Side Effects by Mary Kleinsmith Captain Harold Dobey snaked around in his office, trying to avoid the ladders and drop cloths, Minnie following closely behind him.
"I needed the file to go over the reports before it goes to the DA's office," he explained, feeling her eyes boring into the back of his head. "God knows, this meeting is going to be tough enough! Hutchinson's really got my butt in the Commissioner's sling this time!"
"Captain, you know there are procedures for checking files out of the file room. What if you dropped dead tomorrow? How would anybody know where that information was?"
"Well, if I were dead, somebody would get stuck cleaning out my desk," he smiled. "It's right in my top drawer." Minnie watched as he slid the drawer opened and began laying items on the desktop. The first was a box of candy.
"That's not it," she said, trying hard not to smile.
"I know, I know! Just wait a minute." The candy was followed by a stapler, a baseball, a framed photograph of Edith and the kids, and a bottle of aspirin. "Here it is!" he declared triumphantly, handing Minnie the file.
"Thank you," she answered, her eyes roaming the items as he began to put them back in the drawer. "I thought you were on a diet?"
"I am. But some little cub scout came in here selling these. He's a friend of Rosie's, so how could I resist?"
"Oh. Then you wouldn't mind if I bought them from you? My sweet tooth has been dying for some chocolate all day! I'll pay you whatever they cost, and you'll be able to stay on your diet." It was her turn to smile, though Dobey detected a hint of the devil in her grin.
"Okay, it's a deal," he agreed, his willpower reinforcing itself with a little help. He handed her the package as Minnie promised to return with the money.
"Hey," she said, turning back from where she was headed for the door. "People with ulcers aren't supposed to take aspirin. What are you doing with that!" She pointed at the offending bottle.
"Not using them for myself, that's for sure. I don't think my stomach could take it. But it always seems like one of the men is looking for some, so I keep a bottle. Especially certain officers who have a knack for getting into sticky situations."
"Meaning Sergeant Starsky and/or Sergeant Hutchinson, huh?" She laughed a little and left with the file with a pert, "Good-bye!".
Dobey settled in behind his desk, picking up another report and reading it carefully. He'd gotten so used to having the painter in the room with him over the past few days, he didn't even think about his being there until the man announced that he was taking his lunch break. Nobody even noticed when the painter, instead of heading for the cafeteria, rapidly made his way to the pay phone, then spoke in whispers. Greg Sullivan, part-time painter-only long enough to get close to Dobey-and full-time worker at a plant nursery, had a evil idea for extracting his revenge.
"I've got the perfect idea for getting even with Dobey, little brother. He'll be sorry he ever had you sent to jail, I promise. He's going to know exactly what it's like to be locked up!" There was a pause while he listened. "I can work as late or as early as I want. I can go in early tomorrow morning, leaving me alone in his office, and make the plant before he ever gets in."

Dave Starsky wasn't sure, but he thought his heart might actually pound out of his chest. Finally, he had his cuffs on the suspect, despite the fact that the man was at least three inches taller than the brunet. The arrestee and his partner-in-crime had taken off from the crime scene, trying to stay ahead of Starsky and his own partner as they chased them down. The unfortunate thing about being a body-builder was that you weren't always as fast as these little guys.
"I got this one," Starsky gritted out as the cuffed man continued to resist. Hutch didn't hear him, though, as he was doing his best to restrain the other suspect. The man the blond struggled with was bigger than the one Starsky had caught, but since he knew Hutch was both bigger and quite probably stronger than he himself was, Starsky wasn't worried. His faith wasn't displaced either, as Hutch finally managed to get both of the man's hands behind him.
"Be there in a sec," Hutch managed, using every ounce of his muscle to keep the suspect in control. He spared a glance to see Starsky walking out of the alley as he pushed his suspect's wrists further up his back, allowing him to hold them there with his stronger right hand while reaching for his own cuffs with his left. He heard the grind as each one was tightened around a large wrist, finally relaxing a little bit.
"On our way," he yelled, feeling much more secure until, unexpectedly, he heard a slight metal scraping sound and was suddenly looking into the eyes of the man he'd just pronounced "under arrest."
Hutch only had a moment for the man's wicked smile to register before he was shoved backward into the wall. His upper back hit first, lessening the impact, but not enough to keep his head from snapping back into the wall. Dazed and stunned, he slid down the wall, his eyes closing to the gleam from the silver cuffs laying on the pavement.
The large shadow emerged from the alley an instant after Starsky had slammed the car door on the suspect he'd just cuffed to the back seat of the Torino. Freedom was within the shadow's reach, except that Starsky could draw his weapon several times faster than the man could run to the nearest corner. "Freeze!" Starsky shouted, and the man turned instantly to ice. Keeping the gun in the man's back, the brunet led the man back to the car, where he retrieved a spare set of cuffs from the glove compartment and put him in next to the other perp.
"Thank God," Starsky breathed, panting heavily, as a black-and-white finally screeched to a halt in front of him. He shouted a terse, "take care of them," before sprinting into the alley.
"Hutch!" Starsky exclaimed, seeing the silhouette of his partner against the wall. His sprint turned into a mad dash to his partner's side, the relief rushing over him like the tide when he saw the blue eyes open and, for the most part, alert. "Hey, partner," he spoke, just above a whisper. "Sitting down on the job again?"
Hutch's beginning of a laugh turned into a moan. "Not by choice, believe me," he said groggily, reaching up to rub his neck and head.
"What happened?" Starsky asked, becoming serious. "Can you get up?" He offered the blond a hand, which his partner took gratefully. Hutch swayed for just a second before Starsky steadied him, still looking at him questioningly.
"Thanks. I don't know what happened, Starsk. One minute he was cuffed and I was leading him away, and the next he was free and throwing me up against the wall. I'm afraid I was out for a second, because I didn't even see him run off."
Feeling secure enough that his partner would stay on his feet, Starsky left him for a moment, looking around the dim alley. A glint of light reflecting off of something on the ground a few feet away caught his eye. He stooped to pick up the shining cuffs. "Here's your trouble," he said, studying them. "Looks like the lock's broken. They don't even catch any more." He demonstrated, showing how the cuffs were malfunctioning.
"Damn," Hutch muttered. "And that crumb got away because of it."
"Think again, partner," Starsky responded, leading Hutch out of the alley. "I caught him coming out. By now he's in the back seat of a cruiser, right alongside of his buddy." Hutch saw that he was right, the two suspects sitting docilely in the back seat of a black-and-white while the officers waited for the detectives.
The officers were coming toward them. "Is he okay?" one asked, nodding toward Hutch.
"I'm fine," he answered for himself. "Why does everybody keep asking me that?"
"Because your eyes are still spinnin' in circles, buddy!" Starsky turned his attention to the uniformed officers. "Take them in, would ya? I'll be in to make the report in a bit." Essentially dismissed by a superior officer, they returned to the cruiser and drove off as Starsky focused again on his partner. "And we're gettin' you to a doctor to be checked out."
"No, Starsk. I'm okay, really."
"Why am I having such a hard time believing that?"
"I don't know, but believe it. Because there's no way I'm letting you take me to a hospital." It was clear he'd brook no argument on this point.
"Hutch, you can't refuse to go back to the hospital ever again just because of that damn plague." He spoke gently, trying to encourage his partner. It hadn't been that long since he'd nearly lost his best friend to that all-encompassing virus, and he knew that was an experience Hutch would never truly get over.
"I know that!" Hutch snapped, immediately regretting it. "But I sure can avoid it as much as possible."
"Okay, okay. But if I see the slightest sign that you're gettin' dizzy or somethin', you're going if I have to cuff you myself."
"Just so long as you use those cuffs," Hutch laughed, motioning toward the broken pair in Starsky's pocket.

Since the painter was on his break, Dobey took the opportunity to talk to his men in his office uninterrupted. The room was too small to have three people plus the workman in at the same time, anyway.
"You got another big case for us, Captain?" Starsky asked, looking forward to the challenge almost as much as he regretted that there was a case at all.
"Miraculously, no, I don't. All the current cases have been assigned, which means that you two," his eyes flicked from Starsky to Hutch and back again, "have the perfect opportunity to catch up on all those reports you owe me!"
"But Captain, can't we..." Starsky began, before his superior cut him off, shaking his head.
"There's no gettin' out of it this time, Starsky." He turned his attention to Hutch, so far conspicuously quiet. "Neither of you."
Resigned, Starsky stood and headed for the door. He heard his partner behind him, talking to Dobey. "Captain, have you got an aspirin?" Hutch was rubbing his neck and head again, obviously still in pain from this morning's go-round.
"Yeah," Dobey responded, tossing a bottle of white pills to the tall blond. "I'm beginning to think you should carry a bottle with you, Hutchinson. You use 'em more than anybody else in this department. "As a matter of fact, most of the time, you're the only one who uses them!"
"What can I say, Captain?" Hutch remarked, handing the bottle back after extracting two pills. "I can't be at my peak with my head pounding. And they sure can't do me any harm, can they?" He walked out, not waiting for a response, to see Starsky staring at him again. "Staring again? C'mon Starsk! You're really turnin' into a mother hen! It's just a little ache."
Starsky nodded, not saying anything, as he sat down at his desk to begin the pile of paperwork somebody had dumped there while they were in with Dobey.

Deciding that it was just as well to get it over with, and since neither had a previous engagement for that evening, Starsky and Hutch worked late trying to clean up the backlog of paperwork. "This is the last one, thank God. Maybe if we get this done, something will come up tomorrow that Dobey can assign to us," Starsky hoped aloud over the clicking of the typewriter his partner was using.
"I sure hope so," Hutch said, grimacing. "I don't think I can do another day of this; I'm gettin' cabin fever, buddy."
"I got ya," Starsky responded, shutting a folder. "How's the typin' comin'?"
Appropriately, at that moment, Hutch pulled the paper from the typewriter, laying in on the top of a stack. "Done," he answered, smiling across the desk. "Let's get out of here."
"I'm with ya," Starsky laughed, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and leading the way out of the precinct. "How about supper and a game of pool at Huggy's?"
"Sounds fantastic. I could use some 'wind down' time." The Torino took the lead out of the parking lot, the LTD following closely behind.
Since it was late, they ate first before adjourning to the pool table, then the pinball machine for a little mindless fun. Hutch took an early lead in victories before, halfway into the evening, Starsky managed to catch up and pass the tall blond.
When Huggy's "Genesee Beer" clock said 11:15, Hutch set down his pool cue. "What say we call it a night, Starsk?"
"You fully realize," Starsk challenged, not yet ready to go home, "that if we quit now, you're conceding defeat. I'll have won, partner. Ya sure you wanna do that?"
"I know and I do. Let's go." Starsky slid his cue in the rack beside Hutch's and they both went toward the door.
"It's not that late," Starsky muttered. "Why do you wanna go already?" He was disturbed when Hutch seemed hesitant to answer, his mouth clamped shut, with a determined look on his face showing under the street lights. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not feeling very well," Hutch said through clenched teeth. Starsky had seen him do it before on occasion; it meant his partner was trying to talk, yet keep his mouth shut enough to prevent the contents of his stomach from making a return appearance.
Looking more closely this time, Starsky could see that Hutch looked pale and was even sweating slightly with the effort to control his body. "Maybe I'd better drive you home, buddy. Just in case."
Clenching his lips together, the blond nodded tightly before climbing into the passenger side of the Torino. "I'll pick you up in the morning so we can come back for your car," Starsky suggested as he climbed in behind the wheel. Once settled, he took Hutch's left hand and laid it on his own shoulder. "Now, if you need me to pull over, just squeeze. I'm sorry you're sick, but I really don't want you to throw up inside my car." Hutch's nod satisfied Starsky, who turned the wheel, careening into the street.

"Hutch," Starsky said, disrupting the silence that had fallen inside the car on the way to Venice Place. "I think I should take you to the hospital instead of home. This upset stomach could be a sign of a concussion, partner!"
"And how did you figure that out?" Hutch said, his stomach feeling slightly better since Starsky had pulled over and he'd run to the bushes.
"I saw it on an episode of Marcus Welby. Throwing up and people not bein' able to wake ya up are sure signs."
"Starsk, medical TV shows aren't always accurate. It's fiction-you have to remember that."
"Well, all the same, I'll be by in the mornin' to pick you up, so ya better be awake."
Starsky looked concerned, so Hutch acquiesced. "I'll be fine, don't worry."
"I know, ya big blond beauty," Starsky laughed. The Torino slid into the space out front of Hutch's apartment, the blond immediately reaching for the door lever. "You gonna be okay? Or d'you need some help?"
"I'll be fine getting into my own apartment, Starsk. I'll see ya tomorrow." Still, Starsky stayed long enough to see Hutch go through Venice Place's front door and the lights come on in his upstairs window. Only then did he put the Torino back in gear and pull away, heading for his own home.

The sun was just rising, shining brightly through the window of Hutch's apartment, but it didn't wake up the tenant since he was already awake. Hutch had been up most of the night and now lay on the bathroom floor, the cold from the ceramic tiles having long since seeped into his shivering form. It wasn't worth moving all the way to the bed; he'd just be back here within minutes anyway. He felt the knives in his stomach as they bent him over in sharp pain in between the horrifying bouts of throwing up and diarrhea. He'd long since run out of anything in his stomach to expel, now suffering from dry heaves that made the pain all the worse.
The flu, he thought, reasoning with himself. What a horrible time to come down with the flu! If I don't want Starsky dragging me to the hospital in a few minutes, I've gotta call him. He pushed himself up weakly, pausing on his knees before he managed to get on his feet. It seemed a million miles to the phone, which sat on the end table next to the couch, but he finally made it, sinking down quickly to curl up on the sofa, one arm wrapped around his aching stomach.
He listened with his eyes closed as the phone rang. It was still early, but he wanted to catch his partner before he left to pick him up for work. Finally, a groggy voice answered.
"'allo?" Starsky was definitely still in bed.
"It's me, Starsk," Hutch breathed heavily, starting to feel nauseous again. He clenched his teeth. "Don't bother comin' t'pick me up. Tell Dobey for me. I'm sick."
"Sick?" Starsky questioned, suddenly fully awake.
"Yeah. Must be the flu or somethin'. Can't seem to stop throwin' up."
Starsky could hear the weakness in his voice. "Are you sure that's all it is?" he asked, worried. "Did you get any sleep at all?"
"Maybe a grand total of ten minutes, and that's bein' generous."
"Hutch, maybe I should come by and take ya to the hospital. This could have somethin' to do with that knock you took yesterday."
"No, Starsk, I don't think so. Besides, I've got other things goin' on that couldn't be caused by that."
"Like what, partner?
"Let's just say that I haven't been away from the john for more than five minutes all night." There was silence on the line for a moment, then Hutch gasped.
"What is it?! Hutch, talk t'me!" Starsky held on, listening to his friend's ragged breaths, until he was able to speak again.
"It's okay. Just a stomach ache. You go on to work, and I'll be right here."
"Okay, if you're sure."
"I'm sure, but for now, I've gotta run!" The note of urgency in the blond's tone was clear to Starsky.
"You go on. I'll stop by after shift. And don't worry about work; I'll talk to Dobey." The connection was abruptly broken as Hutch hung up, racing again for the bathroom.

It was a quiet shift, with nothing more serious than a simple purse thief, and finally Starsky was headed to his friend's apartment in Venice Place. He grabbed takeout food-Chinese, Hutch's favorite-hoping to entice his partner into putting something into his stomach. Hopefully, it had settled enough to at least let the blond eat a little.
He let himself into the apartment quietly, expecting to find Hutch curled up in bed, but it was empty. He froze, listening, until he heard moaning from the bathroom.
The door to the bathroom would only open about a foot before it was halted by something keeping it closed. Starsky was able to fit his head through the space, and peered in to see that it was his partner, lying on the floor, blocking the door. He was curled over, cradling his stomach, sweating profusely. He had on only a T-shirt and his shorts, both of which were stained with sweat and other nauseating body fluids.
"Oh, my God," Starsky muttered. This was definitely no minor case of the flu. "Hutch...! Hutch, can you move a little? I can't get in." Somehow, the urgency got through and the blond moved slightly, allowing Starsky to open the door. He rushed to kneel next to his partner. "Aw, Hutch. Why didn't you call me?"
"Couldn't get to the phone anymore," whispered Hutch between gasps at the knives in his stomach. Starsky touched his partner's face and was surprised that he didn't seem to have a fever.
"You wait right here, partner. I'm going to call an ambulance." Hutch moaned, but Starsky wasn't about to let it stop him. "I know you don't like it, but I'm calling the shots now." He made the call quickly, almost frantically, then rushed to the bed, pulling off the heaviest blanket.
"They'll be here soon," he told his partner as he wrapped him in the blanket. It was like taking care of a baby, Hutch having no strength left to either help or fight him. Once he was covered, Starsky pulled him into his lap, rubbing his arms and temples and talking soothingly. Hutch lay back and let the softness in his friend's voice console him, easing his spirit even if it couldn't heal his body.

Starsky paced the waiting room at the hospital, trying to convince himself that there was no reason to worry. Hutch was just sick, it was no big deal. He'd get treated and be back on his feet soon. But the argument didn't hold enough weight, and Starsky continued to worry and pace.
It had been over an hour since the ambulance had arrived at the hospital and the paramedics had rolled his partner through those large, forbidding doors. Why won't somebody tell me what's going on? He'd taken out a quick moment from his vigil in the waiting room to call Dobey and let him know what was happening, receiving strict instructions to call the captain at home as soon as he knew anything more definite.
Finally, he saw a figure in white and green headed toward him. "Thank God!" he said as Dr. Green drew near. "What's goin' on, Doc? He's gonna be okay, right?"
"To be perfectly blunt, Mr. Starsky, I don't know. You were right in your original deduction that this isn't influenza. He doesn't have a fever, and there was no sign of the virus in the blood sample we took, but we did find something else." He took a seat, motioning to Starsky to take the one next to him. "There were signs of toxins in his blood; we've identified them as related to the cyclopeptide group, but that's not specific enough for us to begin treatment."
How could this be happening again?! Starsky was screaming inside. "You mean he was poisoned? Like I was a couple years ago?"
"No, thankfully it's nothing like that. Cyclopeptides are naturally occurring principles. Wherever he got it, it was most likely accidental and was quite probably ingested orally."
"So what can I do?"
"Well, we're very limited right now on how we can treat him. We don't dare give him any drugs until we know what's in his system, and we have no idea what direction it'll go. He could improve and get over this, or his condition could continue to degrade until..."
"Until what, Doc?" Dr. Green looked sympathetically at Starsky, but said no more. "You mean until he dies, right?" His eyes were horrified, and Green wished he were anyplace but sitting next to the distraught man.
"Yes. I'm sorry, but you should be aware of the possibility."
"So what's his condition now? How is he since we got him here?"
"About the same, only the stomach pains seem to be worse. I don't know if they're really becoming more severe or if he's just becoming too weak to deal with them."
"Can't you give him something for the pain," Starsky was almost begging now, imagining his friend's suffering again the way he had such a short time ago in that isolation room.
"We don't dare. Not until we know what's in his system. We've put him on an IV to help replenish the fluids he's lost, but beyond that, our hands are tied by this damn toxin."
"What can I do?" Starsky whispered, not denying the crack in his voice.
"There's really nothing you can do here, but there is something that might help. It's tough, though."
"I'll find a way, Doc, if it'll help Hutch." The determination was clear in his voice and his face.
"We need a sample of everything Sergeant Hutchinson ingested in the last twenty-four hours in order to identify the specific toxin. Everything. Including samples of the water he drank, toothpaste, mouthwash, vitamins, everything. Do you think you can do that?"
"Yeah," Starsky muttered after thinking a moment. "I'm the best person to do it; I know him better than anybody." The brunet rose from the chair. "Can I see him before I go?"
"I suppose it would be okay. But just for five minutes. He needs to rest as much as he can."
"I promise, Doc."
"He's in room 108. I've got other patients to see, so you're on your honor." Dr. Green left him to find the room by himself.
Starsky pushed the door open gently, preferring not to wake his partner if he'd actually managed to sleep. It was a good thought, but fruitless; he was greeted instead by the sound of Hutch's gagging. Rushing to his partner's side, he relieved him of the bile-filled pan before he could drop it in his weakness. The nurse who'd entered unnoticed right behind Starsky hung back and let the brunet help.
"Thanks," Hutch sighed as he let Starsky take control of it. Unseeing, Starsky set it on the bedside table, taking his partner's hand in his, their thumbs intertwined. He was doing his best to show his support, give his partner strength, and draw his attention.
"Fight it, Hutch. C'mon, buddy! You can shake it." Instead of relaxing, though, the grip suddenly grew fierce and tight.
"Uh..." Hutch grunted. His other hand, with the IV running into it, went to his stomach as he nearly sat up in bed, riding out the stomach cramps. "It hurts!" he exclaimed, clamping down even tighter.
Starsky had a flash of dizziness, remembering less than four months ago when he'd last heard his partner cry those words. But at least this time, he was there for him. Not gowned and robed and sterilized, but solidly there. Skin against skin, hand against hand, so they could fight this thing together.
"Hold on, Hutch. Hold on t'me. You'll be okay, I promise." He noted the figure in white coming closer, but was too intent on his friend to notice more.
"Can't hold on," the blond muttered weakly through clenched teeth. "Please, make it stop!"
"I'll do what I can, partner," Starsky vowed, squeezing the hand even tighter until the seizure seemed to ebb slightly, Hutch taking huge gulps of oxygen from the mask the nurse had just affixed over his nose and mouth. "Better?"
Hutch nodded wordlessly, stiffly, afraid that moving too much would bring back the agony.
"I'm sorry, partner, but I've gotta go. They won't let me stay, and I'm gonna find out what's happenin' to you. I need to get a bunch of samples of what you ate."
"No...!" his partner managed, clenching the hand even tighter. "Don't go...please!...can't...take it...without...ya."
Starsky's heart bled for his friend, and for himself. He felt like he was being torn in two, a part of him telling him he had to go in order to give Hutch the best chance at surviving, and the other wanting nothing more than to stay here with Hutch for as long as they had. "I'm sorry, buddy," he said, his eyes burning. "I can't stay." Hutch shook his head, and the fingers clenching his hand didn't loosen. Starsky made a feeble attempt at prying Hutch's hand from his own. His heart wrenched with each attempt to free himself, wanting no more than to stay with his partner. He'd almost gotten himself free from the vice-like grip when it was suddenly relaxed, the rest of the blond along with it. "Oh, my God! Hutch? Hutch, wake up!"
Hutch was unconscious and Starsky was frantic as he pushed the call button on the headboard. Dr. Green and a nurse were there within seconds, checking his partner over thoroughly. "It's okay, Detective," the doctor assured the hovering man. "He's experiencing some excruciating stomach cramps. He just passed out from the pain."
"Can't you give him something?" Starsky demanded.
"Not until we know what's in his system."
"Then I'm gonna find out," Starsky said, turning for the door. I guess it's a blessing; I'd never've been able to leave if he were awake and begging me. "When Hutch wakes up, you tell him I'll be back soon." He took one more long look at the man in the bed, then tore away his gaze and left before he gave in to his impulse to stay.

In the early morning, after a fitful night spent not sleeping, Starsky thanked Huggy for helping by giving him the samples of what Hutch had eaten the night before, and the brunet added the takeout containers to the bags in the Torino's trunk containing just about the entire contents of Hutch's refrigerator and his own, since he wasn't sure in what or where he'd gotten the poison.
"You goin' to the hospital?" Huggy asked over the car's roof. Starsky didn't notice that the deep brown eyes were strained, worried.
"I've gotta stop in at the station first. I'm hopin' that Hutch left some of his coffee in the cup there."
"Does Dobey know yet?"
"He knows Hutch is in the hospital, but I promised him a full explanation when I get there. I hope he doesn't keep me too long; I don't have the time to waste." He slid in behind the wheel, no less agitated than he'd been when he'd stopped fifteen minutes before. Huggy waved, muttering an old African prayer, as his friend pulled away.
The station was a flurry of activity. All except for one small corner, where a pair of desks sat peaceful and silent. Starsky studied the desks, taking in the emptiness of the chair across from where he usually sat. For just a second, he felt a stabbing in his chest, but it was fleeting, gone before he could even react to it. You've got a job to do, he reminded himself sternly, his eyes soon searching Hutch's desktop for the blond's coffee cup.
He picked it up, thankfully feeling the sloshing of the cold liquid still inside it. Thank God everybody's too busy to clean up! He pulled a tiny vial that the doctor had given him from his pocket, carefully trying to pour the coffee into the tiny opening. When Dobey slammed out of his office, he nearly dropped both containers.
"Captain!" Starsky reprimanded. "You could scare the life outta a guy!" It didn't even occur to him that it was unacceptable to talk to his superior that way. He snapped the lid on the vial before he had another chance to spill it, averting his Captain's dark, intense eyes.
"Starsky...I was wondering when you were gonna finally report in! What's all this about Hutch? Why's he in the hospital? And why didn't you call me back last night?"
"Maybe it'd be better if we talked about this in your office," Starsky suggested, already heading in that direction.
By the time Dobey was behind his desk again, Starsky was seated in a chair across from him, hands rubbing tired eyes. "Okay, Dave. What's going on?"
"The Doc says it's some kind of poison."
"Oh, dear Lord! Not again!" Dobey's face fell, remembering when it had been Starsky who was poisoned.
"Not necessarily this time. It's some kind of natural poison-not man-made-and he says he probably got it in something he ate. Kinda like a real bad food poisoning, I guess. He told me to get a sample of everything Hutch ate in the last 24 hours. The coffee here at the station is my last stop."
"A natural poison in Hutch's food?" the Captain asked, stunned. He knew there was a possibility that even a natural poison had help getting into something Hutch ate. But perhaps he was being paranoid. With these two around, it was easy. "Well, then, I'd suggest you get back to the hospital with those samples." As he looked up again, he couldn't ignore the slump in Starsky's shoulders and the hang of his head. "Starsky?"
"Oh, God, Captain. He's so sick! It's like someone is sticking a knife in his gut and turning it, only they're not stopping. The doctors are afraid to give him a painkiller until they know what's causin' it, and the only rest he's gettin' is when he passes out from the pain! Why is this happening?" He knew there was no answer for that particular question, but it had been screaming in his head for so long that it finally had to be asked aloud.
"C'mon, Dave. Get back to the hospital," Dobey told him gently. "The doctors need the samples and Hutch needs you." He watched as Starsky slowly rose, taking what seemed to be a tremendous effort. Even the doorknob turned hard today.
"Wait!" Dobey said, stopping Starsky in his tracks.
"Wha'?"
"I really don't think it means anything, but if you're gonna be thorough, you'd better take these, too." He threw a bottle of white pills in Starsky's direction, who caught it, studying the label.
"Aspirin?" His capacity seemed to be diminishing to one-word statements.
"Yeah. Hutch had three of 'em yesterday. I suppose there always could have been an error at the manufacturer. Take them. I'll get another bottle."
"Good," Starsky answered. "Hutch'll need 'em when he gets back to work." The answer was falsely optimistic. A person didn't have to know Starsky as well as Dobey did to hear the worry in his voice.
"Tell him I said to hang in there," the Captain said as Starsky left, pocketing the bottle along with the vial.

Dr. Green was totally unprepared for the figure that practically broke down his door, nor was he able to see the man behind the boxes and grocery bags he carried until he'd dropped them all on the desk in front of him. Thankfully, he hadn't had any patient files sitting there, or something could have spilled on them. Each item was marked with the source from which Starsky had taken it. If the poison came from something from Huggy's, there could be a whole city to worry about. Starsky had been amazingly accurate and thorough.
"Detective Starsky! What is all this?"
"Are you crazy?" Starsky asked, forgetting his manners once again. "This is exactly what you asked me for: a sample of everything Hutch ate in the last day. Actually, it's everything he might have eaten. I don't know what he had when I wasn't with him."
"Oh! That's fantastic!" Green reached for a telephone, quickly giving orders to have the stuff picked up and taken to the lab. "We need to have all this evaluated right away! It's urgent!" There was a pause while both he and Starsky waited and listened. "Yes, it's top priority. A man's life depends on it!" He hung up the phone, looking up into horrified bright blue eyes.
"He's not gettin' any better?" The eyes begged him to say otherwise, but he had to agree.
"I'm afraid not. If anything, the pain's been getting progressively worse and we dare not give him anything to eat. We've put him on a second IV to give him fluids."
"And now?" Starsky asked, afraid of what the answer would be.
"Now we wait. And hope the lab finds whatever's in him." The doctor's sympathetic eyes weren't hidden behind his glasses.
"Can I see him?" He didn't care if the doctor noticed the catch in his voice.
"I think that would be a good idea. He seemed to have a stronger hold when you were with him." The words were barely out of the doctor's mouth before Starsky left, passing a pair of lab assistants on their way into the office.
Starsky paused outside of Hutch's door, screwing up his courage and arranging his face into a smile he hoped was convincing. He almost thought he had it when he heard a moan and a sob from inside the room, immediately wiping the expression. Getting the smile back while continuing to hear the sounds from in the room was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, and he felt no sense of accomplishment when he finally attained it.
"Hi, partner!" he said cheerfully as he finally went into the room.
And was stopped dead in his tracks. Hutch looked even worse than he sounded, which was unbelievable. His skin was gray and sweaty on his face, arms, and around the white knuckles that clenched at the hospital gown at his stomach. His forehead was beaded with sweat, the area under his eyes drenched with a different kind of moisture. Slowly, the light blue eyes opened.
"Star..." his breath caught before he could finish the name, but it brought the brunet to his bedside in a blink, a gentle hand laying on his stomach.
"I'm here, partner. I won't leave again."
Hutch looked as though he were trying to speak again but it was simply beyond him now. A hand shifted to clasp his partner's, squeezing tightly and he tried to get his voice to cooperate. "Can't...take this..." he managed before the dry heaves started again.
"It's okay, partner. It's gonna be okay," Starsky soothed. "The lab's got all the samples they need. They'll know soon how to make you better." He didn't know if it was the truth, but he didn't care. He just wanted Hutch to believe it.
Hutch nodded slightly as the pair settled down to wait together. The hours passed in pretty much the same fashion, with Hutch rotating between bouts of stomach cramps, dry heaves, and unconsciousness when the pain got too bad. The nurse came in twice to clean Hutch up when he could no longer control his own bowels, although he'd been catheterized at least. Starsky felt humiliated for his partner, but the man himself was far beyond feeling anything about what the staff was doing to him.

The sun set, then rose, and still Starsky remained at his partner's side, catching snatches of sleep in his chair while the blond was unconscious. It had been light out for several hours when Doctor Green rushed into the room.
"We've got it, Detective!" It should have been a shout of victory, but the look on the doctor's face told Starsky it wasn't.
"What? What did you find?" Starsky was immediately awake, but Hutch, in one of his unconscious periods, wasn't hearing. Still, the doctor drew Starsky aside, motioning the nurse with him to administer an injection to the patient.
"What's she givin' him?" Starsky asked, distracted for a moment.
"It's a painkiller. We can give it to him now."
"Thank God," Starsky said, for about the hundredth time since all this started. The ups and downs of the situation were beginning to take their toll on him. "Now what did the lab find? Why don't you look happier?"
"Because I wish the news was as good as you wanted." The doctor looked downcast, afraid of telling Starsky the whole truth.
"What's the news?" Starsky managed around the lump suddenly taking over his throat. He was terrified, that much he could put a name to.
"I was right about the nature of the poison. It comes from a plant called Amanita phalloides."
"What?" Starsky was confused by the Latin.
"It's better known as the Destroying Angel."
"Destroying Angel," Starsky repeated. "That doesn't sound too good."
"I'm afraid not, Detective Starsky. I had to look this one up in the medical journals because I've never seen a case. The bad news," the doctor said after taking a deep breath, "is that there is no antidote for this kind of poison, so..."
"You mean he's gonna die and there's nothing we can do about it?" Starsky yelled, interrupting.
"Not necessarily, Sergeant. There's no antidote, but now that we know what the poison is, we know what symptoms to expect and can fight each one individually. If we can beat the symptoms, we beat the poison. It'll be tough, but we'll try."
"Did that journal of yours say what his chances are?" Starsky asked, terrified of the answer he was going to receive, but needing to know what he and his best friend were up against.
"I'm sorry, but it said 50 to 90 percent mortality rate." He paused as the man before him gasped painfully. "It did recommend some things we can give him, doses of Corticosteroids, antibiotics, vitamins, dextrose and sodium chloride solutions. It may help, but there are no guarantees."
"When will we know?" It was choked out brokenly, painfully.
"Not for a while. The next step could be renal and liver involvement in three or four days, and after that, the central nervous system. I'm afraid if it goes that far, he'll almost definitely die."
"What can I do?" The dark blue eyes were begging now.
"Your part is done, except for staying with your friend if you want. Now it's up to us and the police department's Internal Affairs Division."
"Internal Affairs? What the hell do they have to do with this?"
"The poison was found in something from the station. I wasn't sure what to do about it, so I called the police department. The officer who answered the phone referred me to them, and since it couldn't possibly have been administered accidentally, they're very interested."
Starsky was in the process of mentally counting all the people who had access to the coffee pot or Hutch's cup at the station. I can't believe that anyone at the station would do this to him.
Before Starsky could speak, Hutch began to stir; Starsky rushed to his side. "Hey, buddy," he whispered as the blond lashes fluttered. "How's it now?"
"Better," Hutch whispered, seeming surprised. "Must be on the mend, huh?"
"The doc's given you a painkiller, partner. It should help with the cramps. You still feel like throwin' up?"
"A little..." Hutch blinked, his eyes taking longer each time to open after they closed. "Starsk, what's wrong with me?" It was the first time since he'd been admitted to the hospital that the pain ebbed enough to let him consider his situation.
"Seems you ate somethin' that didn't quite agree with ya, partner. You're havin' a reaction to it."
"Shoulda known that junk you make me eat on duty would do this some day. Next time, I'm sticking to my health food."
"Actually," Starsky said, taking Hutch's hand again and trying to gauge how much he should tell him, "ya got it in your coffee at the station."
"What?"
"No, Sergeant," came the doctor's voice, interrupting Hutch's further questions. "It wasn't in the coffee; I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. We found large quantities of the plant laced in the pills in a bottle of aspirin. A bottle which, I understand, was given to Detective Hutchinson by another officer named Dobey."
"Dobey?!" Starsky repeated, astonished.
"Yes, Detective. By now, Internal Affairs should be questioning this man."
"No," Hutch breathed, "the Captain wouldn't..."
"Doctor," Starsky interrupted for him. "It couldn't possibly have been our Captain! He's our friend!"
"Well, that's not mine to say. I just reported it to the people who needed to know. You'll have to take it up with them. I'm sorry if that sounds callous, Sergeant Starsky, but I can't...I won't...stand idly by while one human being intentionally tries to take the life of another."
"Somebody tried to kill me?" Hutch asked, sounding like a small child.
Starsky glared at the doctor for saying that in front of Hutch. "It'll be okay," He comforted, patting the blond's shoulder. Hutch raised a hand to cover his partner's.
"Wasn't Dobey, I'm sure," he managed. "Gotta find out who did it..."
"We will," Starsky muttered, trying to figure out how much he should tell his friend. The doctor made the decision for him.
"I'm afraid it's going to be a while before you're ready to be released, Officer. For now, you just have to concentrate on getting better."
"You gotta fight it, Hutch. And do what the doctors tell ya."
"I will," Hutch agreed. "Go check on Dobey, would ya?"
"I will. Those IA guys will run all over him, just like they always do to us. Don't forget, they believe a man is guilty first and innocent only if he can prove it." Starsky hesitated, not wanting to leave his partner, even to help his Captain.
"Go, Starsk," Hutch muttered. "He needs you."
"Okay, buddy. I'll go if you promise to get some sleep."
"I've been sleeping," Hutch whined, feeling tired but not wanting to miss out on anything more.
"No, you've been passed out. I mean real sleep, partner." He waited until his determined look was met with a nod from the blond. He was satisfied. "You hang in there. I'll be back as soon as I can." He squeezed the weakened hand once before releasing it and following the doctor out the door, leaving the patient alone in the room, still weak and tired. Maybe now he'd be able to get some genuine sleep.

The Internal Affairs Division was not a place that Starsky had ever gone willingly before. But this time was different. This time they were trying to pin something on an innocent man who'd dedicated his whole life to this department. Not six or seven years like he and Hutch, but twenty-six years!
"Where've you got Dobey?!" he demanded of the first person in the department he saw.
The man wasn't about to be bullied. "He's being questioned right now, Detective. You can't see him."
Starsky recognized the man slightly, seeming to remember that his name was Donald Simmons. "I know the way you guys operate! And you're not gonna keep me from helping him. You guys are on the wrong track big-time here!"
"I'd think you'd be happy we found the man who poisoned your partner. I've heard stories that you two are real close." Simmons smirked, making Starsky wonder if that was an expression they taught you when you transferred into this department.
"I don't believe for a second that Captain Dobey did it and neither does Hutch!"
"Well, Sergeant, be that as it may, we do believe it. And we're going to act on that belief until we have proof that he wasn't involved." The snide expression made Starsky want to reach out and knock the man on his pompous ass, but he knew he'd be no help to Dobey on suspension for striking a fellow officer.
"Well, then, I'll get you that proof," he snapped, turning his back and walking away.
He made his first stop R&I. Whoever had wanted to poison Hutch quite probably had revenge as a motive. "Check the jails and hospitals," he told the clerk. "Find out if anybody with a motive for revenge against Hutch was released or escaped in past the couple of weeks. I'll be in the squadroom for awhile, then the hospital."
"Yessir," the female clerk said, noticing it was the first time she'd encountered the handsome brunet that he hadn't hit on her. He must be really worried about his partner, she thought, appreciating the view from the rear as he walked away.
Minnie caught up with him on his way into the squadroom. "How's your partner, Starsky?" She was good at being concerned, finding herself almost as worried about the well half of this team as the sick one.
"Hangin' in there, Minnie. Hangin' in there."
"Did you hear about the Captain?" She practically had to run to keep up with the rushing man.
"Just came from IA. They wouldn't let me in. I gotta find something to prove that he didn't do this to Hutch."
"Anything I can do to help, Starsky honey. Just ask."
"Actually, there is something," Starsky said, pulling up short and thinking. "I need a list of everybody who has access to Dobey's office."
"Practically everybody in the building's been in there at one time or another! You're asking for a very long list!"
"Not everybody in the building can get in there when the Captain's off duty! And whoever planted those pills in there had to have done it when Dobey wasn't around."
"I have another question, Starsky. How did the creep who did this know it would be Hutch who asked him for aspirin? He's not the only one who gets aches, you know?"
"I know. I've been thinking about that, too. Somebody would have to know the workings of this division very well to know how often Hutch relies on the captain's bottle of aspirin. We just gotta figure out how they got so much knowledge."
"So you need to know who has a key to Dobey's office who was also around during the day to study you guys' habits."
"That's it, Minnie. Get back to me as soon as you can, would ya? And have Dobey call me at the hospital as soon as he gets back from IA. I wanna know how far they've taken this stupid theory of theirs!"
"Will do, Starsky. If he doesn't call ya, I will. I don't believe this either, and none of the guys do, either." She looked more worried than Starsky had ever seen her.
"Well, we're gonna prove it. But I gotta get back to Hutch." Starsky rubbed his eyes as he ran down the front steps of the precinct. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep stretching himself between being with Hutch and trying to help Dobey, but he knew he didn't want to slack off on either right now. Sliding on his sunglasses even though the day was overcast, he directed the Torino back toward County General.

The telephone on Hutch's bedside table rang, and Starsky quickly grabbed it before it could disturb his partner. The patient stirred slightly and went back to sleep. Starsky whispered, hoping the person on the line would be able to hear him.
"Yeah?"
"Starsky, is that you, honey?" He'd recognize Minnie's telephone-filtered voice anywhere.
"Yeah. I don't wanna wake Hutch. What's goin' on?"
"The Captain just left here. I didn't get to talk to him much, just long enough for him to tell me he's taking the rest of the day off and will be at home if we need him."
"He's gone to tell Edith what's happening," Starsky predicted. But the fact that he'd been free was a good sign; it meant that IA didn't have enough evidence for an arrest. "Did he say if he'll be in tomorrow?"
"Yeah, God and Internal Affairs willing. I don't think I've ever seen him so worried. Except when he's worryin' about one of you two. What are you gonna do?"
"Do you have that list for me yet?" he asked.
"It's almost done. Personnel said another half hour or so."
"Good! I'll come by and pick it up, then I'm goin' to visit Dobey." His voice sounded angry and determined, which worried Minnie.
"To interrogate him?" She just wanted to be sure.
"No, of course not. To let him know that Hutch and me don't believe it for a second. And to tell him that I'm gonna figure out who's behind this."
She sighed in relief, feeling secure that Starsky would solve this case. "Good. I'll see ya in a bit, sweetie." She hung up the phone, managing a slight smile as she went back to her filing.

Greg Sullivan watched from around the corner as Dobey made his way to his old green sedan. He'd finished his task just in time, throwing the receipt well under the driver's seat and wiping his prints from the car's interior before making his way to his vantage point.
Now, all it'll take is an anonymous call to Internal Affairs to get him. They'll search his car, find the receipt, and bang! We've got him!
Getting that job in the exotic plant nursery across town was a stroke of genius, he thought. Not only could he remove clippings unnoticed from the plants there, but he could also dummy the receipt when he needed it and serve as "witness" to Dobey's purchase of the Destroying Angel. It was perfect.
Once he was sure Dobey had driven away, he made his way to the precinct, "accidentally" finding himself in the Internal Affairs Division. His hubris, his sense of pride, peaked as he congratulated himself on remembering to disguise himself in Dobey's office so that he wouldn't have to now. He'd have to appear as himself to testify in court against the Captain.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, approaching a man who looked like he belonged there. "Could you help me?" Of course, he knew the man. He'd done his research well. Donald Simmons. He'd found his way into the police department a few years prior to his cousin Kurt, and since then everybody was amazed at the differences between the two. Kurt was one member of a partnership known to be second only to Starsky and Hutchinson and also a good friend to both. On the other hand, Donald Simmons was determined to be the black to his cousin's white, easily matching the suspicious nature and animosity of a few older, overzealous IA men like Simonetti. Greg knew that this was just the man to help him get Dobey right where he wanted him.
"Yes, sir," Simmons said politely. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Well," Greg said, doing his best to look nervous. Donald apparently bought it. "I'm not sure if there is a problem. I work in an exotic nursery and I'm a little worried about a sale I made a few days ago."
"A sale? How unusual. Let's go into my office." Simmons led the man to a small cubical of an office, motioning him to be seated in a metal chair. "Now what worried you about this particular sale?"
"The man who came in," he said, wringing his hands in pretend anguish, "he seemed very angry. Mumbled a lot about getting even with somebody who was insubordinate." Simmons looked doubtful, but Sullivan knew he had his attention. "I know it's probably nothing. Just being silly, but..."
"But what, Mr...?"
"Sullivan. Greg Sullivan. I'm really afraid that this customer could try to harm whoever made him so angry."
"And what makes you think that?" Patience was an asset in this job, but this man was even getting on Simmons' nerves.
"Because the plant he bought was very poisonous, and he came in asking for it specifically. He was so mad," Greg went on, trying his best to sound timid and small, "I was afraid to even ask his name. And since he paid cash, there was no excuse to."
"Okay, Mr. Sullivan. Can you describe the customer to me?" This was starting to get interesting, and interesting was something Simmons craved.
"Well, he was big, that's for sure. About six feet tall and almost as wide. And he was black."
"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"
"Most definitely, sir." Sullivan knew the unnecessary show of respect would endear him even further to the IA man.
"And what kind of plant was it that he bought?" Donald paused with his pen froze above the page on which he was taking notes.
"Well, we in the business call it Amanita phalloides, but it's commonly referred to as the Destroying Angel. We don't even usually carry it, but we got a couple of flats in by mistake a week or so ago, and since it's an attractive plant, we kept them around." He looked up into the eyes of the IA man and saw recognition there and something akin to excitement.
Yes, this could be a real boom to his career, that was for sure. From a drawer in his desk Simmons withdrew a file and from it, a police ID. "This doesn't happen to be the man who made the purchase, does it?"
He handed a photo to Greg. "Officer, this is him!" declared Sullivan.
Simmons' smile grew in brightness and size as the witness uttered the final verdict on Captain Harold Dobey. "Good. Very good, Mr. Sullivan. If you'd wait just a minute, I'd like to get a stenographer in here to take down your statement, then we'll need to have your address and phone number so we can call you when it comes time to testify."
"Of course, sir," Greg said, sitting back in his chair. "I always believe in doing my duty as a good citizen." It was hard not to smile at his victory, but he managed somehow.
"If you'll excuse me," Donald Simmons said, smiling, "I have some things to arrange." He stepped out, using the phone at the front desk to first call the District Attorney's office, then to summon a pair of uniformed officers. They weren't happy about their assignment, but since it came from somebody who outranked them, they didn't have much to say about it.
"Find him and bring him in," Simmons instructed them sternly. "The charge is attempted murder. You can pick up the warrant at the DA's office on the way."
They shook their heads in astonishment, finding it nearly impossible to believe that a man with Dobey's reputation could do such a thing. On the other side of the coin, Simmons was practically jumping with glee at the case he'd just broken. Taking down a man of Dobey's prestige was just the feather his cap needed, and was certain to secure him a place on the promotion list. So, Captain Harold Dobey! You thought you had everyone fooled with that good-guy family-man act. But I know better now, and I'm gonna see that you pay for trying to murder one of our own.

Edith Dobey looked up suddenly from the pie she was baking at the sound of the car in the driveway. The kids were still in school, and her beloved husband wasn't expected home for many hours; it was still mid-morning. "Not another salesman," she muttered, running her flour-covered hands under a stream of water in the sink before drying them on a towel, then she headed toward the door.
She was surprised when, instead of a ringing doorbell, the door opened and her husband came in. He looked terrible, tired and worn out and, most of all, worried.
"Harold!" she said in her surprise. She hugged him, but his lackluster response and slight squeeze also emphasized his mood. "Honey, what's wrong? Why are you home so early?"
"Can't I spend a little private time with my favorite lady?" Dobey said, trying his best to muster a smile.
"You know you can do that anytime, honey. I've been living with you too long not to know that face, though. You've got bad news, don't you?"
Dobey flopped down onto the couch, his wife following him down more gently. "You know me too well, sweetheart. Yeah, I'd say this is worse than bad." He looked into his wife's eyes, seeing the comfort there, and started at the beginning. "Hutch is in the hospital; he's been poisoned."
Edith gasped, then spoke through the hand with which she'd covered her mouth. "Is he going to be all right?"
"It's doubtful. There is a chance he could recover, but his odds aren't too good."
"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry. I know how much Starsky and Hutch mean to you." She hugged him gently, kissing him on the cheek.
"That's not all," he said after taking a deep breath. "The poison was planted in some aspirin he took. Some aspirin I gave him."
"Oh, no!"
"Yeah. And IA is real interested in who put it in there." They sat there for a moment, drinking in each other's faces. "Baby, Internal Affairs suspects me of doing it."
"YOU?!" She let her astonishment settle before managing to continue. "How can they suspect you? You love those boys like they were your own. They're like members of our family! Nobody who knows you could believe you'd do such a thing!"
"Well, those men in IA don't know me!" he said, his anxiety showing clearly to his wife. "They grilled me for hours this morning. No matter what I said, I couldn't convince them it was the truth." Edith hugged him tightly, comfort for times when there were no words. "Hutch is in the hospital, maybe dying, and I'm just waiting for them to come with a warrant for my arrest."
The comment about Hutch diverted Edith's concern from her beloved husband to the black sheep of his squadroom. "How is Dave holding up? This must be horrible for him. Can he do anything to help Ken?"
"No, I'm afraid not. The poison's got no antidote. All they can do is treat his symptoms and pray he pulls through."
"I'll go and visit Ken; he'll need all our support to fight this thing." She looked determined, and he wasn't about to argue with her. On the contrary, he hoped it would keep her mind off his own predicament.
"That's a good idea," he said, managing a smile this time. "But I don't want either one of them to know about this IA business. They've got enough to worry about without having to think about me." He looked into her eyes again, sternly, when she didn't respond. "Promise me, sweetheart. It's what I want."
The request would be difficult, but she couldn't refuse the love of her life this one favor. "Very well, Harold." Dobey stood, kissing his wife's cheek as they rose together.
"I'm going to the hospital to visit Hutch. Tell the kids I love them and, no matter what happens, not to believe what they hear."
"Are they really that close to accusing you?"
"I don't know, honey. But I wanted to say that, just in case." He hugged her tightly to his chest, and she buried her face in his large arm, trying very hard not to let him see the tears that were saturating his sleeve. They clung there, together, for a few minutes before they finally pushed away. Her eyes were red, but at least they were now dry.
"I love you," she said simply.
"You'd better," he said, smiling gently. "I love you, too." He pecked her on the forehead, then on the cheek, then on the lips before leaving the house, needing to get out before he decided to never leave again.

The situation at LA County Hospital had not improved. If anything, it was worse. Hutch was groggy from painkillers most of the time and was still suffering from dry heaves. The doctors tried a new anti-nausea medicine as soon as the prior failed one was out of his system, and still he suffered whenever he was awake. When the pain medicine was wearing off, he felt the ache in his ribs and shoulders from hunching over the basin kept nearby in case the heaves brought up bile or, God forbid, blood.
And worse than that, he was becoming weaker. Starsky could see it clearly, saw the differences from when Hutch was first administered the morphine. His ability to fight what was happening to his body seemed to be lessening as the time passed. The brunet squeezed the pale, thin hand as tightly as he felt was safe. Hutch wouldn't be able to tell him when it hurt; he was too loaded with drugs.
Starsky half-turned in his chair at the knock on the door, wincing at the stitch in his back from being frozen there for so long. "Come in," he said. He managed a small smile when he saw the round, hopeful face of his captain.
"Starsky," Dobey said, taking in the condition of his officer before letting his eyes stray to his partner in the bed. What he saw there shocked him. "How's he doing?"
"Not so good. He's still too sick for them to feed him anything." Dobey saw fear behind the sapphire blue eyes, echoed back by his own brown ones. "I heard about IA callin' you in, Cap. It's a good thing they seem to have come to their senses."
Dobey apparently didn't want to discuss it. "Is the pain any better?" The Captain moved further into the room, leaning against the foot of Hutch's bed.
"It's hard to tell; he's on so much painkiller that he wouldn't feel it even if it was there. It makes him sleep, though, so I suppose it can't be all bad..."
Dobey's eyes strayed again to the disheveled man in the bed. "Has the doctor said anything about why his color is so strange?"
Starsky looked confused. "The doctor hasn't been in for awhile," he said a moment before the rest of the Captain's statement sunk in. "What d'you mean 'his color is strange'?"
Could Starsky really not have noticed? "His skin tone. It's yellow. Like a newborn with jaundice." He watched as the expressions flew over Starsky's face.
Starsky heard the doctor's words of two days ago echoing in his mind. Kidney and liver involvement in three to four days. Hutch was getting worse, and his two vital organs were beginning to shut down. He didn't even realize that the "Oh, God" had escaped his lips until Dobey shook his shoulder. Then, instead of reacting to the large black man, he jumped up and ran to the call button. It was only a manner of seconds before Lynn, Hutch's nurse, poked her head in the room.
"Get Dr. Green in here now!" Starsky ordered, forgetting the niceties. She was about to tell him off when her cornflower blue eyes noted the patient and his change in color.
"I'll put through an emergency page right away," she answered as she shut the door. She hadn't even gotten all the way into the room, but it had been sufficient. Dr. Green arrived soon with Lynn, carrying some equipment, at his side.
Dobey and Starsky were silent as the doctor checked over the blond, noting temperature and reflexes, then drawing some blood which Lynn left to take to the lab. Finally, he stood back with the two concerned friends.
"Is it...?" Starsky asked, not even able to mutter the words. Dobey knew the symptoms, knew what they meant to Hutch.
"Yes, Officer. It appears his liver and kidneys are in distress." He scribbled some notes on Hutch's chart. "I'm taking him off the pain medication so we can gauge the progress by his mental state.
"His mental state?" Starsky questioned, not understanding. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"The liver and kidneys," the doctor began in a voice that sounded more like he was teaching school than delivering medical information, "both screen toxins out of the body. When they stop working or aren't working correctly, that toxin can get backed up into the person's system, eventually interfering with the neural impulses to and in the brain. The first sign of this is an agitated emotional state."
"Thank you," Dobey muttered, noticing how the news had affected Starsky. The poor man looked stunned and very, very worried. "What can you do about it, Doctor?"
"Well, there are some drugs, a few even controversial ones, that may help get the liver functioning up to par again, and they could help the kidneys, too. If none of the medication helps in that area, we'll have to put him on dialysis."
Starsky did know what that was. "Oh, my God," he whispered, returning to Hutch's side. He took his partner's hand again, and this time got a reaction as the fair lashes fluttered open. He looked at Starsky, but the brunet wasn't sure he was actually seeing him.
"Hey, partner," Starsky managed, smiling slightly. "Welcome back." It was something he said every time Hutch awoke, and the blond smiled at the familiarity of the phrase and the man who said it.
"Hi," he said weakly, licking his lips.
"How's the pain?" Starsky asked, noticing that at least the patient didn't look like he was hurting.
"Fine. Even feel like I could keep something down. Can I have some water?" He licked his lips again. Starsky reached for the pitcher of water but was interrupted by the doctor.
"No water, but you can give him a little chipped ice." Lynn returned long enough to bring it, then left to tend other patients.
The coolness and moisture seemed to help Hutch awaken; he grew more alert and aware of what was going on around him. His eyes went from Starsky to Dr. Green to Dobey. "Hi, Captain. How's it going?"
Starsky shook his head faintly to his Captain, implying without speaking that he hadn't told the blond about the problems with IA or their suspicion of Dobey. The message came across clearly.
"I'm doing okay, Ken," he said softly. "You just do what the doctors tell you and get better."
"Yessir!" Hutch answered, smiling and making a weak attempt at a salute. The slowness of the movement wasn't missed by the doctor or the other two officers. The blond licked his lips again.
The pitcher now empty of the ice it had contained, Starsky got up to go fill it with water. Maybe Hutch couldn't drink, but he could at least wet his lips and wipe his forehead with the much-wanted liquid. Dobey heard the water begin to run when the door opened, admitting another visitor.
Starsky was unable to hear what was going on in the room until he turned off the faucet, but what he heard then wrenched him from the bathroom. Hutch was yelling with every ounce of strength he had left.
"You can't do this... What the hell d'you think you're up to, Simmons." He was plainly angry.
"What's all the yelling about?!" Starsky's voice overpowered Hutch's objections. Hutch turned to him, clearly agitated and sweating. One sweeping glance took in Hutch, Dr. Green, Dobey, and, amazingly enough, Donald Simmons, standing beside the Captain with his handcuffs in his grip.
"This lunatic wants to put Dobey in jail..." Hutch said plaintively.
"I have," Simmons interrupted before Hutch could go on, " a warrant for the arrest of Captain Harold Dobey." As he spoke, he snapped the cuffs around Dobey's wrists.
"A warrant?!" Starsky said, astonished. "A warrant for what? What's he supposed to have done?"
"Captain Dobey is charged with the attempted murder of Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson." The answer stunned everybody in the room, and it was a moment before anybody was able to respond.
Finally, Starsky found his voice. "The Captain tried to kill Hutch? That's ridiculous! More than ridiculous, only a total moron could dream up a charge like that!"
"It's no dream, Starsky," Simmons said, waving a small sheet of white paper. "On the way in, I and a few uniforms took the liberty to search the good Captain's car. I had a warrant for that, too, of course. And we just so happen to have found a receipt for the poisonous plant in question hidden under his seat."
"Then someone planted it there!" exclaimed Starsky.
Hutch's quieter voice joined his partners, becoming more upset by the second. "Look, I'm the injured party here, and I know that he would never do something like that. So you can just take off those handcuffs, Simmons, because I have no intention of pressing charges."
"Hutch," Simmons said, "you know I don't need you to press charges in order to put him under arrest. The suspect is a threat to the safety of the public at large."
"Oh, hell!" Hutch responded, trying in vain to push himself up in bed. Starsky's hand holding him down felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. "The only thing Harold Dobey is a threat to is the All-You-Can-Eat Buffet on Bleaker!" The agitation was finally catching up to the blond, who suddenly stopped struggling, nearly unconscious.
"He can't take this kind of anxiety," Dr. Green stepped in. "You people are going to have to take this argument out of here. Mr. Hutchinson is worn out and needs his rest."
"No!" Hutch whispered. "Can't let them put him in jail. He's our friend!"
It occurred to Starsky that, although they'd considered Harold Dobey a friend for years now, it was one of the first times either of them had actually used the word aloud to describe their Captain.
"You people in IA are crazy if you think we're going to let you pin this on him!" Hutch yelled as loud as he could muster, barely surpassing his normal tone of voice. "It's not right! It's not fair! I'll get you, Simmons! I'll teach you to accuse a friend of mine!" The anger in Hutch's words was clear and plain, even through his weakness, and the doctor's words echoed back at Starsky. When they stop working or aren't working correctly, that toxin can get backed up into the person's system, eventually interfering with the neural impulses to and in the brain. The first sign of this is an agitated emotional state. Heaven knew, there was good reason for Hutch to be upset, but could this be something more?
"Don't worry, Hutch," Starsky said, laying a gentle hand on the blond's shoulder again. "I'll take care of it. You just get some rest." Their eyes met for a few moments, Hutch reading in the deep blue depths that his partner was worried yet sincere. He could rest; Starsky would see to getting the charges against Dobey dropped. Starsky reached forward and squeezed his partner's hand, releasing it and leaving only when Hutch closed his eyes and seemed to be resting.
Once outside the room, Starsky took the IA man to task. "What the hell were you thinking, trying to arrest Dobey right in front of Hutch?!" He bore down on the man, trying to use all his 5'11" to his benefit. "He can't afford to get riled up right now! Especially not by you arresting an innocent man who happens to be a very good friend!"
"Starsky," Donald said, holding his own, "nobody is going to keep me from taking in someone for premeditated murder in this case. So just get out of my way, before I decide to take you in too for obstructing an officer serving a warrant." Starsky would have gone after the man again if Dobey's serene voice hadn't intercepted him.
"Dave, it's okay. The system will work and I'll be out before you know it. But I need you to call Edith for me. Please," he added, and Starsky saw more worry in his dark brown eyes than he outwardly showed. "Help her with Cal and Rosie until I can get back." Simmons began to lead the large black man away toward two officers waiting at the end of the hall.
"I'll take care of it, Captain!" Starsky called after the departing men. "And I'll clear you, too. Count on it!" Dobey barely heard the promise as the elevator closed on them.

David Starsky never felt so conflicted in his whole life. Never had he had so many things he wanted to do at once. The choice he had made felt wrong, yet right, creating a twisting somewhere in his chest. He rubbed at it absently as he guided the Torino through LA's streets, taking the fastest route possible from the hospital, where he'd wanted to stay with his ailing partner, to the Dobey residence. If he was really lucky, he'd get there before Cal and Rosie arrived home from school.
He half-hoped that the doorbell wouldn't work, or that Edith wouldn't be home, although he knew it would only be delaying the inevitable. Moments later, though, the door opened to Mrs. Dobey's smiling face. "David Starsky, my heavens! What in the world are you doing here, with Ken so sick?" He hardly needed the words to remind him that he'd abandoned his partner. He found he didn't want to break the news and lose that smile.
"He's resting easily right now," he said, not sure if it was a lie or not. "And I had a promise to keep." She was looking at him curiously, and he forged ahead. "Can we go into the living room?"
"Sure," she said, leading him into the comfortable room where, rather than taking the chair she indicated, Starsky guided her to a chair of her own. The move confused the woman, reminding her of Harold's street days when she feared this kind of a visit would be to tell her that her beloved husband had been hurt or killed. "Did you see Harold at the hospital?" she asked, chuckling nervously and not knowing why.
"Yes, I did," Starsky answered softly. "We had a nice visit."
"Did he tell Ken hello for me? I asked him to be sure to do that, but you know how he can be sometimes. He can remember the most miniscule little things and forget something very important..." She rambled on, long after Starsky had tuned out her words. She was becoming more and more nervous as each minute passed with Starsky still not revealing the reason for his visit. Finally, he stopped her.
"Edith..." he said quietly, taking her hands, and she fell silent.
She looked at their long-time family friend expectantly. "Yes, David?"
"Edith, we had a visitor we weren't counting on. I just don't know how to tell you this, but the Internal Affairs guys showed up. They put the Captain under arrest, Edith." The plaintiveness in his voice was clear. The woman before him sat there stunned, unable to respond to what she'd been told. "Edith, did you hear me?"
"They arrested my Harold?" she said, her eyes beginning to tear.
"I'm afraid so. He made me promise to come tell you myself, not that I would've let anybody else do it anyway." She started to weep openly, and he put his arms around her hesitantly as she folded into his arms. He let her cry on his shoulder for several minutes, staying silent and supportive, until she finally felt strong enough to pull away, rubbing at her deep brown eyes. "Are you okay?"
"As okay as I'm going to get until my baby is home." He pulled out his handkerchief and gently wiped her face until it was dry. She began to fan her eyes, trying to clear the redness in them. "The kids are going to be home any minute; I can't face them this way."
Right on cue, the front door opened and Cal and Rosie Dobey ran in, the older boy in hot pursuit of his little sister. "I'm gonna get you for that, kid," he said as the small girl ran into her mother's arms to avoid her brother. Neither of them noticed that their mother seemed upset.
"Mommy," Rosie said, smiling slightly while trying to look very scared. "Don't let him hurt me!"
"Now, Calvin," Edith said, stopping her son in his tracks, "what could she possibly have done to upset so you so badly?"
"Do you remember Jenny Martin, Mom?"
Edith seemed to think a second, then the name finally clicked. "Oh, yes! The girl who sits behind you in home room and just moved up the street!"
"Yeah, that's her. Well, your darling daughter just told her that I liked her!" It was as if it was the most horrible thing he could conceive.
"Well, don't you?" Edith smiled, happy to have such a normal thing happening amid the chaos.
"I...I..." Calvin stammered, prompting Rosie to begin chanting.
"Calvin loves Jenny. Calvin loves Jenny. Calvin and Jenny, sitting in a tree..." Calvin slapped a hand over his sister's mouth, trying to keep her quiet. Starsky, until now unobserved, laughed. He remembered more than a few similar incidents where he'd been in Calvin's shoes and Nicky had been the taunter.
"Rosie, honey. You really shouldn't tease him like that! You have no idea how much trouble he'll be able to cause you when you get to be his age."
Rosie seemed to think for a moment before falling silent and stopping her struggle against her brother's arms. "Uncle Dave, why are you here?" she asked when her brother had freed her mouth. "And where's Uncle Ken?"
"Hutch couldn't make it this time, kids. He's in the hospital 'cause he got sick. Maybe you could visit him sometime; it sure would cheer him up. But that's not why I came to see your mother."
Edith interrupted before he could continue, knowing how she wanted to handle this matter with her kids. "He just came to give me a message, sweetheart. Your Daddy won't be able to come home for a few days because of work."
Rosie's face fell, as did her brother's. "But what about my dance recital?! He promised to be there!"
"And what about my baseball game! He's always there to help the coach!"
"I'm sorry, kids, but there's nothing we can do about it. Rosie, why don't you go play while I talk to your brother." The young girl turned dejectedly towards the stairs and was soon on the second floor and out of earshot. Edith drew her only son down on the couch next to her.
"Calvin, I didn't want your sister to hear the whole reason your dad can't come home, but I think you're old enough to handle it. You heard Uncle Dave say that Hutch was sick. Well, the truth is, he's not just sick. Somebody tried to kill him. And some of the people at the department think that your father did it. That's why he can't come home."
"You mean he's in jail?!" Calvin almost shouted, astonished, as Starsky and Edith shushed him. "How could anybody in their right mind think that Dad would do anything like that to him. They're friends, Ma!"
"I know, sweetie," Edith said, fighting tears again, as she patted her son's leg.
"And I'm going to do everything in my power to prove his innocence," Starsky said, trying to encourage the boy.
"In school they teach us that you don't have to prove you didn't do something; they have to prove you did do it!"
"They've got a lot of circumstantial evidence, they won't even tell me about some of it. We won't know everything they've got until the arraignment first thing in the morning."
"Will both of you be with Dad for that?"
"I'll be there, and I've got a feeling wild horses couldn't keep your Mom away. I've got to go to the hospital first thing in the morning to see Hutch, then I'll be there. I promise." Calvin knew that Starsky's promises were good, and relaxed a little. He remembered his father telling him once-at one time when their lives were in danger from an escaped man that the Captain had put in jail-that Starsky and Hutch were the best detectives he'd ever seen. He knew his father hadn't said that easily, and felt confident the brunet would clear his father, even if he didn't have his blond partner to help him.
"How is Hutch, really?" Cal voiced the though, honestly wanting to know.
"Not so good, I'm afraid. Somebody poisoned him; there's no antidote. We just have to hope he pulls through it with what help the doctors can give him." There was no mistaking the sense of loss on Starsky's face, along with a sense of incompleteness.
"We'll all say a prayer for him," Edith announced, patting her son on the arm. "The Good Lord will keep him with us. And with Dave." She looked again at Starsky just a moment before he bolted from his chair.
"I've gotta get goin'," he said, trying hard to hide the strain in his voice. "Need to check up on Hutch." He was at the door before she was able to catch up to him.
"Tell Ken that we're thinking about him, and to fight. With the Lord's help, he'll be able to beat this thing."
"I'll tell 'im," Starsky muttered, brushing his lips on her cheek before he sped out the door. After he'd gone, Cal put an arm around his mother.
"Starsky and Hutch are like brothers," he said, almost whispering. "What'll happen to Starsky if Hutch dies?"
"I hope we never have to find out," Edith whispered back, hugging her son.

"Well, it's about time!" Starsky exclaimed, seeing the doctor finally coming into his partner's room. It was very late and Hutch was asleep. It had been several hours since Starsky had returned to the hospital from the Dobey residence. "Do you have any idea how many times your staff's come in and taken blood tonight? Without even a single one of 'em bein' able to tell me how he's doin'!"
"I'm sorry, Officer Starsky," Dr. Green said calmly. When a patient is experiencing kidney problems, we have to take blood often to determine if his conditioning is worsening, improving, or staying level."
"And which one is it?" Starsky asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
"Well, it's not good, but he doesn't seem to be getting any worse at least."
Starsky closed his eyes, breathing a deep sigh of relief. His comfort was broken by the doctor again.
"I don't want you to get your hopes up, Sergeant. Just because it's staying level for now doesn't necessarily mean it'll stay that way or that he's getting better. We can hope, though."
Starsky's face fell as quickly as his mood did, feeling the knives again in his heart. He didn't know there was a witness until he heard the soft voice. "C'mon, partner. Have a little faith in me." He spun around to see Hutch, eyes vague but undoubtedly resting on his best friend.
Starsky wasn't aware he was moving toward him, just that he was suddenly at his side with the thin hand grasped in his own. "Hey," he said, smiling. "That's supposed to be my line, partner. Remember all those times when I was layin' there, sayin' it to you?"
Dr. Green slipped out, leaving the two of them alone.
"Yeah," the blond whispered, letting his eyes close again. "Prudholm, Bellamy, Simon, those freaks in the Italian restaurant... Guess I'm catchin' up t'you, huh, buddy?"
"Well, you just listen to me, partner. You're not allowed to catch up to me, so just cut out this hospital business. When we get you outta here, I don't want you makin' no more trips here." Starsky blinked away fogginess as he felt Hutch's weak squeeze back.
"Didja get Dobey out yet?" Hutch asked, his eyes still closed.
"I'm workin' on it, partner. You just rest for now. I'll be here with ya until mornin', then I'm goin' to the courthouse. Don't you worry; I'll clear him."
"Wish I could help 'im..." Hutch drifted off again.
"I wish you could, too," Starsky whispered, lowering himself into the chair beside the bed and looking intently at Hutch's sickly face. He propped his legs on the edge of the mattress, slumping down, and folded his hands in his lap, trying to get some sleep himself before his friend's next wakeful period.

The courthouse was mobbed with reporters, all trying to get pictures and a comment from the accused. Dobey's lawyer, a former officer who was donating his services, and Starsky, were by his side as soon as he was led from the van, shielding him from the shouts of the press. It wasn't the first time a member of the police force was taken to trial, but it was the first time anybody could remember where an officer in good standing was accused of trying to murder one of his own.
My God, Starsky thought, staring at the throng. And this is just the arraignment. What's gonna happen if this thing actually goes to trial?
Once inside the courthouse, things calmed down considerably. The halls echoed hollowly as the three, and their uniformed escorts, moved toward the courtroom. Starsky had offered to serve as escort himself, but the commissioner had been suspicious of the brunet and had refused the request. He'd made sure that the men serving as Dobey's guards were from another division.
As for the accused himself, he remained solemn. He greeted Starsky pleasantly enough when he first arrived, but didn't truly smile until he entered the courtroom, seeing his dedicated wife standing there waiting for him. He half expected her to jump up, yelling surprise, and tell him this was all a joke for his birthday or their anniversary. But her eyes told him that it wasn't true. He fondly remembered her visit of just an hour ago.
"How are you holding up, honey?" he asked her across the barrier between them. He wanted no more than to bury her in his large form, but knew the law wouldn't allow it.
"How am I?" she repeated, incredulous. "I should be asking you that!"
"I'm just fine," he answered the never-really-asked question. "Because I'm an officer, they keep me separate from the rest of the jailbirds." He laughed lightly, for her benefit, at his use of the old-fashioned word. "Now how are you and the kids?"
"I'm fine, too. Dave came and was so sweet; it really helped me feel better. I made the kids go to school today, as usual. No reason to disrupt their lives any more than we have to, right?"
"You know me so well," he said, wishing again that he could hug her. "That's exactly what I would have had you do." Dobey's lips moved, but no one couldn't hear whatever he was trying to communicate to the woman, but she understood, and it elicited a smile from her.
Dobey's eyes held Edith's until he arrived at the front of the courtroom. Hesitantly, she took her seat in the first row and watched as he sat behind the defendant's table.

Starsky raced back into the hospital, taking the stairs rather than the elevator up to Hutch's room, knowing that he had some pent up aggression to get out of his system. The arraignment hearing had been a disaster, a striking blow for the prosecution, and the judge had held over the case for trial, setting the bail at an unreachable amount.
He stopped and visibly calmed himself before going into the room. He knew it wouldn't be good to upset Hutch, although he had every intention of telling him everything that had happened. Just not all at once or abruptly.
"Hi," Hutch said softly as soon as he recognized the brown curls. He must've been staring at the door, waiting, to see him so quickly, Starsky thought.
"Hey," Starsky said, approaching the bed for what seemed like the millionth time. "Why aren't you asleep?"
"Couldn't," Hutch said simply. "I couldn't keep my mind off the hearing. So how'd it go?"
"Well..." Starsky began, noticing his partner's worried expression. "The judge handed down an indictment. Attempted murder. He set the bail at $750,000." He looked at his extremely pale friend, hearing again the judge's echoing words that, should Hutch not make it, the charge would be elevated to Murder One. Hutch had to make it!
"Three quarters of a million dollars?" exclaimed Hutch. "That's ridiculous!"
Starsky was surprised at the vehemence in his best friend's voice. Was it his imagination, or was that voice stronger? "The DA said something to him about the possible flight risk and that he might incite other members of the force to assist him."
"And how are the other cops taking this? Not everybody knows the Captain as well as we do."
"Near as I can tell, it's about half and half. Half want to see Dobey's neck in a noose for what he supposedly did to you, and the other half would like to throttle the DA's office for even thinking he could do something like this."
"I know you'll clear him," Hutch said groggily, apparently spent from his energetic conversation with his partner. "And I'll be okay. Don't look so worried."
"Yeah, I know, buddy," Starsky said, patting Hutch's arm.
"Really... I just need...a little rest... Be up and around..." But Hutch was never able to finish the sentence. He drifted off, his lips still moving slightly, but nothing coming out.
"I sure hope so," Starsky whispered, moving his hand from Hutch's arm to the blond strand of hair that had fallen down his forehead. Brushing it aside, he noticed that Hutch's temperature seemed normal. Now that he thought about it, his color was a little better, too. Maybe...
He pushed the button to call the nurse, and was happy to see that Lynn was on duty. "May I help you?" she asked, smiling gently as she came through the door.
"Yeah, I hope so. Can you tell me how he's doing really? The doctor keeps side-stepping me when I ask, but I think he looks less yellow at least."
Lynn treated Starsky to a whiff of soap as she walked to the foot of Hutch's bed, retrieving his chart. Opening it to examine the latest test results, her grin grew slightly. "Well, according to this, his last blood tests showed that his kidney and liver function improved slightly. Still not up to par, but it's a good sign."
"So you think Hutch'll be okay?" he asked.
"We hope he'll be okay," she stressed, replacing the chart. "But I'm afraid, with this case, there's nothing we can be sure of. Hopefully, he'll continue to improve, but it's not by any means a certainty. My best recommendation is to let him rest." She stopped, looking closely at the brunet by the bedside. "You look like you could use some rest, too. When is the last time you had something to eat?"
"I grabbed a couple of doughnuts before the hearing this morning."
"That was what? Nine o'clock this morning? You can't possibly survive on that junk." She glanced briefly at her watch. "I'm off in ten minutes. Why don't I take you to a great place I know near here. If you don't eat something, you're going to pass out. And then how much help can you be to your friend and your captain."
Starsky was surprised by the reference to Dobey. "How'd you know about all of that?"
"Ken isn't asleep all the time, you know. When he's awake, he likes to talk. Mostly about you, your captain, and this case."
"And you've been keeping him company?" Starsky said smiling.
"When I can, and when my duties permit. He seems like such a nice man..." She looked at Hutch for a few moments before turning back to his partner. "He says you're his best friend. So, best friend...what about that food?"
"It sounds good," Starsky agreed, "but I've got to go after that. If I'm going to clear Captain Dobey of the charges, I've gotta get going."
"Agreed. I've got things I have to take care of too, tonight. I'm going to a show with my best friend! I can't wait! It's the newest hit musical!" With that, she excused herself to check on the other patients. Starsky immediately felt better about Hutch's being here; with care like this woman could give, he was confident they'd pull Hutch through.

Greg Sullivan paced the living room of the small house, muttering quietly to himself.
"What's the matter?" a quieter voice asked, coming closer in the dim room.
"It's that damn cop! He's not dead yet, and the charge against Dobey is only attempted murder." His voice and face were filled with rage, even more so than the man now beside him.
"Attempted Murder will still get him sent up for a long time, Greg. It'll still work!"
"No, Drew," Greg said, sitting down on the coffee table to face his younger brother. "It's gotta be Murder One, just like the false charge he pinned on you. He's gonna find out how hard it is to survive in that hell hole. Dobey put you in that chair by sending you up, and now he's gonna pay for it."
Drew Sullivan rolled his wheelchair as close as he could get to his older brother, enfolding him in his arms. "Thanks, big brother. It's all I want." After a thoughtful pause, he asked, "You haven't forgotten your promise, have you?"
"No, I haven't. I promise, you'll be in the courtroom when they send Dobey up. And you're going to get to smile and know there ain't a damn thing he can do to change the verdict!"
The man in the wheelchair suddenly began to cry, holding his brother even closer. "Thank you, Greg. Dad would be so proud of you. You promised to take care of me, and now you are."
"It's nothing," Greg said, with an evil smile as he patted his brother on the back. "You'd do the same for me."
"I would. You know that, don't you?"
"Yeah, I know."

After finishing dinner with Lynn at the taco place around the corner, Starsky checked on Hutch, only to find he was still sleeping, condition the same, Starsky hesitantly left the hospital to head back to headquarters. He had to check in with Minnie to see if she'd found anything.
The station seemed filled with tension. Starsky wondered briefly if it was his imagination; coming to the station alone, without his partner, always left him a little tense, but nothing like this. No, this was definitely something more.
"Hiya, dollface," he said, forcing a smile, as he approached Minnie's desk. "Please tell me you found somethin' that's gonna help."
"I'm afraid not, Starsky, honey. Dead end, all the way."
"Damn!" Starsky cursed, pounding a fist on the smooth surface, causing Minnie to jump.
"You know, this might be a long shot," Minnie suggested, "but maybe you should try Dobey's office. I don't think anybody's been in there since the arrest. Maybe the guy who did it wasn't smart enough to wear gloves."
"Fingerprints?" Starsky asked, thinking. "Didn't IA do that already?"
"No, they haven't been around. They believe they've already caught their man."
"That's a great idea," he smiled, genuinely this time. "The thing that's really been bothering me is all the 'hows' of this. How did somebody get access to Dobey's office in the first place, how did they know Hutch would want aspirin, and not somebody else, and how did they get past a precinct full of cops to do it? It just doesn't make sense."
"It probably would if you knew the answers," Minnie answered logically.
"It would have to be somebody who knew the precinct extremely well, knew the routines, and was able to observe when Dobey came and went. Put that way, the only people who qualify are..." He paused, not liking what was coming into his mind.
Minnie picked up on his thoughts, though. "Do you know what you're saying?"
"I'm afraid so. Captain Dobey may not have been the one to poison Hutch, but that doesn't mean it couldn't have been someone else in the precinct."
"Another cop." It was a statement, not a question.
"I think that's our next angle." Starsky didn't look happy about it.
"But why would another officer be out to get either one of you? It just doesn't make sense!"
"I'm afraid it does in some cases, Minnie. Lee McLaine never did forgive Hutch for standing up to him when he was on my case about the cops Prudholm killed."
"Yeah, but is that enough reason to want to kill Hutch?"
"Lee was angry because Hutch stopped him, essentially, from avenging a good friend's murder. Never mind that it was me he wanted to take it out on. I've heard of men killing for less." Minnie looked unhappy, but made a note to check McLaine's records. "I guess he's on the top of my list," Starsky continued, "but there are others too. I'm sure there are guys on the force who aren't too happy with the way we busted those vigilante uniforms awhile ago, either. Or maybe we didn't get them all after all. I guess we've ruffled a few feathers by not going by the book sometimes, too. I'll try to get you a list by the end of the day."
"But none of that sounds like a good enough reason to murder somebody," Minnie observed, chewing on the end of her pencil.
"No, it sure as hell doesn't," Starsky mumbled as he walked away.
"Wait a minute!" she called after him. "Where're you goin', in case I find something?"
"To the hospital first, then to Dobey's house, then the holding center. I'll keep in touch!" In a flash, he was gone out the swinging doors.

When he arrived at Hutch's room, Starsky was shocked to find the blond leaning on his IV stand, using every ounce of his strength in an attempt to get out of bed.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked before Hutch even noticed he was there.
"I gotta go to the john, and I hate that stupid bedpan." Starsky was relieved to see that the catheter had been removed.
Distracted from the tremendous effort he was putting forth, Hutch lost what hold he had on his standing position and fell back on the bed. "Damn," he said quietly.
"Well, if you gotta go, at least that must mean your kidneys're still workin'. C'mon, Blintz. I'll give ya a hand." After checking the arm with the IV, just to be sure it hadn't been pulled it out, Starsky hauled him up by the other, draping it over his shoulder and guiding him to the bathroom. He knew the staff would have a fit if they knew he'd helped Hutch get out of bed, but he was incapable of resisting those eyes. He released him when they got to the doorway, Hutch nodding an exhausted-looking face at his partner, indicating that he'd manage from there. As Starsky waited for him to finish, he thought about Hutch's appearance. He still looked a mess, sick and totally depleted, but he couldn't imagine him trying to get up yesterday like he had today. He prayed that it was a good sign.
Getting the blond back to bed was easier than getting him to the bathroom, and soon, Hutch was again nestled under the blankets. Starsky had just covered Hutch's bare thighs-the result of a too-short gown that seemed determined to ride up-when there was a knock on the door. Starsky and Hutch exchanged a silent communication, then Hutch nodded his head.
"Come in," Starsky said, speaking for his partner.
Even Edith Dobey's forced smile was enough to dispel some of their dark mood; but both officers were surprised when Cal and Rosie followed her into the room. Cal seemed typically restrained, remembering what his mother had said about not getting Hutch too upset. Rosie, however, in her childish excitement, forgot, and was soon bouncing up on the bed next to the blond.
"Hi, Uncle Ken! Are you feeling better? I been waiting all day to get to see you!"
Hutch managed a smile, not quite equaling the bright one Starsky wore, and said, "I'm doin' okay. How are you, sweetheart?"
"The kids at school today were teasing me." Rosie suddenly looked so downtrodden that both men's hearts went out to her. They each remembered the merciless teasing that school-aged kids could deliver, and knew how much it hurt, even if it was nothing of real importance.
"I'm sorry, darlin'," Starsky said, stroking her hair. "What were they saying? Do you want to tell us?"
"That's why I wanted to talk to Uncle Ken so bad." With a very serious expression, she turned to Hutch, who was slightly propped up in the bed. "Uncle Ken, why would my Daddy want to make you sick?"
Hutch's chest hurt with the sharp gasp he took, hearing an identical one from his partner. He looked up to see Edith's horror-stricken face; this was apparently the first time Rosie had mentioned this to anyone.
"Rosie, your Daddy didn't do this to me. He's our friend."
"But the kids at school said he did. They said he tried to make you sick, so you'd die. Is that why he's been gone away?"
Hutch looked with tired eyes to Starsky for help, Starsky seeing in them that he was too exhausted to get into something so stressful. The brunet picked up Rosie from the bed and sat down, placing her in his lap. "The kids at school are wrong, sweetheart. Your Daddy didn't do this to Hutch, but somebody wants everybody to think he did."
"Those kids can be so dumb!" Rosie exclaimed petulantly.
"Well, they're not so dumb," Hutch said quietly. "The person who did this fooled a whole lot of policemen too. That's why your daddy hasn't been able to come home."
"Can't we catch the bad man who really did this so my daddy can come home?" Rosie's eyes were beseeching, and Starsky didn't think he'd have been able to turn her down, even if she'd asked for the heart of a dead sun.
"I'm working on that right now, sweetheart. I just stopped by to check on Hutch before I go out looking again. It'll be all right." He glanced at Edith, who seemed to be as content to let the duo handle her daughter. Calvin, however, was looking angry and proud.
"Starsky, I want to come with you, to help you. Since Hutch is stuck here, you'll need a partner."
"I'm sorry, Cal, I can't let you. It's not safe, and you're not a trained police officer."
"But I will be in a few years!"
"What?!" The exclamation was simultaneously spoken by all three adults in the room.
"I've decided, Mom," the boy said, turning to his mother. "After I graduate from High School, I'm going to become a cop."
"But, Calvin," she said, "we've saved so much for your college fund. You can be anything you want! Why would you want to pick a career that's so dangerous?"
"Because Dad did it, and Starsky and Hutch both do it. Mom, I know it's dangerous, but I'm not a kid anymore. I see that it's something that needs to be done, and I can do it, I'm sure. Besides," he said, smiling and lightening the mood, "I hear the babes really go for a man in uniform!"
Everybody chuckled as Edith made a mental note to discuss this with her husband and for both of them to sit down with Cal after this was all through. At 16 years of age, he was close enough to graduation for her to be worried he'd actually carry through on his plan.
"Well, that decision is up to you and your folks," Starsky said, "but until then, you take care of your Mom and Rosie, and I'll take care of whoever did this." He turned to get one last look at Hutch before leaving and was surprised to find that, at some point during the conversation, the blond had fallen asleep. Judith Kaufman was right, thought Starsky. Even when he's sick, he looks like a little boy.
Edith had noticed, too, that Hutch was asleep. "Come on, kids," she whispered, shepherding the two children, "let's go home. Uncle Ken needs to get his sleep and Uncle Dave has to go to work." Rosie surprised Starsky by throwing her arms around him in a hug before following her mother, who was also followed by a grumbling Cal, still mumbling that he was perfectly capable of going along with Starsky.
Starsky felt for the young man. He remembered the feeling well, even though he'd been considerably younger. He knew the desire-the need, even-to go after the people who had killed his father. But looking back on it as an adult, he knew he hadn't been any more capable than Cal was now.
Finally tearing his eyes from his partner, he left the room, then was surprised when he ran into Dr. Green in the hallway. "Hey, Doc. I just came from seeing Hutch. He seems better, huh?"
"Sergeant Starsky," the doctor said, stopping before him. "I was just trying to reach you myself. Yes, it does look like his condition is improving. There's a remote possibility of relapse, but right now, it looks as though the threat of shutdown of his kidneys and liver is negated."
"You're tellin' me! Hutch was just usin' the bathroom, and I don't remember the last time I saw him do somethin' so great!" At the strange look from the doctor, he added, "That means his kidneys are workin', right?"
"Yes, it does. Did you call the nurse to take care of the bedpan?" He couldn't have things like that lying around a patient's room.
"Didn't need to," Starsky smiled. "When I say he went to the bathroom, I mean he went to the bathroom."
"Do you mean to tell me that he was out of bed?" Starsky nodded, his smile growing even larger. "Detective Starsky, that's very dangerous. He never should've been allowed to be up, and by letting him, you've increased his chances of his having a relapse. I'm surprised he even had the strength to get up on his own." Starsky chose not to reveal to the agitated physician that Hutch had had help.
"Well, don't worry, 'cause he's sleepin' now. I'm sure it didn't do any damage and it made him feel better. How can there be anything wrong with that?"
"Since it was just to the restroom and back, there probably really wasn't. But until and unless he's fully recovered, he can't afford to exert himself. Please keep that in mind, Detective." Dr. Green walked away, somewhat riled, toward Hutch's room, probably to check on the patient himself.
Starsky walked in the other direction, to the exit. Since he didn't need to check on Edith and the children now, his next stop had to be the holding center. Maybe Dobey would have an idea of who could be out to get Hutch badly enough to try to poison him right under the department's collective eyes.

Dobey hadn't been able to tell Starsky any more than he already knew, but he could see being locked up was showing greatly on the Captain. Starsky had seen the man upset or angry many times before, but this was the first time he could remember seeing Dobey truly depressed. Dobey's lawyer had gotten the prosecution's list of witnesses. Among them were several officers from their own precinct who were being subpoenaed to testify that they'd overheard a rather hostile argument between Hutch and the captain. Never mind that it was only one of many he'd had with Starsky, Hutch, or both over the years.
After leaving the holding center, Starsky decided to go to the squad room to take a look at the officers' records. But he'd lost some of the confidence that he'd had earlier, a certainty that he'd be able to solve this case and clear Dobey. Maybe it was his captain's depression that was infecting Starsky, or perhaps it was being without his partner. Whatever it was, it had him thoroughly discouraged, and he decided to stop off at Huggy's for lunch before making his way to headquarters.
The smile Huggy wore for his patrons fooled them all, but not Starsky. He'd known him too well and for too long. "Hi, Starsk," Huggy said, letting the smile slide from his face. With this man, he did not have to keep up pretenses, and he knew it.
"Hi, Hug. I'd love a beer, but I guess I'll settle for the regular."
Huggy nodded, leaving only long enough to give the order to the cook, then returning. "How's Hutchie doing?" he asked, looking scared.
"He seems to be stronger. If he keeps going the way he's going, I think he'll be okay." Starsky paused a moment, then added, "Knock on wood." Not that he believed in such things; it was just an expression.
Huggy smiled slightly, genuinely. "What about Dobey?"
"Not good. All this is really startin' to get to him; I don't think he believes he's gonna get out anymore."
"I had a feeling. I fixed some of his favorite foods and took it down to the jail, but the guards wouldn't let me give it to him. They said that the 'prisoner' would have to eat what all the other prisoners did. No special treatment. How d'you like that? The man spends almost thirty years bein' an honest cop, and he's not entitled to any 'special treatment'. It stinks if ya ask me."
Diane set Starsky's plate in front of him and left just as quickly, having no desire to interfere in the conversation. "Yeah, it stinks all right," Starsky said. "Everything about this case stinks, and I guess I'm the only one who cares if an innocent man is being brought to trial. I'm sorry that the judge set the bail so high, but I guess, in a way, it's for the best."
"Are you crazy? How can $750,000 be for the best?"
"Because right now, I think that $750,000 is the only thing keeping Hutch safe."
"You wanna run that by me again, amigo? That sounds like you think if he got out, Dobey would..."
"That's not what I meant and you know it. But whoever really did this to Hutch would be nuts to go after him while the cops' prime suspect is in jail. That in itself would clear Dobey and get the police working on other angles. This way, they lay low while the captain goes to jail and Hutch, if they're lucky, dies a slow and painful death."
"Damn! You're right. So what are you going to do, Starsk?"
"I'm going to keep looking. It's all I can do for now." He took a large gulp of his Pepsi, emptying the glass, and left, leaving half of the super-Huggy burger still on his plate.

"Greg, we've got to do something about Starsky. I don't like him nosing around so much. He's gonna figure it out." Drew Sullivan almost whispered with his breathy sounding voice.
"He's miles away from figuring out the truth, Drew. And by the time he does, Hutchinson will be dead and we'll be out of the state."
"We can't leave until we're sure he's dead. You agreed, remember? You promised."
"I know, and we won't leave until we see his obituary in the paper. I tried calling the hospital, but they won't tell anybody what his condition is unless it's in person and you're authorized by Starsky. Hutchinson sure is a stubborn cuss to hang on this long. Sometimes I wish we could just help him a little."
"You don't dare," Drew said, taking his brother's hand. "Then they'd figure out that Dobey wasn't the one who tried to ice him. But that won't stop you from making Starsky have an 'accident'."
"What kind of accident do you have in mind, little brother?" Greg's eyes were squinted, looking down at Drew. Despite the need of the wheelchair, Drew's mind was as sharp as ever, perfectly able to come up with the plan. He spent a few minutes listening to his brother's plan, and had to agree that it was a good one. And the best thing about it was that there was no way anybody would be able to prove it was anything more than just bad luck on Starsky's part. Drew had already been in touch with an acquaintance who happened to have a 3/4-ton pickup truck for work on his construction sites, and it only took a promise of a few thousand dollars to convince him to drive the truck when they told him and where. Of course, before he agreed, they'd had to guarantee that the cops would be sure to take it as an accident with no possible responsibility being placed on him, which they were able to do convincingly.
Drew sat in total silence as his brother made the call. "Hello, could you connect me with Sergeant Starsky please?" Greg smiled wickedly at Drew as he waited to be connected. From the sound of it when it finally came through, the voice sounded filtered; it must have been a patch into the detective's radio.
"Yeah, what can I do for you?" Starsky asked impatiently.
"Sergeant Starsky, this is Greg Sullivan from the nursery. I just thought of something else about the man who bought the plant that poisoned your partner. Can you come over right away?"
Maybe he's realized his mistake, Starsky thought, already pressing harder on the gas pedal. "Okay, where?"
"My house, about ten miles out of town. I'm afraid I can't come and see you because I'm sort of babysitting." Okay, so Drew wasn't a child, but it was a good excuse anyway. He went on, giving Starsky precise directions, and finally ended the conversation after Starsky said he'd be there in about fifteen minutes.
"Fifteen minutes," Greg repeated, turning to Drew as the younger man picked up the phone. Their driver was ready, and said it would be no problem to be where Drew wanted him at least five minutes before Starsky would arrive.
"Okay, Greg," Drew said after he hung up the phone. "The only thing left to do is up to you. Think you can do it by yourself?"
"Of course I can," Greg answered, slightly perturbed. "What do you think I am? The teenagers in the area do it for kicks all the time. The cops won't even be surprised!" He grabbed his jacket and winked at his brother before leaving.

The red-and-white Torino was a mess. That was the first thing the LA County Sheriff noticed as he arrived at the scene of the accident. He hoped whoever was inside was in better shape than the driver's side damage indicated. The pickup looked less damaged, thankfully. Dammit! Sheriff Higgins thought. I knew those kids' stunts would end up gettin' somebody hurt some day!
He pulled the patrol car to a stop and climbed out near the car after first verifying that an ambulance and tow trucks were in route. A pair of deputies were already on the scene. "What's going on, Benton?" the sheriff asked, approaching the young man.
"Looks like vandals pulled up the stop signs again. The red car was headed south; should've had the stop sign, but, of course... Then the truck came over the hill, went through the intersection, and bam!" He punched a fist into a hand to make his point.
"How are the victims?" Higgins asked, stretching to get a look over the deputy's shoulder.
"The driver of the truck seems fine. A little shaken up, but no injuries. The car's driver is unconscious, but he seems in pretty good shape. It's a good thing that Ford made those cars with a lot of steel; if it'd been one of those new fiberglass jobs, he'd never've had a chance."
Higgins circled around the deputy to open the passenger side of the Torino and sit on the seat next to the unconscious victim. "Have you been able to get an ID on him?"
"Yeah, I ran the plates; we couldn't get at his wallet without moving him. Believe it or not, he's LAPD Detective Sergeant David Michael Starsky."
"Okay, we'll have the hospital call his next of kin when we get there. Where the hell is that ambulance when we need it?!" he said, exasperated. As if in answer, the faint wailing of a siren could be heard, and soon the rescue squad and ambulance were practically screeching to a stop beside the sheriff's car.
Getting the driver's door open was hopeless, so the paramedics went in through the passenger side after shooing away Higgins. Trying to be helpful, he went to talk with the truck's driver, who was already giving his statement to Benton's partner. Surprisingly enough, they found that the truck was still drivable, and after taking down all the pertinent information and his statement of what had happened, they were able to release him to go on his way. Higgins returned as they were removing Starsky from the car, wearing a cervical collar and lying on a back board.
"What's his condition?" he asked the paramedics.
"He was very lucky from what we can tell. No signs of broken bones or internal injuries. He took a pretty nasty crack to the head, resulting in that laceration on his forehead and another on his left temple. Could be a concussion, but not necessarily. All his vitals are normal."
"Good. Sounds like he'll be okay pretty quickly. I guess, once you get him to the hospital and we get his car towed in, this one's closed." He turned to Benton with instructions to wait for the tow truck and see to the clean up work, then left the scene in the same direction the ambulance had gone.

Huggy Bear walked through the reception area of the hospital, going straight to the desk to get Hutch's room number. He was a little embarrassed that he hadn't been here to visit his friend sooner, but sometimes things just got too busy... No, that wasn't the truth. The truth was that he didn't like to see Starsky or Hutch hurting. But his sense of duty had finally overridden that.
His voice rose slightly in volume to overcome the chattering of the staff members who walked by. Apparently, it was time for a shift change, and women in white were leaving the building in small groups. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said in his most polite voice. "Could you give me the room number of Sergeant Ken Hutchinson?"
He almost didn't catch the room number when a pretty red-haired woman pulled up short as she walked by. "Did you say Ken Hutchinson?"
"Yeah, I did. Why?" Huggy was confused.
"Because I just came from working in the ER. They brought in an unconscious accident victim who's ID showed the next of kin as a 'Ken Hutchinson'. We tried to call the number, but there was no answer."
"Oh, my Lord!" Huggy exclaimed in a near whisper. There was only one person who would have Hutch listed as next of kin. "You didn't get an answer because Ken Hutchinson is right here in your hospital. This patient-was his name David Starsky?"
"Yes. Is he a friend of yours, too?"
"They both are! Where is Starsky? How is he?"
"Now don't worry," she said, laying a gentle hand on Huggy's thin arm. "He's in the emergency room, but everything looks good. As long as he wakes up soon, he probably won't even be admitted."
"Good...good... Listen, if you ladies will excuse me, I'm going to go check on Starsky, then I've gotta see Hutch. I don't know what he's gonna think about this!" He followed the signs to the emergency room, not quite convinced that the brunet was going to be okay until he saw it for himself.

"C'min," Hutch said sleepily in response to the knock. He was still so tired...
"Hey, Hutchie!" Huggy said, forcing jocularity. "How's it goin'?"
"What's wrong, Hug?" he asked immediately, not missing the strain in the tall man's face.
"I just came to visit a sick friend! What makes you think that somethin's wrong?"
"C'mon, Hug," Hutch said, sinking back onto the pillows. "I'm too tired to play this game. What's going on?" Huggy hesitated again and let something more slip into his expression. "Oh, my God. Is Starsky okay? Or is it Dobey?" When Huggy didn't answer, he entreated, pushing himself up again, "Huggy, please! Tell me what's wrong!"
Huggy didn't miss the agitation in the patient or the paleness that came over his face as he became more and more upset. "Take it easy, bro. Everything is gonna be okay. Relax and I'll tell you about it." When he saw that Hutch had done his best to calm himself, he sat down. "I just came from downstairs...the ER... He's okay and he'll be up in a few minutes, but Starsky had a little car accident."
"A car accident?!"
Huggy peripherally noticed that the heart rate and blood pressure monitors' beeps were becoming louder and more frequent. "Starsky's too good a driver unless he was chasing someone!" exclaimed Hutch. "Who was he after?"
"I don't know, buddy," Huggy said, just as Lynn came into the room to check on the patient. One look at the monitors told her all she needed to know.
"Ken, you're going to have to calm down or you could still have a relapse. I don't want to make your friend leave, but I will if it means your health. He can't be agitated," she added, turning to Huggy accusingly.
"I'm sorry," Hutch said, doing his best to at least sound calm. "Lynn, this is my friend Huggy. Huggy, my nurse Lynn." He turned back to the blond woman. "Huggy just told me that Starsky's had a car accident. He's in the ER downstairs."
"Oh, I'm sorry! Would you like me to check on his condition for you?" Her expression changed to one of intense sympathy, her heart going out to her patient.
"I don't think that'll be necessary," Huggy said, smiling. "The doctor said he's awake and is going to be released momentarily. I promised to stick with him to be sure he's okay, but the doctor said he was lucky and didn't even get a concussion."
"Good," Lynn responded, nodding. "I'm glad." She turned to Hutch with a determined look in her eyes. "And when he gets here, and you've seen that he's okay, I expect you to get some sleep!"
"But I'm feeling better all the time," Hutch responded, trying his best to look healthy.
"Oh, really?" she answered with a wicked grin. "Then perhaps you'd like to demonstrate by walking down to the lab for a GI series?" She knew he really didn't need the very uncomfortable test, but he didn't know it.
"A GI series? Umm... Welll, I guess I am a little tired. Can't we do it later? Like maybe tomorrow?" He slumped down, pulling the covers up around his throat as Huggy smiled and exchanged a wink with Lynn before she departed.
"The next time I see you, Mr. Hutchinson," she said as she opened the door, "you'd better be asleep." He nodded at her back, not totally certain she was kidding about the Gastro-Intestinal series.
"So where is that partner of mine?" Hutch asked Huggy after she'd left. His eyelids felt so heavy, but he had to stay awake until he saw with his own eyes that his best friend was safe.
"I don't know, Blondie. Why don't you just close your eyes and rest until he gets here. I promise we'll wake ya up the second he comes through that door."
It didn't take much convincing; this was more activity than Hutch had seen in days, and it had exhausted him more than he was willing to admit. "Well, maybe just for a minute..." he slurred, drifting off, but the worry crease in his forehead told Huggy that he was still, even in his sleep, thinking about his partner.
Watching Hutch sleep was not the most exciting of pastimes, and Huggy was almost slipping off himself when he heard the click of the door's opening. It was the only alert he'd gotten, since the hinges and door closer were well lubricated to not disturb the patients.
"Brother, you're a mess!" Huggy stage-whispered, taking in the bandages on Starsky's head. "What's the final verdict?"
"Two sets of stitches, bruised ribs, and lots of other various bruises. Nothin' big. How's he doin'?" Starsky nodded at the sleeping blond, forgetting until it hit him what a throb it would create in his head. "Damn, I shouldn'ta done that," he muttered, putting a hand atop his head. "Huggy, I think you'd better check and see if my head's still on."
"It's still there, Starsk, and if you know what's good for ya, you'll get over there and show your partner that it's still there. He's been worried sick since I told him."
"He sure don't look worried to me," Starsky laughed, approaching the bed.
"That's only because he just couldn't make it any longer. The nurse threatened him with a GI series if he didn't get some rest." Huggy smiled and Starsky returned it.
"Lynn did that?" Starsky chuckled again before stiffly lowering himself to a sitting position on the bed facing Hutch. "Hey, partner. The least ya can do when I come to visit ya is stay awake 'til I get here."
He was rewarded with a pair of flickering blond lashes that parted to reveal vague but still vibrantly sky-blue eyes. It took a few moments for Hutch to take in his friend. "Starsk?"
"Yeah, it's me. C'mon, buddy. Wake up and tell me how ya feel." Despite the obvious improvement, Starsky just couldn't believe that Hutch was on his way to recovery. There had been too many close calls where he'd learned not to presume anything.
Starsky knew Hutch was awake when, instead of telling him how he felt, the blond raised a slow and weakened arm to touch the white at Starsky's temple. "Starsk," he said, swallowing, then licking his lips. "How's the head? Are you okay?"
"Everything's fine," he answered, taking Hutch's hand from his brow and lowering the clasped hands to the bed. "Just a couple of cuts and bruises. Doc says I'm fine. I just wish the Torino was doin' as well." Starsky adopted a pout that reminded Hutch how childlike his partner could be at times.
"What happened?" Everything was still a little foggy, but he pushed himself up slightly as he came more awake.
"Kids trying to be funny. They pulled out a couple stop signs at a four-way intersection. I'm sure you can guess the rest."
"Yeah, I can. Where'd it happen?"
"Out on old County Route 36. About eight miles out of the city."
"Starsk, what the hell were you doing out there?" Huggy interjected, knowing it was only a matter of moments before Hutch did the same.
"I got a call from the guy at the nursery. Said he remembered something I should know about the man who bought that plant. I thought it might be something to help clear the captain." He looked down for a second, thinking. "Guess I'll have to get his number from the file and check in with him in the morning." Starsky's voice had grown quieter, and Huggy was quick to notice that he was the only person in the room who was totally awake.
"Hey, guys," he said, trying not to sound like he was coddling them-which he was. "You both look wiped. How's about I take Curly here home for a good night's snooze, and come back to check on Blondie in the morning." He purposefully looked at the other man as he talked about his partner, knowing that neither would admit the exhaustion in himself.
"Sounds like a good idea," Starsky agreed, a little too quickly. "I'll see ya tomorrow, buddy." He squeezed the still-too-thin hand one more time before letting Huggy lead him out the door and to his own white Caddy.

Two mornings later, after spending the entire previous day in bed, Starsky stood in front of the mirror in irritation, trying to arrange the tangled curls so that the bandages didn't show. Finally, he admitted it was no use and pulled off the white tape. To hell with the doctors-he couldn't go out in public like that!
He winced as the last piece yanked out a couple hairs. "Ouch! Who cares...probably goin' gray anyway, thanks to that partner of mine. How can one guy get into so much trouble?" He didn't care that he was talking to himself; it was the best audience possible when Hutch wasn't around. He checked the clock over his shoulder and realized he'd better hurry. It was almost 10:00 and he was still undressed, unshowered, and didn't even have his beloved watch on.
"Huggy, get up and make some coffee," he called to the comatose figure on the couch. "I'll be out as soon as I get my shower."
Huggy was quick to rise, noting that Starsky had slept late, was well rested and seemed much better. He himself, however, was still tired. It came from lying awake nights worrying and spending days watching over two white boys who didn't seem to be capable of taking care of themselves. He'd even left the bar in the waitresses' hands the previous day while he stayed here to be sure Starsky was okay, only leaving long enough while Starsky slept to visit Hutch briefly, assuring him that his partner was okay.
By the time Huggy made it to the coffeemaker and had a pot brewing, Starsky was emerging from the bathroom, his hair-covered chest glistening wet and dripping here and there on his jeans, in contrast to his dry head.
"Where are your bandages?" Huggy asked accusingly, but Starsky didn't hesitate in answering.
"They were too noticeable," he said simply, shrugging the quickly drying shoulders.
"So you just pulled 'em off?" Huggy huffed like a parent scolding a child.
"Hey, give me a little credit. At least I remembered what the doctor said about not getting the stitches wet. What more d'ya want from me! I can't go out on the streets looking like I'm one of the walking wounded."
"Even if you are?" Huggy said, ribbing Starsky.
"I am not one of the walking wounded!" Starsky said, sounding more like a petulant little boy than ever, and Huggy fought the desire to respond with an "Are too!" Instead, he set a steaming cup on the kitchen table.
"Here's your brew. Sit down and drink up." Once Starsky had settled in, he thought to ask, "You want a ride to the station after this? I'd think the motor pool will have a car you can use until yours is fixed."
"Nah, but you can drive me to Hutch's. I figure, one hunk of junk is just as bad as another, and I'm used to the squash." He vaguely remembered Huggy telling him the day before that he'd had it driven from the Pits to Venice place after Hutch had taken ill. "It's not like Hutch's gonna need it any time soon, and he gave me a spare key awhile back, so I'm all set. Except for cleaning out the back seat and some gas, maybe." He smiled fondly remembering how much he enjoyed giving his partner a hard time about his beloved wreck.
Huggy studied the brunet as he sipped the hot coffee. And you certainly wouldn't mind being surrounded by something of the blond's, right? Just to make ya feel like he's with you? Starsk, you're as transparent as glass. You may not be able to admit that you miss him, but, as far as your friends are concerned, you don't have to.

Hutch climbed into the cab and gave the lady driver directions to Starsky's apartment. He rested his head on the back on the seat, wondering briefly if he'd been missed back at the hospital yet. It hadn't been easy to sneak out without running into any of the Gestapo-like staff, and he was glad that he hadn't run into Lynn either. He liked her a lot, and knew it would upset her if he left before she felt he was ready.
He fought to keep from falling asleep on the lulling cab ride through the city. He was exhausted, having spent a sleepless night thinking about Starsky's accident. Accident. He wasn't willing to accept that as a given just yet. It was just too convenient, too timely, and too suspicious. Whoever had been out to get Hutch would more than likely want Starsky too, and that drive in the country was the perfect setup. Well, not quite perfect, Hutch smiled slightly. Starsky was still alive.
"Here we are, Sugar," the driver said, waking him from his near-sleep. He quickly shuffled through his wallet until he found the right number of bills, then passed them to her through the plastic shield separating the back seat from the front. Reaching for the door handle, it took all his willpower to stop his arm from trembling.
He didn't see the black-and-white figures that were emerging from the building only a few feet away. It was a sunny day, so Starsky couldn't see into the cab, but something about it drew his attention. He was standing beside the door when Hutch opened it, confirming what his gut had already told him.
"Hutch! What the hell are you doing here?" He nearly shouted as he took in the blond sitting on the edge of the seat.
"Helping you solve a case," Hutch replied simply, abruptly getting to his feet.
He wasn't ready for the sudden action to his weakened system, but Starsky was there to catch him when his legs gave out. "Hutch!" he said again, over the lump in his throat. "That does it! I don't know what you think you're doin', but I'm takin' you back to the hospital."
"No, you're not!" Hutch replied rebelliously, gaining his footing and pushing Starsky away. Truthfully, Starsky was relieved to see him-more than he would admit. He'd be grateful to have Hutch at his side to solve this case, provided, of course, that he could keep Hutch at his side.
Huggy shook his head, chuckling as he watched his two friends argue. "Well, are we going or not?" he finally asked.
"Where are we going?" Hutch asked, following behind as Starsky strode toward the white car.
"Your place. To get your car," he said shortly. "But I'm drivin'!"
Hutch may have been rebellious but he wasn't stupid. He knew he wasn't in any shape to drive, especially should they get involved in anything requiring high speeds and coordination. But he also didn't want Starsky to know that. "Okay, but only because your car's in the shop. So help me God, though, if you put a scratch on it..."
"How would you know?" Starsky answered sarcastically.
"Ha, ha. Very funny," Hutch responded, climbing into the back seat and doing his best to ignore the hand Starsky had put under his elbow. He didn't go through all the effort of sneaking out of the hospital to have his partner concentrate all his attention on him instead of the case. He was here to help, and he swore he was going to be more of one than a hindrance.
Making a concerted effort to look healthy as Starsky studied him, he smiled at the back of the driver's head. "Home, James," he chuckled lightly, growing to full laugh when Huggy responded with a smiling, "yes, massah!"

Once at Venice Place, Huggy didn't wait around before heading back to the Pits, knowing he needed to clean up what hadn't been able the day before. Starsky looked over the situation as they stood on the sidewalk next to the LTD.
"Look, why don't you wait here-take a seat on the hood-and I'll go up and get your keys." From Hutch's appearance, Starsky wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to make the climb, plus, there was something he wanted to handle without the blond looking over his shoulder.
If Hutch remembered that Starsky had his own car key, he didn't mention it. "Okay," he agreed, a little too willingly, as he leaned back against a fender. Their eyes met for just a moment before Starsky turned and disappeared through the door.
It seemed unnatural somehow, to be going into this apartment without Hutch being with him or in it already. He was careful to replace the key above the lintel as he'd found it, and was glad when he came into the apartment that Hutch's car keys were in plain sight on a table top. The sun was shining into the otherwise dreary apartment, the warmth usually imparted by its occupant missing. Starsky looked toward the light for a moment and realized that his best friend's beloved plants hadn't been watered since he'd been hospitalized-several days now.
"Damn!" Starsky cursed at himself for not thinking of it and took the time out to water them quickly, not paying much attention to how much he gave them, just so long as they each got some. These plants mean so much to him, he thought as he completed the task. Somehow, seeing that they were cared for felt important to the brunet, somehow affirming life for their owner. He smiled, looking over the greenery, before making his next stop the phone.
He dialed the number quickly, knowing it by heart after all this time. "Hi. Could I have the nurses' station on the fifth floor please?" A pause, then, "Thank you." He waited, his eyes scanning the apartment. Hutch would kill him if he knew he was doing this!
A feminine voice broke into his thoughts. "Nurses' station, may I help you?"
"Is Lynn working today?" he asked in his most polite voice.
"Sure, she's just finishing up with a patient. Hold on a second." There was a pause, then background voices; he was surprised that she hadn't put him on hold. His smile returned as he heard the voice that had answered the phone speaking softly. "Lynn, I think it's another one of your boyfriends!"
"Shhhhhh!" Lynn's familiar voice hissed before she finally came on the line. "Lynn speaking."
"Hi, Lynn. This is David. David Starsky, remember?"
"David!" she exclaimed delightedly, sounding relieved at the same time. "I've been trying to get in touch with you, but your number is unlisted. Then when I finally got it from records, there was no answer!" She took a breath, trying to slow down her words. "Ken's gone! He disappeared from his room an hour or so ago; I've been all over the hospital and he's nowhere to be found. The really strange thing is that nobody saw him go." She was clearly agitated and worried, a feeling Starsky could relate to when it came to his partner.
"It's okay, Lynn. He's with me."
Suddenly, the worried tone turned to anger. "You mean you helped him leave in his condition? Are you out of your mind, David Starsky? He's still very sick!"
"Believe me, I know. But as long as he's able to move, he's not about to go back to the hospital. I've tried, but he won't budge. Hutch can be real stubborn when a friend's life is at stake, and right now, all he can think about is our captain-our friend-spending the rest of his life in jail if we can't clear him of these charges."
"Sounds like you don't think he'll come back no matter what," Lynn said. "There's nothing I can do about that, but you've got to promise me something, David. Promise me that, if he should pass out or become disoriented, that you'll bring him back. In that case, he'll be unable to object anyway, so it's not like you'd have to fight him."
"Until he wakes up, you mean," Starsky mumbled softly. "Okay, I promise. Now I'd better get going. Hutch is waiting for me downstairs and he'll suspect I did something like this if I'm gone too long. I'm just supposed to be getting his car keys."
"Thanks, David. Stop by O'Reilly's Drug Store on Tenth in the next couple of hours. I'll get the doctor to call in a prescription to substitute for what he would have been given here. Just show your or his ID and the pharmacist will give it to you without a problem. Bye, David."
"Bye, Lynn. Thanks a lot."
"And take care of that partner of yours," she said just before she hung up. "He's a pretty special guy." He wasn't sure if he heard her whisper, "You are, too," just before the line went dead.

How the hell am I gonna get Hutch to pick up and take these pills without letting on that I talked to the hospital? Of course, he hadn't really talked to the hospital, just to Lynn. It was a fine line, but one he decided he was willing to walk in order to keep his partner calm and fairly cooperative. He grabbed the car keys from the table and locked the apartment before making his way down the stairs and out to where Hutch and the LTD awaited.
He wasn't surprised to find the barely recovered man lying back on the hood, practically asleep. If he hadn't been so pale, Starsky could've fooled himself into believing Hutch was just enjoying the beautiful sunny day. But he was pale, and Starsky was worried. He carefully schooled himself not to show it, though.
"Hey, if you wanna sunbathe, maybe we should go to the beach instead of the station," he laughed, slapping Hutch on the leg. One eye opened to squint at him in the mid-day sun.
"I think we'd better make it the station if we want to get whoever did this." He pushed himself to his elbows, then onto his feet to climb into the passenger side of the car. From this unusual seat, he shifted uncomfortably, realizing that Starsky's previous complaints of a spring sticking up weren't exaggerated. He thought for a moment about admitting it to his partner, but instead watched Starsky get in and start the car in silence.
As they made their way to the station, a thought occurred to Starsky that hadn't before, and he spoke his mind, waking Hutch from another near-slumber. "Y'know, partner. If you were gonna leave the hospital, you should've called so I could come and get you. There is still somebody out there that tried to kill you."
"With all the people coming and going in the hospital, isn't it strange that they didn't try again there?" Hutch mused out loud, ignoring Starsky's comment.
"Maybe they didn't know that you were getting better. Maybe they just figured you'd die eventually."
"Gee...thanks for the cheery thoughts, buddy," Hutch joked, cracking a weary smile.

Drew Sullivan waited impatiently on the phone, listening to it ring almost a dozen times before somebody finally answered it. He hated that! Hospitals could be so inconsiderate.
"Central Memorial, how may I help you?" the bored voice said.
"Hi, this is David Starsky," Drew managed, trying his best to imitate Starsky's slight New York accent.
"Hello, Mr. Starsky. What can I do for you?"
"I want to check on the condition of my partner. Ken Hutchinson. How's he doing?"
"I'll have to transfer you to admissions, sir," she said in clipped tones. He waited while the phone rang again, finally being picked up by another woman.
"Admissions, may I help you?"
"This is Sergeant David Starsky of the police department. I want to check on the condition of my partner, Ken Hutchinson." He waited while she looked up the information.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Starsky," she came back finally. "Mr. Hutchinson is no longer showing as a patient here. The file says he checked himself out against the doctor's recommendation. He didn't even sign the release, and we can't bill him until he does." Her tone told him what she thought of that.
Greg Sullivan immediately noticed the change in his brother's expression as he hung up the phone. "What's wrong?"
"He must've gotten better," he said, sounding stunned, not needing to explain who "he" was. "That son-of-a-bitch actually left the hospital!"
"Damn!" Greg cussed, flopping himself down on the couch. He didn't say any more, and a silence descended on the room while each was lost in thought. It was an eerie five minutes before Greg's lips curved upward into an evil smile. "This could actually work out better than we'd hoped!"
"Greg, are you out of your mind? Didn't you hear what I said? Hutchinson is better! He's not gonna die!"
"Not right now, maybe. And there are still a lot of people who wouldn't convict Dobey of trying to kill him. But what do you think would happen if, say, Dobey was unexpectedly bailed out of jail. And then, oh, say a few hours later, Hutchinson was found murdered. No jury could help but convict him then."
"That's fantastic! Dobey will be dead in the water, and Hutchinson will just be dead! But do we have the money to pull it off?"
"Oh, yeah. I've got a lot saved, and you only need ten percent for a good bail bondsman. I know just the one we can really trust to keep his mouth shut."

Walking into the precinct held a stranger feeling for Hutch than any time in the past. He knew most of the faces, and a few even smiled slightly at him, but no one spoke or even approached the tall blond. A good deal of them stared, sending a chill up his back. "What the hell is going on here, Starsk?" he asked the steady, supporting figure beside him. "You could cut the tension in here with a knife! And why isn't anybody talking?"
"It's been like this ever since Dobey was arrested. Whether they believe he did it or not, everybody's been walkin' on eggshells around the station. Some of the guys have been takin' up a collection to try'n raise the Captain's bail, but it just a box with a name on it, 'cause ya don't know who to ask and who's gonna get mad."
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Hutch exclaimed as they passed the swinging doors into the squadroom. "If I don't think he did it, and I'm the victim here, what makes them so high and mighty that they can judge!"
"Buddy, you should know that it doesn't take any power at all to appoint yourself another person's judge. It's happened to us enough times." Just then, the phone on Hutch's desk rang. Starsky made a grab for it, more out of habit developed over the past several days, but Hutch got it first.
"Hutchinson."
Starsky watched as even Hutch's pale face became a little rosier. "Oh, hi! It's been so long; thanks for calling... Yeah, I'm much better...no, they haven't raised the bail yet... Not only do I not think he did it, I know he didn't!" Hutch tried to ignore the frantic waving of his partner's hands, trying to get his attention. Starsky's curiosity factor was always high-he'd try just about anything once-but he was especially interested in who his partner was talking to. Hutch waved him away before saying, "Hey, thanks a lot! And don't worry. You'll get it back. I promise." He hung up the phone.
When Hutch didn't speak right away, Starsky decided to ask. "Sounded like somebody with a lot of bucks. They going to put up the bail?" He knew from what he'd heard that the caller was, but figured this indirect way of asking would get him the caller's name even more easily from his evasive friend.
"Yeah, somebody is. She's wiring it in now; Dobey should be out by suppertime."
"She?" Why was Hutch being so tight-lipped? Trying to drive him crazy, no doubt.
"Yeah. Sue Ann! She called from Nashville. She'd heard the story and wanted to help, but she didn't want to post bail until she talked to me."
"Hey, that's great! Just what we needed! Why don't I call and let 'em know to get the papers ready."
"Sounds good," Hutch said, stretching tiredly as Starsky dialed the phone. "Y'know, partner, whatever they were giving me in that hospital really made me tired. I wonder how long it'll be before it wears off."
Starsky had a feeling that it was already worn off, but didn't voice it immediately. He listened to the woman tell him she was putting him on hold, then covered the receiver. "Speaking of that, we've gotta stop by the drug store when we leave here."
"The drug store? Starsk, I just escaped from all that. Why in the world would you want to go there?"
"Because that's where Lynn said your doctor was sending your prescriptions." He cringed, waiting for the thunder.
"When did you talk to her?" Hutch asked suspiciously.
"I called her from your place," Starsky said simply, trying to minimize it. "I knew she'd be worried, which she was, and that you wouldn't want her to be. She said you need this medicine, and I agreed to be sure you got it, even if I have to force feed it to you myself. It was the only way," he added.
"Starsky, what medicine I take is nobody's business but my own!" Hutch exclaimed, his voice still weak.
"Wrong, partner. It became my business when we paired up, and will continue to be my business until we're retired. Maybe not even then... What the hell is taking them so long!" He glared at the phone, realizing how long he'd been waiting.
As if on cue, a voice came back on the line. "I'm sorry, Detective. There was some confusion here because the prisoner has already been bailed out. You may as well tell your friend not to bother sending the money."
"He's out?" Starsky said, shocked and surprised.
"What's going on?" Hutch asked, hearing only Starsky's side of the conversation.
Starsky covered the receiver again. "They say Dobey's already been bailed out." He uncovered the receiver, asking, "How long ago?"
"Within the last fifteen minutes. The paperwork hadn't even come down yet, which is why it took me so long to track it down."
"Okay, thanks for the information," Starsky said, turning to his partner as he hung up the phone. "He's been out for fifteen minutes."
"That's long enough to have gotten here if he had any intention of coming here. Where else would he go?" Hutch wondered aloud.
Both sets of blue eyes met as they said at the same time, "Home!" Starsky jumped up and was in the hallway before he realized he realized Hutch wasn't with him, and waited while the still-unwell man caught up.

Harold Dobey didn't think he'd ever seen anything as beautiful as his home. That is, until he saw his family. He didn't even mind that Rosie and Cal's bikes were in the driveway again. It somehow seemed right, giving him a feeling of hope, to come home and see Edith first, running toward him from the kitchen. She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the cab door open and her husband emerge.
"Where are the kids?" he asked once he'd soundly hugged and kissed her.
"Upstairs, working on their homework," she said, trying to keep her face from bursting from the huge smile. "Did they drop the charges?" She was so excited at the prospect, he hated to burst her bubble.
"No," he answered somewhat glumly. "But at least someone thought enough of me to post bail. I just don't know anybody who could come up with that kind of money."
"Well," she said, smiling again, "I, for one, am not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. So you go upstairs and say hello to your children while I finish dinner." She gave him a peck on the nose, then a playful swat on the behind as he walked away.
He stood in the doorway, watching Rosie practicing her writing at the small desk in her room. Dear God, he prayed, she's so beautiful! Thank you! And smart too-at the top of her class. He stood straighter, proudly, before entering the room. Her back was to him, and he stepped softly so as not to alert her.
"Young lady, how many times have I told you not to leave your bicycle in the driveway!" He stormed, his smile softening the artificial anger in his words.
"Daddy!" Rosie shrieked, jumping from her chair into his arms. She may have been almost eight years old, but she wasn't too big for him to pick up, and he did so with great pleasure. She hugged him tightly for a moment, kissing him before chattering, "I'm so happy you're home! Will you play with me? You shoulda seen what happened at school today..." She continued rapidly, not letting him get a word in, and he reveled in every syllable.
"Wait, wait, wait," he finally slowed her down. "I'll spend a lot of time with you, but first I'd better go say hello to your brother, okay?"
"I guess, if you have to," she said with a pouty face. "But afterwards...?"
"Your mother said that dinner would be ready soon. We'll have to see." He lowered her to the floor and watched as she retook her seat at the desk before leaving the room.
As usual, Cal's door was closed. He knew it was improper, but Dobey listened with his ear to the door before knocking, wondering what the young man was up to. He smiled with pride as he listened to his son, apparently on the telephone, telling a girl named Debbie how pretty she was. Maybe smooth-talk ran in the genes; he sure could remember using some similar comments on Edith what seemed like a million years ago.
Finally, he knocked. "Just a minute," Cal yelled. A moment later, he was at the door, and a moment after that, he stood dumbfounded, looking into his father's eyes. The fact that Calvin was almost his own height struck Dobey as never before.
"Hi, son," he said, waiting for Cal to react. Calvin still didn't speak, but quickly enfolded his father's form in an embrace of which Dobey didn't think him capable.
"Welcome home, Dad," he finally whispered. Pulling himself away, Cal proceeded to ask his father how he got out, what it was like, and a myriad of other questions. Dobey patiently answered them all, one at a time, until Edith called them to dinner.
Saying grace was extra-special at the dinner table that night, the family enjoying the simple feeling of being together. It was something they'd taken for granted, Edith realized, and she swore to herself never to do it again. Her head still told her that her husband could be taken away again, back to jail, but in her heart, he was free.

By the time they got to the parked car, Starsky knew he was in trouble where his partner was concerned. Hutch looked weak, gray in color, and each step seemed like it might be the last he was able to manage.
"You gonna make it?" Starsky asked quietly, not sure if he'd get an explosion, an honest answer, or no answer at all.
"I'm okay," Hutch answered, lowering himself carefully into the passenger seat of the car.
"No, you're not. You're exhausted. Please, Hutch. Let me take you home. I can go see the Dobeys by myself, then come by and update you."
"I want to go. You can take me home afterwards, okay?"
"It's not okay, but I guess it's the best I'm gonna do with you." He climbed behind the steering wheel, taking a glance at his friend. "Why is it that you can't let yourself be sick unless you're in the hospital? Those health foods and vitamins of yours can't protect you from everything!"
He waited for a retort, and when he didn't get it, slowed the car to give him the chance to really study his partner. "Like a baby..." Starsky whispered as he realized that Hutch had fallen asleep. He might as well sleep while he can. I'll wake him when we get to Dobey's. Maybe... "Or maybe not," he whispered, switching all his attention to the road.

The sudden absence of the LTD's lulling vibration woke Hutch before Starsky had to decide if he should or not.
"Wha's hap'nin'?" Hutch asked hazily.
"Nothing, sleepy. We're here." Starsky motioned out Hutch's window to the white house nestled peacefully in the suburbs.
"Oh..." Hutch rubbed his eyes, trying his best to at least look healthy. The truth was that he was feeling downright lousy, but he had no intention of admitting it to anyone. They'd just want him to go back to the hospital, an act which he had no intention of doing. "Any sign of the Captain?" he asked, starting to reach for the door. It surprised him how hard it was to pull the lever and open the door. He'd have to get the dumb thing looked at, he guessed, because there had to be something wrong with it to be that stiff.
By the time he got to his feet, Starsky was at his side, silent, yet slightly accusing. "What're you lookin' at?" the blond snapped.
"I haven't decided yet," Starsky muttered with a grin, just loud enough for his partner to hear. He knew Hutch couldn't respond to that, so they headed toward the house together. He purposefully stuck close, though, just in case.
Starsky had to intercepted Rosie when she made a flying leap for the blond's arms in her excitement to see him again. She giggled, as he held her, noting the relief in the other faces at Hutch's being so much improved.
The Dobeys were just finishing dinner, and Starsky smiled like one of the children when Edith offered him a slice of the chocolate cake she'd served to Cal and Rosie. He dug in with their same energy when she set it in front of him.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like something?" she asked Hutch, who seemed to deflate into the chair until he almost disappeared.
"Maybe a glass of water?" Edith granted his request, Starsky noticing how dry and cracked his lips were as he took a sip-as if he'd been breathing through his mouth a lot.
Like a person does when they're in pain, Starsky thought as he chewed his forkful of cake. But as bad as Hutch looked, Dobey looked equally good at being home and among his family. To look at them, you'd think that they didn't have a care in the world, when in reality, the piano crate was still suspended over the Captain's head, waiting to drop.
"So what are your plans after dinner, Cap?" Starsky asked around a mouthful. Hutch frowned at his lack of manners, but knew saying anything would be fruitless.
"As much as I'd just like to stay here," Dobey said after wiping his own mouth, "I think I'm going to go into the station and see what's going on there. I know I'm still on suspension, and I don't have any right to be there, but..."
"If twenty-six years on the force doesn't give you the right, then nothing does," Hutch proclaimed, trying to put as much strength into the words as he felt it warranted.
"Point taken," Dobey agreed. Lowering his eyes, he finally broke down and said what he'd wanted to say to the blond ever since the pair had walked through the door. "Look, Hutchinson...I know this doesn't change anything, what with your situation and all...but I just want you to know...no matter what's gone down in the past...I would never..."
"Captain," Hutch said, putting special emphasis on the title. "I know this wasn't anything you did. So if you're thinking about telling me that you didn't do it, don't waste your breath. I don't care of the entire judicial system of the state of California says you did it. I know otherwise. Now why don't we just concentrate on getting the one who did. And that starts at the station."
Starsky wiped the traces of chocolate frosting from his mouth. "Don't worry, Cap'n. I know exactly how we'll do it. You ride with me and Hutch to his place, I drop him off there, and then we go into the station. I dare anybody to give you a hard time with me around!"
"Hey! What's this about you leavin' me at my apartment?"
"Hutch, you're exhausted. You need to rest, and you know it. What the Captain and I will be doing is nothing-research and paperwork. We can do it without you, and we'll definitely be more relaxed and thinkin' better if we're not both worryin' about you."
"I second that, Hutchinson," said Dobey. "He's right, and you're being a fool if you can't see it. So I won't have any more arguments."
In their hearts, Dobey, even off duty, was still their boss. "Yessir," Hutch agreed after a moment's hesitation. What the heck; Dobey'd earned the right to have his way, just this once.

Greg Sullivan watched from a parked car, hidden in a dark area of the street, as Starsky parked the LTD in front of Venice Place and walked with his partner up to Hutch's apartment. Starsky was acting as if he didn't think Hutch could make it on his own. He's right, Greg thought. The blond man looked like death warmed over; it wouldn't even be hard to do it with him in this shape. He was so busy studying Hutch, he didn't notice the figure slumped in the back seat of the decrepit Ford.
After about five minutes, Starsky came back out and pulled away again. Greg developed a satisfied smile. All he had to do now was make a little phone call, then return here. After all, it wouldn't do for Dobey to have an alibi when Hutch was killed.
He wasted the first dime he put into the pay phone with a call to the Dobey residence. After identifying himself as a clerk of the Captain's lawyer, Edith informed him that he'd gone into the station for awhile. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to shake the woman quite so easy, and she kept him on the line for several minutes with questions he couldn't possibly answer about her husband's defense. He drummed his fingers as he checked his watch every few seconds.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dobey, but I'm just a clerk, I can't really tell you anything about what my boss has planned. If you'll forgive me, I've got to run." He clicked down the receiver before she could speak again.
He cringed when he realized that he was way behind schedule, trying the station's number almost 15 minutes after making the first call. But this time, the call netted him some positive results. He leered as he completed the call, reaching his car with a thrill of anticipation flowing through his veins.

Hutch would never have admitted to Starsky just how tired he was, nor would he have admitted to the ache in his middle or the tremor in his hands. His head told him he should be hungry, but he felt no desire for food whatsoever. It was all he could do to get his jacket and magnum hung in the closet before collapsing onto the bed.
He stared up at the ceiling for another few minutes, imagining he was building the strength to get up and take off his clothes. Raising his hips off the bed, he unsnapped his corduroys and slid them down, kicking off his shoes at the same time as he pushed the pants off of him. Since it was a warm night, he decided climbing under the blankets wasn't worth the effort, and instead rolled over to go to sleep. The pressure on his stomach aggravated the ache there, though, and he opted for the uncustomary position of lying on his back.
Wonder what time Starsky'll be here in the morning, he thought briefly, considering setting his alarm clock, but dozing off before he actually completed the act.

After trading the Dobey's Ford for the LTD at the Captain's house, Dobey and Starsky went careening out of town. Neither of them had thought to talk about where they were headed. Starsky chased his superior office as he fled the building and slid into the passenger side, wondering what had been in the phone call Dobey had received.
"Where are we goin', Captain?" he asked.
"Got a call from an informant who says he's got proof of my innocence. Offered to meet me and give me the evidence."
"That sounds almost too good to be true, Cap," Starsky volunteered, still wary. "I mean, I want it to be true as much as you do, but to just run off while we're in the middle of checking out all those files..."
"Starsky, you're starting to sound too much like your partner! I can't believe I lived to see the day you'd rather be reviewing files than out on the streets tracking down real clues."
" But, Captain..."
"No buts about it, Starsky. I'm not about to let this chance go by. What's the most harm it can do? Make us waste a half hour or so? It's worth it if it pans out. This I my life we're talkin' about, not just some run-of-the-mill case."
"I know that, Captain. Where are we going, anyway?"
"A little restaurant out on County Route 36. About eight miles out of the city."
"Stop!" Starsky shouted suddenly, causing Dobey to instantly slam on the brakes.
As the car stopped rocking, Dobey turned to yell at the detective. "Starsky, what the hell did you do that for! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"Captain, something's very wrong here. Did Edith tell you about my accident?"
"Sure. But you're okay, right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. But it happened on County Route 36, eight miles out of the city. It's just too much of a coincidence, Captain. I think it's a trap. And maybe my accident wasn't an accident after all."
"Are you serious, Starsky? Why would somebody want to lure me all the way out there?"
"Not just you, but me, too." Dobey could see the wheels turning behind Starsky's eyes, their blueness becoming more vibrant as he took it one step farther. "And leaving Hutch back in Venice unprotected!"
"Dear Lord! Do you really think so?"
"Why else would someone want you and me out of the city?"
Dobey now saw the frantic concern in those eyes, and gunned the engine as he spun the wheel, heading back to the city as quickly as the Ford would take them, the siren blaring and light flashing all the way.

Hutch was so dead to the world that he didn't hear Greg enter his apartment, neither did he stir when the assassin passed through his living quarters and slipped behind the divider which concealed the sleeping man. There were three or four pillows on the bed, but only one was supporting the blond head.
Greg stood for several minutes, watching Hutch sleep and making sure he wouldn't wake. He knew his small, lean frame was no match for a trained police officer, even if that officer was newly released from the hospital and weak. It really was a shame that Hutchinson had to die for the cause; he really did look quite innocent lying there.
Shaking off the unwanted thought, he watched Hutch's chest rise and fall a few times more before stealthily approaching the large brass bed. The sleeping man didn't even struggle as Greg laid the pillow over his face, lightly at first, then pressing down harder and harder. He attempted to hum "Whistle While You Work" while he waited, although even that came out off-key.
At the end of the second chorus, he lifted the pillow, leaning an ear close to Hutch's mouth. No, no breathing. But that wasn't sufficient. He checked the pulse at the carotid artery under the ear and smiled at its absence. His smile widened, savoring his success until he heard the faint sound of a siren. It made him jittery, and those jitters grew as the sound of the siren did, coming closer and closer.
In a panic, he took the path out through the greenhouse door to the rarely-used back stairs. His feet connected with the sidewalk just as Captain Dobey's car screeched to a halt in front of the building. Starsky was out of the passenger door practically before the car even stopped, pounding up the stairs, leaving Dobey behind.
Starsky noticed for a moment that the door was unlocked but didn't hesitate in bursting into the room. Taking in the apartment, all of his senses told him that nobody was there-or at least, nobody was there any more. Jamming the gun he'd drawn back into its holster, he raced to the bed, shoving the pillow off of Hutch's face, seeing the pale form lying motionless there.
"Hutch!" he cried, not finding a pulse or a heartbeat. "Hutch, don't do this t'me!" He lifted the blond in both arms, like a child, and lowered him quickly to the hard, even floor. He could feel the warmth still in the skin and knew his friend hadn't been in this state very long. He couldn't even bear to think the word "dead."
One hand lifted under Hutch's neck as the other pushed down on his forehead, causing the jaw to jut up into the air. Dobey arrived in the apartment, puffing heavily, as Starsky finished positioning his partner.
"Help me," Starsky pleaded, not taking the time to look up. "He's not breathing and there's no pulse. Gotta start CPR."
"Call an ambulance!" Dobey shouted to Hutch's neighbor, who'd emerged from her apartment, as he sprang into action. He knelt down beside the blond and on the opposite side as Starsky. "You do the breaths, I'll give the chest compressions." He saw Starsky nod once, stiffly, before lowering his head and interlocking his lips with the pale, faintly blue ones of his partner.
One breath, five compressions, one breath, five compressions. The pair went through the cycle five times before pausing to check the pulse and respiration again. No response. They began again, ignorant of the dripping sweat and tears coming from both men. Starsky's mind kept telling him to concentrate on the breaths and nothing else, but another part, the part ruled by his heart, was screaming. Hutch couldn't die!
After five more cycles, Dobey panted, "let's check him." Starsky, however, continued to give Hutch mouth-to-mouth despite the Captain's attempts to check for breath sounds and a carotid pulse. He tried to lean forward over the blond between Starsky's inhalations, only to be pushed away when the brunet lowered his head again over his best friend's.
"Starsky, I can't check him like this!" Dobey shouted, but with no affect. "Starsky, stop!" But Starsky continued, oblivious of what was going on around him. "Starsky!" Grabbing the brunet by both shoulders, Dobey shook him, resisting his efforts to give Hutch another breath.
"Let me...," Starsky pleaded, fighting Dobey.
"Starsky!" Dobey yelled into the younger man's face, shocking him into stillness. He took advantage of that moment to move his hands to the face and neck of the man lying between them.
"Hutch..." Starsky mumbled, looking lost. He was hollow and hurting, the waves of grief a palpable thing flowing through the air.
"Starsky..." Dobey said, smiling. "Starsky, there's a pulse. And he's breathing again."
"Hutch..."
"Did you hear me, Starsky? Go check on the ambulance." Starsky didn't respond at first. Not until Dobey added an earth-shattering, "DO IT NOW!" loud enough to rattle the walls.
Regaining his sense, Starsky jumped up and raced for the door, praying for the welcome sound of the ambulance siren.

I've been spending way too much time at hospitals lately, Starsky thought to himself as he waited for word on Hutch. If their roles had been reversed, he knew that his partner would be pacing the waiting room like a caged tiger. But Starsky waited very differently, standing in a single spot, letting his eyes bore into the door through which they'd taken Hutch. He wondered what was taking Dobey so long to follow the ambulance he'd ridden in with his best friend. Watching him die, a voice in Starsky's mind said, but he pushed it savagely aside. Hutch wasn't dead yet, and he damn well wasn't going to let him go without a fight.
His question about Dobey was answered before anybody came from the treatment room as the Captain came rushing in with a taller, leaner black figure at his side. Starsky was relieved to have both men there and thankful that Dobey had thought to pick up Huggy on the way.
"Hey, man," Huggy said, seeming like he wanted to put a comforting arm around his friend but not knowing if it'd be welcome. Shows of comfort like that usually came from the blond; would Starsky even accept it from anybody else? "Any word yet?"
"Not a peep," Starsky muttered, his eyes not leaving the door.
"C'mon, Starsky. Let's go sit down." Dobey pulled on the sleeve of Starsky's well-worn leather jacket, and Starsky let himself be led away. But his head was turned and his eyes remained glued to the door. Huggy and Dobey exchanged glances as they pushed the brunet into a chair, the look saying they were lucky to have gotten this much cooperation out of the distraught officer.
Silence fell over the three men, each one lost in his own thoughts about the man being treated. They might have found it interesting to know that each one had taken a different tact with his musings if they hadn't been so frantic over their friend. Dobey prayed, just as hard or harder than he did each time one or both of this pair was in trouble. He smiled mentally, realizing just how much praying over these two he did.
Huggy sat, remembering. He tried to call up every second of his life since he'd known Hutch, even back to before the time when the blond had introduced him to his friend and future partner, David Starsky. The three of them, when together, created an odd combination of just about every class, lifestyle, and likes and dislikes. He never really understood what kept the pair together or how they managed to be so close, but they always were. Perhaps it was because both men never seemed to tire of learning, and through each other, they could learn about things that had never before touched their lives.
Starsky's thoughts were on just the opposite: the future. A future as he'd always imagined, he and Hutch together, being there for each other, each being the other's best man at his wedding, godfather and uncle to his children, friend to his wife. Their partnership on the job flourishing and their personal life enriched by the addition of loved ones to their inner circle. Or a future he didn't even want to consider, alone. Trying to continue with his police work on his own; trying to rebuild a personal life without his best friend. Yes, he might be able to go on with the department, might be able to be comforted by other friends, eventually settling down and raising a family. But no matter what he did, there'd always be a huge, aching hole left where a 6'1" blond man had once been and wasn't any longer.
He was on the verge of losing his tightly-reined control when a man in surgical greens finally came out of the treatment room. This one he didn't recognize, but as long as he was taking good care of Hutch, Starsky didn't care. "How is he?" Starsky jumped out of his chair before Huggy and Dobey even saw the man.
"He seems to be having no serious aftereffects of the suffocation, thankfully. He's still weak from overexerting himself after leaving the hospital prematurely, but his breathing and heart rate are fine. It's a good thing you guys found him when you did, or he wouldn't have been so lucky. He couldn't have been without oxygen for more than a minute."
"Are you sure that isn't long enough for there to be some damage?" Huggy asked, trying not to notice how Starsky cringed. The concept of brain damage wasn't foreign to the detective, and he'd hoped to never hear it discussed in conjunction with Hutch.
"We're sure. Since you were able to pump his heart and breath for him until his body restarted on its own within a very short time, it'll be all right.
"It was a close one, no doubt about that," Dobey said, acknowledging what Starsky already knew. Neither man had ever been so scared as when they'd bent over the lifeless body of David Starsky's best friend.
The doctor's mouth opened to speak but Starsky interrupted before he'd begun. "When c'n I see him?"
"Look, Sergeant, he really shouldn't..."
"Doctor," Dobey interrupted, drawing the physician aside, away from the brunet. "Unless you want Starsky camped out in here indefinitely, I'd recommend you let him see Hutchinson for a minute or two. Just long enough for him to see he's okay."
"But the patient needs rest," insisted the doctor.
"It'll help keep Hutchinson calm once he wakes up. He'll be feeling bereft if one of his friends isn't there. This friend in particular." Dobey's eyes strayed to where Huggy was talking to Starsky, keeping him from hearing their conversation.
"They sound very close," the doctor said, a note of envy in his voice.
"They are. They've been partners for years, and more like brothers for quite awhile now. For the welfare of your patient and his partner, please let Starsky see Hutch."
Dobey's words had the desired affect, as the doctor thought for a moment, then acquiesced. Circling around the large black man, the doctor approached Starsky.
"Sergeant Starsky, your Captain has convinced me that it would be in the patient's best interest for me to let him see you. I'll go and check, and as soon as he's awake, I'll call you." Then you can get out of my ER, he thought, eager to have him no longer hanging around, getting in the way and disrupting the staff.
"Thank you," Dobey whispered to the doctor as he walked by on his way back to the treatment room. "Starsky never would've believed Hutch was okay unless he saw it for himself. This way, maybe they both can rest."
They waited another five or ten minutes before a nurse came and escorted Starsky into a tiny cubical in a corner of the ER. On the way there, she told him they would be moving Hutch back to his old room after his visit and that Hutch had just woken up. "I hope that you'll give us all a little breathing room after this," she said, causing the handsome brunet to smile brilliantly at her.
"Well, I might give the doctors and Hutch some, but I think, for you, shweetheart, a little heavy breathing may be in order." She laughed at his brashness, half-hoping that he wasn't kidding for the sake of the Bogie impersonation.
She was forgotten, though, the moment they passed the screen and he saw Hutch lying on the table. His eyes were closed and he was covered by a sheet from the mid-chest down, his arms remaining on top of the covering. Starsky slowly approached the bed, covering Hutch's left hand with his own.
Both men were silent as Starsky watched the blond lashes flutter; finally, he could see the sea-blue eyes looking back at him.
"What happened?" Hutch asked weakly.
"Looks like somebody tried to suffocate you with a pillow while you were sleeping. How they got into your place, we're not sure."
"My chest hurts. They're gonna make me stay, aren't they?"
"I'm afraid so, partner. It probably hurts because you had a 350-pound police captain doin' CPR on you."
"Really?" Hutch asked, not expecting an answer. "That means you did the breathing?" He waited again, drawing in a ragged breath. "Next time," he swallowed, "you do the chest compressions." He smiled as Starsky chuckled at his joke.
Starsky knew that if Hutch was cracking jokes already, he'd probably be all right. "Well, I'm gonna get out of these people's hair and get down to the station. I've still gotta figure out who's tryin' to ice you and why."
"Yeah, please do that. I'm tired of ambulances, partner."
"No more than I am, Blondie," Starsky responded, ruffling Hutch's hair before he turned for the exit. "I'll see ya later; you be careful."
"You too," Hutch said, seeming to deflate again into sleep.

It wasn't long before the pair was headed back to the precinct after leaving Huggy to return to the Pits; although concerned, Dobey hadn't felt it necessary to see Hutch for himself once he saw the greatly-relieved face of Dave Starsky. All the same, Starsky didn't really start talking more than a word at a time until they were in the Captain's Ford.
"Honest to God, Captain! I can't think of anybody we haven't checked out that would have a reason to want to kill Hutch. We've been over those records a thousands times!"
"Who has?" Dobey asked. "R & I?"
"I wouldn't leave it to them! They're too busy to do a good job of it." He calmed his voice and went on. "Minnie and I did it ourselves. It took forever, but we checked everybody."
"So you didn't just limit it to recent releases, huh?"
"No way, Cap. A first year rookie wouldn't make that mistake."
"But still, they are the most likely." Starsky shrugged his shoulders as Dobey picked up his radio mike. "This is Captain Dobey to dispatch."
"Dispatch here, Captain."
"Patch me through to Minnie, please." He waited a few moments at a stop light while the transfer went through.
"What can I do for you, Captain, honey?" Trust Minnie to not only still address him by rank, despite his suspension, but to do it with her typical playful disrespect.
"Pull all the recent releases from prison and have them in my office when we get there in ten minutes. Starsky and I should be there about then."
"Do you want me to limit it to cases Starsky and Hutch were involved in?"
"No. There're too many possible tie-ins. Just bring them all; we'll sort through them."
"Okay, Captain. You tell that handsome David to keep his chin up."
"Ten-four," Dobey said, smiling as he put the mike away.
"It's always good t'know that Minnie's backing us up," Starsky grinned.
"Yeah, especially when-officially, anyway-I'm not even allowed to be there, let alone help you."
"Well, officially or otherwise, I can use all the help I can get."
Both Starsky and Dobey were aware of the eyes that followed them through the station corridors; their steps grew faster to avoid those eyes to no avail. Before they knew it, they were almost running toward the captain's office.
Starsky, in the lead by a few feet, didn't hear Minnie coming around the corner, her arms full of files, until he ran right into her. He made a quick grab, keeping her from falling, but he couldn't keep the files from flying all over the hallway. The sheets from each file were separated from their folders, mixed in with others. "Damn!" Minnie exclaimed as Starsky at least had the decency to look embarrassed.
"Sorry, Minnie," he mumbled, kneeling to help her pick up everything. Dobey joined the two of them on their knees, collecting sheets and manila folders into as neat a pile as possible.
"Well, how about that," Dobey muttered, studying a particular sheet.
"What is it?" Starsky asked.
"Drew Sullivan just got released." Starsky didn't seem to recognize the name. "Drew was a two-bit hood that I sent up on a murder charge about ten years ago; they couldn't give him any more than that because it was second degree. Then he lost any chance he had at early release by constantly getting in trouble while he was imprisoned. He finally went too far with a very dangerous inmate one day and will spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. I had a report on the incident about four years ago."
At some point in the Captain's recap, Starsky began only half listening to what was being said, the other half of his mind considering. "Captain, wasn't the DA's chief witness at the greenhouse named Sullivan?"
"Yeah, Greg Sullivan. But it's a common last name." Dobey continued picking up the files while Starsky went through it all in his mind, letting each piece fall into place.
"How could I have been so stupid?!" he suddenly exclaimed, slapping himself on the forehead. He frantically searched through the strewn papers until he found more pages on Drew Sullivan. "Here it is. Next of kin: Gregory Vincent Sullivan, brother. Do you know what this means, Captain?!"
"You mean that you think..."
"I don't think, I know. Greg and Drew Sullivan decided they wanted to get revenge on you for sending Drew to jail and ultimately getting him paralyzed, so they planted those poisoned aspirins in your office. Now I don't know whether they planned on you taking them and dying, but if someone else had taken them, what happened is probably exactly what they expected. You get accused of murder, and get sent to jail yourself."
"A fate almost as bad as death...worse for some," Dobey said, seeing where Starsky was going with his line of thought.
"Hutch takes the pills, almost dies, and the charge is attempted murder instead. And they've got me running around like an idiot looking for somebody who wanted to kill Hutch!" Starsky's deep blue eyes were round in shock, mentally berating himself for taking so long to see the truth.
"So, if you're right," Dobey contributed, "Hutch's involvement in this was purely by accident. He just happened to be the unlucky person who swallowed those aspirin first!" He turned to Minnie, piling the files and their contents into her arms. "But it'll never hold up unless we can figure out how the aspirin they tainted got into my desk in the first place."
"Your best bet is the maintenance staff, I'd think," Starsky suggested. "Minnie, would you check it out with personnel? Make sure they check all the records: janitors, window washers, garbage collectors, the works. Anybody who could have been in that room when the Captain wasn't around."
"Starsky, honey, I just had another thought. I'll check all those things too, but what about the painters?"
"The painters?" Starsky and Dobey repeated in unison.
"Sure. They're not employees, so their records wouldn't be here, and since it's a contract job outside of the city's payroll, they wouldn't have to pass any of our typical background checks."
Dobey looked into Starsky's blue eyes in stunned amazement. "Minnie, you're a genius!" Starsky suddenly shrieked, lifting her and the files into the air and swinging her around. "Check on that painter first; I want to know who it was and what address they used on their employment form with the contractor. Oh, and how long he's worked there, too."
"Will do, babycakes," she smiled at Starsky. She loved it when Starsky was on a roll, and he sure was now.
"We'll be in the Captain's office. If we're right about what happened, there are a few pieces of the puzzle we have to fit together yet before the DA will give us a warrant for the Sullivan brothers and a reinstatement for Dobey." He clucked her under the chin, sending her on her way before he realized that the captain had already disappeared around the corner toward his office. He followed quickly behind him, finding him already inside and behind his desk. He'd opened a notebook to a blank page and had it sitting in front of him.
"Okay, let's take it from the top, Starsky." He didn't bother scribbling a heading on the paper.
"Good. This is the way I figure it: Greg Sullivan, to avenge his brother or at his brother's instigation, gains access to your office and replaces your regular bottle of aspirin with the poisoned bottle. The question is, did they put it there with the intention of you being the victim, or was what happened exactly what they wanted to happen?"
"Y'know, I've been thinking about that. I don't widely publicize the fact that I have an ulcer, but if this person somehow knew that, heard it through the grapevine or whatever..."
"Then he might also know that you wouldn't be takin' any of those aspirin yourself."
"So it works exactly the way they want, and Hutch is the unwilling victim," Dobey said. "Then Greg goes to IA with his story, helped along by the job he got or has had at the nursery.
"Exactly. IA and the DA's office suspect you right away, eventually deciding that nobody else could possibly have done it except you, as wrong as that decision was. You get arrested, and everything hangs in the balance on whether Hutch lives or dies. Somehow, thank God, he survives, making the charge attempted murder. But they're still content because you'll still go up for attempted murder, especially when they find out that you've been heard hollering at Hutch."
"Sounds logical so far," Dobey agreed, continuing a new paragraph.
"But what they anticipate is that I didn't believe you'd done it, and went to work on the case. So when they decided I was getting to be a problem, Greg calls me for a meet with a phony story about new evidence..."
"At which point, he arranges for you to have an 'accident'."
"And when that doesn't work, they figure they've gotta put a nail in your coffin-so to speak-so they get you released on bail, then make an attempt on Hutch, knowing that there's no way you can't be convicted if he dies right after you're released."
"And they call me out to the middle of nowhere so I won't have an alibi," Dobey continued. "What they didn't bank on is you being with me. And recognizing the route the caller asked me to take. We get back in time to rescue Hutch, and by luck and a mere happenstance, we put the pieces together."
"I don't know, Captain," Starsky said, turning the pad around to look over Dobey's notes. "Think they'll go for it?"
"I hope so. Before the Sullivan brothers decide to either pull up stakes and get out or make another run at Hutch."
Just then, Minnie burst into the room, waving a folder at them. "I've got it, boys. The painter assigned to do your office was Greg Sullivan. And if I remember correctly, I mentioned your ulcer and not taking aspirin while he was in the room." When both men stared at her, she shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I'm certain he was there, which means he knew that you'd never take that aspirin yourself. It doesn't take a genius to figure that you must keep them for somebody else if you never use 'em yourself."
"Give me that," Dobey said, taking the folder from her. "With this, your testimony, Starsky, and Drew Sullivan's file, I don't know how they'll be able to deny you the warrant."
"You mean, deny us a warrant!" Starsky shouted, jumping up and following the large black man out of the room.

Starsky didn't think he could have put a single word to what he was feeling as he left the district attorney's office with two arrest warrants and a search warrant in one hand and Drew Sullivan's address-graciously provided by his probation office-in the other. And for once, Dobey had no trouble at all keeping up with the much younger man. The newly restored badge and ID felt warm in his breast pocket where he'd tucked them for safe keeping after they were returned to him.
"It sure is a good thing this' been kept quiet," Starsky admitted. "We should be able to sneak up on them before they have any idea what's comin' down."
"Starsky, the Commissioner and the DA have let us take the lead on this one, but don't forget that there will be four squad cars just a few minutes behind us, just in case. After all this, I'm not letting them get away now, even if it means that you or I don't get the personal satisfaction of slapping on the cuffs."
"I think the only one we have to worry about is Greg, actually," Starsky responded, sliding into the passenger seat of Dobey's car. "Drew certainly isn't going anywhere in a big hurry. Did R& I come up with anything on the brother?"
"Yeah, he had a list of petty crimes as long as your arm. Never anything major, and all the interviews done with him as related to those cases seem to indicate an unsurpassed dedication to his younger brother. Their parents died when they were very young, forcing Greg to take on the role of parent. I'd forgotten all about him, actually, but now I remember the way he looked at me in that courtroom on the day his brother was convicted. Honest to God, Starsky, I've never seen such blatant hatred in a person's eyes in my life." Dobey seemed to almost shiver, remembering the look that had blasted into him from across the courtroom.
"Well, now we're gonna be putting them both away. Maybe the judge'll go easy on 'em and put them together. On the other hand, with what they did, they deserve to be separated forever. The way Hutch and I were almost..." Starsky silenced himself, realizing that he'd said more than he wanted to. But Dobey knew, and squeezed the younger man's shoulder gently.
"Yes. No two brothers could be closer than you two. Maybe an eye for an eye isn't always a bad idea; just keep your cool and let the judge decide, okay? Our job is only to arrest them. From there, the system will take care of them."
"Yessir," Starsky said, no longer seeming quite so upset. "Just so long as I get to be there when we take 'em into custody."
"You will be, Starsky. I promise you that."
They continued to ride in silence toward the small house in the outreaches of Los Angeles that had the same address as was shown on the parole form. The parole officer had given them exact directions, since he'd been there once before for a spot check on the ex-con.
When the house was in sight, Dobey slowed the car. "Call the uniforms. Let them know we're comin' up on it."
Starsky did it smoothly, just as he would have if Hutch had been driving the car. Working like this, Dobey really wasn't bad at all, Starsky thought. He must've been a hell of a field officer in his day.
There didn't appear to be anybody in the run-down house, but a car was parked in the driveway, leaving the question open as to whether anybody was there. Pulling the car behind a clump of trees just out of view of the dirty windows, Starsky and Dobey emerged with their weapons drawn to stalk the building and its occupants. They were plastered against the side of it without hearing or seeing a sign that they'd been spotted.
Stealing a quick glance in a side window, Starsky caught sight of a man who could only have been Greg Sullivan, carefully lifting his wet and freshly bathed brother from his wheelchair to the bed where a pair of pajamas were laid out. If it hadn't been for what they'd done, he'd think the gesture was one of a true humanitarian. But Starsky knew otherwise.
He ducked under the window to whisper in the captain's ear. "They're both inside, and it's the perfect time to move. Looks like little brother's just finishing up his bath and is gettin' tucked in. Maybe he'll read him a bedtime story and they'll be really distracted."
"Not likely, I'm afraid," Dobey whispered back. "Let's try the back door. Maybe we can sneak in on them. I don't think that search warrant is going to hold much weight with these two." They stealthily moved from their vantage point to the back door, considering themselves lucky when they found it unlocked and the antiquated hinges didn't screech in protest of their admittance. Approaching where they knew the bedroom door would be, each man took a position on either side of it.
Starsky held up a hand, silently counting off fingers one at a time. One...two...three! When he had three fingers in the air, he jumped forward with Dobey right behind him. "Freeze!"
Drew, partially sitting in bed and quite helpless, raised his arms immediately in surrender. Greg, however, wasn't quite ready to admit defeat yet, and just as his brother said, "I give up," he jumped forward and dove out the side window that Starsky had been spying through just a few minutes before.
Not about to let this one get away, Starsky dove out after him, landing in a roll and coming up running after the fleeing felon. He knew there were officers around the bend and that there was no way Greg was going to get away, but all the same, he needed to get this particular perp himself.
With long strides that were trained to keep up with his taller partner, Starsky overtook the man quickly, getting some small satisfaction when he landed on him in a flying leap. Not to be outdone, Sullivan fought back savagely, all the while hollering curses about Starsky and Dobey, and how happy he was that a worthless pawn like Hutchinson was dead anyway.
"What the hell did you say?!" Starsky screamed at the man he finally had pinned beneath him. "I'll have you know, you piece of slimy filth, that Hutch is no pawn, and he's worth ten...no, a hundred...scumbags like you!"
"He ain't, or wasn't, worth the paper his death certificate is printed on," Greg grinned evilly. "He was just a means to an end. And now he's food for the worms." Starsky, gritted his teeth, let out a wolf-like growl and lunged at the pinned man again, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until the now-watching uniforms thought his neck would snap. A couple tried pulling the brunet off the struggling suspect, but he shook them off and continued to throttle Greg. Finally, a voice got through to the enraged Starsky.
"Starsky, stop." It was Captain Dobey's level, controlled tones. "Hutch wouldn't want you to do this." That was all it took. That simple reminder of his partner-his very much alive partner-calmed him down immediately, water on a flame.
He didn't trust himself to speak right away, but as the uniformed officers were taking Sullivan toward one of the patrol cars, Starsky finally managed. "You failed, Sullivan. Hutch isn't dead. And you're going to prison."
Dobey slid an arm proudly around the younger man's shoulders and walked him back to the car. They waited just long enough to see Drew being taken from the house and deposited in another black and white, then Dobey drove the car back toward the inner city and home.

"Do you hear all that racket?" Ann, the duty nurse asked, perturbed.
"Oh, it's not so bad," Lynn smiled non-confrontationally.
"Yes, it is so bad. And I intend to put a stop to it." She began to march off toward the room at the end of the hall when Lynn stopped her with the slightest brush on her arm.
"It's almost the end of your shift. Why don't you take it easy and I'll take care of it. I know how hard it's been, this being your first week on this floor and all." She smiled kindly and the tired woman almost grinned back.
"Well, it would be nice to rest a little. If you're sure it wouldn't be too much of a hassle...?"
"Not at all. You go on. Besides, I've dealt with this patient before." Feeling certain that the noise would be stopped soon, Ann turned her back on the blond woman and headed for the nurses' locker room.
Lynn had no intention of putting an end to any frivolity in that room, the victory having been sorely won and well deserved on the part of everybody involved. Ken Hutchinson had actually managed to beat the odds, but she had little doubt it was because of one David Michael Starsky that he'd had the strength to pull through.
As she neared the room, the laughter and voices grew louder, and when she peaked around the corner of the cracked-open door, she was thrilled to see her patient sitting up talking and looking healthier than she'd ever seen him.
"Hey, if you guys don't keep it down a little, I'm gonna get demoted to scrubbing floors!" she joked, walking the rest of the way in. She was greeted by the large group of people who surrounded Hutch's bed-far more than was allowed by hospital regulations, but she decided, if she were caught, she'd just say she'd been there trying to shoo them out.
"I'm sorry," Hutch said, still looking slightly tired but otherwise fine. "Lynn, I want you to meet some friends of mine. This is my Captain, Harold Dobey." Dobey stuck out his hand and her small one all but disappeared in hid as they shook hands.
"Oh! So this is the Captain," said Lynn. "The one I've heard so much about? Well, it's nice to finally meet you."
If Hutch didn't know better-which he didn't-he'd swear Dobey was blushing.
"And this," the blond interrupted," is his wife Edith, and their kids, Cal and Rosie. Guys, this is my nurse, Lynn."
Edith greeted her politely and Cal shook her hand like the man he would soon be, but Rosie, in her youthful vigor, had nothing but questions for the woman in white.
"Why was Uncle Ken so sick? When can he go home? Will he still be able to play with me? Have you been taking good care of him? He says he hates hospitals-does that mean he hates you too?" Everybody was amazed that she'd said it all without taking a single breath.
Lynn walked over to Rosie, addressing her as more of an adult than a child. "Well, Rosie, I guess my answers to your questions would have to be: it doesn't matter because he's going to be fine; in two or three days; yes, he will; yes, I have; and I surely hope not!" Rosie laughed aloud at the woman, taking her hand and deciding that she liked her. Content to stand by her side, Lynn took in the rest of the occupants as Hutch introduced Minnie, Simmons and Babcock, Donald Simmons-who had actually come to visit despite his involvement in accusing Dobey-and reintroduced her to Huggy.
"Hey, where's Dave?" she asked suddenly, searching the faces for the one she most assuredly expected to see here.
"I'm not sure," Hutch answered. "He said he had to go take care of some things, then he left."
"That doesn't sound like the man I've known all these weeks. Where could he have gone?" Just as she inquired, the door burst in, admitting a denim-clad pair of legs topped off by a large bundle of parcels. Upon closer inspection, Hutch realized that it was his partner, and the bundle really only consisted of one very large box and two smaller ones.
"Starsky, what are you doin'?" Hutch asked, feigning exasperation but loving seeing the new energy in his partner. He'd watched Starsky while he was sick and knew it was almost as hard on his friend as it was on himself. Dobey had told him in private about the near-disaster at the arrest scene and how Greg Sullivan had narrowly escaped being taken apart piece by piece by an angry, vengeful cop who'd nearly lost his partner.
"I brought ya some presents, dummy," Starsky smiled, setting the boxes down on the bed on top of Hutch's legs.
Rosie jumped up and down and clapped her hands. "I love presents! Open 'em, Uncle Ken!"
"Who am I to disobey such a nice young lady." Hutch turned to the boxes. "But which one first?"
"The big one!" Starsky said excitedly, his eyes sparkling. The gift was roughly rectangular in shape, taller than it was wide, and as he went to unwrap it, Hutch noticed there were holes in the top.
He carefully peeled back the paper, then opened the box to reveal a full grown plant of a variety Hutch had never seen before. "Oh, Starsk, thanks. It certainly is...mmmmmm...different. I'll find the perfect spot in my greenhouse for it just as soon as they let me go home."
"Hutch, you don't know what that is, do you?" Starsky clasped his hands behind his back, rocking from his toes to his heels and back again, grinning with a self-satisfied smile.
"No, does it matter?"
"Sure it does! That just happens to be an Amanita phalloides."
"A what?" Hutch asked, unknowingly mimicking his partners words of just a couple weeks ago.
"Also known as the Destroying Angel, partner."
"As in, the plant that almost killed me? You sure have a weird idea of what a gift should be, partner."
"Well, next time, you'll know what it is! Consider it a trophy, like a mounted fish or somethin'. You beat it; it didn't beat you."
"Thanks, buddy," Hutch said, quiet now, and Starsky knew he wasn't only grateful for the plant.
"Open the next one!" Rosie encouraged, handing Hutch the first of the smaller packages. It was a book on botany, with a colorful, tasseled bookmark placed between the pages describing the care of a Destroying Angel plant, including what could and could not be safely done with its parts.
"Uhhh...thanks, Starsk. It'll be a good addition to my bookcase."
Starsky handed over the last package with a gleam in his eye which spoke volumes of trouble, making Hutch wonder what he was up to. "Are you sure I can't talk you into opening this one?" the blond asked. "I'm awfully bushed," he continued, pretending to sound much weaker than he was.
"Oh, no, partner. The least you can do is open all my presents in front of all these people before they have to go home." He shoved it at Hutch again, and the blond took it as if he were afraid it was going to explode. It was relatively flat-no more than an inch high-but long and narrow, about four inches across and a foot long. Hutch wondered for a moment if it was a tie, but that would have been out of character for his partner.
Hutch carefully unwrapped the box, freeing it of the tape and ribbon before opening to look a something he couldn't identify. "What is it?" he asked. "A lone ranger's mask or something?" The object nestled in among the tissue paper was reminiscent of that kind of head gear, but it was malleable plastic with a bright blue liquid flowing through it.
"This, my dear partner," Starsky said, lifting the item from its box, "just so happens to be the latest in homeopathic medicine." Hutch's eyebrows went up at Starsky's use of such a word.
"Yes, homeopathic. And don't look at me like that. The instructions are all inside. You just heat it up in a pan of water, then put it on, and it guarantees you it'll take away a headache just as well as takin' aspirin will. And after this case, Hutch, I don't wanna see you near an aspirin for a long time!" He smiled widely and dodged Hutch's grab to slide the thing over the blond's head and in place over his eyes. Once bedecked, nobody in the room could keep from laughing at the sight the blond represented, sitting in a hospital bed in his pajamas wearing what looked like a prop reject from a porno studio.
Before he knew it, there was a brief, bright flash which Hutch realized a moment later had come from his partner's camera. That meant that, by the time he got back to work, there'd be pictures of him in the psychedelic mask all over the station, spread around with the help of Minnie, Dobey, and his own personal imp, David Starsky. Still, he'd have to make the effort.
"Starsky, give me that film!" he ordered, trying for his most stern voice.
"I'm afraid I can't, partner. You see, it doesn't belong to me. And since I'm not tellin' you who it belongs to, you'll just have to get used to the idea. Hey, maybe you'll even learn to like the way it looks on ya! Then you'll be wearing it all over the station!"
"Hardly likely," Hutch grumbled, pulling it off, before giving in and joining the rest of the room in laughing at himself.
The End