By Brigantine
August 2001
Revised – September 2003
Fandom: Starsky and Hutch
Rating: Gen
Summary: Drawn from the episode 'Fatal Charm', this is vast departure set well after the events of 'Sweet Revenge'.
Author's Note: Originally written and presented in two parts for Yahoo Groups' Hutchfans' Virtual Sixth Season. All feedback is welcomed at: starsky1@telusplanet.net . Any errors or omissions are the author's. My thanks go to Tonya from the BCL for her suggestions and outlines for the revision. Hopefully this time I've got it right. ;-)

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ACT I

"Starsky, for the last time, I am not going crazy here.  I know I saw that turkey run into this alley," Hutch said, exasperated.

Breathing heavily, they stood toe-to-toe in the alley, guns drawn and confusion mirrored in two sets of blue eyes.  "Hutch, I sure as hell don’t see him now.  This is a dead end.  Where the hell did he go?" Starsky asked.  They hadn’t chased a ghost in here; of that he was certain.  How could someone just vanish?

Looking around the alley once more, they were alone - not even a stray cat wandered out to see what the fuss was.  They made a circuit of the doors leading to each of the buildings lining the cul-de-sac and found them locked.

Starsky glanced at Hutch, shrugged his shoulders and turned to leave, his Beretta dangling from his left hand.

Hutch took another last searching look before following his partner back to the Torino.  Halfway out of the alley, he heard the sound of crunching gravel above them and looked up.  The glint of the late afternoon sun on a gun barrel from the roof briefly reflected in his eyes, pointed directly in line with Starsky’s retreating back.  Racing forward, he shouted a warning as a shot rang out, "Starsky, above you!  Get down!", and saw it accurately find his partner before Starsky could take cover.

In sickening slow motion, he watched in horror as Starsky crumpled in a heap towards the wall and came to rest on his left side.  Hutch threw himself into a shrouded doorway nearby, away from the gunman’s line of sight.  The big Colt bucked in his hand as he emptied it above him.  Noticing Starsky starting to move around, he cautioned, "Starsk!  Stay down!"   Did it just graze him?  Maybe he's not hurt that bad.  Please, let it be so.   A second passed and then another, but there was no other sound except the dying echoes of his gun.

"Am okay," Starsky slurred, "am okay, Hussh.  Le’ me help."

"You are not okay!"  Hutch hissed.  "Stay put, will you?  I’ll tell you when it’s all clear!" 

Seeming to understand, Starsky stayed where he was. "Hussh…wha’ you wanna do now?"  He struggled to catch his breath and turn away from the intense fire beginning on his left side.  Shot?  My shoulder…burns…who?  The world spun crazily as he fought to open his eyes.

The bright red stain spreading on Starsky’s upper left shoulder as his partner shifted around on the ground scared Hutch silly.  Idiot, he thought miserably, it didn't graze him!  How many more bullets are you gonna take before our luck runs out, Starsk?

"Just stay still, I’ll be right over."  The comforting words belied the gnawing fear inside.  They had to get to the safety of the Torino and out of this shooting gallery; but if they did, would the shooter open up again?  The grayish tinge rising on Starsky’s face quickly decided the matter, Hutch reloading as he eased over to his partner. He put himself between the shooter and Starsky, shielding him from further danger with the Colt pointed at the opposing roof.  Hutch glanced up as he reached behind with one hand and grabbed a handful of Starsky’s leather jacket.  Nothing moved above them.   "Come on, buddy," he murmured as he tried to hoist Starsky into a sitting position, "can you sit up, huh?"

"Shur, I can shit up!"  Starsky started chuckling with the realization of what he’d said.  "Didja, didja hear wha’ I said, Hussh?"  He wasn't sure why he thought this was funny.  Getting shot wasn't something to laugh about.  What's wrong with me?  I feel so weird – this is crazy.

"Yeah, buddy, I heard you.  Let me take a look for a second and then we'll get out of here." Starsky’s sense of humor could be counted on to show up at the strangest times; this time, Hutch knew better - it was shock setting in.  In any other situation, he would have humored his best friend, but the predicament they were now in warranted getting out of there fast.  He turned to use one hand to lift the left front of Starsky's jacket away while keeping the Colt in the other.  Didn't go through – means the bullet's still in there – could be good or bad.  I need to tend to him, but I can't do it now, not while whoever did this is still up there somewhere.  Jesus, this stinks!   A feeling of dread rose in the pit of his stomach, spooking him.  His well-honed sixth sense picked up that they were being watched.  Hutch turned his head slowly up in the direction where the shooter last appeared and stopped what he was doing, stunned into silence.

An average-sized unarmed woman stood on the roof, auburn hair waving in the light wind.  Dressed exactly like the ‘man’ they chased down the alley, the dark chinos and windbreaker she wore were loose and disfiguring, except when the breeze molded the clothes against her, and then her sex was completely revealed.  The knit cap she'd used to further disguise her looks was pulled up to free her shoulder-length hair from its prison.  Dark sunglasses hid the upper half of her face from Hutch’s view.  She singled him out while he staring at her, a smug smirk crossing her attractive features.  "I’m not done with you two yet, pig!  Don't forget you're going to hear from me and you're gonna be sorry!" she snarled.  Before Hutch had a chance to react, she spun like a cat and disappeared.

"Damn!" he exclaimed, and felt Starsky’s weight shift with a lurch.

"Who wuz that?"  Everything was getting pretty fuzzy.  He thought he heard a woman's voice but couldn't be sure.  The concrete around him was turning hazy and ghost-grey.  "Hussh?" He asked thickly.

Snapping back to the immediacy of their plight, Hutch gave the only answer he had.  "Starsk, I don’t know, but that was no man we chased in here, it was a woman!"

With a grunt, Starsky began to sag.  Banking on the fact that their tormentor was smart enough to have left the scene when Hutch heard the far-off sounds of wailing sirens approaching, he holstered his gun and concentrated fully on Starsky.  Obviously some bright citizen heard the gunfire and called for help.

"Hold on, buddy," he soothed, worry renewing itself, "I got you.  You're going to be just fine in a little bit."

Starsky groaned in response, the pain overriding his ability to answer.

Swinging around behind him, Hutch knelt down to take most of Starsky's upper body weight against his, cradling him.  He dug into his jacket pocket for a handkerchief; once found, he folded it into a thick square and stuffed it inside over the wound as much as he could.  It wasn't nearly adequate enough to halt the flow of blood already making a path down Starsky's back, but it would do for a few moments until medical help arrived.  Hopefully the sirens weren't just back-up cruisers and included the much-needed ambulance.

Hutch's hope was answered when two speeding vehicles entered the alleyway – the first one, a black and white, and the second, the ambulance.  The paramedics worked quickly at getting Starsky treated, bandaged and loaded inside, Hutch hovering over them every step of the way.  He tossed over his shoulder to one of the uniformed officers he knew by sight, "Gil, I'm going with Starsky – get on the horn to Captain Dobey and tell him to meet me at Receiving.  I'll do the paperwork on this later."

Gil acknowledged him with a nod and said, "Done, Hutch.  I'll have one of the guys bring Starsky's car to you soon as we're finished."

While Hutch and Gil talked, the ambulance driver hustled to the front while his partner crawled into the back of the van to secure the gurney for transport.  When he finished, he moved to close the back doors when a large hand wrapped around one of the door frames and pulled it open again to reveal Hutch.  "Hey," the medic exclaimed, "you can't ride..."

"Like hell I can't.  Where he goes, I go.  Let's move this thing!"  Hutch levered his body inside between the door and the medic.  He slammed the doors behind him, putting short shift to the argument.  With a shrug, the man took his place to one side of the ambulance as they pulled away from the scene and headed for the hospital with the siren screaming.

Act II

While Hutch was waiting for word on his partner in the hospital waiting room, Captain Dobey strode in, a concerned expression creasing his already well-worn face.  "Hutchinson, how is he doing?" he asked.

"I don’t really know, Captain.  They’ve been in the operating room working on him for over an hour.  Why does this have to take so long?"  Hutch paced like a caged tiger, fingers snapping at his side in a staccato rhythm.

"It takes as long as it takes, son.  Let them do their job."  Dobey grasped him by the arm and pulled him over to a set of chairs.  "Sit down and tell me everything."

In a clipped voice, Hutch related the whole story.  "There was something very familiar about her," he shook his head, mystified.  "It’s like I've crossed her path before, but I just can’t put my finger on where."  He got up to pace in front of the doors, misery and worry etching harsh lines around his eyes and forehead, deepening the crease between his eyes. "God, I hope Starsky pulls through this!  I didn’t get to him in time - again!"

"This is not your fault!   It could have been either one of you in there.  Starsky will come through with flying colors like always.  He’s strong and tough."  Captain Dobey reached into a back pocket and pulled out a well-used handkerchief to mop his forehead.

Hutch acknowledged him with a sharp nod and sat back down to wait.  He held his head in his hands for a long while, occasionally raising his eyes to peer at the door expectantly.

An hour later, a doctor dressed in operating scrubs came into the waiting area. "Detective Hutchinson?  I’m Doctor Blake, the surgeon in charge of Sergeant Starsky's case.  We've just finished with your partner a few minutes ago.  We're getting him settled in a room as we speak."

"How is he, Doc?"  Hutch leapt to his feet to practically stand on the doctor’s toes, Captain Dobey’s imposing figure a heartbeat behind him.

Dr. Blake saw how mentally exhausted the man was and took pity.  "I can assure you he'll be just fine.  We removed the bullet from his shoulder and found some old scar tissue from another wound that took some delicate surgery to repair."  He paused as a smile replaced the distressed grimace on Hutch’s face, giving him a comforting smile in return.  "He'll be in a sling for a few weeks, but it looks like he’ll regain full use of his shoulder and arm with a minimum of damage and some therapy.  He was very lucky.  He’s sleeping now, but you can go in and see him if you like."

"Thanks!"  Hutch’s demeanor brightened considerably as he ran out of the room and down the hallway.  More than relieved Starsky was going to be okay; he said a silent prayer to a nameless power.  Dobey remained behind for a moment to shake the doctor’s hand, thanking him, and followed Hutch.

On entering the colorless and depressing hospital room that smelled like disinfectant, Hutch could see that Starsky rested peacefully.  Even hooked up to the machines they both hated and the steady beeping of the heart monitor didn’t take away from the most beautiful sight in the world - his partner, living and breathing.  The miracle man, Hutch marveled.  He must have a whole band of angels watching over him.

The door swung open to admit their captain.  He moved to stand beside Hutch, reaching for his shoulder in mute support.  Turning to glance at him, Hutch whispered fiercely, "He’s gonna be okay.  I’ll make damn sure nobody gets in here tonight that isn’t supposed to be here."

Dobey gazed down at Starsky.  Knowing there was no dissuading Hutch from leaving the room, he stole one last sideways look at the tall blond.  The glittering, intense blue eyes were full of emotion.  There was nothing more he could do, and with a light nod, Dobey said quietly, "There’s no need for two of us to sit here.  I can do a lot more good back at the station, getting the ball rolling.  If anything changes, let me know.  Take care of him – and you, too – that's an order."

"You bet.  I’ll call as soon as I can.  See you later."  Dobey nodded wordlessly and left.

Hutch sat down beside his wounded friend.  He held his hand and spoke softly to him.  "Hey, Starsk.  Are you going to wake up for me, huh?"

Bad memories of Starsky wounded before flashed through Hutch.  He silently vowed that they’d get this woman, whatever it took.  The sight of Starsky tumbling slowly forward from the bullet’s impact added yet another chapter in a long book Hutch would always keep to himself.  "We’re gonna have to put our heads together and try to come up with who that woman on the roof was.  It doesn’t make any sense!"  Lost in the visual momentarily, Hutch’s voice climbed an octave without notice, bringing Starsky around.

"Hey," he groaned, "why so loud?  You’re givin’ me a headache."

"Starsk!  You’re awake!"  Hutch was overjoyed to see his partner’s deep blue eyes peering through half-open lids.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m awake.  Could you keep it down a bit?  Some of us are trying to heal here."

Hutch grinned – the Starsky humor was intact, at least.  "Sure, buddy, sorry ‘bout that.  How you feeling?"

"Oh, kinda sleepy.  I’m so tired..."  Starsky closed his eyes and soon fell back into a drug-induced slumber.

Hutch tried to catch a few winks as well.  As he laid his head back in the chair, the day’s events replayed themselves in his mind's eye.  Those thoughts kept him awake until exhaustion overtook the need to think.  The investigation would keep until tomorrow.

Act III

The sun poured in through the window blinds, warming the hospital room, when the door opened and a nurse came in to check on Starsky.  She found Hutch slumped in a chair, fast asleep beside his wide-awake partner.  One arm was lazily draped on the side of the bed with his hand resting against Starsky’s midsection.

Starsky looked down at the slumbering man, and with a finger to his lips, he whispered, "Hi.  Let him sleep, huh?"

She nodded without saying a word, checking his bandaged shoulder.  She removed a hypodermic needle from her pocket, lifted the IV tube, snapped the cover off the hypo and injected it carefully into the connecting port.  Giving Starsky a wink and a smile, she left the room as quietly as she had entered.

Starsky shifted to get more comfortable and thought back to the previous day.  Hutch said it was a woman, he mused.  Who do we know that's mad enough to take a shot at us?  He racked his memory for an answer and came up empty.  Sighing, he gave up pondering the situation.  Minutes later, a cough Starsky couldn’t contain woke the sleeping man at his side.

The blond head stirred and, cracking one eye open, Hutch groaned as his body protested the night spent sleeping in the chair.

"Mornin’," Starsky said softly.

Hutch pulled himself upright, his back aching.  Stretching to relieve some of the tense muscles and opening both eyes fully to look upon Starsky’s relaxed features, he replied sleepily, "Morning yourself.  How're you doing?"

"Prob’ly better than you about now.  The nurse was just in here and gave me another shot.  Have a good sleep?"

"No," Hutch grimaced as his back protested again.  "Spending the night in one of these things is not something I’d recommend on a regular basis."

Starsky chuckled.  "You coulda went home, y'know, and slept in your own bed.  I was okay here."

"Yeah, well, I didn’t.  I wasn’t about to go home without you, Starsk.  You know that."

"Yeah, I know that.  Thanks."  Starsky sobered and reached for Hutch’s hand, giving it a squeeze.  "Y’saved my life out there." 

Hutch wrapped his other hand over Starsky’s.  "I didn’t do such a good job – you still got tagged.  If I had seen her sooner you might not have been hit."  He hung his head guiltily.

"Hey - enough of that.  It’s only a shoulder wound.  I’ll be outta here before you know it.  Don’t you go feelin’ all responsible on me now.  It coulda been a lot worse."

With one look at Starsky, Hutch found absolution.  A slow smile spread across his face.  "I’m just glad you’re gonna be all right," he sighed, privately wondering for the umpteenth time just what he’d done to deserve Starsky’s unswerving friendship.

"That’s the spirit."  Starsky changed subjects to pull Hutch away from the guilt he saw rising in those crystalline eyes.  "I remember you sayin’ that wasn't a man we chased into that alley just before I zonked out.  You said it was a woman, Hutch.  Didja recognize her?"

"That’s the weird thing about this.  I keep getting the strange feeling I know her, or someone just like her; I just can’t place from where.  Seems like she knew exactly who we were and this was all a set-up to pin us in that alley," Hutch said.

"She was yelling something while I was down.  What did she say?"  Hutch repeated her threat, word for word.  Starsky frowned, silently pondering the situation.  The woman's threatening words tickled the fringes of his memory.  Hutch is onto something, all right, but who and where?

"I just thought of something," Hutch opined, "we have no idea where or when she might strike again, and you laid up here is dangerous as hell.  I think I’m gonna ask the doctor to release you.  We’ll be a lot safer at one of our places."

Starsky nodded.  "Good idea, Ollie.  Get the doc to spring me and we’re outta here.  Maybe we should stop by the station and tell Dobey what we have planned, huh?  I think I can handle bein’ up and around that long."

Hutch left the room to find the doctor.  He returned in a few minutes, a frown creasing his forehead.  "He says he won’t let you out until late this afternoon.  Think it’ll keep that long, or should we just bust out of here now?" A half-hearted smile worked its way across his face.

"I guess we wait.  What the hell – what can she do to us in here?  Be pretty tough to take us on without attracting a lot of attention," Starsky said.  "Besides, we can probably stand to relax for a few more hours.  It’s gonna get pretty hairy from here on out, watching our backs all the time."

Hours later, the release papers signed and Starsky dressed with his arm in a sling, they left the hospital and headed for Dobey’s office.

Act IV

Hutch got an uneasy feeling entering Metro.  His mind seemed to be playing tricks on him as all of a sudden, the memory of a possessive woman from his past surfaced and he froze in his tracks.

She screamed at him, "I had someone cover for me at the hospital because I thought you were in an accident or something!"

Hutch tried to explain that he was on a case.

"Oh, yeah, or did you just conveniently forget we had a date?!"

Hutch strained to keep his composure. "Now wait a minute, what’s wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me!  I'm tired of being lied to and used by you!"

Hutch lowered his voice and ordered "Keep your voice down!"

The woman continued on her quest to belittle him. "I don’t want to keep my voice down!  I want them all to hear!  I want every one of them to hear what you're really like!"

Hutch’s concern grew.  She certainly hadn’t acted like this before.  "What are you talking about?" he asked as he attempted to steer her toward the exit.

She jerked out of his grasp, eyes wild in uncontrolled rage.  "You know what I'm talking about!  All your friends wouldn’t think you were such a big hero if they knew how you treated me!" She continued her rant. "Well, listen; I want you to know right now I will never marry you, never!  Because I hate you... hate you... hate you!"  She flailed at Hutch with her fists.

The ruckus was attracting a crowd at the end of the hallway, one that included their captain.  Seeing this, Starsky succeeded in pulling her away from his partner, distracting her. "Diana, Diana... come on now...calm down."

She turned on him like a striking snake.  "Take your hands off of me!  You ….you're just like him!  I bet you've had a big laugh all day long, haven't you, like I’m some big joke!  Well, let me tell you something about your friend, he's not even a good lover!"

Hutch had just about enough of this farce.  "Diana..."  His voice held a note of warning.

Whipping around to stare Hutch down, she yelled, "Don't worry, I’m leaving!  But first I want you to have this gift...stinkin' rotten gift."  She dug in a coat pocket and pulled out a very expensive watch.  Throwing it to the ground at his feet, she continued, "I hope you choke on it!  And don't forget you're going to hear from me and you're gonna be sorry!"

She stormed out the door.  Starsky looked at Hutch with concern, raising an eyebrow in wonder.

"Hutch?"  Starsky shook his partner.  "Hey, Hutch, are you all right?"

Snapping out of his reverie with a shudder, Hutch exclaimed, "Starsk, I think I got it!  Do you remember Diana Harmon?"

"Remember?  How could I forget?  She nearly carved you into Swiss steak!"

"What if I told you that I think the woman shooter has something to do with her?"

"Huh?  That's a stretch, Hutch, even for you."

"It's not a stretch.  Listen to this - when I turned around and spotted her on the roof before she threatened us, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach of déjà vu.  There was something there - I felt it – I just didn't connect it until now."

"Okay…" Starsky said, trying to follow Hutch’s line of reasoning.

"I just had a flashback of that ugly scene Diana and I had in the hallway here.  Remember that?"

"Yes, Hutch, I remember that.  Do you think I’m your 80-year-old grandmother or something?"

"Sorry," Hutch apologized.  "Starsk, it's what she said, right at the end, before she ran out of here.  Our shooter said the exact same thing."

"You mean the part about hearing from her and being sorry?"

"Word for word.  It connects, Starsk, however screwball it sounds, it connects."  Hutch rubbed a finger between his brows.  "Now that I think about it some more and compare the two voices, she even sounded a bit like her.  What do you think that means?"

"We should go talk to Dobey, that’s what I think.  Come on, pal, we need more than gut feelings, bad memories, and threats."

"You're right.  Let’s go."  As he turned to walk down the hallway, Hutch noticed Starsky’s face was pale.  "Starsk, are you sure you’re okay?  You don’t look so good," he asked, full of instant concern.

"I’m a little beat and achy, but we got work to do."

"You're sure?"  Hutch touched Starsky's good arm lightly.

"Yeah, I'm sure.  Faster we get this over with, faster we can get outta here," Starsky replied honestly.  "C'mon."  He led the way to Dobey's office door in the hall.

They walked into his office like usual, the captain shooting to his feet from behind his desk, scowling.  "Starsky!  What the hell are you doing here?  You’re supposed to be in the hospital!"

Starsky painfully eased himself into one of the overstuffed chairs in front of Dobey’s desk.

 "Cap, let me explain…"  He didn’t get the chance to finish.  Hutch slid into the chair next to him, waiting for the inevitable chewing out.

"Explain what?  So help me, this better be good!  You just don’t waltz out of the hospital whenever you feel like it!"  His voice rose to a near-yell, and Starsky winced.

"Cap…easy, will ya?  My head is pounding like hell.  You need to hear this."

Dobey sat down, glowering, but remained silent.  Starsky looked over at Hutch, who spoke for both of them.

"Captain, we were set up – led into that alleyway deliberately so that either one or both of us were gonna get splashed," Hutch said, one eyebrow raising meaningfully.

"Okay, Hutchinson, the question is who and why?  Can you tell me that, at least?"  Dobey demanded.

Starsky cut in, voice tight with pain, "Cap, we don’t know exactly who, yet, but Hutch figures the why is connected somehow to Diana Harmon."

"That nutcase woman who tried to kill you four years ago?"  Dobey asked Hutch, lacing his fingers together.  "Just how do you figure that?"

Hutch cleared his throat nervously and said in a low voice, "I’ve been racking my brain ever since Starsky got shot, and it didn't come to me until we got here.  I had this queasy feeling in the alley when she yelled down at us, and when we walked in here just a few minutes ago, it hit me again."

"So?"  Dobey asked, irritation flashing in his eyes.

"That’s when I had this weird flashback to that night when Diana stormed in here and wigged out on Starsky and me.  It was what she said.  The woman on the roof said the exact same thing, and she sounded a helluva lot like her - I’m sure of it.  The only person I've ever heard that from was Diana."

"Diana Harmon has been locked up at Cabrillo State since the night she stabbed you.  There’s no way it could be her," Dobey said confidently.

"Cap, we know that," Starsky butted in. "But how did this woman come up with the same threat?  If she is connected, we figured the hospital was a lousy place to find out.  If she plans to make good on her threat, we need to be ready for it.  After we’re done here, we’re gonna hole up for the night at one of our places until we can figure out what the next move is."

Dobey picked up the phone and punched a button.  As he waited to be connected, he said aside to Starsky, "Okay…but you don’t mind if I check this out first, do you?"  Starsky nodded.

"Daniels…Dobey here.  I want you to check on the status of a Diana Harmon…yeah, Harmon…H-A-R-M-O-N.  No, I’ll hang on."  He pulled the receiver down.  "Starsky, you look like hell.  Why don’t the two of you get out of here?  I’ll know more in a little while."

"Okay," Hutch agreed.  "We’ll call you as soon as we get settled.  If we don’t check in, in say..." He paused to look at his watch, "the next half-hour, send the cavalry out."  He glanced at Starsky before finishing.  "Might as well go to Venice, Starsk, it’s closer."

"Guess so, since you’re driving.  We don’t want to make it too easy."  A wan smile lit Starsky’s face for a moment before a flash of pain replaced it with a wince.

Dobey spoke into the phone again and waved them out of his office.  The two men rose from their seats and walked out the door, Hutch putting a supporting hand on Starsky’s back as they left.

Act V

They took no time in getting to Hutch’s apartment. The sun had set while they were in Dobey’s office, plunging the street into its nighttime swirl of colors.   Hutch knew by now the effects of the gunshot wound had played Starsky out to the ends of his endurance when he saw the dark head bobble a couple times in exhaustion.  You need rest.  You might be strong as a horse, Starsky, but every time you take a bullet...he squelched the rest of the thought off.

This was worse than being a criminal on the run - Hutch felt as if he had to look over his shoulder every second, watch every face they passed as they drove, and check out every street corner for their mysterious enemy.  As Hutch parked in front of Venice Place, he looked over at his partner.  "Hey, buddy?"

Starsky winced as he moved his body around in the passenger seat, knowing what the unsaid part of the question was.  "I’m okay.  Be a lot better when I can take one of those painkillers they gave me at the hospital.  That little trip to Dobey’s office sucked the wind outta my sails."

"I know," Hutch said, empathizing.  "A few days' rest and you’ll be back to your old self in no time."  He got out of the car and went over to the other side to help Starsky out.

Across the street in a darkened corner, a hostile set of brown eyes watched with some interest as the two men entered the apartment building.

Very interesting, she mused.  Starsky is tougher than I gave him credit for.  That bullet should have put him out of action long enough for me to get his partner alone.  Hmm, isn’t that sweet how Hutch helps him up to his apartment?  I’ll just bet you’re going to watch and worry over him all night, aren’t you?  An evil chuckle escaped her. Well, Detective Hutchinson, I’ll soon be giving you something worse to worry about than your friend.

Hutch had no sooner opened the door to the apartment than Starsky bolted for the bathroom and slammed the door closed.  Following right on his heels, Hutch stopped just short of forcing his way in.  "Starsky!  Are you all right?"  There was no sound from behind the door.  Hutch knocked loudly.  "Starsky?  Is everything okay?  I'm coming in if you don't answer me."

Starsky emerged from the bathroom looking pale and sweaty. "Take it easy, pal.  Just felt like I was gonna be sick."

"That settles it, you’re taking the bed.  And I don’t want to hear any arguments about it, either."

"But Hutch, your bad back!"  Starsky said worriedly.

"I’ll be fine.  You’re the one that’s supposed to be in the hospital, remember?  You’re hitting the sack.  Do you feel like having anything to eat before you lie down?  Maybe some soup?"

"Nah, I don’t think I could eat anything right now.  I just want some water."  Starsky sat down weakly on one of the kitchen chairs, searching through his pocket with his good hand.

He looked drained, and Hutch wondered if taking him out of the hospital was such a good idea.

Starsky caught the guilty look written all over Hutch’s face out of the corner of his eye as Hutch got him a glass of water.  "Hutch, stop.  I really appreciate you bein’ so worried and all, but I’ll be fine.  Do you have my painkillers?"

"Hey, you’d do the same for me."  Hutch patted the pockets of his jacket and shook his head, handing Starsky the glass of water.  "I don’t have them.  The nurse gave the bottle to you."

Hutch reached down to pat the pockets in Starsky’s well-worn leather jacket.  After a moment of poking around, he withdrew the bottle from the left side.  "Found them.  How did they get there?"  Opening the small plastic container, he shook a couple out and handed them over.  "I admit I’m feeling a bit guilty about taking you out of the hospital so soon.  Once we get you settled, I’m calling Dobey and see what he found out."  While he was talking and Starsky swallowed the pills down with a drink of water, he slid the leather jacket off his injured shoulder.  Once he'd gotten it completely off, he tossed over a nearby chair and went back to check on the position of the sling.

"It was a good idea – we gotta get in front of this dame one way or another."  When Hutch bent to help him to his feet and to the bedroom, Starsky shook his head.  "I can make it on my own – you go ahead and call the boss.  Let me know what he says."  Starsky moved slowly into Hutch’s sleeping alcove and sat heavily on the bed.  He felt like he’d been run over by a truck, but he had a bad memory of his own to mull over.  He remembered all too vividly racing up the stairs to find his friend fighting off the crazed woman, bleeding and fading fast.  Holy mother.  What if Hutch's right?  She damn near punched his ticket permanently the last time.  This time – what if it had been Hutch instead of me?  What if she'd been a little better shot?  What if it's Diana and not some sound-alike?  Shit.  How many other what if's are gonna come back to get us?  The nightmare that had been Diana Harmon seemed to be coming back with a vengeance.  Kicking off his sneakers, he eased himself around so he could lie against the pile of pillows.

Out in the living room, Hutch had reached Captain Dobey on the phone.  "Hutch, Captain. Find anything?"

"It’s just like I thought.  Diana Harmon is still at Cabrillo State.  She’s a model patient from what the head nurse told me.  It doesn’t make sense that this whole mess has anything to do with her unless she's got a twin we don’t know about!"  Dobey thought his two detectives were out in left field this time.

"Yeah, okay.  We’re at my place and everything seems quiet for now.  Starsky's exhausted and in pain - you know how he is, he won’t say a thing.  I'm shutting it down for the night."

"Hutch, call me if you need anything," Dobey offered, concern tainting his tone.  They wouldn’t necessarily say anything to him if they thought they could handle the situation on their own. "No private parties, you hear me?"

Hutch knew what that meant.  It was their commander's way of informing him he was worried, too.  He smiled briefly into the phone.  "Okay, Captain, I hear you. Thanks."  He said goodbye, hung up the phone and went in to check on his partner.

Starsky was sound asleep against the headboard, his injured shoulder propped against the pillows.  As gently as he could without waking him, he pulled the covers up and over the denim-clad legs and lean hips as far as his chest.  He checked that the pillows surrounding Starsky's shoulder were firmly in place and then left his friend to get the much-needed rest he deserved.

Tag

Hutch yawned as the exhaustion from the last two days started to catch up to him.  He was also starving.  Deciding to scramble some eggs, the appeal of a hot shower afterwards sped up the process more than usual.  He grabbed a beer from the fridge halfway through to wash it down with.  Done with his impromptu meal in a few minutes, he cleaned up the pan and the remaining dishes.  Taking another healthy slug of beer, he set the bottle down.  He turned the lights off in the kitchen, leaving a single lamp burning in the living room.  As he walked over to the bathroom, he thought, Ah, a nice hot shower. Man, that’s going to feel good.  He glanced at his watch.  A little early.  Hell, I’m just as beat as Starsky.

While Hutch got ready for his shower, the curvaceous figure of a woman lurked outside his front door.  I have to find the key.  Now where did she say he kept it?  The woman felt under the mat and then suddenly remembered the hiding place.  Diana had mentioned that Hutch didn’t keep the key on his person.  She was positive she had seen him reach above the door to put the key back the night she had come to cook spaghetti dinner.

Yes!  She grabbed for it with a sense of elation.  Here it is!  What a stupid fool that Hutchinson is!  Still leaving it here!  She carefully slid the key into her right hand.  She stood outside the building until she saw the lights come on above minutes earlier and then followed the two men up the stairs, listening at the door to their conversation. When she no longer heard both voices, she assumed that Starsky, at least, was asleep.  Prepared to wait however long it took, she was delighted to hear the sounds of the shower.  Stealthily opening the front door and letting herself into the apartment, she spotted the dim outline of Starsky in Hutch's bed, still fast asleep.  Smiling, she walked to the greenhouse and pushed the door open, making sure there were no others about.  She wanted no surprises.

The door squeaked audibly on un-oiled hinges.  She froze, afraid that the noise would awaken the sleeping man just a few feet to her right.  If Starsky had been awake, he would have been stunned at the sight of the uninvited guest.  Yesterday morning's shooter was dressed entirely in soft black clothing with kid leather gloves covering her hands so that only her face and hair were visible.  The long auburn hair framed striking features.  Her brown eyes glittered angrily as she gazed over at Starsky.  She couldn’t believe that all her well-laid plans might have been messed up just because of a door that needed a little oil.  She watched as Starsky shifted in bed at the slight noise, but didn’t awaken.  The woman let the door close behind her as she slid past and found a hiding place behind a large chair to wait.

Hutch got out of the shower, dried himself off and pulled on some pajama bottoms.  He finished combing his hair and moved quietly out to the alcove to see how Starsky was doing. The moonlight from the window revealed his partner sleeping soundly and snoring slightly, making Hutch smile. Starsky, what would I do without you?

Hutch took a blanket and a pillow from his closet and wandered over to the sofa.  He lay down on the makeshift bed and tried to close his eyes. He was still pretty wired, but his eyes gradually closed and a deep slumber soon overtook him.

After what seemed an eternity, the woman could hear Hutch snoring.  Men! She chuckled silently. What women don’t have to put up with.  All this snoring must drive their girlfriends crazy.  She let herself back into the apartment successfully without the squeaking of the door making any difference to the deep sleep of the two detectives.

Putting her plan into action, she crept toward the kitchen. She spotted the half-drained beer on the kitchen table.  Well now, what do we have here?  This is better than I could have imagined.  Pulling off a glove, she removed a small bottle from her hip pocket.  She unscrewed the cap, exposing a rubber-tipped glass plunger, and squeezed a single, tiny drop of a colorless, odorless liquid into the open beer bottle.  She had planned to spike something in the fridge, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up.  Screwing the cap back on and replacing the vial in her pocket, she took a few seconds to watch Hutch sleep.

That’s right, Sleeping Beauty, she gloated silently, get all the rest you can in the next few minutes, because the rest of the night is going to be one long nightmare.  Padding to the front door with swift steps, she let herself out, locked the door and replaced the key in its former hiding place.

Casually walking down the street from Hutch’s apartment, the woman slid into a phone booth.  Plucking a dime from her pocket, she dialed Hutch’s number.  She connived the number out of one of Starsky and Hutch’s snitches a few days earlier, claiming she had information she wanted to get to them.  She’d done a great deal of research into their movements and who their regular street snitches were by asking a few well placed questions and greasing a few palms along the way.  Plan B coming up, lover.

The jangling of the telephone beside Hutch’s head awakened him with a start.  Grabbing for it before it woke his sleeping partner, he said, still drowsy with sleep, "H’lo?"

"Remember me, lover boy?" she asked silkily.  "You will…trust me."  Hanging up the phone before he had a chance to respond, she ran from the phone booth, climbed into the car she had left around the corner and took off in the opposite direction from the apartment.

Hutch held the receiver in front of him, puzzled.  A movement behind him made Hutch jump and turn, the phone in his hand poised like a weapon.

"Starsky!  Christ, let a guy know when you’re gonna sneak up on him, will you?" he snapped, putting the receiver down in the cradle.

Starsky padded into the kitchen, smiling, and flipped on a light.  "Who the hell was that?"

"I think it was our lady friend from the roof.  The only other person who would phone at this time of the night would be you and you’re here.  It had to be her."

"Well, what’d she want, Hutch?  A moonlight serenade?" Starsky quipped.

"Very funny.  You’re a regular comedian tonight," Hutch said sarcastically.  "She asked if I remembered her, made another threat that I would and hung up."

"Think we oughta look around?"  Starsky asked.  "Just in case she might've left us a surprise?"

Hutch nodded.  He wandered around the living room, lifting plants, peering behind and under furniture, opening and looking inside drawers before closing them.

Starsky strolled over to the area around the bed, opening and closing bedside drawers.  He moved to the closet, opening the doors and flipping through Hutch’s various linens and towels.  Satisfied there was nothing there, he walked over to crack open the greenhouse door. The hinges protested with a squeak as he did so.  He peered around and seeing nothing amiss, returned to the kitchen.

"Nothing, Hutch.  Wanna check the rest of the place out, or should I?"

"I’ll check.  You better get back to bed and try to get some sleep.  That painkiller shouldn’t have worn off yet."

Starsky shook his head.  "I think I’ll just stick right here for a minute.  Makes me feel better, y'know?"

Nodding, Hutch walked off in the direction of the bathroom.  Flipping the light on, he glanced around and found nothing out of place.  He left the room and walked over to the front door, unlocking it.  He scanned the empty stairwell and reentered the apartment.  Pausing thoughtfully, he took a step back, reached above the lintel and found the key in its proper place.  Shrugging, he came back inside and shut the door.  Hutch locked it and walked across to the kitchen to stand beside his partner.

"Nothing.  Wonder what the hell she meant?"  Hutch said, pondering the cryptic phone call.

Raising an eyebrow, Starsky said, "Well, I guess we’ll find out sooner or later.  I sure hope it’s sooner, because this game is getting ridiculous."  Looking around the kitchen, he reached for the open beer on the table.  Hutch snatched it out of his hand and glared at Starsky.

"Starsk, you know it’s bad news to mix booze and painkillers.  If you’re thirsty, I’ll get you another glass of water."  He downed the beer in two swallows, set the bottle down on the table and made his way over to the kitchen sink.  Taking a glass from the shelf, he ran the cold water tap for a few seconds and filled the glass.  He turned away from the sink and handed it to Starsky.

Starsky drank half of it and handed it back.  "Thanks.  I woulda liked that beer better."  He threw a saucy grin at his friend.  "Anybody ever tell you you’re mean?"

Hutch chuckled and replied, "Yeah.  You.  Now will you get back to bed?  That shoulder isn’t gonna heal without some help.  Go on.  We’ll get back on this in the morning."  He reached over to clasp Starsky’s good shoulder gently.

"Okay, Mother Hen, I’m going."  Starsky padded back to bed and got himself resettled.  "Night."

"G’night, Starsk."  Hutch flipped the kitchen light off and returned to the sofa.  Arranging his long form on it was always a challenge.  Pulling the covers over his lean body, he shifted a few times to get comfortable and dozed off.

The dream came with sudden, vicious clarity.  Don't forget you're going to hear from me and you're gonna be sorry!  He tossed and turned on the sofa, the dream/memory of her hate-filled eyes filling his mind.  He threw the blanket off and tried to sit up.  The room swam before him, alight with rainbow colors.  Diana’s screeching voice rang over and over like a horrible litany.

Hutch cried out, clutching his head in both hands, "Stop it!  Stop it!"  The room began to dip and twist, the colors becoming more vibrant, invading his senses completely.

He tried to stand up and stumbled against the coffee table, bruising his shin in the process.  Kicking it aside, he bolted away from the table, her voice and the colors intermingling in an insane pattern.  You’re gonna be sorry…sorry…sorry…

Hutch’s yell brought Starsky wide-awake.  Tossing the covers aside with his good hand, he gamely raced out of bed to see Hutch staggering wildly in the middle of the living room, pulling at his blond hair hard enough to nearly rip it from the roots.  He ran to Hutch and yanked one arm free.  In the half-light of the room, he could see Hutch’s bright blue eyes rolling crazily around in their sockets.

"Hutch!  Hutch!  What’s wrong?"  Starsky yelled, getting a firm grip on Hutch’s arm.

"Noooo…stay away…stay away!"  In his drug-induced state, he saw Diana Harmon holding a long-bladed knife high above her head, ready to strike.  Savagely yanking his arm away from Starsky, Hutch delivered a roundhouse punch to Starsky’s jaw, driving him down hard onto the floor at his feet.

Pouncing on Diana/Starsky, he drove punch after punch into her/his face and body until the form stopped moving.  The effects of the drug intensified with the adrenaline rush, making him lose consciousness.  He fell heavily on top of Starsky’s battered, bleeding body, one hand clenched in Starsky’s hair.

Continued in Part Two