She Knows

Starsky fights to hold on after a violent attack. Hutch is desperately searching for him, but the bond that connects them may not be limited to just the two of them.

The ropes taking his weight burned as they cut into his wrists. Another blow snapped his head to the side and set him swinging, the ropes cutting deeper. He didn’t even have the strength to kick out anymore. Each hit left him swaying helplessly, the enraged shouting just a noise he could no longer make sense of.

It was hopeless. He was nothing more than someone’s punch bag, hanging there, waiting for the final blow.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, dimly aware he was now lying on the ground, his limbs all tangled.

Hutch now had the name of who had taken Starsky, but that only fueled his fear even more. He was now on the hunt, and every second counted. The man’s vehicle had been reported two nights ago, tearing away from Starsky’s apartment. Every hour since then had felt like a day. Hutch hadn’t slept, stopped, or let himself think much past the next lead to find his partner before it was too late.

Dobey called through on the radio, the suspect had been found. But he was dead. He’d been drinking and driving and had wrapped his car around a tree just out of town. The local police reported it because of the BOLO out on the car and driver. But they’d found nothing in the car to help find Starsky and were losing light fast. Starsky’s apartment had been trashed by the fight he must have put up when he was abducted. And the large bloodstain in the trunk of the car caused even more concern. The rain had been hammering down for hours, making driving visibility extremely poor.

Dobey tried to convince Hutch to take a break, concerned about him driving while so tired in such poor weather conditions. He knew the depth of their partnership and also knew it was futile to try, but he did it anyway.

The local officers told Hutch what they knew about the area the crashed car had been heading towards. They knew of scattered properties, and several empty ones that he could have been using without being seen.

Starsky came to, wet and cold; the chill almost numbing some of the pain which was a relief. A lightning flash, then another, gave him fleeting moments to see his surroundings. The shell of the run-down barn had one patch that was sheltered from the driving storm. Inch by inch, he dragged himself towards it, every move sending pain through him. By the time he reached dry ground, he was wincing with each breath and had no strength left to crawl any further. Thinking of his partner, he knew Hutch would be frantically looking for him as he lost consciousness.

A clap of thunder brought Starsky to. All he could do was lie there, unable to move while the storm gradually stopped. Eventually he drifted off to sleep, dreaming he heard his precious Torino.

Driving the Torino gave Hutch a sense of connection to Starsky. The engine even seemed to race more than usual, as if it knew the urgency of its mission. Hutch ran into the next run-down shack, desperate to find Starsky alive but fearful he was too late. Nothing. He returned to the Torino and threw the torch onto the passenger seat. As he reversed down the overgrown slip road, the engine suddenly stopped without warning. It completely died, lights and all. His hand hit the steering wheel as he turned the key a couple of times, cursing his partner’s beloved car. He grabbed the torch as he got out to check under the hood. As he lifted it, the headlights came on, nearly blinding him. He jumped back in the car and turned the key again, only for everything to cut out once more.

Starsky knew the sound of his car. There was no other car like her. He also sensed Hutch’s presence and tried to call out, but he was too weak. Rummaging in the dark, he found a rock. He slammed it against the ground until it struck something solid. He kept doing it, hoping Hutch would hear it.

Hutch was looking under the hood with the torch again. He turned, thinking he heard something. There it was again. He turned, waving the torch out into the darkness, wishing the damn headlights were working. As if the car heard his thoughts, the headlights lit up a dilapidated barn. He heard the noise again and rushed towards it. But the noise he had heard stopped.

“Starsk?” Hutch shouted breaking the silence.

Then the beam of light from his torch found his partner. For a second Hutch froze. Starsky was there on the floor, soaked through, bloodied, curled in on himself like every bone in him had given up. Hutch was by his side in a split second, checking for a pulse. His hands trembled as they hovered over the damage, afraid to touch and more afraid not to.

“Hey, partner,” he whispered, forcing his voice to steady. “You just hang on, you hear me? I’m here buddy, I got you.”

Starsky’s eyes fluttered, dark, and unfocused, but the swollen lips gave a ghost of a crooked grin. “Ice cream?” he rasped in his breath.

Hutch bowed his head for half a second, swallowing hard, then pressed his hand carefully to Starsky’s cheek. “Yeah,” with a knowing forced smile. “You always do think of your stomach.”

He knew he had to get Starsky to hospital immediately. Shock was setting in. His partner was cold, drenched right through and his laboured breathing was shallow. He had to get him in the car and try warming him up.

Getting Starsky to the car was a slow, painful task. Every movement or shift of weight caused a bitten-off sound from Starsky which hit Hutch like a punch. Hutch kept one arm locked around him, almost carrying his friend through the overgrown path. He kept talking to Starsky to comfort him, but in truth it was to comfort them both.

“Stay with me Starsk. The hospital’s real close. You just keep those eyes open for me.”

As he prayed silently that the car would start up, the silent night was broken by the sound of the Torino engine. The bright headlights guided them back down the path safely.

Was he going mad? Had the car been waiting for them? He eased Starsky carefully into the back seat. Starsky still jerked and groaned, fighting to stay awake. His hand weakly caught Hutch’s sleeve. “You…found me, Uutch,” he whispered, the words thin and broken.

Hutch swallowed hard, one hand braced on the door, the other brushing wet curls back from Starsky’s forehead. “Buddy…” he said, voice breaking. “I had help. She wouldn’t leave without you.” His forced tight smile barely holding back the concern for his injured friend. He closed the car door gently and gave the roof a soft grateful pat.

* * * *

I’ll help find him.

Starsky is missing, and he is my favourite human.

He cares about me in a way not many people care about their cars. No one waxes me like he does, slow and gentle, until my paint shines like it’s new. No one ever buffed my chrome until it reflects like a mirror, either. He talks to me. I’m more than metal and wheels to him, I am part of the team.

He and Hutch are partners, but they are more than that. Best friends. Brothers, though humans make those things complicated. I have carried them both through long nights, bad jokes, gunfire, and grief. I have felt one lean on the other, silently asking for help. Starsky is my favourite but it is Hutch I trust most to bring him home.

Hutch had been driving me all day, and I could feel his anxiety increasing in every part of me. He does not hold my steering wheel the way Starsky does. Starsky lets me run smooth beneath his hands, guiding me with easy fingers with a kind of trust. Hutch is holding on as if I am the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His fingers bite into my steering wheel. His palms are sweaty on my leather and every so often I feel a shudder through his tight hold.

I am trying to go as fast as I can, my suspension jolting as we rush through these dirt tracks not fit to be called a road. We have checked a couple of properties already, and each time Hutch has come back to me with that same desperate look. But this place feels different. I can’t explain it. Starsky is here.

Then Hutch runs back out without him, and for one terrible second even my engine seems to drop. He’s reversing me, ready to tear away to the next property, but I see it. A run-down shack, half-hidden and easy to miss. Hutch hasn’t seen it. I’ll make him stop.

I cut my engine off.

Hutch curses and slams his hand on my steering wheel. I don’t blame him, not really. I know the fear he has. Then he has the nerve to get out and look under my hood, as if this is some fault in me. So, I give him light. I throw my headlights across the shack.

But damn him, he jumps back in, turns the key, and tries to move on. So, I shut down again.

Now he is under my hood again, torch shaking in his hand. Then we both hear it. A faint sound from the shack. Not much. Barely anything. But Hutch goes still, and I feel the change in him before he moves. He’s seen the shack and there is hope. I light up the dilapidated shack, holding the beam steady for him. We hear the noise again, but Hutch is already running.

My first sight of Starsky nearly breaks something inside my engine. Hutch is half-carrying him, half-holding him together, and Starsky is clearly in a bad way. He’s pale and leaking that red blood oil. He’s moving like every step hurts. I start up before they reach me. My engine purring over soft and steady now. No jolts, not for my Starsky.

Starsky is eased onto my back seat, and I soften specially for him. He groans in pain as Hutch talks to him softly. But something in Hutch has changed. The terror is still there, but there’s also relief spreading through him. Starsky murmurs something to his partner, a broken little thank-you, and Hutch lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh and then almost a sob.

Then Hutch says it.

“I had help. She wouldn’t leave without you.”

I would have blushed right down to my taillights if paint could do that. Starsky’s hand moved weakly against the seat, and Hutch, still shaking but smiling now, gave me the gentlest pat. Not a hit this time. A thank you.

I drive them to the hospital. Starsky is safe on my back seat, Hutch’s relief warming my steering wheel. Hospital will help my favourite human. They are nearly as good as Merle the Earl, but not quite.