitched when his partner’s finger curled around his own. Meeting the pale blue eyes, he husked, “Hey. How are ya?”

Hutch’s lips curved into a slow, welcoming smile and he answered, “Better now. How about you?”

Starsky nodded with a deep sigh as he straightened up. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I was completely out of line.”

“No, you weren’t,” Hutch countered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “But you don’t have all the info, either.”

“Like?”

Hutch leaned in close and murmured into his ear, “Like we got reinforcements who’re going to take care of us. It’s almost over, Starsk. Just hang on until tomorrow, okay?”

Relief made his knees weak, but Starsky forced himself to stay standing. “Yeah. Okay.”

Stepping back, Hutch said, “So what’s on for tonight? Pasta, or pasta?”

Starsky grinned, practically giddy, and answered, “I think it’s pasta.”

* * * *

Hutch spent most of the day going out of his mind with boredom.

He caught the occasional glimpse of Starsky going here and there, doing whatever needed to be done, and it only whetted his appetite for the other man. It had just about killed him to spend their second night apart, especially knowing that Starsky was probably beating himself up and doubting that them getting together like that had been a good idea. Hutch knew that the brash exterior was a shield, that his partner often felt things too deeply, self-doubt and insecurity among the less healthy emotions that always took root in him.

When they finally were able to get together to plan the ‘hit’ on DiCocco, it was all he could do not to pull Starsky into his arms and curl up with him on the nearest sofa. To cradle Starsky in his arms and let him get the rest he so desperately needed. The hard edges were back with a vengeance, seeming alien on what was supposed to be an open, caring face. Hutch wanted to kiss him until the familiar softness in the dark blue eyes returned.

Things being what they were, Hutch settled for curling his finger around Starsky’s on the blueprints. After he told Starsky that help was waiting for them, that it wouldn’t be long, they returned to getting him the best spot with which to ‘kill’ DiCocco. Then it was supper with the family, which turned out to be aggravating in several ways.

First and foremost, it was apparently tradition to regale everyone with tales of past glory on the night before a battle. And how these people considered ambushing a rival mob family battle, Hutch would never understand.

Second, it went on way the hell too damn long.

Third, Hutch seriously didn’t like the way Gino kept glaring at Starsky when the kid thought no one was looking. Jealousy was no small motivator, as Hutch well knew; Gino was absolutely jealous of Starsky’s place in his uncle’s life. Keeping his alcohol intake limited to stay clear-headed was easy. Keeping a discreet eye on Gino and his pal, whose name Hutch couldn’t remember, not so easy. They were up to something, but damned if Hutch could tell what.

And last, it went on way the hell too damn long.

By the time the last of the men had cleared out and gone to bed, Hutch’s eyes were drooping and he was about ready to fall asleep in his chair. His vision was blurry and his body felt like lead. Being awake for the last two days was definitely taking its toll.

“C’mon, Prince Charming, let’s get you to bed,” Starsky muttered in his ear.

Hutch lurched upright, almost knocking their heads together, and sighed. “Guess I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Starsky chuckled. “It’s all that healthy crap you eat. If you had a little sugar and caffeine in your system, you’d be fine.”

With a snort, Hutch used his exhaustion as an excuse to put his arm over his partner’s shoulder and stay close. Starsky’s arm went around Hutch’s waist for support and they walked comfortably down the hall together. They parted at Hutch’s door, but he knew that he’d be in Starsky’s room only minutes later, so he didn’t protest. He only said, “Night, Robinson.”

“Get your beauty sleep this time,” Starsky teased.

Hutch waved at him with a grin and entered his room. They had a lot to talk about and he was suddenly catching a second wind with the knowledge that he’d be able to kiss Starsky silly in just a couple of minutes.

Unfortunately, as soon as he entered the room, something struck him in the head and after a brief flash of pain, everything went dark.

* * * *

Starsky waited all of ten minutes before getting antsy and deciding to check on Hutch. But then he stopped with his hand on the door and wondered if maybe he was making an assumption. Hutch was wiped out. There was no way he was in any shape for anything except sleeping. Actually, that was exactly what Starsky had planned on doing; holding on to Hutch, or maybe being held by him, and sleeping with him.

But maybe Hutch had other plans. They hadn’t talked about it and were, of course, in the middle of a house where people got their asses handed to them for less than sleeping with another man. The night before a big gig, Hutch really did need to sleep, especially since he’d clearly been up all night planning with the feds the night before. And while he was dying to hear how that had happened, it could wait.

Vacillating, Starsky finally dropped his hand from the doorknob and turned back to get ready for bed. If he needed to know what was going to happen the next day, Hutch would’ve come in to tell him. They were probably going for him looking genuinely surprised or something. And while he hated being kept out of the loop, he trusted Hutch implicitly. If Hutch thought it was better for him to not know, then it was.

A little irritated despite that, Starsky climbed into bed and sighed. It was going to be a long time before he fell asleep.

* * * *

Despite the fact that he hadn’t planned on getting much sleep, Starsky did. He woke slowly, but feeling rested, and stretched and yawned until he was fully awake. The alarm wasn’t scheduled to go off for another ten minutes and he rolled over to turn it off. Staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, Starsky rubbed his face and finally pushed himself out of bed to stumble to the bathroom.

More awake after a shower and shave, Starsky dressed and got ready for the day with that extra jolt of energy that always came with a big bust. And this was the biggest bust of his career. Actually, it was likely the last bust of his career since he’d have to go into witness relocation once everything was said and done. He put a lot more stock in his own powers of protection, but a new name and ID sure couldn’t help. Well. As long as Hutch went with him, which hadn’t even been brought up yet, let alone settled.

Shaking off the melancholy before it could really strike, Starsky looked himself in the mirror for a long, long moment. As he did, his expression flattened into a hard, edgy one and his jaw set. This was who he was for at least another twelve hours, who he had to be to keep his partner safe and bring down one of the strongest families on the west coast. Turning from his reflection before he couldn’t stand to look at it anymore, Starsky grabbed his holster and shouldered it as he left the room.

Starsky knocked loud on Hutch’s door, but didn’t get a response. Frowning, he knocked again and called out, “Yo, Michaels! You up?”

When there wasn’t an answer from that, either, Starsky opened the door and cautiously stepped inside. Nothing seemed out of place, at first glance, and he moved further into the room. But he noted that the bed hadn’t been slept in and Hutch’s suitcase and rifle were gone, which was definitely out of the ordinary. No way would Hutch have left.

No fucking way.

Turning sharply, Starsky left the room and headed straight for the front gate. It was one of Gino’s few friends on duty, which didn’t bode well, but Starsky just asked, “Michaels come through here?”

“Yeah. About five this morning. Said he had your okay to set up early for the shoot,” Donato replied shortly.

Starksy leaned in. “He did, huh.”

“Yeah.”

If the kid was any more scared, he’d be pissing his pants. Starsky left him there and went to find Samonelli, suspecting what had happened, but having no real proof. There wasn’t any time to do a thorough search of the grounds, even if Gino had been stupid enough to leave Hutch where he could be found, which he wasn’t. Jealous, insecure, blinded, and inexperienced, but not stupid.

As he’d expected, Samonelli was already in his study, eating a private breakfast. The older man looked up at his entrance and smiled faintly. “Buon giorno. How is everything?”

“Not good, Mr. Samonelli,” David answered bluntly. “Gino’s gone and done something stupid.”

The other man sighed, shaking his head. “Now what?”

“He did something to Michaels then made it seem like he went off on his own. He’s got Donato covering for him at the gate.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Shaking his head, Samonelli said, “It goes against the grain to trust anyone’s word over that of blood, even yours, but I know my nephew. Have you faced him about this yet?”

“Not yet. Wasn’t sure how far you wanted me to go with it,” Starsky answered honestly. He wanted to beat the shit out of Gino for even touching Hutch and wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t if he’d gone looking for the little snot.

Maybe seeing that in his eyes, Samonelli replied, “Bring him to me, I’ll deal with him.”

Hesitating only briefly, Starsky countered, “I’d prefer to do this myself, Mr. Samonelli. It’s not the first time he’s stepped on me and used you to get out of it.”

The old man’s gaze hardened and he repeated, “I’ll deal with it.”

Starsky nodded. “Sure, Mr. Samonelli, sure.”

This time, hung in the air before he left the office.

* * * *

The headache was a surprise, but only because Hutch knew that he should be dead. Light stabbed painfully into his eyes when he opened them, causing him to moan, even though he tried to stifle the sound. His hands were cuffed behind his back and he rested on a hard floor, causing his shoulders to chime in with their own aches and pains on top of everything else.

“Look who’s awake.”

Everything was a blur, just enough out of focus that he could make out shapes, as well as light and dark, but nothing specific. He didn’t have to see to know Gino’s voice, though, and rasped, “You bought yourself a lot of trouble this time, Gino.”

A Gino-shaped-blur came into his line of sight. “I can’t figure out if you and Robinson are queer or cops and you know what? I’m really not sure which would be worse.”

How about both? Hutch wanted to ask, an insane laugh threatening to escape. He kept it together despite the throbbing agony in his head and the urge to vomit, instead answering, “In this case, being wrong is really going to be worst case scenario.”

“What I don’t get,” Gino continued, ignoring the comment. “is why my uncle bought that you’re who you say you are. No, forget that. Let’s go back to Robinson, which is why all of this is happening. I did a lot of checking and you know what? I can’t seem to find anyone except that uncle of his, and that bozo Sansone, to personally vouch for him. No one’s even heard of him.”

“If you’re so sure of yourself, why didn’t you go to Samonelli?” Hutch asked.

Gino snorted. “I know you think I’m stupid, but I’m not. My uncle’s a lot of things, and blinded by loyalty is one of them. He won’t see Robinson for what he really is until the fucker busts him, which I figure to happen on the DiCocco hit. That’s why you and I are going to sit this one out and let everything go down without us.”

Hutch’s vision was partially returned and he could just make out the sneer on the other man’s face. “What happens when your uncle doesn’t get arrested?”

The sneer remained in place and Gino answered, “Then me and my buddies get to beat the shit out of you and Robinson for being fags.”

Damned if you do, Hutch thought tiredly, closing his eyes and resting his head back on the floor.

He tried to ignore Gino’s ugly chuckle.

* * * *

A half hour later proved that Gino and Hutch were nowhere in the compound. Donato stood in front of Samonelli’s desk sweating bullets under the combined stares of Starsky and the old man himself.

“I don’t know, Mr. Samonelli, and that’s the God’s honest truth!” Donato exclaimed. “Gino wouldn’t tell me nothin,’ I swear! Said I’d just spill my guts.”

Starsky snorted. “That I believe.”

“Get out, Donnie,” Samonelli ordered.

They all knew that he didn’t mean just the office and the kid took off, clearly grateful to get out with his life.

Moving in front of the desk, Starsky asked, “What do you want to do?”

“We go forward as planned, only we’ll take out DiCocco on the ground,” Samonelli answered.

Starsky couldn’t believe that he would ever be grateful for anything from Gino Samonelli, but he was now. If the punk hadn’t made off with Hutch, there would’ve been no way of pulling off the hit without having his partner somehow make the shot. Nodding finally, Starsky said, “I’ll get everyone going and call you when we get to Bay City.”

Samonelli nodded in return. “I’m counting on you, Robinson.”

Somehow, and later he could never say how, Starsky managed to look the other man in the eye and answer, “I won’t let you down, Mr. Samonelli,” before walking out of the other man’s office for the last time.

* * * *

The good news was that Hutch had always been a pretty fast healer. The bad news was that even though his head and stomach were cooperating, his hands were still cuffed behind his back. It made thoughts of escape a lot more difficult than he liked to admit. Not that it would stop him, but he really could’ve done without the cuffs. The morning wore into afternoon and Gino finally left Hutch alone in the small, loft-style apartment.

Rolling over to the wall, Hutch used it to push himself up to his feet and then walked over to the door, which turned out to be a wood-styled metal, not actual wood. Not that it mattered, because he sure couldn’t batter it down the way he was. From there, he walked over to the window and, looking out, discovered that he was still in San Francisco. That made sense, of course, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The window and its twin were too high up for him to consider climbing out, unfortunately, and Hutch couldn’t see any other way out of the place.

Hurrying over to the phone on the coffee table, he sat on a cushion instead of the hardwood floor and sighed in relief. Angling sideways, Hutch knocked the phone off, dialing awkwardly from memory, and then slid down to sit again on the floor.

“O’Dell.”

Grimacing at the crick in his neck, Hutch answered, “It’s Hutch. Gino’s got me stashed somewhere, so you guys need to come get me before he gets tired of hanging around and shoots me out of boredom.”

“What kind of firepower does he have?” O’Dell demanded.

“So far I’ve only seen the one handgun, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. I’ll get a couple of agents there as soon as possible.”

Hutch hurriedly put in, “O’Dell!” sensing the man was about to hang up.

“What?” O’Dell asked impatiently.

“Is Starsky okay?”

“The operation hasn’t gone down yet, but it will in the next half hour. I’ve got it all under control, Hutchinson, don’t worry.”

But that was all Hutch could do as he set the phone back in the cradle and went back to his spot. His partner was out there without him as backup and that never set well with Hutch. Even less so considering the amount of danger Starsky was in. Gino returned to the loft about a half-hour later, laden with a grocery bag. That gave him some pause, because if the kid were planning to kill him, why get that much food?

This was a different Gino than Hutch had seen and interacted with on the Samonelli compound, no doubt about it. Almost as if being on his own gave the young man the confidence he needed to make real plans that could have real consequences. Unpleasant ones.

As if sensing the questions, Gino gave him a malicious grin and asked, “Getting nervous yet, Michaels?”

Hutch shrugged. “Not really. If you wanted me dead, I’d be dead already.”

“It’s the ‘not dead’ part that’s throwing you, ain’t it?” Gino questioned, smirking.

The guess was a little too accurate for Hutch’s piece of mind, but he only faked a yawn and closed his eyes. “Long day and my head hurts. Hope you don’t mind if I get some shut-eye.”

Gino didn’t answer, which actually did make Hutch nervous, but he refused to re-open his eyes to see what the other man was doing. He just mentally crossed his fingers that the FBI would show up before the fledgling psycho got too bored.

* * * *

Storming in anywhere without a badge felt more wrong than anything else Starsky had done since being undercover, barring the near-murder he’d almost committed and Hutch being kidnapped. The DiCocco house wasn’t nearly as well fortified as Samonelli’s, so getting in proved to be a hell of a lot easier than it should’ve been. It was basically a mansion with guards at the gate and more at the front door. The guards took one look at who was coming and let off a round of gunfire that was stopped by a hail of their own deadly bullets before Starsky could get the men to stop.

From there, it was a short drive up to the steps and a loud, ugly bluff to get the guards there to drop their guns or end up like their friends. Once they were down for the count, Starsky motioned two of his men over and ordered, “Stay here and make sure we don’t get any surprises.”

They nodded and he moved inside with the rest of the men, gun in hand as he scanned the expensive interior. He nodded to a couple of the men to stay put and went upstairs with the remaining six, taking the steps two at a time. Posting one at the top of the stairs, he continued towards the office.

“It’s too quiet,” one of the men said softly. “Something’s wrong.”

“FBI! FBI! Hands in the air where we can see them!”

There was shouting and shooting and Starsky dove for cover, not sure who was going to get him killed the fastest. He sure as hell wasn’t going to die protecting some mob asshole. From behind a door, he kept an eye on the Feds, making sure they didn’t get pinned down by shooting two of ‘his’ men in the shoulders from behind. That brought the last two back around on him, realizing instinctively that he was in on it with the Feds.

Everything was over in surprisingly short order, but not nearly fast enough for Starsky. Once the men were all rounded up and in cuffs, he hurried to find O’Dell, but discovered the man wasn’t around.

“He stayed in San Francisco to arrest Samonelli,” the SAIC told him.

Practically growling in frustration, Starsky snapped, “My partner’s been kidnapped by the bastard’s nephew, Gino! I gotta find him!”

“Starsky!”

Shock ran through him at the familiar voice and he turned to find Linda Williams striding towards him. She grabbed him in a hug and he returned it, holding tight for a few seconds before pulling back with, “What the hell are you doing here? Not that you’re not a sight for sore eyes or anything.”

She grinned. “Yeah, sure. Look, Hutch is okay, but he was shot during the rescue.”

Starsky paled and demanded, “What happened? Are you sure he’s okay? What hospital?”

“Detective Starsky? I need to start the debriefing,” the SAIC said, rejoining them.

Shaking his head, Starsky stated, “I’m going to see my partner. If you want to come with, I can give you something in the car ride back to San Francisco. Other than that, you’re going to wait.”

“You can’t…”

Starsky pinned him with a glare and told him, quietly dangerous, “Don’t you tell me what I can’t do after six months undercover. I’m going to see my partner. What you do, I don’t really care. Linda? You wanna get me there?”

Linking her arm with his, Linda answered, “It would be my pleasure.”

* * * *

By the time Starsky got into Hutch’s hospital room, he was about ready to go crazy from the wait. The ride up to San Francisco had been the longest ever and he’d barely been able to sit still, let alone give a coherent or detailed statement to O’Dell’s counterpart. Hutch was sleeping when he got there and, not wanting to disturb him, Starsky brought a chair over to the bed and sat on it. Watching his partner was some kind of balm, because even after only ten minutes, Starsky felt himself relaxing.

It was a good two hours before whatever sedative they’d given Hutch wore off and he woke enough to give Starsky a fuzzy look. The confusion changed to a staggering amount of relief and he caught the hand Hutch held out towards him, bringing it to his lips before pressing it wordlessly to his cheek.

“It’s over?” Hutch asked.

Nodding, Starsky confirmed, “Everyone’s in lock-up and I’m not moving from here until you’re ready to go, so don’t waste your breath, partner.”

With a tired grin, Hutch answered, “Wouldn’t dream of it. So. Where are we going once I do get sprung?”

“Anywhere we want,” Starsky promised.

“Good. Gonna hold you to that.”

The words were faint and Hutch’s eyes drifted closed again before they were even done. Starsky yawned, the exhaustion dragging at him, and pulled the chair closer to the bed so he could keep hold of his lover’s hand and rest his top-half on the bed to get some sleep of his own.

Finally.

* * * *

Cause it’s you and me, and all of the people,
with nothing to do, nothing to lose.
And it’s you and me, and all of the people,
and I don’t know why, I can’t keep my eyes off of you.

— You and Me, Lifehouse

New Mexico was a compromise. They were in a spot that stayed warm most of the year, but the mountains were close enough that Hutch could go skiing with only a few hours driving. The trial took months after all the arrests were made, so it wasn’t until winter that they were finally able to find a house, buy it, and move into it. One of the many reasons that they’d bought the small home was because it was near an artists’ community. They both felt that the people there would be a lot more open-minded towards their relationship than most other places; especially since San Francisco and New York were off-limits after Starsky’s undercover assignment.

It took a couple of months to settle down enough that the instinctive urge to look over their shoulders began to fade. Flinching at a car backfire, or eyeing newcomers with suspicion, well, that took a lot longer. Still, they were as happy as they could be without being cops or leading the kind of lives to which they’d grown accustomed. They made friends in the town proper, even though their spread was a good ten miles outside the town limits, and Hutch had even performed a few times at the café on amateur night.

Much to Starsky’s surprise, he took a shine to painting the desert that surrounded their home. Hutch had just grinned and nodded in approval when Starsky had deemed one of his paintings finally good enough to go up above the mantel. For the most part, though, they ran a gym that was open four days a week and offered self-defense classes for different ages on the fifth day. They’d fit in to the small town with surprisingly little effort and Starsky couldn’t help but grin indulgently whenever one of the teenaged girls clamored for Hutch’s attention during a lesson.

It was a good six months after they moved in that they started working on building a real studio for Starsky’s painting. They hired out for all of the heavy lifting, but kept a close eye on things so as to learn how to do some real carpentry. As with painting, Starsky found himself gravitating towards the fine-tuned carpentry when things were mostly done, while Hutch helped shoulder the heavier stuff. The mid-sized out-building only took about a month to get done just the way that Starsky had pictured and he happily paid the men off on the last day with a big grin.

Slinging an arm over Starsky’s shoulder, Hutch asked, “You happy, partner?”

“Oh yeah, Hutch, it’s great!” Starsky exclaimed. “C’mon! Let’s move everything in!”

Chuckling at Starsky’s enthusiasm, Hutch followed a little slower so he could just take in the sight of his lover moving happily in their home. It still took him by surprise, sometimes, that they could find such peace in a life not of their own making. He remembered that first night in the alley when Starsky had looked at him with such pain and shame in his eyes, the zest for life and the zing of laughter practically gone for good.

“Get a move on, Hutch! We still gotta christen the studio and I’m not gonna until after everything’s where it’s supposed to be!” Starsky yelled back at him.

Thanking God for the full return of his partner, and the blessings of love in their new life, Hutch laughed as he hurried to catch up to Starsky.