Origins

327

Hearing that Hutch may have been shot during a terrorist attack on a school, Officer Starsky is driven to find out what’s happening to the man he already considers his partner. The powers-that-be have other ideas.

 

Thanks to: Rae, Laura, Gayle, and Marion, who made this story better than it has any right to be. Errors are due solely to the author’s stubbornness and/or blindness.

Originally published in the Boys In Blue Zine in 2008, edited by Enednoviel.

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Small and dank, the room was silent save for the quiet scribbling of a dull pencil and the repetitive, stalking tread of rubber soles on dirty linoleum.

A moment later, the scribbling stopped. “Hey, Davey, I can’t read this chicken-scratch of yours. Is this J-A-R-T or J-O-R-T?”

Caught up in his own thoughts, Starsky continued to pace; four strides to the wall, turn, four strides back, turn. His mind’s eye flashed him a picture of a large cat, tiger, maybe, or a panther, pacing back and forth, back and forth along the bars of its cage.

Caged. That was exactly how he felt.

Gnawing at his lip, he spun on his heel and paced back toward his partner.

“Davey…”

“‘O,’ Johnny,” Starsky replied without stopping. His hand reached up and yanked the knot of his tie down another inch, twisting his neck in blissful freedom. “It’s an ‘O.’ Now can we please get outta here?”

Sighing, Blaine lifted his weary body out of the uncomfortable chair and eased into the path of his partner, holding his hands out and up to catch hold of broad shoulders tightly strung. “You need to pull it back a little, Dave. This isn’t helping any. There’s nothing you can do, and—”

“Bullshit!” Sharp enough to etch diamonds, Starsky’s shout bounded off the walls and ceiling, causing his partner to flinch back and lift his hands. “There’s plenty I can do, and only one thing stopping me from doin’ it!” With a grunt, he pushed Blaine back a step, then moved around him to get to the door.

He was caught before his hand reached the knob, and he whirled around, fists clenched and ready to do damage.

“Listen to me, you damn fool!” Blaine shouted, grabbing Starsky’s shoulders again and shaking him like a terrier with a rat. “You go off half-cocked like this and it’s gonna cost you your badge! You think you’re going to be any help then? A disgraced cop? A civilian? You’ll be lucky if you don’t end up with your ass in jail!” He shook the man again. “Think god dammit! Use the brain under all that hair and think!”

“Let go a’me, Johnny,” Starsky said in a low, calm, dangerous tone.

“No.”

“I said… let go.”

“And I said no. Not until you cool down.”

“Johnny, I’m warning you…”

“And I’m warning you! Calm yourself right now or I’ll cuff you to this table. I swear I will.”

Starsky’s smile was as cold as his voice. “You think you can, huh?”

“I know I can, Dave. You don’t know all the tricks yet, no matter how much you think you do. Your street thug act cuts zero ice with me, and you know it. So, are you going to behave like a rational human being or am I going to have to show you just how I got some of those medals in that display case in my living room?”

After a long, tense moment, Starsky abruptly relaxed in his mentor’s hold. His shoulders slumped as his head bowed, fingers and face going slack and loose. He felt drained. Worn out. Empty.

“Dammit, Johnny…”

Blaine pulled his partner into a quick, rough hug, then eased back. “Davey, it’s gonna be all right. I’m telling you, it’s going to be all right.”

“How do you know that?” Starsky demanded, head snapping up, chin thrust out. “How, Johnny? You psychic all the sudden?”

Sighing again, Blaine shook his head and released his charge, returning to his seat and slumping into it wearily. “You know I’m not. But you also know that there are two officers down, and he’s not one of them.”

“No, I don’t know that, Johnny, and neither do you. All we know is that he ain’t answering his calls. He’s in trouble. I know it. I can feel it!” Starsky’s hand came up to his chest, rubbing absently.

Blaine noticed, but didn’t comment on the action, choosing instead to continue his soothing words. “Davey, Dave, listen up, okay? There are two precincts on scene already, plus a SWAT team and the Chief himself. Every off-duty officer from Venice to Rampart has answered the call. The rest of the city is seriously undermanned. We need to stay here and do our jobs. You need to trust Hutch enough to let him do his. Okay?”

Starsky blinked at him in stunned outrage, and Blaine held up a hand. “I know you trust him. But you need to let him do his job and believe in him enough to know that he’ll come through it with flying colors, like he always has.” His expression softened. “I know it’s hard, but can you do it, Dave? For Hutch? For those innocent lives out there who depend on you to do your job?”

For a moment, just a moment, Starsky gave serious thought to cold-cocking the man he considered a surrogate father, stealing a squad car, and making for Venice. He wanted to hurt, to rend, to tear, and make bleed.

He was very aware of the darker side of his personality; had been, all his life. Given root with the death of his father, nurtured during his life with the gangs, feeding freely on what he thought at the time was his mother’s betrayal, it had grown riotous in the jungles of Vietnam until he was a hollowed-out shell of the boy he had once been. Not even human anymore, by his own estimation.

And then there was Hutch, with his green thumb and gentle hands, shaping him, pruning back the dead spots and encouraging him to grow in a new direction. It had taken long months, but he’d finally found himself looking at the world through new, cleaner, and more innocent eyes.

And now…

With a sigh that came from the depths of his soul, he forced down his aggression and bowed his head, staring sightlessly down at his shoes. “I’ll do what you’re askin’, but if I even get a whiff of him bein’ in trouble, Johnny…”

“I’ll be right beside you, Davey. That’s a promise. Okay?”

Just then, the door burst open and the Watch Commander peered in, his hawkish face set in a stern frown. “Nice of you to brief us on your location, Blaine. We’ve been looking all over hell and back for you.”

Again pushing himself from his chair, Blaine stood more or less at parade rest. “Sorry about that, sir. Too much going on upstairs. You have something for us?”

Dragging a hand through his greasy, iron gray hair, the Lieutenant nodded. “Yeah. With all the shit happening down at that school, the animals have got loose of their cages. Fires and looting in half a dozen spots and growing. Get your asses out there and contain the damage.”

“Aye, sir,” Blaine replied, collecting Starsky with a look. “We’re on it.”

Striding down the hall next to his mentor, Starsky was well aware of the eyes boring holes through his back. He wasn’t sure what the Lieutenant had against him, but he doubted he’d remain in the dark for long.

Hutch…

***

“…X-Ray Four, dispatch. Where do you want—”

“…off the channel already! Switch to tach two, understand?”

“This is Baker Six requesting ambulance to—”

“…’n’t even hear myself think! Victor Twelve, come in! Brody, where the hell—”

“…mess down here, sir! We need—”

“…nson’s down! Repeat, Officer—”

“Clear this channel immediately! All available units—”

“Off to your left, Dave.” Blaine’s voice cut through the radio chatter, startling Starsky and causing him to jerk the wheel slightly, then shift back to compensate. “Dave, you need to—”

“I know, Johnny. I know.” Peering through his partner’s window, Starsky took in the scene before him. Even though it was just past mid-day, the streets were nearly empty save for a gang of youths were attempting to push past the rusted security gate of a pawn shop while the large dog inside barked loudly. “Fat Rolly?”

“Yeah. I’d say more power to ’em, but anyone stupid enough to break into that place deserves to be hauled off on general principle alone. C’mon, let’s roust ’em and get it over with. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Nodding, Starsky pulled the cruiser to the opposite curb, grabbed his cap and slid out, hand on the grip of his nightstick. Moving easily around the car, he fell into step with his partner, waving a car past before crossing quickly and quietly and coming to a stop behind the hyped-up gang.

“‘scuse me,” he said in a voice that was almost jocular. “Somethin’ special you girls are after? A nice purse, maybe? Frilly pink dress to wear to the prom?”

As one, the group turned. The younger boys went wide eyed and scared. The older ones just sneered. “Beat it, pigs. We got you outnumbered.”

“A math whiz, I see,” Starsky smirked, crossing his arms comfortably over his chest. “Why don’t you dudes go back to pullin’ the wings off flies, or whatever you do when you should be in school, but aren’t.”

“Fuck off, cop!” the eldest snarled, his bushy red hair fluttering in the strong, smoke-scented breeze. Narrowing his eyes, he lunged forward, only to be caught by the scruff of his neck and lifted into the air by an amused John Blaine.

“You like being turned into hamburger, shaggy? What do you think you could do up against him?”

“Put me down, you fat old fuck, and you’ll find out!”

“Told ya to lay off the donuts, partner,” Starsky cracked, casting an amused glance over the rest of the group.

“Fat, I can deal with. But, but… he called me… old!” Blaine’s mocking laughter rang out along the otherwise empty street. “The nerve of these young punks!”

Still smirking, Starsky jerked his head in the direction of the street. “G’wan, ladies. Beat it.” The younger boys broke first, followed by the older ones, until only the red-headed leader was left, still dangling in the air, still swearing and punching at nothing.

“You want a free trip down to the slams, boy?” Starsky asked. “Cause if one of those wimpy punches connects, that’s exactly where you’ll end up. With a bunch of guys a whole lot bigger and a whole lot meaner eyein’ that skinny body of yours like a free buffet.”

“Fuck you,” the boy snarled, though lacked venom. “Lemme go.”

“Only if you say you’re sorry for insulting Officer Blaine, here. You really hurt his feelings.”

“Fuck off! I ain’t sayin’ nothin’!”

Affecting a sigh, Starsky uncrossed his arms and turned toward the street. “I’ll go clear off the back seat for our little buddy here.”

“Right behind you, partner.”

“No! Wait!” the kid yelled. “I’m sorry, okay? Fuck it, I’m sorry! Lemme go, all right? C’mon! Put me down!”

Blaine grinned at Starsky, who nodded. “Run along home then, youngin’,” Blaine drawled. “And tell your mama to wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Fuck you!” the red-head shouted, running off as fast as his long, skinny legs could carry him. “Fuck both of you right up the ass!”

“Well, wasn’t that just sweet,” Blaine remarked in a sour voice.

“Dandy,” Starsky agreed. “C’mon, Johnny, let’s get goin’.”

“You know,” Blaine replied, refusing to be rushed, “there’s something really familiar about that scene we just had. Change the location, and I could swear…”

The joke withered under the force of Starsky’s glare.

Slipping into the car, he gave the key a vicious twist and gunned the engine until it howled in protest before taking off in a peal of smoking rubber. The confusing radio chatter continued on unabated, cranking his tension to near the breaking point.

“Attention all units in the vicinity of Elm and Pacific, a 211 in progress at Bell’s Jewelers. An officer has been injured at the scene. Repeat…”

“This is Baker Six, Dispatch. We are in the area and are responding.”

“Roger, Baker Six. Be advised that the situation is turning into a riot. Proceed with extreme caution.”

“Roger that, Dispatch. Baker Six out.”

Turning the big car in a looping skid, Starsky gunned the accelerator and screamed down the broad avenue, glaring out the window as if the city had done him a personal disservice. Blaine shot him a wary look, but held his silence.

“Switch over to tach three, would you, Johnny?”

“Dave…”

“C’mon, Johnny. It’s killin’ me, all this not knowin’. Just for a minute, okay? If they need us, they’ll call through.”

Muttering under his breath, Blaine switched channels until the Venice frequency came through loud and clear.

“Ocean Nine and Twelve, swing around the back and fill in the holes on the perimeter! Move it!”

“Captain, this is Lopez. I hear shots fired inside the school. Shots fired.”

“How many?”

“Six, make that seven, Captain! Eight! Shit, it sounds like a war in there!”

“…Ocean Six, officer down! Hank, dammit, go around! We’ve got to get him outta there!”

“Ocean Six, what is your position?”

“…Oh… gotta… ead! He’s…”

“Ocean Six! Ocean Six!”

Adrenaline pouring through his system, Starsky grabbed the mike and keyed it. “Who’s down?” he demanded without even bothering to identify himself. “Dammit, somebody answer me! Who’s down?!”

“Starsky!”

Starsky yanked the mike from Blaine’s desperately reaching hand and keyed it again. “Somebody answer me! Who’s down?”

“Who is this?”

“Never mind who this is! Answer my question! Who’s down?”

“Who is this? Who’s on this channel? Identify yourself!”

“Starsky!”

“Leave off, John!”

“Starsky! Starsky, look out!”

Dropping the mike, Starsky grabbed the wheel and jerked it hard to the right, the rear quarter-panel just kissing the front bumper of a plumbing truck speeding through the intersection. The cruiser tried to spin out, but Starsky kept a steady hand on the wheel and coaxed it straight again, wailing through the red light and around several slow-moving cars before getting back into his own lane again. He noticed, almost absently, that his hands had developed a fine tremor, and he squeezed his eyes shut just briefly, baring his teeth against the thoughts that threatened to swamp him.

“That’s it!” Blaine shouted, red-faced and sweating. “Pull over!”

“Wha—?”

“Pull over, god damn it, or I’ll yank that wheel out of your hand and flip us both! Do it now, Officer! That’s an order!”

Yanking the wheel, Starsky jammed on the brakes and bounced up and over the curb, narrowly missing the imposing stone edifice of the bank directly ahead. Sullen-faced, he glared out the windshield, acting and feeling every bit the thirteen-year-old boy grounded for getting caught smoking behind the school.

Blaine opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. He took in a full, deep breath and blew it out, rustling the papers lying on the bench seat between them. “You’re expecting me to take a few strips off your hide, but I’m not going to do that,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “You’re not twelve anymore, even if you still act that way sometimes.” He shook his head. “I’m not gonna give you some useless platitudes about how I know what you’re going through, because what you and Hutch have is beyond my experience, and even if it wasn’t, that kind of talk still wouldn’t help.”

Removing his cap, Blaine dragged a hand through his hair, resisting a yawn. “I understand why you reacted the way you did, but you have to keep it in your head that you’re a cop, Dave, and you stand a lot to lose if you don’t act like one. Do you know who that was that you were yelling at back there?”

Still glaring out the window, Starsky didn’t answer.

“It was Captain Ferguson. You know, Iron Mike: Hard Ass? If he’d have guessed who you were, Dave, you would have been out on your can so fast you’d have broken the sound barrier all by yourself. Do you understand how dangerous that kind of stunt is? Do you have any idea how far over the line you’re crossing here?”

“I don’t care,” Starsky ground out sullenly. He continued to glare out the window, instinct turning his eyes toward Venice, and Hutch. His teeth ground slowly, jaw clamped tight enough to split them right down the middle.

“You have to care, Dave. You have to, because if you don’t, it’s all gone to shit. You can’t help Hutch like this.”

“I can’t help him at all!” Starsky shouted, uncrossing his arms and bringing both palms down hard onto the steering wheel. He latched onto the stinging pain and let it feed the inferno building inside. “He’s out there, Johnny. He’s out there, maybe hurt, maybe dead, definitely scared and… and… and I can’t do anything about it! I just gotta sit here and take it! I ain’t built like that, Johnny. I just… I ain’t. I gotta do something, don’t you understand?”

Reaching out, Blaine clasped his partner’s shoulder and squeezed. “For what it’s worth, Dave, I do understand. Better than you know. I—”

“Baker Six, Baker Six, what is your current location?”

“Baker Six, Blaine here. We’re at… the nineteen hundred block of Elm, Dispatch. Copy?”

“Copy, Baker Six. Baker Nine and Charlie Two are on scene and requesting your immediate assistance at the 211 at Bell’s Jewelers. You’re to command scene once you arrive. Copy?”

“Roger that, Dispatch. Show our ETA as two minutes. Advise Baker Six and Charlie Two will rendezvous with them in two minutes. Blaine out.”

Grunting, Starsky put the car in gear, thumped down the curb, and peeled off.

Hutch is alive. He’s alive and he’s fine and he’s taking care of business. I gotta believe that. I gotta, because…

***

The scene, when they finally arrived, was mass chaos. The jewelry store was nothing but a gaping hole of shattered glass and the crowd of fifty or more looters had moved down the street to bigger and better pickings.

Seven squad cars were parked haphazardly in the middle of the road, their flashing lights reflecting off the glass buildings in a never-ending miasma of confused colors. Up and down the street, small fires crackled, and the sound of shattering glass held sway over all.

Dan Slate, his uniform a sodden mess, looked up with an expression of profound relief as Blaine and Starsky entered the arena. Tossing the mike into his car, he strode over to them, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief that was once starched and white, and was now a shapeless brown-grey ball. “Johnny, thank God. We’ve got a real cluster going on over here, as you can see.”

“Where did all these idiots come from?” Blaine asked, taking in the scene like a searchlight, raking his gaze slowly back and forth.

“The hostage situation over in Venice is all over the news. You know how the criminal element sniffs out weakness, Johnny. It’s like rats coming out of a flooded sewer hole.”

“Can we get any more backup?”

Slate snorted. “Shit, no. You heard the radio. Got a dozen or more emergencies going on at the same time. We’re stretched thin enough as it is.” He looked up at his longtime friend, eyes beseeching. “You have any ideas?”

Thinking for a moment, Blaine turned to his partner, only to see him approaching from the car, two teargas launchers in his hands. He grinned. “You read my mind, boy.”

“Not that hard,” Starsky replied, not smiling as he handed over one of the rifles to his partner. “You hear any gunshots?” he asked Slate, doing his own searchlight appraisal of the situation.

“No. They’re using rocks and metal pipes, mostly. A few bicycle chains. Real Westside Story stuff. Might have a knife or two, but I haven’t seen anything worse.”

“What about the injured officer?”

“Got hit in the head with a rock. Didn’t look too bad, thank God.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not hiding anything more dangerous,” Blaine warned.

Starsky only nodded and began to move off down the street, weapon held cocked and ready. Blaine scrambled after him, falling into step as they moved through the long, cool shadows thrown by the towering buildings.

“You know, I’m looking forward to the day when I actually get to give an order, partner.”

“When you’re gonna say something I don’t know already, I’ll listen,” Starsky replied tightly, slowing his steps as he drew in closer to the still oblivious crowd.

“Dave…”

“Not now, Johnny. Let’s take care of this first, okay? You with me on that?”

Blaine sighed. “Yeah, Davey. I’m with you.”

“How you want to play it?”

Biting back a smile at the small concession, Blaine considered the situation. “Think you can put one over their heads? Rebound it off that brick facing over between those two broken windows there?”

Nodding, Starsky socketed the rifle butt and sighted along its barrel. His finger slipped inside the trigger guard and with one caressing motion, eased it back, sending a teargas canister shooting over the heads of the crowd and crashing into the brick building, exactly where Blaine had asked for it to go. Already hissing, it rebounded away from the wall and landed in the middle of the rioting group, filling the area immediately with smoke and heavy fumes.

“Let’s back off before we get hit with it, too,” Blaine said, pulling out a handkerchief and covering his mouth and nose with it as he eased himself back the way he’d come, still sticking close to the shadows.

Starsky followed as the crowd began dispersing, everyone stumbling out of the way of the gas, the fight gone mostly out of them. “Got eight more canisters in the car, if we need ’em.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t, because if we do, eight won’t be nearly enough.”

“I hear ya.”

Joining back up with the others, Starsky watched as the area cleared of both gas and rioters, leaving behind only shattered glass, strident alarms, and loud cursing from the few owners who’d been inside their stores when the looting started.

“Well, that was easy enough,” Slate remarked, grinning.

“Won’t be when it gets dark,” Starsky replied. “They’ll be braver, then.”

“A little ray of sunshine today, aren’t you?”

Shooting the older man a glare, Starsky turned and stalked off in the direction of his patrol car.

“What bug crawled up his ass?” Slate asked, miffed.

Blaine shot his own glare at his friend. “You forget Hutchinson is with Venice?”

Slate immediately paled. “Oh, shit. In all this mess, I forgot, Johnny. I’m sorry, man. I just wasn’t thinking.”

Peering back at Starsky, Blaine’s voice went soft and thoughtful. “I’m scared for him, Dan. He’s the son I’ll never have, and right now, he’s more of a stranger than the first time I saw him, trying to boost my car.”

“He looks ready to snap, all right.”

Blaine shook his head slowly. “He’s straining at the leash, Dan, and when it breaks…”

Slate clapped him on the shoulder. “If anyone can handle him, buddy, it’s you.”

“You don’t handle David Starsky, Dan. You just keep him pointed in the right direction and hope like hell he finds his way before all hell breaks loose.”

Worrying his lower lip, Slate chance a look into his friend’s dark eyes. “I don’t want to make it sound like I’m questioning your judgment or anything, Johnny, but… do you really think he’s cut out to be a cop? As volatile as he is?”

Blaine gazed back at him steadily. “He was born for it, Dan.”

Slate gusted out a sigh. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Right,” Blaine said, nodding and putting paid to the discussion. “Look, I need to split. A lot more fires where this came from. You stick around, get a few reports from the victims, and then head out. Best we can hope for is damage control right now.”

“Will do. Thanks for the rescue.”

Blaine chuckled briefly. “Not a problem. Be seeing you.”

“Yeah.”

***

Dark was beginning to fall as Starsky leaned wearily against the trunk of the cruiser, wiping the dirt, soot, and sweat from his face. His uniform was a lost cause; filthy, torn in several places, and thoroughly soaked from the water used to fight the apartment fire they’d rushed to after leaving the scene of the riot.

He ran a hand through his singed curls and winced, waving away the paramedic who was stalking in his direction, grim cast to his face.

“I’m fine,” he said around a poorly smothered cough.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” the young man asked kindly, if firmly, reaching for an arm.

Starsky jerked away, snarling. “I told you I was fine. What part of that don’t you understand, huh?”

“The part that has eyes to see the burns on your face and ears to hear your breathing from a mile away. Look, at least let me put some ointment on those burns. They look superficial enough, but they’re going to start to hurt like blazes once the adrenaline wears off. And a hit of oxygen should stop that tightness in your chest.” He looked around at the controlled chaos of the scene, then back at Starsky. “Doesn’t look like you’re going to be going anywhere in a hurry, so let me help you while I can. Okay?”

It was the tone of voice that got to him, the patient understanding and empathy that sounded so much like Hutch, he felt his throat tighten and begin to burn. “Yeah, all right,” he said gruffly, turning away. “Do what you gotta, but when I say enough, it’s enough. Got that?”

“Loud and clear. Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

As he waited, Starsky caught sight of a young woman, shivering and wrapped in a blanket. In her arms was a small child with a face he recognized, and he felt a small kernel of warmth steal through him at the sight.

Feeling his eyes on her, the young mother turned, met his gaze, and gave him a blazing, if watery grin. Then she tugged on the canvas sleeve of the fire chief and pointed in Starsky’s direction, talking animatedly, that smile never leaving her face.

Nodding, the chief turned toward Starsky, and he felt himself begin to blush, which set off the pain receptors in his face, causing him to cover it with his hands, which just made it all worse. He yanked his hands away just in time to see the imposing figure of the chief settle himself before him.

“That was a brave thing you did back there, Officer.”

Starsky flushed harder. He never did learn to take these sorts of compliments well and doubted he ever would, since Hutch was even worse about it than he was. “Thank you, sir. I was just—”

“Doing your job, yes, I know. But a paycheck doesn’t negate heroism, nor should it forestall a thank you. So, thank you.”

Starsky nodded. “Happy to help.” As the chief turned away, Starsky caught him by a sleeve. “I know maybe I shouldn’t be askin’ this, sir, but… the thing at Venice. Have you heard how it’s goin’ down?”

The man’s weary face grew more lines as Starsky watched. “Not very well, I’m sorry to say. Last report is that at least three children are dead, along with God knows how many teachers.”

“And the… the police?”

“Five down that I know of. My men were able to stabilize two of them and get them off to the hospital. The other three are pinned down. We don’t know their status.”

“Names,” Starsky rasped, tightening his hold on the other man’s arms. “Have you heard any names?”

The chief’s brow furrowed as he stared at the face of the man before him. Even covered with soot, it was suddenly as white as a ghost. “I…”

“Hutchinson,” Starsky pleaded in that same rasping voice. “Ken Hutchinson. That name ring a bell?”

After a long moment, the chief shook his head. “No, I don’t believe I’ve heard that name. Is he one of the officers on scene?”

“Yeah,” Starsky replied, feeling a vast wave of relief flooding through his system, leaving him weak and rung out at the end of it. “He’s there, but if you haven’t heard his name over the radio, then I guess that’s a good thing.” He dragged a hand again through his curls. “A real good thing. Thanks, Chief.”

“Officer… Starsky? Just because I haven’t heard his name doesn’t—”

Starsky pierced the man with his blazing eyes. “I’ve gotta believe it means everything, Chief. I’ve got to, because if I don’t…”

“I understand.”

“You don’t, but that’s okay.” Dredging up a lopsided smile from somewhere, he nodded and released his grip. “Thank you. I mean that.”

“And thank you, Officer Starsky. I hope your friend is doing okay.”

“So do I, sir. So do I.”

***

“Dammit, Johnny! We don’t have time for this!”

“We’re making time,” Blaine insisted, ushering his partner out of the car and onto the sidewalk in front of Metro. “If I had my way, you’d be in the hospital right now, Dave. Burns, smoke inhalation, two broken fingers, cracked ribs. Hell, I can’t figure out how you’re still standing!”

“I’ve had worse in PAL football, and still played the entire game, Johnny! We gotta… I gotta do something, man! I can’t just sit around here!” Starsky realized he was begging, but that had long ago ceased to matter to him.

For the past hour, maybe longer, he’d been constantly battling a deep intuition tearing at his guts that something was very, very wrong with Hutch. He’d tried pushing it back and down, telling himself repeatedly he was jumping at shadows, but the more he tried, the more insistent that call became until he was all-over crawling with the need to rush over to that school as fast as his wheels, or legs, could carry him.

“Please, Johnny. Please. I’m this close to going crazy as it is. You make me sit in that squad room and it’s just gonna push me over the edge. You gotta understand, man.”

From the corner of his vision, Starsky noticed the slump-shouldered figure of another friend, Jake Donner, slowly exiting his own squad car.

Turning, Donner met his eyes, paled, and slumped even further. Without thought, Starsky strode forward, catching the man under his arm before he could collapse. “What is it, Jake?” he asked, his soft, almost gentle voice at wild odds to the wild flight his heart had suddenly taken.

“I’m sorry, Dave,” the older man said, dragging a hand over his face. “I just heard, and I’m so damned sorry.”

All the blood in Starsky’s veins turned immediately to ice. His grip tightened and he shook his friend, hard. “Sor—What, Jake? What are you tryin’ to say, here? Spit it!”

Donner turned wide, confused eyes toward him. “You… you haven’t heard?”

Growling, Starsky shook him again. “Heard what? What’s there to hear, Jake! Spit it out! Now, man! Now!”

Rushing up to the two men, Blaine wrapped his arm as gently as he could around Starsky’s waist and attempted to pull him off.

It was like trying to uproot a tree.

“C’mon, Dave. Not here, huh? Let Jake go and we’ll go inside and discu—”

“Yes now!” Starsky growled. “Tell me, Jake. Tell me what you heard. Right here. Right now. Tell me.”

Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, Donner nodded. “It… uh… heard over the radio as we were coming back. It’s Hutch, Dave, he—”

“You’re hurting him, Dave. Ease up, man,” Blaine ordered, watching Donner blanch as Starsky’s hand turned to iron around his wrist.

“What about Hutch, Jake?” Starsky asked, nearly whispering. “What about him, huh?”

Donner swallowed hard. “W-well, he… he and Luke were going in through the back with some members of the SWAT team. Th-they’d seen some of the kids hiding there, you know? F-figured they could get ’em out w-without much of a fuss.”

“And?” Starsky asked in that queerly soft voice of his that signaled to anyone listening that things were going to go from bad to much, much worse in a heartbeat. “What happened, Jake? What, huh? Tell me.”

“They got s-some of them out, I heard five or six, I think. Anyway, th-there was a miscommunication or something, because the S-SWAT moved back and Luke and Hutch stayed where they were. Luke went down, somehow, and Hutch went in after him, tossing him out, al-along with another few kids, and then he… he went down, too.” He raised anguished eyes to his friend. “No-no one knows how bad it is, Dave. No one’s sure if he’s alive or de—” His face crumpled. “Aw, God, I’m so sorry, Dave. I’m so damned sorry.”

Abruptly releasing the grieving man, Starsky turned on his heel, his mind a heavy fog, his eyes sightless to anything but the patrol car ahead of him and the vision of Hutch going down beneath a hail of bullets. Reaching the cruiser, he yanked open the door and slid inside, twisting the key before he was even fully seated, and letting the door slam closed by the sheer momentum of the car’s sudden movement.

A half second later, there was a heavy body landing half-beside, half-across his lap. Struggling to right himself after his enforced charge through the window, Blaine clamped one hand on Starsky’s shoulder and another on the wheel, causing the car to plow through several empty boxes, up, and back down a high curb, sending off sparks and a shrieking whine as the undercarriage scraped against the jagged cement.

Almost negligently, Starsky pried Blaine’s grip from the wheel and used his shoulder to push the still struggling man up and away from him as he wrested back control of the car and shot off like a bullet into the darkening gloom.

“David, wait! You can’t—”

“The time for your orders has come and gone, Johnny,” Starsky replied, still using that too calm, too cool, too collected soft voice of his. “Nothing short of a bullet is gonna stop me now, so if you plan on puttin’ one through me, I’d suggest you do it already. If not, strap in, because this ride ain’t stopping till the very end.”

Blaine stared at him in silence for a very long moment before grunting and yanking the seatbelt harness over his shoulder and his lap, clicking the buckle home. “If we manage to get out of this alive, we’ll be lucky if our badges are the only things ripped off our chests.”

“You think I care? I don’t, in case you were wonderin’.”

“Dave…”

“Look, John, you want to get out? Cause I’ll stop the car right now and let you. No reason you gotta drag yourself through the mud after me. If not, say so and please… please… just. Shut. Up.”

“No, I don’t want to get out,” Blaine replied, ignoring the second order. “I promised you I’d have your back, and that promise still holds, but god damn it, Starsky, you’re gonna listen to what I have to say!”

After a minute, Starsky shrugged. “It’s a free country.”

Gnawing on a fingernail, Blaine was silent so long, Starsky figured he’d given it up as a lost cause. Then the man began to speak. “I know this isn’t really the time or place for it, but I have to say this, or I’ll kick myself from here to my grave.” He drew in a breath and blew it out slowly. “I’m scared for you, Davey,” he said softly, a rare vulnerability showing through in his voice. “Not… not because you’re doing what you’re doing. God knows it’s the way you’re built, but… I’m scared about this… this hold Hutchinson seems to have over you.”

The air in the car immediately plummeted twenty degrees, and abandoning his ragged nail, Blaine wrapped both arms around himself. “It’s not—that’s not… how I mean it, Dave. Or maybe it is. Hell, I dunno! All I know is, I’ve seen partners do some crazy shit for one another, hell, I’ve been known to do it myself a time or two, but this… this is off the map, Dave. Even for you. Partners go to the wall for one another, yeah. They risk their lives to keep each other safe. That’s a given. But this… what’s between you two, it’s dangerous, Davey! Can’t you see?”

“No, Johnny,” Starsky replied, his words rimed with frost. “I don’t see. But I’m sure you’re gonna explain it to me.”

“Damn right I am!” He grabbed the dashboard as the cruiser took a two-wheel turn to the left, then to the right again. “What you’ve got between you is dangerous on so many levels, Dave. Putting aside the possibility of something physical between you two…”

“Is that what you think, Johnny? That we’re doin’ it like monkeys when nobody’s looking?”

“Are you?”

Starsky didn’t bother to take his eyes off the road in front of him. He knew that his body language was telling his partner everything he wanted to know. But just in case… “Last I checked, who I’m sleepin’ with isn’t anybody’s business but my own.”

“Damn it, Starsky! You’re my partner! That makes it my business!”

“You won’t get it outta me, John. You want to dig up shit, you’ll have to go somewhere else with your shovel.”

“Dave, you’ve got to listen to me. If there is something physical going on with you two, you will both go down, and hard, one day. No one can keep that locked up inside all the time.” Swallowing hard, he looked away. “No one. Not all the time.”

“Yeah, well, if something like that’s between me and Hutch, we’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

“It might be too late by then! Don’t’ you realize that?” Taking a deep breath, Blaine got back under control, for which Starsky was eternally grateful. He didn’t have the time or the energy to worry about two people he loved. Everything was reserved for Hutch. It could never be any different.

When Blaine spoke again, his voice was much softer. “But like I said, leaving aside this hypothetical ‘are they or aren’t they’ for a minute, you can’t behave like this and be a cop both. It just isn’t possible, not even for you, not even if you think it is.”

Starsky let the words sift through the fog still blanketing his mind, discarding some and filing others away for later perusal. He grunted for his partner to keep talking, knowing the man would continue to pick at him until he’d gotten it all out of his system.

“Dave,” Blaine continued, “what you’ve got with Hutch, well, it’s admirable, no matter how it plays out when you’re not on duty, all right? Don’t think I’m condemning you for loving someone, no matter how you express it. But the thing is, see, when you do something like this, you go against all the things you’ve taken an oath to maintain. To follow and uphold the laws instead of breaking them. To put the lives of innocents and citizens you’ve sworn to protect above everything else; above yourself, your friends, your family. It’s the only way you can function as a cop in this world, Dave. It’s the only way you can be a cop. But when you do something like this, when you throw everything over because Hutch might be hurt, you turn that oath inside out, and when you do that, well, how can anyone trust you not to toss over some innocent you’ve sworn to protect if your partner is in danger and you have to make a choice? Because believe me, Dave, you continue in on this direction, and one day, you’re going to have to make that choice. And someone will die because of you. And it won’t be Hutch.”

Wearied by his talk, it took Blaine a second to realize they’d stopped, and he started in surprise as Starsky stuck his head in through the passenger’s side window, looking at him with a mixture of love and terrible compassion.

“Love ya, Johnny,” he murmured, his smile fond and sad. “Remember that, would ya?” And then he was gone, blending into the darkness as if born to it.

“Starsky!” Blaine screamed, jumping out of the cruiser. “Starsky!”

He took a panicked step in Starsky’s direction, only to be stopped by an arm roughly grabbing his and yanking, hard.

“Who are you?” a deep voice demanded. “Who are you and what the hell are you doing over here?”

“Blaine,” he managed. “John Blaine, from Metro. Now let me go, damn it! My partner’s headed for the school!”

Harold Dobey blinked in surprise, releasing his punishing grip on his friend’s arm. “John. I didn’t even recognize you. Wait—what did you say?”

“My partner, Harold! Dave Starsky. He’s gone for the school! We’ve got to stop him before he gets himself killed!”

“Of all the damn fool stunts,” Dobey blustered. “Why the—wait. This is about Hutchinson, isn’t it.”

Blaine nodded, eyes desperately searching for any sign of his partner. “What’s the word on him, Harold?”

“There isn’t any, I’m afraid. We’ve tried several recovery sorties. They’ve shot us up every time. It’s too hot to risk everything for just one man.” His face twisted as he said the words, looking as if he’d bitten into a ripe fruit, only to find maggots crawling around instead.

“It’s gonna be two men now, dammit!” Pounding his thigh in frustration, Blaine grit his teeth and started forward, only to be grabbed yet again by Dobey’s strong hand.

“Oh no you don’t, my friend. One damn fool stunt outta the two of you per mission. Stand down, John.” Turning, Dobey yelled for one of the Lieutenants attempting to keep some order to the scene. When the man closed in, Dobey nodded toward the building. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What is it this time?” the man asked wearily.

“David Starsky, Metro’s newest hothead, just went in there after Hutchinson.”

The Lieutenant’s eyes bugged out of his head so far, they looked in danger of landing on his cheeks. “Wha—what? How? Who? Who’s responsible for this? How did he get past the perimeter? What—”

“He jumped out of the car and ran for the building as soon as we got there, sir,” Blaine replied, refusing to look away. “He’s my partner, my responsibility. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to—”

“You have to do nothing but what I tell you to do, Blaine! You’ve fucked this all to hell and back. God damn it!” Bending down, the Lieutenant reached for the squad’s mike and keyed it. “This is Richardson to Red Leader. Richardson to Red Leader. Do you read, Red Leader?”

“I read you, Richardson. We’re in position and ready to commence on your word.”

“Stand down for now, Red Leader. Some dumb shit patrolman playing hero just slipped through our net. If he’s not in the building yet, he will be shortly. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve talked to Ferguson.”

“Copy, Richardson. Standing down.”

Tossing the mike back through the window, Richardson pinned Blaine with a stony glare. “Come with me, Officer Blaine. Ferguson is going to be chomping someone a new asshole, and that someone isn’t going to be me.”

Sighing wearily, Blaine followed behind the incensed Lieutenant, cursing Starsky with every breath.

***

It took all of Starsky’s skills, honed and perfected through long, dangerous months in the jungle, to slip past the cordon and up to the school’s meager protection. Berretta out and pressed up against his chest, he flattened himself against the rough brick, ears straining to catch even a hint of what lie within.

His heart was trip-hammering in his chest, and his spit, what little there was of it, tasted like electricity.

Damn it, Hutch. You’d better damn well be alive in there, or I’m gonna kill you myself!

Easing closer to the shattered window, he took in a deep breath, counted silently to three, and turned his head, taking care to keep out of direct line of sight as he peered into the darkened room beyond.

Dust, wood, books, shelves, and on the floor, a shining pool of what could only be blood.

Hutch’s blood.

Hutch…

Aw, babe. Where are you?

Once again plastered against the unforgiving brick, he strained to hear any sound at all from inside the school. When the oppressive silence continued, he gave another internal three-count, and darted to the left, jumping up and ignoring the spears of glass that sank into the flesh of his palm as he bulled himself up and over the ledge and into the room.

One leg buckled, straightened, and then he went down on his ass as his shoe came into contact with the still wet, sticky pool spread liberally on the floor.

Hutch’s blood on me. All over my feet, my hands, aw God, aw Jesus.

I can’t. I can’t… I…

Scrambling to his feet, he chambered a round and scuttled silently to the door opposite the window. It was slightly ajar, and he peered through into the hallway beyond.

Again, the dark, oppressive silence greeted him. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door wide enough to ease his body through, stopping on the other side, head tilted like an animal sniffing the wind.

There. A sound. Scuffling. Footsteps.

His head went back as he peered at the low ceiling. Upstairs. That’s where they were. Upstairs. Holding the high ground. It made sense. It’s what he would do. It’s what he had done.

The jungle wanted to close in on him, but he had a handle on himself now and refused to let anything deter his focus. Hutch was close by. He could feel it in the way his nape hairs prickled and waved, in the way a fresh flush of adrenaline tingled through his system, sharpening his vision and hearing, drying his mouth, bringing his cock up hard.

He looked off to the left, then the right, then back left.

Another sound. A faint scrabbling. Closer, now? Yes. Much closer, and down on this level.

Enemy?

But his body knew, even if his brain still wasn’t sure.

He moved toward the sound, feeling it pull him as if he’d swallowed a giant magnet. Closer now, definitely. And closer still, until he was at the end of the hallway and faced with three doors, one directly ahead, one to the left, and one to the right. The sounds had stopped.

“Button, button,” he murmured.

Closing his eyes, he cleared his mind as best he could and let his body guide him.

There. To the left.

Reaching out, he tried the knob, but of course it was locked. From the outside, or his mother had raised ten kinds of a fool.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his lockpick and set to work. It was an easy job; locks on an elementary school never meaning to hold against much more than the strength of a child. When he heard the telltale click, he slipped the pick back into his pocket and tested the knob. It turned easily.

“Hutch,” he tried softly, keeping the door closed for another long second. “Hutch, if you’re in there, it’s me. I’m comin’ after ya, partner, so hold tight and don’t shoot.”

There was no response, but he wasn’t expecting any. The absence of sounds was disconcerting, yes, but he’d heard them not more than a minute ago, and dead bodies did not sounds make.

“Ready or not,” he whispered, “here I come.”

Weapon at the ready, he eased the door open and slid inside, closing it quickly behind him. The utter darkness of the windowless room robbed him of his sight, so he used his other senses to compensate.

The first thing that assailed him was scent. The smell of blood, thick and cloying, set his nostrils twitching. Woven through the metallic scent was the sharp odor of sweat that tasted blessedly familiar on his tongue.

And, beneath that, the essence of his partner, friend, and lover.

Swamped with relief, he let the commingled scents lead him through the pitch-black room, his tread slow, deliberate, careful in the extreme.

When the toe of his shoe slid gently against something firm and yielding, it was all he could do just to control his descent. He winced as his knees came into hard, intimate contact with the cheaply tiled floor, but forgot the small pain immediately as his hands reached for and found the warm, damp skin of the one person he loved more than life. Any life.

“Hutch,” he whispered, orienting his friend’s body position in his mind as his hands mapped out the too-still body beneath him. “Hutch, babe, gotta wake up now. Gotta wake up for me, ok? Lemme know you’re okay.”

His fingertips brushed against lank, drenched hair. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell whether the wetness was sweat or blood, so he brought his fingers up to his mouth and tasted.

Thank God. Oh, thank God. Only sweat.

Not a head wound, then. At least nothing open.

“Hutch, c’mon, buddy. Time to rise and shine. Open up those pretty peepers for your pal, huh?”

The body beneath his hands stiffened, then started. “Wh—who is it?” a weak, thready voice demanded.

At the sound, Starsky’s shoulders shook, but somehow he managed to keep his voice calm and steady. “Nobody here but us chickens, Blintz.”

“S-Starsk?” Wonderment, pure and white, colored the tone and Starsky’s shoulders shook again.

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me. What kinda mess you get yourself into, huh?”

“Starsk… oh god. I can’t believe… I can’t… it’s really you!”

“Easy there, baby blue. Take it easy. Hang on a second, Hutch, you… aw, c’mere, ya big lummox. Lemme hold you.”

Gathering his friend tenderly in his arms, Starsky kept alert for any signs of pain. When there were none, he relaxed, cradling the blond head against the hollow of his neck and stroking the long back soothingly, lovingly.

“Starsky… Starsk.”

“‘s my name, babe. What happened, huh? Just had to play hero, I see. Don’t you know you’re not s’pposed to do that unless I’m around to share the glory?”

A weak chuckle vibrated against his skin. “Sorry. Forgot.”

“‘sokay. I’ll forgive you, just this once, if you tell me where you’re hurt. I saw an awful lot of blood when I came in.”

Hutch tried to move his head, then gave the effort up. “How did you get here? I mean, how…?”

“Never mind about that, Hutch. Just tell me where you’re hurt, huh? We’re still in a bit of a situation here, and I gotta know.”

Hutch was silent for a moment, as if cataloguing his injuries, then blew out a pained breath. “Leg, left. Gunshot.”

“Thigh or calf? Or did the bastards kneecap you?”

“Calf. I think. It’s all pretty numb right now.”

“Where else?”

Another moment of silence. “My h-hip, toward the back. Left side.”

“Took a chunk outta that pretty ass of yours, huh? Oh, shit, Hutch, you’re bleeding like a pig, here. Hang on. I need to… I gotta…” Starsky stopped struggling when he noticed his partner’s pained breathing. “Hutch? Babe? You okay?”

Pressing a kiss into the sweaty, stubbled skin beneath his lips, Hutch managed a nod. “Yeah. I feel like I just fell out of a Swiss cheese factory, but other than that, I’m… I’m doing ok.”

“Ok. Loosen your grip some, Hutch. I gotta get my shirt off so I can use it on your backside. Gotta slow down the bleeding somehow.”

“At least you’re c-consistent, Starsk. Always all over my ass.”

“Hey,” Starsky protested, slipping the shirt off his arms and folding it into a thick pad. “I appreciate fine works of art. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, arching back and hissing as Starsky pressed the folded cloth against the bullet wound. “Damn, that smarts.”

“I hate hurtin’ you like this, pal, but we gotta stop this bleeding.”

“I know, I know, partner. Just do what you have to. You’re the only narcotic I need right now.”

“You sayin’ I put you to sleep?”

“Only after a good, hard dose of lovin’, babe.”

Chuckling silently, Starsky eased the makeshift pad out of the way and checked the wound with tender fingers. “Looks like the bleeding’s slowed some. That’s good.”

“Luke, Starsk? How is he, do you know?”

“He’s fine, Hutch,” Starsky lied, knowing nothing of the sort but needing to keep Hutch’s mind as clear as he could make it. “You did good, partner. Real good. Heard you got some kids out, too, before you went down.”

“Three, I think. Or four. It’s hard… to remember.”

“‘sokay, Hutch. Don’t strain your brain. Just relax here with me a minute while we figure out what to do next.”

“Is it still going on?”

“Yeah. At least, I think so. Haven’t heard anything to tell me otherwise.”

“We’ve… got to do something, Starsk. Can’t leave those animals here with these kids and their teachers.”

“The only thing we’re gonna do, partner, is to get your bleeding ass to safety. After that, I’ll see what I can do.”

“No!” Hutch insisted, quietly but with great passion. “We’re in this together, Starsky. You and me, partners all the way.”

“Hutch, be serious, man! You can’t even walk!”

“You let me be the judge of what I can and cannot do, Starsky,” Hutch replied sharply. “If you try to drag me out of here, I swear I’ll fight you any way I can. We’re in this together or not at all.”

After a minute, Starsky shook his head in resignation and chuckled. “Anybody ever tell you your voice gets really sexy when you’re pissed, Blintz?”

Starsky couldn’t see his partner’s blush, but he could feel it easily against his cheek and neck. Grinning, he knuckled the top of Hutch’s skull.

“Ok, what’s the plan?” Hutch asked, his voice suspiciously froggy.

“I… uh… kinda rushed in here when I heard you got hit. I haven’t been keeping up on the situation.”

Hutch chuckled through his nose. “Somehow, I’m not a bit surprised. Ok, this is what I know, at least from before I got hit. Four gunman, maybe five, could even be as many as six, but I’m thinking four with one hidden back with the kids, keeping them quiet. Maybe a woman. The ones we’ve seen are wearing body armor, and they must have robbed a National Guard armory or something, because they’ve got more firepower than the US Army on maneuvers.”

“Well, this just gets better and better, don’t it.”

“What I can’t figure is how you managed to slip past without them seeing you.”

“When you cut your teeth learnin’ how to hide from the guys in the black pajamas, Hutch, it gets a little easier every time.”

“Yeah. I guess it would. But how did you manage to slip past our guys?”

“That, my friend, was a piece of baklava.”

“Doesn’t say much for the good guys, does it.”

“I don’t give a shit about the good guys, Hutch. Only you. And those kids and teachers up there.”

“I’ll ask again. What’s the plan?”

“First we gotta see if you can walk, or the plan is I leave you here while I try and figure out what the plan is.”

“Now I know I’m hurt if I can understand that.”

“Ha. Ha. You ready to give your feet a try, Blintz?”

“Yeah. You stand up first, then grab me under the arms. I’ll try to help as much as I can.”

“I know how to lift you, Blondie,” Starsky said patiently. “Been doin’ it for years now, every time you trip over those big boats of yours.” Grunting softly, he grabbed Hutch beneath his arms and helped haul him up, ignoring the grinding warning of his broken fingers and steadying the taller man as he swayed on his feet. “You doin’ okay there?”

“Yeah. Just waiting for the blood to rush back into my head.”

“Just lean on me, Hutch. We won’t move ’till you’re ready.”

A moment later, Hutch gusted out a sigh. “Okay, I think I’m as ready as I’m ever going to get.”

“Just a second.” Unsnapping his holster, Starsky again pulled his gun, felt around for his partner’s hand, and pressed it into the palm. “Hold this, would ya?”

“Your gun? Why?”

Starsky winced, knowing he was going to get it. “Busted a couple fingers in my right hand, so I gotta use both arms to steady you. Just… keep an eye out for the bad guys, and if you see one, shoot first and we’ll worry about the questions later.”

“Broken fingers? How did you—? Wait, what else is wrong with you that you’re not telling me about, huh?”

“It’s okay, Hutch.”

“It is most definitely not okay, Starsky, and we’re not moving until you spill it.”

Starsky rolled his eyes. “Couplea cracked ribs, I think. Burn here and there. That’s it, I promise. Even got checked out by the paramedics on scene and got cleared to leave.”

“Sc-what scene? Here?”

“No. Back on my beat. City’s gone to shit, Hutch. With all the attention over here, the maggots are crawlin’ outta the woodwork. No lie.”

“God, Starsk… we shouldn’t—”

“Uh-uh, Blondie. You’re the one with all the holes in you, not me. Like you said, either we do it together or we don’t do it at all. Your choice, partner.”

“I hate it when you turn my words back on me like that,” came the distinctly pissy reply.

“That’s the Hutch I know and love. Got the gun? Good. Now let’s see about this walking thing.”

Hutch stumbled the first couple of steps, but his leg strengthened and held most of his weight, and though the pain was excruciating, at least he could move.

They headed slowly toward the door and Starsky peered back through it, seeing nothing but empty hallway stretched out before him. “Looks like this is the faculty area,” he murmured. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

The walk down the short hallway was slow, but steady. Shy of the room where Starsky had entered the building, and Hutch had been shot, Starsky leaned his partner up against the wall and steadied him by the shoulders. “Can you lean there for a minute?”

Hutch nodded, catching his breath against the pain brought on by physical exertion. “Yeah. What—Starsky, you look awful.”

Giving his friend a crooked grin, Starsky scanned the length of the long body, cataloguing injuries. “You don’t look ready to run for Miss Bay City yourself, partner.”

Coming down to his haunches, he ran gentle hands around Hutch’s lower leg, assessing as best he could the gunshot wound. He needed to expose the area, but Hutch’s calf was too swollen and sore for him to push up the pant leg, so, taking a deep breath, he grasped the torn fabric of the uniform pants and rent it until it gave way and parted with a sodden, tearing sound.

Hutch gasped, his fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the paneled wall. “What ar—God, that’s…”

“This doesn’t look so bad. Deep crease, but it’s already stopped bleeding, for the most part. Got lucky with this one.”

“Don’t feel very lucky,” Hutch grumped, steadying himself on his good leg.

“So I’ll feel lucky for the two of us,” Starsky replied, coming to his feet and turning Hutch gently to the side. “Coulda found you dead, buddy. Gimme a minute to be happy I didn’t, huh?”

Pain-filled eyes softened and, smiling, Hutch reached up and brushed his fingers through Starsky’s sweat-soaked curls. “I’ll give you a lot of minutes for that, babe.”

Giving him a crooked grin, Starsky moved his partner’s hip a bit further from the wall and stared down at the torn, bloody mess his uniform pants had become. Hutch moved a bit, and a freshet of blood oozed out of the ragged hole in the pants, turning the material shiny under the naked light of the bulb hanging above.

“Starsky.” Hutch’s voice was low and warning. “You are not going to rip my pants off and leave me to fight those turkeys bare-ass naked.”

That startled a laugh out of him, and he met his friend’s eyes before looking back down at the bloody cloth again, as if fascinated by it. “I should. One look at the Hutchinson jewels and the guys would be so jealous, we could pick ’em off easy. Pop. Pop. Pop.”

Hutch sniggered at the image, then grew serious. “We’re wasting time, here.”

“Hutch, I gotta look.”

“What good is looking going to do? Just take what you ripped off of my pants, stuff it down tight, and let’s get moving. Those kids need us, partner.”

Sighing, Starsky reached down and grabbed the uniform scrap he’d torn off and folded it as tightly as he could manage. “Loosen your belt, wouldya, please?”

Weapons belt sufficiently loosened, Starsky grunted as he slid the packing along the curve of his lover’s ass, marking the wound’s placement by feel alone. “What’s the deal with these idiots, anyway?” he asked, hoping to take Hutch’s mind off the pain he was inflicting.

“Some weird cult, I think,” Hutch replied through tightly clenched teeth.

“Not another one.”

“No, no. They’re pretending to be some revolutionary army, or so they say. Claim to follow some strange prophet who’s sitting in jail in Morocco for a few dozen murders-by-pipe bomb. They’re demanding his release.”

“So they hold a school fulla little kids hostage to get their message out,” Starsky growled, backing his hand out and fumbling with Hutch’s zipper and belt. “And they call us pigs.”

“Yeah,” Hutch grunted, trying to ride out the mule-kick his partner’s ministrations had delivered to his tender anatomy. “So, what are we gonna do about it?”

Starsky scanned the empty hallway as if he expected a clue to write itself on the walls. “Dunno, yet. Between us, we got one gun and one working body. We ain’t exactly the Marines.”

“Pity for the Marines,” Hutch murmured, elbowing his partner to lift the pensive mood. “You said they were upstairs, right? So, let’s head in that direction, and maybe we’ll trip over something on the way.”

Starsky smirked, appreciating the diversionary tactic. “Sure bet if there’s anything to trip over, you’ll find it, buddy-boy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just move it, buddy, before my body decides it likes it here and you paint a target on my chest.”

“No chance of that happening,” Starsky replied, wrapping an arm around Hutch’s waist and aligning their bodies as best he could. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

They started forward, and then Starsky froze, catching a glint of light off of something in the corner of the room, half beneath an ancient wooden desk piled high with textbooks. “Hang on a second, Hutch. Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

“Starsky! What are you—oh.” Hutch’s eyes widened as his partner straightened, turned, and showed off the object he’d found hiding under the desk. “How did they manage to miss that?”

“Dunno,” Starsky replied, walking back to him. “Their loss is our gain, I’d say. Here, take this and put my gun in your holster. That way I can grab it if I need to and still keep a hand free.”

Curling his fingers over the comfortable, familiar grip of his own weapon, Hutch shoved the now unneeded Berretta into a holster too large by half for it and snugged it down tight. Turning his attention back to his own gun, he swung out the cylinder, reached to the back of his utility belt, and grabbed a speed loader. Sliding the ammo inside, he clicked the cylinder closed again and nodded in satisfaction. “Got a fresh clip in the pea-shooter of yours?”

“Didn’t have to fire it at all today,” Starsky grunted, once again taking hold of Hutch’s trim waist.

Slowly they made their way out of the room and into the large entranceway beyond, sticking close to the walls so that the cops outside wouldn’t use them for target practice.

“You know,” Hutch mused, “I’m really hoping today isn’t representative of what’ll happen once we really do become partners.”

“Whadda ya mean?” Starsky asked, voice pitched half an octave above his normal tone. “We’re doin’ great, here!”

Chuffing a laugh through his nose, Hutch shook his head. “Great. Yeah. Me shot full of holes and you broken, burned, and bruised. If this is your idea of ‘great,’ buddy, I’d hate to see ‘not so good.'”

“We’re alive, ain’t we?” Starsky asked, simply. “And together, right? What more do I gotta wish for?”

Hutch sometimes cursed the heart of mush he held inside his cool exterior. This, however, wasn’t one of those times. Smiling softly, he turned his head and brushed a kiss against a soot and sweat-beaded temple, nuzzling his nose in the thick curls that smelled strongly of smoke. “Thanks, babe.”

“Anytime. Now let’s see if we can find a set of stairs around here somewhere. Or better yet, an elevator.”

“There’s only a service elevator, and we might as well send up smoke signals, because they’ll know we’re coming long before we get there. The stairs are back there, past the second set of big doors to the left.”

Starsky turned wide eyes toward him. “How d’ya know that? You get an architecture degree when I wasn’t looking?”

“Saw the floor plans, dummy. Iron Mike had them spread out all over the trunk of his car for the SWAT team.”

“Oh. So, what’s upstairs?” Hearing several heavy treads, he pointed up and to their right. “Where are they?”

“Big open space. Takes up half the floor, from the front to mid-building. Mostly empty. I think they use it as a gym, though it was called an auditorium on the plans. No stage or seats, though. At least not on the blueprints that I saw.”

“What else?”

Hutch’s gaze turned inward as he tried to remember what he’d seen on the plans. “Um, maybe a dozen classrooms. Two janitor’s closets. And two bathrooms, one for the boys, one for the girls.”

“What do you hit first when you come up the stairs?”

“Hallway,” Hutch remembered, nodding. “The stairs go up the back, open up into a wide hallway, classroom doors on each side. At the end of the hall are two glass doors that open to the gym.”

“Glass, huh? So they’ll be able to see us when we get to the top?”

Hutch shrugged. “Guess it depends on if they’re looking in our direction. I doubt they realize you’re inside, or that I’m well enough to be with you.”

“You and well ain’t even on the same block, Hutch, but I get the picture. We’ll check out the action and see if we can sneak in without ’em knowing.”

“Yeah, and maybe check a few of the classrooms, just to make sure there aren’t any kids or surprises we don’t know about.”

“Well, at least we got half a plan.”

“Goes great with half a brain,” Hutch replied, tossing a smirk Starsky’s way.

“Even better with a half-wit,” Starsky shot back, grabbing hold of Hutch’s utility belt and hauling him forward.

After much stopping-and-starting, they managed to make it to the bottom of the stairs. Once again, Starsky propped his partner against the wall and went down into a crouch, peering at the calf wound. “Starting to bleed again.”

“Let it bleed. Nothing we can do about it now.”

“Gotta be a nurse’s office around here somewhere.”

“Starsky, this isn’t something you can fix with some aspirin and a band aid. Trust me on this. Let’s just keep moving before I can’t anymore.”

“That’s alotta steps, Hutch,” Starsky replied, staring up the brightly lit stairwell. “Wouldn’t want to see you coming back down ’em the hard way.”

“Then you’ll just have to make sure I don’t. Now, let’s go. Those kids aren’t going to rescue themselves.”

“Man, you’re pushy sometimes, you know that?”

“You make it easy. Put your arm around me and let’s go.”

Sighing, Starsky did as ordered. Taking it, literally, one step at a time, they found themselves minutes later on the landing, pressed against the wall as if glued there. “What do you see?” Starsky asked as he watched his partner crane his neck around the small lip on the wall.

“Good news. The hallway’s empty, and the doors are glass, but they’re painted halfway up, and frosted the rest of the way. They might be able to see blurs, but if we keep to the sides like we’ve been doing, we just might be able to pull this thing off.”

“Good, but we need to stop at the boys’ room, first.”

“Why?”

Starsky just looked at him.

Hutch rolled his eyes. “It’s a wonder you ever got out of diapers.”

“Well excuse me, partner, but when I heard you went down, I wasn’t exactly thinkin’ about takin’ a piss, you know.”

“You—heard?”

“Course I heard. How else did ya think I’d get here, huh?”

“I just figured you and Johnny got roped in to help.”

“I wanted to, Hutch. Spent mosta the day bugging Johnny about it, but he wouldn’t let me go. Said we needed to keep our own house in order and to trust you enough to do your job.”

Slightly stunned by the revelation, Hutch could only nod.

“But when Jake told me what happened with you and Luke, I sorta went AWOL. Johnny managed to jump in the car before I took off, so his ass is grass, too.”

Hutch reached out and grasped his partner’s good hand. “Starsk, I—”

“Hey. Not comin’ after you was never an option, ya hear me? Nothin’ is important to me as you are, and if you don’t know that by now, well, I gotta whole lotta years to pound it into that blond head of yours.”

“Not if you lose your badge,” Hutch whispered.

Starsky gave him another crooked grin. “If I do, I do. Not bein’ a cop won’t keep us apart, will it? I mean, we’re pals, right?”

“Of course we are.”

“All right, then. Besides, I don’t go down easy.” He gave Hutch a sideways hug and settled the long, heavy body against him again. “Let’s get goin, pal. See what kind of trouble we can stir up.”

“You’re one in a million, David Starsky.”

“A million what is what I wanna know. Now let’s roll.”

They managed to make their slow way to the bathroom without being seen, though if anyone decided to take a peek out the doors, they’d find a trail of breadcrumbs in the form of blood droplets pointing the way to the hidden cops.

Hutch had decided that emptying his bladder was a good idea for him as well, and with Starsky’s sturdy form supporting him, he took care of business. Washing his hands afterwards, he chanced a look in the mirror and frowned. The right side of his face looked as if it had suffered an intimate encounter with a bologna slicer and his left eye had the beginnings of a beautiful shiner forming beneath it. What concerned him, however, was that he couldn’t remember receiving either of the injuries.

After a long, hard stare, he shrugged it off as one of the unknowable mysteries of life and stepped aside for Starsky to wash his own hands and try to clean his face of the sweat and soot warpaint that coated it.

“Much better,” Starsky grumbled as he dried his hands and face with a scratchy paper towel. “How you holdin’ up?”

“Better than I have a right to.”

Starsky nodded. “We’re both gonna crash hard and long once the adrenaline wears off. Course, you’ll be doin’ it in a nice hospital bed pumped full of the best drugs money can buy.”

“I’ll be happy to share if we get out of this.”

“When we get out of this, you mean,” Starsky replied, shooting him a glare. “This is our first real case together, you know. What better way to convince the suits that we’ve got what it takes to be partners than to take care of business ourselves, huh?”

Hutch brightened. “I never thought about it like that.”

“Extra incentive to keep our carcasses on the right side of the dirt. C’mon, partner, let’s go check out those classrooms and see if you can trip over anything while we’re doin’ it.”

***

As it turned out, Starsky was the one to do the tripping, but Hutch didn’t rib him about it since the trip itself netted them nearly everything they could have asked for. In the third classroom they looked into, they found long metal boxes that held several automatic weapons and enough ammunition to stockpile an army. In addition, there were six hand grenades, the makings of several pipe bombs, two mortar tubes, eight smoke bombs, and five gas masks.

“All this to take down a school of kids?” Starsky asked, turning a mortar over in his hands. “This is just crazy, Hutch!”

“You couldn’t possibly think we were dealing with sane people, could you?”

“Course not, but… damn. This is just… just…”

“Cabrillo State stuff.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “I wish we knew where they were in relation to the kids. We could create a good diversion with these smoke bombs, maybe get some kids out, at least.”

“We could do some reconnaissance.”

“Through a painted, frosted door?”

“We could at least try. If it doesn’t work,” Hutch shrugged, “there’s always plan B.”

“We don’t even have a Plan A, yet!”

Hutch shot him a cheesy, toothy grin. “Isn’t it great?”

“Terrific,” Starsky muttered, putting the mortar down and grabbing Hutch around the waist. “C’mon, Danger-Boy. Hope your X-ray vision’s working.”

“If it isn’t, you can always use your bullet-proof ass to shield us.”

Starsky rolled his eyes. “Of all the partners in the world, I gotta get stuck with the one who thinks he’s a comedian.”

Still moving slowly, carefully, and as quietly as they could, the two men side-stepped their way down the long hall until they reached the glass doors that kept them out of the one place they needed to be.

“Stay put,” Starsky said, pressing Hutch tight against the wall. “I’m gonna have a look.”

“Hang on, Trigger. I’m the one who should be looking.”

“Why you?” Starsky demanded.

“The doors may be frosted, Starsk, but they’re still glass. Your coloring is much easier to see than mine.”

“Excuse me, Sherlock Clone, but you’re wearing a black uniform and you’re bigger than I am. Tell me how that’s gonna work, again?”

“Easy,” Hutch replied, pulling his shirt out of his pants and quickly stripping off. “Voilà.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to. Be right back.”

Hopping forward on one leg, Hutch bent low so that most of his body was covered by the paint on the lower half of the doors. Easing his head up, he tried to peer through the frosting on the glass but soon discovered it was a lost cause. There were images there, but it was like trying to look at a watercolor that had been left out in the rain. Everything blended together.

Raising up a bit more, he spotted a small crack in the frosting, and he bumped his nose in his eagerness to line his eye up to it. He frowned as he took in the scene, heart thudding almost painfully in his chest.

On the wall opposite the doors were the room’s windows. Twelve of them, by his count. Each one ran floor to ceiling and was no more than twelve inches wide, providing perfect loophole cover for the shooters. And to make things worse, seated on each of the broad sills was a young child, preventing anyone on the outside from taking any shots at the windows.

He could see partials of two of the kidnappers, both tall, broad, and bristling with weapons and armor. Heads bent together, they appeared to be talking quietly and seemed completely without stress or suspicion.

He thought he saw the shadows of two more gunmen, but since he couldn’t pinpoint the light sources, the shadows could have belonged to anybody, or anything. No, it was best not to chance that observation.

Sighing, he backed away from the window, putting weight on his bad leg and limping heavily.

“Something tells me you do not have good news,” Starsky whispered.

“Give the man a cigar,” Hutch retorted, pressing himself back against the wall. “They’re using the kids as human shields, Starsk. They’ve got one in every window.”

Starsky pulled at his hair in frustration. “Aw, man. What the hell are we gonna do? Could you see how many there were?”

“No. Don’t know how many kids, how many teachers or how many gunmen. The hostages must be at the back of the room, next to the doors somewhere, but I couldn’t see them.”

“Did you see any of the bad guys?”

“Two.”

“Did they look like they were expectin’ something?”

“No. They seem pretty calm.”

“Then maybe we should go with the smoke bomb idea. Open the door, toss a coupla smokers in the middle of the room, rush in, grab as many kids as we can, and hightail it back outta there.”

“What about the rest of the kids? And the teachers? We can’t just leave them up here, Starsk.”

“We won’t, don’t worry. We’ll get the kids to the stairwell and tell ’em to run like hell, grab a couple more smoke bombs and do it all again.”

“They won’t be fooled a second time.”

Starsky leveled his gaze at his friend. “Right now, I’m just hopin’ they’ll be fooled a first time, Blintz.”

“I’m not sure, Starsk.”

“If you’ve got a better idea, now’s the time to share, babe.”

“No, I don’t. It’s just—”

“We could always go back downstairs, bust out and get the cavalry to do it.” Starsky’s offer was genuine.

“If I thought there was a chance in hell of them doing a better job, Starsk, I’d be all over that plan in a heartbeat. But you and I both know what’s going to happen when they rush in here, guns blasting.”

“Yeah. A bunch of dead kids.”

“Exactly.” Looking his partner in the eye, Hutch reached over and clasped a warm shoulder. “Starsky, can we do this?”

A long minute later, Starsky shrugged. “I dunno. But I do know we gotta try.” His eyes cut to the right. “Let me take a quick look, okay? See if anything’s changed.”

Hutch nodded. “Okay, but be careful.”

“Careful’s my middle name, Blondie.”

“Yeah, and Twinkletoes is mine.”

Softly chuckling, Starsky moved toward the doors, adopting Hutch’s position and slowly raising his head to view through the crack. The setup was exactly as his partner had described, with the new addition of a third gunman. Tall, blond, and gaunt, he had the profile of a death’s head mask and was carrying an AK-47 like he’d been born with it in his hands.

Try as he might, Starsky couldn’t get a glimpse of the other gunmen or their hostages. The children sitting in the windows broke his heart. Pale-faced and frightened, they sat stiffly like dolls placed on a high shelf to collect dust. He ground his teeth against one another, feeling the darkness within begin to swirl and demand its due.

Backing over and away, he breathed out slowly and nodded at Hutch. “We gotta do this.”

“I know,” Hutch replied softly, grasping his hand and squeezing it, calming slightly the demon inside him without restraining it in any way.

“Let’s get back to the storeroom. We need to put this plan together best way we can.”

***

“I’ll hang it around my neck, Starsky, but I’m not wearing it.”

“But, Hutch!”

“Don’t ‘but Hutch’ me. It’s too heavy, it fogs up, and I can’t breathe through it. Besides, I’m not the one going inside and tossing bombs. All I have to stand in a doorway and take potshots at any goon who comes after you. I can do that very well without a damn torture device suffocating me.”

Starsky gave in with a sigh. “Fine. Don’t wear it. Suck all that smoke down your lungs and choke to death. See if I give you mouth to mouth.”

Stepping forward, Hutch silenced his partner with a quick, but intense kiss. “That’s the only mouth to mouth I plan on receiving from you, babe.”

“Uh…”

Hutch grinned. “Buck up, Starsk. It’s almost showtime.”

“Uh…” Shaking all over, Starsky came back out of the Land of Hormones Hutch’s kiss had driven him into. Clearing his throat, he pulled his own gas mask over his head and grabbed the smoke bomb canister. “You’re sure you’re all right with this.”

“I’m pretty far from ‘all right’ with this, Starsky, but so are you. We’ve both accepted this is the way it has to be. You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

Reaching out, Starsky brushed his fingertips briefly across his lover’s face, eyes taking in and memorizing all over again the familiar, beloved features. “Hutch…”

“Go get ’em, tiger.”

Nodding, Starsky pulled the mask down over his face, hefted the bomb, and after one last lingering look, spun on his heel and prowled back to the doors.

Stopping there, he gave himself a slow count of three, breathing deeply between each count, pleased when the mask didn’t fog up or impede his airway. Between two and three, he pulled the pin on the bomb, and on three, he burst halfway through the doors and tossed it in a gentle underhand arc so that it landed directly in the middle of the four gunmen now clustered near the far windows.

Looking up, the tall blond kidnapper managed to let loose a spray of bullets, shattering the glass doors, but Starsky had already dropped and rolled in the direction of the children and teachers huddled screaming to the right of the doors.

With a loud ‘whoomp,’ the bomb went off, filling the area with thick white smoke and obscuring Starsky’s view of the gunmen, except for the one guarding the group, who he took out quickly with a knee to her kidneys and a headfirst push against the cement wall. Turning, he kept low and duck-walked over to the screaming children, hollering “Go! Go! Go!” even as he gathered three up and took off like the hounds of Hell were at his heels.

Sporadic sprays of gunfire lanced through the smoke, one of the bullets coming close enough to part his hair, but he continued on, nestling the three children as close to his body as he could while sheparding the others in front of him and out the shattered door.

“Go!” he screamed as he made it out the door. Not bothering with gentleness, he dumped the children in his arms on the floor and pushed them forward with all the strength in his body. “The stairs! Get down the stairs! Move! Don’t stop! Go! Go! Go!”

The partners’ eyes met. Hutch’s widened, and Starsky abruptly dropped to the floor as if shot, rolling before he hit the ground and hearing the huge echoing thunder of Hutch’s mini-canon getting off round after round.

The heavy thud of an armored body hitting the ground behind him and to his left told him that Hutch was doing his job with his usual flair. Starsky continued his roll, using his body to pull open the heavy doors to the girls’ room and swinging up and around so that he was seated flat against the wall to the left of the doors, knees drawn up tight against his chest, weapon out and ready.

When the door didn’t open again, and the shooting had stopped, Starsky heaved it back open and peered out. Hutch was pressed hard against the recessed doorway across the hall and he gave his partner a ‘thumbs up’ and a quick nod.

Starsky pointed to his own chest, then to Hutch, lifting his eyebrows. Hutch peered around the lip of the door, then nodded again.

Slipping outside the bathroom doors, Starsky copied Hutch, plastering himself against the door as he watched his partner closely. When Hutch waggled his gun, Starsky was across the hallway in two strides, slamming against the door next to Hutch and breathing heavily.

His mask started to fog, so he slid it back up to the top of his head and took in several deep breaths of slightly smoky air.

“How many’d you get?”

“Two. Winged a third, I think. That armor makes it damned hard to tell.”

“I got another one. Threw her headfirst into the wall. Don’t know if she’s alive or not.”

“How many more are there?”

“Counting the guy you winged, four. Seven altogether. That I saw, anyway.”

“How many hostages?”

Starsky shook his head, wiping away the sweat beading on his upper lip with the back of his hand. “Don’t know. Maybe a dozen kids, counting the ones in the windows. Four adults, I think. It was really smoky and I didn’t exactly have time for a headcount.”

“You did good, partner,” Hutch told him, squeezing a broad shoulder. “Seven kids, one teacher. Not bad for no plan.”

“Not so bad yourself there, Deadeye,” Starsky replied, giving up another of his cockeyed grins. “That Python of yours shoots louder than those damned automatics. My ears are still ringin’.”

“What now?”

“Can’t play the same trick again, that’s for sure. I’d get cut down in a heartbeat.”

Turning their heads, they looked into one another’s eyes for what seemed a small eternity. Starsky felt his heart leap into this throat, then plummet to his feet. His gut churned. He swallowed thickly, another spike of adrenaline—this one mixed with dread—sluicing through him.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Hutch asked quietly.

Grim faced, Starsky nodded. “Think all that Butch and Sundance talk jinxed us, partner.” He swallowed hard, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing and quivering with the force of emotion he didn’t have time to voice. “Finished us off before we even got a chance to start.”

Eyes shining, Hutch grabbed his hand and pulled it to his chest. “Never said we’d live forever, huh?”

Nodding again, Starsky squeezed Hutch’s hand hard, then eased away. “On the count of three. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“One…

“Two…”

Before he could utter the last number, a huge, echoing blast shook the building, tossing them both to the ground. A second later, they could hear the sound of what sounded like a thousand booted feet trooping through the first floor and hurrying up the stairs.

“Shit! Hutch!” Searching frantically, Starsky found his partner crumpled against the wall a foot away, blinking dazedly at him. “Gotta get up, partner. The cavalry’s here and we’re gonna get caught in the crossfire!”

Wobbly as a newborn colt, Hutch tried to rise, falling once before Starsky slid home and yanked him up by the arm. “Inside, Hutch!” he yelled, pushing at the classroom door.

“It’s locked!” Hutch yelled back over the sound of the SWAT team getting closer. “Can’t get in!”

“Back up! I’ll kick it down!”

“No time!” Grabbing Starsky’s wrist, Hutch slammed him against the wall and blanketed his body just as a spray of deadly gunfire came from the direction of the gym.

When the shooting stopped, Starsky swung into the hallway, totally exposed, and fired off five quick rounds, dropping the gunman where he stood with a shot between the eyes. He flattened back against the wall as a second gunman took the place of the first, spraying bullets right to left along the hallway.

Bits of tile and wallboard peppered the two men, delivering sharp stings to their faces, bare chests, and arms.

Two shots buckled the linoleum a bare inch from Hutch’s feet, and he did a curious dance step, putting all his weight on his bad leg and nearly crumpling back down to the ground. He pressed up flat against the wall, slick hands seeking purchase that wasn’t there.

Fire spat again and Starsky ducked, throwing his arms over his head as plaster and sheetrock spattered down on him like snow.

“Jesus fuck!”

A clang and a loud hiss, and suddenly the air was filled with acrid smoke from two teargas canisters tossed into the hallway from the stairwell.

“Your mask!” Starsky shouted, choking and heaving as the gas swirled over and around them.

“It’s gone!”

“Hutch!”

“I’m sorry, ok? I lost it when we fell!”

Ripping off his own mask, he grabbed his partner, pulled his head down and shoved the mask on. “Toward the stars!” he managed to choke out. “Go! Go!”

Before either man could take a step, the entrance to the stairwell was filled with SWAT team members, all armed to the teeth. Starsky and Hutch were spotted immediately, and when the guns were leveled their way, both men dropped their own weapons and raised their empty hands in the air.

“Don’t shoot!” Starsky shouted, darting forward to instinctively shield Hutch with his own body. “We’re cops! Don’t shoot!”

He spun around and dropped like a stone when a bullet from one of his own brothers-in- blue lanced through his shoulder and out his back, narrowly missing both his spine and his partner. His head hit the floor with an ominous thump and his eyes rolled far back in his head before they slipped closed and his world fell away in a nauseating swirl of colors.

“Starsky!” Hutch screamed. He threw his body over his partner’s and ripped the mask off his face. “Starsky! Oh god!” Turning his head, he shot a glare at his fellow officers that could have melted the polar ice caps. “We’re cops! Starsky and Hutchinson! For God’s sake, don’t shoot!”

Like his partner before him, Hutch was also ignored. As three teargas grenades were launched into the gymnasium, the SWAT team advanced in perfect formation. As the last one passed, a uniformed officer who Hutch didn’t recognize loomed over him, grabbed his arms, and cruelly bound his hands behind his back. A second later, he was being yanked to his feet by his cuffed wrists. He could feel his shoulders threatening to dislocate, but his only thoughts were for Starsky, lying so still and white on the tiled floor, his blood pooling beneath him. “My partner,” Hutch gasped. “He’s been shot. He needs help!”

Ignoring his pleas, the masked officer sneered at him, brown eyes snapping with hatred as he yanked Hutch backward, nearly toppling him. Hutch’s injured leg buckled, then firmed.

Teeth bared in a predator’s snarl, he brutally shook himself out of the agonizing hold and dropped back down, covering Starsky with his body again. “Fight, Starsky, damn you! Fight!”

The officer grabbed him again, but Hutch put every ounce of his strength and training into making himself impossible to hold. Kicking out, he heard a howl as he connected with the officer’s groin. He grinned mirthlessly at the sound of the man collapsing to his knees. They would have to pry Starsky away from his cold, stiff corpse.

“Don’t you die on me, partner. Don’t you dare!”

A minute later, the SWAT team emerged from the gym, hustling four handcuffed and bleeding gunmen in front of them. The hostages were escorted behind. One of the children, a little girl with long braids who had been made to sit for hours in the window as a human shield stopped before the two downed cops. “Mister?” she asked, tugging at her braids. “Is the man ok? He saved my teacher, Miss Brooks. Is he sleeping?”

“He fought the bad men all by himself,” a young boy added, coming to his knees and patting Starsky’s hair. His innocent face then turned up to Hutch. “I saw you, too. Hurt one of them. Pow! Right in the head. Why is he bleeding, Mister?”

Swallowing against an almost closed throat, Hutch turned to the SWAT team and growled. “Satisfied now? You shot a cop! A hero! Now dammit, get some help!”

The team leader glared down at Hutch, read his eyes, and turned to one of the teachers. Swallowing hard, she nodded. “He was the one who threw the smoke bomb,” she explained, wiping a badly shaking hand over her eyes. “Managed to rescue seven of the children and Emily Brooks, like Mandy said. This man,” she continued, pointing at Hutch, “killed two of the gunman. I saw it with my own eyes.” Her face crumpled. “You shot him? You shot him?!”

Expression carved in stone, the squad leader, handed off his weapon, squatted down and eased Hutch away from his partner. Assessing the damage his men had caused against one of their own, he grimaced. Reaching out, he slipped his arms beneath Starsky’s unconscious body and lifted him easily, turning toward the stairs and racing off as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Uncuff that man!” the second in command snarled. “Now!”

Sullen-faced, the cop did as ordered, and Hutch stumbled after the SWAT leader, refusing the offer of aid from any of the team members just as he ignored the weakness and pain in his leg and hip.

His only focus was Starsky.

Everything else could go to hell.

***

The group was swarmed by the time they made it to the parking lot where several dozen patrol cars still sat, lights flashing. In the street far beyond, television cameras whirled, recording the conquering heroes in meticulous detail. Flashbulbs went off in a continuous wave like some strange grand finale to a celebratory fireworks display.

The shot of Starsky’s limp body being carried out by the SWAT commander would play on every newscast for days.

Ferguson, Dobey, Blaine, Slate, and Donner surrounded Hutch, grabbing his arms, pulling at him, trying to prevent him from walking to the ambulance with Starsky. He ignored them all, ignored their words of concern, their shouts, their prying hands, jerking his body away and attempting to move through their little circle by main strength alone.

His body, however, pierced by bullets, robbed of strength from blood loss and emotional turmoil, betrayed him. In a slow-motion ballet, his knees buckled, followed by the rest of him, held up only by the tight press of the bodies surrounding him. His head lolled back so far, the ends of his short, sweat-curled hair brushed against the space between his shoulder blades and he contemplated the night sky.

Hard arms wrapped around his waist, and John Blaine’s concerned, pale face swam into view like the moon, round and full. “Sorry,” Hutch gasped. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

His perspective tilted as he was lifted into strong arms, then steadied as he felt his forehead press against Blaine’s neck.

“What’re you sorry for, huh?”

“Starsky,” he whispered. “Because of me… Starsky. Starsky! I’m sorry!”

“Shh. Shh, Ken. None of this was your fault. None of it, you hear me?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hush, Ken. Stop. Stop.”

“Can’t stop. Gotta—gotta get… to Starsky.”

“I’m bringing you to him now, Ken. You need to relax. Just concentrate on relaxing and breathing. Dave’s okay. He’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Lifting a head that felt as if it weighed a ton, Hutch managed to catch and hold Blaine’s steady gaze. “My fault, Johnny,” he whispered. “My fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Ken, and if Davey heard you talking like this, he’d kick your ass from here to Santa Monica. Just relax, okay? We’re almost there.”

The crowd was getting thicker the closer they got to the ambulances. Reporters were crushing in on all sides, ignoring the orders of the police officers trying desperately to corral them. Dobey’s distinctive bellow could barely be heard above the clamor of reporters trying to get a scoop on the story of what had happened inside the building.

Outside the ambulance doors, Starsky lay, battling for consciousness, on a stretcher. Paramedics worked frantically over him, trying to push away the crush of the crowd as they attempted to take vitals and start IVs to replace the alarming amount of blood he was losing. He was ghostly pale, and his broad chest fluttered with each breath like the wings of a tiny bird in flight.

The chatter was dizzying, and Starsky, fading in and out, could only take in snippets as he felt his body being poked and prodded, turned and manipulated against his will.

“Get Memorial on the line. Need to…”

“Sir. Sir! Can you tell us what went…”

“…dammit, can’t hear…”

“…ossman from KNBC, and as you can see here…”

“Move away, people! Move away or you’ll all be arrested!”

“…mment for the press. How did you…”

“…Smitty, help here. Can’t palpate a pressure…”

“Stevens! Hurry up with that saline! We’ve got a…”

“Hu…sh,” Starsky mumbled, trying to force his eyes to open. His head was pounding like the sixth morning after a five-night bender and he was embarrassed at the whimper that sounded from deep in his chest. “Hu-sh.”

A paramedic leaned closer, trying to catch the words. “Officer, you’ve been shot. We’re stabilizing you now and taking you to Memorial. Can you speak? Tell me your name?”

“Hu…sh. Hush. M… par…ner. How… m’par…ner…” He felt his back arching against the sudden, blinding pain of a pressure bandage being forced against his wound, and he used the momentum to try and swing up and off the stretcher. He needed to get to Hutch. Had to get to him. Had to…

Between one labored breath and the next, he was sucked down into the vast, black well of unconsciousness, Hutch’s name still on his lips.

The SWAT commander, having been relieved of his burden, though not his guilt, tried to clear a path for the second injured officer he saw approaching in Blaine’s arms. When the reporters and hangers-on refused to listen to his words, he resorted to using his fists and feet. Seeing his distress, his men moved in around him, and soon there was a scuffle as cameras and microphones flew through the air and reporters were pushed brusquely away from the scene.

A clear line of sight finally established, Hutch tried desperately to twist himself free of Blaine’s tight hold, needing to get to Starsky any way he possibly could. He had no more breath to cry out for his partner, but his eyes told a message all their own.

“Relax, Ken. We’re almost there. See? Almost there.”

Blaine had to stop abruptly as Ferguson appeared without warning directly in front of him. His face was red with anger, his eyes very narrow, as he glared down at the half-conscious officer lying in Blaine’s arms. “Report, Hutchinson.”

“Captain, not now. He’s…”

“Yes now!” Ferguson snarled. “Right now! What happened up there, Hutchinson?”

Confused, Hutch blinked at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Get off his back, Captain! He needs medical attention now!”

“Consider yourself on report, Patrolman Blaine!”

“Report me, suspend me, fire me, but let me through!” Blaine roared, shoving forward, hard.

Ferguson was a big man, but even his strength wasn’t enough to stop Dobey and Donner from pulling him away and allowing Blaine to pass through unmolested.

The paramedics had just finished stabilizing Starsky and were lifting his stretcher into the vehicle. “Got room for one more?” Blaine asked, finally reaching his goal. “He’s been shot, too.”

“He’ll have to ride in another ambulance, sir,” the attendant replied, getting ready to shut the doors.

“Starsky!” Hutch yelled, rousing himself to struggle in Blaine’s strong arms.

Blaine stepped forward, using his body to prevent the doors from being closed. “Let them ride together,” he ordered softly. “They’re partners.”

Shocked out of his shock, Hutch blinked up at Blaine in astonishment. The big man grinned back down at him. “Watch over your partner, Hutchinson,” he said in an affectionate growl. “Tell him I’ll be in to see him as soon as I can.”

Hutch opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. He just gaped at the man who was responsible for Starsky’s very presence in his life, feeling truly humbled for the first time in a very long time.

“In you go, hero,” Blaine said, smiling as he gently lowered Hutch to the floor of the ambulance. He lowered his mouth to Hutch’s ear and whispered, “Thank you.”

Still in shock, Hutch watched Blaine grow smaller and smaller behind the closing ambulance doors, and then felt the sting of a needle, and knew no more.

***

Nine weeks later…

After a brisk rap, Starsky opened the cottage door and danced through, using enough hip swiggle action to fry several thousand of Hutch’s neurons in a soundless flash and give him fodder for his fantasy grist mill for months to come.

“You are looking at one happy man, partner,” Starsky said, fanning the papers in his hand as he instituted another set of moves that were very nearly pornographic and had Hutch’s cock attempting to salute in appreciation.

“Oh yeah?” Hutch drawled, taking a deep, cooling sip of his beer and setting it down on the table. “And here I thought you had fleas.”

“Ha. Ha. Funny guy. Try all you want, Hutch, but you’re not gonna get me outta this mood. It’s a beautiful day and everything’s comin’ up sevens.”

“Care to spread the wealth a little? I could use some cheer.”

Immediately going still, Starsky looked at his partner with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Hutch waved Starsky’s worry away. “I’m fine. Just wanted to share in the sunshine.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” He waggled the papers again. “Guess what I have here, Blondie.”

Hutch pretended to consider. “Summons? Warrant? Note from your mother excusing you from gym class?”

Narrowing his eyes, Starsky sighed. “I can take my sunshine back to my own place, you know.”

“No, no. Keep your sunshine right here, pal. I’ll be good. I promise.” Sitting back, Hutch crossed his legs and laid his primly folded hands atop one knee.

Starsky glare turned into a leer. “Just as long as you’re not too good. If you know what I mean.”

“I think we’re on the same wavelength, buddy. Now spill it. What have you got there?”

“Well, first off,” Starsky waggled the first paper in the stack, “ol’ Doc Morrison cleared me to return to full duty starting Monday.”

“Starsk! That’s great!”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Starsky replied with fervor. “Thought I was gonna go nuts cooped up at my place for so long with nothin’ to do. Still can’t figure out how you got shot more than me, but I had to stay out longer than you.”

Hutch snickered. “Probably because my body is a temple, unlike someone else I could mention, but won’t.”

“You’re all heart,” Starsky growled.

“I said I wouldn’t mention it.”

“You wanna hear the rest of my news or what?”

Returning to his prim and proper position, Hutch nodded. “Continue, please.”

“All right. This little beauty,” he replied, holding up the second document, “you’re gonna want to read yourself.” Stepping forward, he slammed the piece of paper down on the table, scooped up Hutch’s half-empty beer, drained it, then straightened, grinning down at his partner expectantly.

Hutch scanned the paper, his eyes growing progressively wider until they were in danger of popping right out of his head. Slowly lifting his chin, he stared into his partner’s sparkling gaze. “Starsky, this… this is…”

“Yup. Took a bit of doing, but you got a lotta goin’ to bat for you, Hutch. Plus, with Ferguson trying to chew you a new ass after everything you’d done inside, and preventin’ you from getting the help you needed, there wasn’t much he could do if he wanted to keep his job.” And his head, Starsky added silently, white knuckles showing through the distended skin of his tightly clenched fists. Only some fast footwork on the part of Blaine and Donner had kept him from marching down to Venice and showing that tinplated asshole the real meaning of the word “iron.”

“It’s all right, Starsk,” Hutch said in that soothing voice that got under Starsky’s skin like almost nothing else. “Everything turned out okay in the end, and that’s what matters.” His eyes went back down to the paper in his hands. “But this… this is…”

Starsky’s grin outshone the California summer sun. “Welcome to Metro… partner.”

Hutch’s head shot back up like his neck was on a spring. “Partner? As in… partners?”

Grin broadening, Starsky showed Hutch the last paper in his hand. “Me and thee, babe. Partners.”

With a delighted whoop, Hutch shot off the couch, bounded over the table, and grabbed Starsky around the waist, lifting him high and twirling him around while covering his face with delirious kisses.

Laughing joyfully, if silently, Starsky allowed himself to be twirled around, and when those tempting lips got near enough to his own, he threaded his fingers into fine, spun-gold hair, clamped down tight, and melded their mouths together in a fury of teeth and tongues and spit.

He felt himself stop spinning as Hutch attacked his mouth with a hunger that couldn’t be denied, even if he had been dumb enough to want to, which he wasn’t.

The very instant Hutch’s grip around his waist relaxed, Starsky slid down to his feet and, using his own grip still clamped to his partner’s skull, spun them both so that Hutch was pressed hard against the door. The wood creaked in protest, then creaked again as Starsky drove his hips forward against the firming bulge beginning to tent the front of Hutch’s jeans.

Groaning, Hutch pulled his mouth away and tilted his head back against the door, moving his hips from side to side, adding stimulation to Starsky’s frantic thrusts. “Oh, Starsky! Starsk!”

“Gonna fuck you, Hutch,” Starsky mumbled, suckling at his partner’s neck then painting the flesh wet with his tongue. “Gonna ride you hard, boy.”

“Oh… Jesus… just… jus—”

“Gonna do it, Hutch,” Starsky continued, mouthing Hutch’s Adam’s apple. “Gonna be so deep inside I could suck myself off through your mouth.”

Hutch’s nails scrabbled against the door, his cock brought up to strangling hardness by his partner’s words alone. “God! God… oh… godfuck!”

Reaching down for Hutch’s waist, Starsky grabbed two fistfuls of t-shirt and yanked upward, baring abdomen, chest, and two diamond-hard nipples that he attacked with abandon, slurping and nipping.

The door creaked again as Hutch’s ass slammed back against it, three times in hard succession in reaction to the intense stimulation.

Starsky’s sculpted, nimble fingers made short work of Hutch’s belt, button, and zipper, pressing his hot palm against the steel hardness that tried to drill through him from behind the thin cotton of his partner’s boxers.

“Lemme at you,” he rasped, pulling away from Hutch’s chest even as he yanked the boxers down over his lover’s angry, weeping erection. “Gotta taste you, Hutch. Gotta.”

Loudly hissing, Hutch clamped his hands down on Starsky’s shoulders, pushing down with frantic strength. “Do it! Oh Christ! Do it!”

Allowing Hutch to press him down, Starsky slid to his knees and grabbed the base of Hutch’s cock in a tight grip. “Just look at this big boy, Hutch. He’s cryin’, he’s so angry.” Darting his tongue out, he dabbed and tickled the weeping tip, humming deep in his throat. “Delicious,” he moaned. “You taste fine, lover. And I’m hungry.”

Hutch wailed at the ceiling as a hot, wet mouth engulfed his throbbing dick, gobbling him down like he was the finest ambrosia. He yelped as his sac was gently tugged, his balls rolled around in his partner’s wickedly talented left hand.

Growling like a rutting bear, Starsky took more and more of Hutch’s long, thick cock into his mouth with every bob of his head, suppressing his gag so that the fat head could pop down his throat with ease. He thrilled to the feel of strong fingers pulling at his hair. His ears fed off the exciting sound of his name, fractured, breathless, coming from his lover’s mouth even as his tastebuds fed off the bitter salt weeping from the hot flesh fucking his mouth raw.

He slid his hands around Hutch’s churning hips, digging his fingers into the fine, flexing ass and jerking it forward, needing all of Hutch in all of him, needing the man dancing so sweet above him to bury himself to the hilt in his throat.

Loosening up with his left hand, Starsky moved his palm inward, slicking it over sweat-drenched flesh until his fingers teased the crack of his lover’s pumping ass. He eased up and down, up and down, listening to Hutch’s breaths become shorter and more desperate. He sought out the heat within like a guided missile, homing in on it and, with a gentle push, breeching his partner’s body with a single, slick finger.

Screaming to the heavens, Hutch jerked his hips back hard, then thrust forward with all his strength and froze, muscles locked down tight and standing out in bas relief against his glistening, honey-toned skin.

Keeping the suction steady, Starsky moaned as he milked his partner dry, his throat working as bitter nectar pumped into him through a thrumming cock.

“Dear God,” Hutch, pushing against Starsky’s shoulders. “Oh, dear God.”

Hutch’s dick was still hard as it eased slowly out of his mouth, and he gave the tip a brief, tickling kiss just to watch his lover jump and shudder against the door.

“You taste divine, schweetheart,” he said, licking his lips.

“You… your… oh, man !”

Coming to his feet, Starsky moved forward and latched onto Hutch’s mouth, sharing his partner’s flavor with him as he thrust his tongue slowly in and out of the hot wetness.

“Need you, Hutch. Need you real bad.”

“I know, babe. I know. Let me take care of you.”

“‘m achin’, Hutch.”

Tender lips pressed against his forehead, then both of his eyes in turn. “Shh. You won’t ache for long, partner. Not for long at all.”

Starsky felt his lover gather himself, force strength back into his wobbly legs while pressing tender, moist kisses to his nose, cheeks, and chin. A large hand moved to the front of his jeans, kneading and twisting until his nuts caught fire and were ready to explode.

“Can’t take it, Hutch,” he warned, jerking his hips away. “Gonna shoot. Can’t take it.”

“Shh, lover. You’re not going to come yet. Not yet. I promise. Shh.”

Hutch’s hand cupped over him again, stroking to soothe instead of to stimulate. When Starsky began to relax against the gentle, steady pressure, Hutch eased away and worked on stripping off the tight jeans and red bikini briefs that hid the gorgeous cut cock and rounded ass from his view.

The elastic of the briefs caught on Starsky’s erection and he flinched when his cock snapped back and slapped his belly, growing impossibly harder at the sensation. He reached down to impart a soothing stroke, only to have his hand redirected and placed down at his side.

It was short work to free the few buttons that were fastened on Starsky’s blue shirt, and when they were undone, Hutch parted the material wide and stroked through the crisp, curling hair adorning his lover’s sculpted pecs and abdomen.

“You still want that ride, lover?” he purred, fingers tweaking and twisting small nipples until they came fully, firmly erect.

“Want you,” Starsky panted, hips seeking out the heat of Hutch’s body, his face painted with sweat. “God, want you bad.”

“Hang on, babe,” Hutch warned.

Starsky groaned as two hot, slick hands wrapped themselves around his cock, milking it as they spread what could only be lube along his thick, ready length. His eyes popped open. “Wha—? How did you…?”

Hutch smirked at him. “Watch me,” he purred. Sliding the palms of his hands down along his chest and belly, his smirk softened to a look of ecstasy when he grabbed his cock and stroked it back to granite hardness. He cupped his balls, rolling them in his palm. His hips jabbed at thin air, short, sharp thrusts that had Starsky dancing once again on the edge of Nirvana.

Hutch’s long, thick fingers trailed erotically along his own hip, raising gooseflesh in their wake. His smirk died as his mouth dropped open. “Oh god,” he moaned, piercing himself with three fingers and riding his own hand.

“God you’re hot, Hutch. So fucking hot, lover. Makin’ me see stars. Makin’ me want to come bad. Real bad.” Stepping forward, he grabbed both their dicks in his hand and began thrusting his hips, stropping their cocks against one another.

“Feels good, Starsk,” Hutch gasped. “Feels so… damn… so good!”

“Gotta have you, babe. Now. Gotta have you now. Right now. Gotta…” Bringing his hands away from their pleasant work, he grabbed Hutch’s hips and turned him so he was facing the door. “Down, babe. Down on your knees for me. Go. Now. Now.”

Lowering himself easily, Hutch got on his hands and knees, craning his head around to watch as his lover positioned himself behind him. Starsky fisted his own cock and tugging it, once, twice, and a third time, long and slow.

“Want this?” Starsky rasped, shaking his dick, tapping it against the soft velvet of Hutch’s ass. “Want me?”

“God yes,” Hutch groaned. “Hard and fast. Deep. Fuck me, Starsk. Make it hurt.”

Starsky butted the wide, blunt head of his cock against where Hutch was the hottest. “Gonna put it in you, babe.”

“In me!” Hutch yelled. “Yes! In me now, lover! In me, in me, inmeinmeinme!”

With a hard thrust, Starsky sheathed himself to the hilt. He stayed there for a moment, panting and allowing the sensations to catch up to his brain. “You’re one sweet, sweet fuck, boy. Squeezin’ my cock so nice an’ tight. So hot, lover. Angel. So fucking hot.”

“Fuck me, Starsk. Oh, sweet Jesus, fuck me!”

“You got it.” Clamping down on Hutch’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, yet avoiding the well-healed scar, Starsky pulled back until just the head of his cock was resting inside Hutch’s fluttering opening. Then, with a grunt, he thrust back in hard, his hips immediately picking up a primal beat as he danced to a tune in his head.

Throwing back his head, Hutch gave an inarticulate cry, his fingers hooking into claws trying to dig through the floor. His entire body picked up Starsky’s rhythm and he began to move in counterpoint to it, fucking himself on that delicious, plump cock spearing him over and over again.

Starsky loosened his grip a bit, letting the movement of Hutch’s hips guide him, taking incredible enjoyment in the feel and sight of his lover using his cock to pleasure himself. When he felt ready to blow, Starsky clamped his hands down hard again, pulled all the way out, and slammed back in, angling up and nailing Hutch’s prostate dead center, bringing forth a wailing screech that seemed piercing enough to shatter the cottage’s windows.

Pulling out all the way, he slammed in again, and again, and again, giving Hutch what he wanted and himself what he needed. Only the knocking of Hutch’s head against the door brought him back into himself, and, easing back on his knees, he yanked back on his partner’s hips, knocking Hutch’s arms out from under him and dragging him back several inches.

“That’s it, babe,” he gasped. “Stay just like that. Perfect. Oh, God, you’re perfect.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he plunged in again, reveling in the heat and snugness that welcomed him so readily. Reaching around, he palmed the head of Hutch’s weeping dick, then made a tight circle with his fingers just behind the head, squeezing and releasing until his partner moaned and began to thrust, instinct overriding anything else.

Starsky moved with him, hitting his prostate on every second stroke until he felt the telltale thickening that signaled his lover’s release.

“That’s right, babe,” he purred. “Come for me. Come for daddy, baby. That’s it. Shoot that good stuff all over my hand.”

With a cry that started from the depths of his soul and continued almost past the range of hearing, Hutch’s brain short-circuited and came harder than he’d ever come in his life.

Starsky was sucked along in his wake, and though he tried mightily to hold off, his body had other ideas and initiated a series of short, sharp jabs, then went into meltdown with his groin spread flat against Hutch’s firm ass. Forcing his eyes to stay open, he gazed blindly at the door as sparkles of light darted past, exploding in time with his thundering heart.

His tongue caught between his teeth and he bit down, the small bit of pain only adding to the sensations as his cock spurted its juices deep into the body of his lover.

His balls completely drained, he collapsed, sucking in air like a winded horse, across Hutch’s broad, heaving back.

Finally, with a deep groan, he eased his weight off his partner’s depleted body, tenderly turned him and gathered him into his arms. “One for the record books,” he murmured, licking the sweat from one rounded ear.

Hutch snorted. “Got that right, partner.”

Despite his exhaustion, Starsky found himself grinning. “Partner. Got a nice ring to it.”

“Better than mission bells,” Hutch agreed, yawning hugely. “Hutchinson and Starsky, Metro’s finest.”

“Why you gotta be first?” Starsky asked in mock outrage, lifting his head and nipping Hutch on the shoulder.

“Because, dummy, I’m the brains and you’re the brawn. And brains always goes first.”

“Yeah, but I’m better lookin’.”

Hutch barked out a laugh. “In your dreams, pal. Ow!” Reaching back, Hutch rubbed away the sting of the pinch his butt had just received.

“Flip you for it.”

“Tomorrow,” Hutch promised, snuggling back into Starsky’s enveloping warmth, “partner.”

Starsky closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, a beaming smile still on his face.

THE END