Disclaimer: This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from it. No infringement on anyone’s copyright is intended.

This story is part one in a series.

Threads: Bad Penny

Written by Sue David and Valerie Wells

"I'll just be a few minutes," Hutch said, gathering up his savings account passbook and various papers scattered around the front seat of the Torino.

"Take your time," Starsky said, deadpan. "I'll wait for you here, Mr. Hutchinson."

"Aw, stuff it," Hutch said with a grin, getting out and heading for the bank's front door. Starsky slid down in the seat and closed his eyes.

It was busy inside the bank, with several people in each line. Hutch sighed, looked at his watch and eyed the lines, trying to choose the one that seemed to be moving the fastest. None of them were, if the truth was told, so he simply joined the closest one. Starsky had tried to talk him out of what he was there to do – withdraw a substantial amount from his savings in order to upgrade his greenhouse – but Hutch was determined. His greenhouse was part of what kept him sane in this crazy job, and he'd never been one to worry much about stockpiling money. The greenhouse was more important to him than having lots of money in the bank.

Sooner than he'd have thought possible, it was his turn. He pushed his passbook and a withdrawal slip, along with his driver's license, across the counter to the teller. After a wooden smile and a stiff "How are you today, sir?" she didn't speak again, simply completed the transaction and pushed everything back across to Hutch. "Thank you, Mr. Hutchinson," she said, not even managing a smile this time. He smiled at her, however, realizing she was having a long, hard day, and turned to go, only to be confronted with a familiar face.

"Ken?"

Hutch froze mid-step. He hadn't seen Cassandra Davenport since before his divorce from Vanessa. Hadn't wanted to, either. They'd never gotten along, and her husband – Hutch didn't even remember his name now – had been even more of a snob than she was.

Cassandra smiled. "Don't tell me you don't remember me, brother-in-law. Ex brother-in-law, perhaps I should say."

"I remember you," he managed to say, stepping out of the line he was in to allow the next person access to the bored teller. He moved over to stand next to Cassandra in her line. "What are you doing here?"

"I moved out to Bay City a few months ago," she said, lifting one hand to smooth back the side of her perfectly coiffed auburn hair. That was new – it used to be brunette, like Vanessa's. Her eyes were the same startling aqua shade as her sister's, and it disturbed Hutch a little to realize how much the sisters looked alike – had looked alike. "After I divorced Allen, I put out some feelers and got a marvelous job offer from a firm here. So I took it."

"What do you do?" Hutch asked.

She gave a tinkling laugh. "You don't remember, do you? Well, I don't blame you. It was never as important as Allen's work, was it? I'm a fashion buyer for Bainbridge’s."

He remembered now. She'd studied fashion design in college, and at the time, he assumed it was just an excuse to be at college to snag a rich husband. That's why Vanessa went to college, a nasty voice whispered inside his head. Well, Vanessa had failed, hadn't she? She'd hitched her horse to the wrong wagon, assuming Ken Hutchinson would follow his father into law. He had, but not in the way she'd envisioned.

"That's terrific," he said. "So you're divorced now? I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," she said with a laugh. "It was doomed from the start, I think. Allen was just so – well, he couldn't play with his own toys, let's put it like that."

Hutch felt his face grow hot.

"I'm sorry, I've embarrassed you," she said, reaching out a cool hand to place it on his. "Listen, are you busy tonight? I'd love to have dinner with you and catch up."

"Well, I, uh -" God, he hated it when he stammered. "That is, my partner and I were going to -"

"Your partner?" Her lovely brow creased, then cleared. "Oh, yes, David, isn't it? You're still a cop, then?"

He nodded.

"I'd love to have him, too," she said, then laughed. "I mean, he's welcome, too. Do you know Chez Helene's?"

This time, Hutch laughed. "I live in the apartment above it."

Something passed over her face and was gone too quickly for him to identify it. "That's lovely," she said. "I'll meet you both there at seven, shall I? Marie is a friend of mine and will save us a table, I'm sure. Do say yes. I hate to eat alone, and I'll have to tonight if you don't accept."

"I'm sure that's a rare occurrence," Hutch said, summoning up the gallant good manners his mother had tried so hard to teach him.

"Silly," she said, giggling. "So, seven?"

"Sure," he said, hoping Starsky wouldn't kill him. His partner's opinion of Vanessa had been lower than low and he wouldn't be likely to feel much friendlier toward her sister, especially since they'd planned to have a steak at Huggy's and take it easy tonight.

"That's wonderful." Cassandra was next to be waited on, so she patted his hand again in farewell. "I'll look forward to it."

Starsky was half asleep when Hutch got back in the car, but he pried one blue eye open and slid upright to start the car. A glance at Hutch's face halted him. "What happened?"

"What are you talking about?" Hutch attempted an innocent expression.

Starsky wasn't buying it. "I know that look, buddy. What happened in there? You look like you saw a ghost."

That bad? Hutch gave a rueful grin. "Ran into an old ... friend. Cass. Van's sister."

Starsky stared. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"Moved here. Got a job here. Got divorced and started over, I guess." He gave a shrug. "Wants to take us to dinner."

"Us? Both of us?"

Hutch nodded. "Tonight. Chez Helene's. I said we'd go."

The blank astonishment on Starsky's face would have been funny if Hutch hadn't felt so strange about the whole encounter.

"I hope that's okay," Hutch added. "I know we had plans, but -"

"That's okay," Starsky said, seeing more in Hutch's face than Hutch wanted him to. "You sure I won't be a third wheel?"

"Fifth wheel," Hutch corrected automatically. "She told me to bring you, too."

Starsky studied him for another moment or two. "Hey, I like the food there," he said with forced casualness. "Guess we better get to work then, so we'll be on time, right?"

"Right."

Starsky even consented to put on a tie and sport coat for Chez Helene's. Hutch, on the other hand, felt a contrary compulsion to wear jeans and a t-shirt, but he also put on a tie. The restaurant wasn't all that elite, but it wasn't Huggy's, either.

"Honestly, Ken, what's come over you?" Vanessa stood in the doorway between bathroom and bedroom, her makeup half done, her hair still in rollers. "You're not wearing THAT, are you?"

"What's wrong with this?" he asked, turning away from the mirror where he'd been tying his tie. He was wearing tan brushed-denim pants, a light cotton shirt in a tan plaid and a plain tan tie. The shirt had been a gift from Vanessa and he'd thought it would please her for him to wear it. Not much pleased her these days, however.

"You can't go to the country club in that," she said.

"I'm wearing a tie," he said, pointing to it.

"Ken," she said, her voice rising a little in that impatient tone she used when she thought he was being deliberately dense, "this is the country club. A suit would be appropriate. That looks like something you'd wear to the policemen's summer barbecue."

That was a dig – the latest in a long line of digs – at his job. He felt his adrenalin start to pump, but forced it down. Tonight was important to her. He didn't want to ruin it with another argument. "Okay, honey," he said, trying to keep his tone level. "Which one do you think I should wear?"

"You're a big boy. Pick out your own clothes." She turned and went back into the bathroom and he had to clench his fists so hard it hurt to keep from shouting an angry retort back at her. He started to undress so he could change and had made it down to his briefs when he heard her being ill in the bathroom. He ran across the room to the door and saw her on her knees.

"Van? What's wrong?" He knew better than to approach her. There was nothing Vanessa hated more than for someone – even her husband – to see her looking less than her best.

She couldn't speak, but she waved her hand in a "go away" gesture and he retreated obediently. He finished dressing, and sooner than he'd thought possible, Van appeared, looking as beautiful and perfect as always.

"Feeling better?" It was all he dared say in reference to her being sick.

She nodded. "Fine. Must've been something I ate at lunch. Let's go."

Cassandra and Allen were waiting for them. It was rare that Vanessa's family – any of them – bothered to come to Bay City for a visit. In fact, they disapproved of his and Vanessa's move out there and constantly worked on Vanessa to come home. But when they did come, they always took them out to dinner somewhere expensive and posh, places where he and Vanessa couldn't afford to eat even on their combined salaries. And Vanessa's family knew it. If they'd done it out of kindness or affection, it would have been different. But Hutch knew they did it to show him how inadequate he was as a provider for their precious Vanessa. They always asked when he was going to "get tired of being a cop" and finish law school. They liked to tell Vanessa about all her school friends back home and how well they were doing financially. And for weeks after one of these visits, Vanessa was twice as hard to live with.

He heard the sound of the Torino pulling up in the street and a few moments later the sound of Starsky's sneakered feet pounding up the stairs. The door opened and Starsky called, "You decent, Blintz?"

"More or less," Hutch called back, finishing with his tie and stepping back to check the effect. He supposed he would do. Starsky appeared behind him. Bless him, he was wearing jeans with his tie and sport coat, and the inevitable Adidas.

"Don't you look purty," Starsky said with a grin, turning Hutch around and straightening his tie for him.

"Thanks, darling," Hutch returned good-naturedly. "Want a beer before we go?"

"Nah. I'll have one with dinner. I'm starvin', too."

Cassandra was waiting in the foyer and Hutch heard Starsky draw a sharp breath behind him.

"She's a knockout," he hissed into Hutch's ear.

"I know," Hutch said softly, raising his voice to greet Cassandra and introduce her to Starsky.

"I remember hearing about you when Vanessa and Ken were married," Cassandra said, taking Starsky's hand as if to shake it, but simply holding it instead. "I'm so glad you came, too."

"I'm sorry about Vanessa's death," Starsky said.

Cassandra nodded. "Thanks, David. It was pretty hard on all of us," she paused and glanced up at Hutch, "but let's not let it ruin our evening together. I hope you're both hungry. I have an expense account, and I love to abuse it." She laughed.

They were seated almost immediately and all three ordered drinks. Starsky and Hutch both had beer; Cassandra ordered white wine.

She took a delicate sip from her glass before leaning across the table to smile winningly at Hutch. "I know we weren't the best of friends when you and Van were together," she said. "Let's put it behind us and start fresh, okay, Ken?"

"Sure, Cassie," he said. "No hard feelings."

She giggled. "Nobody ever called me ‘Cassie' except Ken," she told Starsky. "Not even my parents. I've missed that, and you," she added to Hutch. "Tell me all about what you do. You're a detective now, aren't you?"

Hutch couldn't help feeling suspicious – she was being far too friendly compared to the way she'd always treated him – but lately Starsky had been telling him he was getting bitter and cynical and he was determined to prove him wrong. He told her about some of their cases, leaving out the worst details. She talked about her job. Starsky was unnaturally silent, answering when spoken to but otherwise just listening to them.

When their food came, conversation died for a while as they ate, but Cassandra started it up again by asking him to tell her about Vanessa's death.

"Oh, Cassie, you don't want to hear -"

"But I do," she said soberly. "I hadn't seen Van for three or four months before she died. She was always traveling and hadn't been home for a visit. We kind of grew apart, Ken. And that bothers me. You were here. I need to know. Please?"

Hutch glanced at Starsky. How much should I tell her?

No more than you have to. No sense upsetting her.

"That's amazing," Cassandra said, her eyes twinkling.

"What is?" Hutch asked.

"That silent conversation you two just had. I don't know what you said, but it was plain you were making a joint decision and you never opened your mouths."

Hutch reddened. "Well, partners, you know. We spend a lot of time together -" he trailed off uncertainly.

"I'm not offended," she said. "I think it's nice. Now, about Vanessa?"

So Hutch told her about it, leaving out the worst details again, and also leaving out how he and Starsky had bent the rules when Dryden and Starsky had come to arrest him. Starsky contributed more to this conversation, even making Cassandra laugh with the story of Huggy hiding in the casket at the funeral home to tape Wheeler's confession. When they finished, she shook her head and finished her wine before speaking.

"Van always was a little wild," she said. "No offense, Ken, but I think that's part of why she married you. She wanted to do something our parents wouldn't necessarily approve of."

"She wound up regretting that," Hutch said, not even realizing he sounded bitter until Starsky gave him a little nudge.

"It could have worked, though," Cassandra said. "If she'd only given it a chance. If she'd accepted you for who you are. But she was Daddy's girl, deep down, even though she fought it all her life."

"I guess," Hutch said. Vanessa had been a lot like her father.

"I wish she'd have had the baby," Cassandra said. "It might have saved the marriage."

Hutch felt as though he'd just climbed off a carnival ride. He was dizzy and lightheaded and his stomach was queasy. "What did you say?"

"The baby," Cassandra said. "If she'd had the baby, maybe you and she would have stayed together. A baby might have drawn you together. Instead, you -"

"What baby?"

Both of them were more than a little drunk. It was their anniversary and they'd celebrated with dinner and champagne. A lot of champagne. Now, lying in bed, Hutch turned on his side and propped his head on his hand to gaze at his beautiful wife. She giggled and reached up to stroke his hair.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

"Because you are the loveliest thing on the planet," he answered, leaning over to kiss her.

"That's sweet."

He kissed her again, more urgently, and let his hand drift down to caress her bare skin. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think it's time we thought about starting a family."

She pulled away and sat up, clutching the sheet to her protectively. "A family? Now?"

He was puzzled. "Well, not tonight," he said with a grin. "Kids might interrupt our celebration. But -"

"You think it'd be nice for me to be barefoot and pregnant?"

"You don't have to go barefoot," he said, the wine making him a little slow on the uptake and his need for her crowding most other thoughts from his mind, anyway.

"That isn't funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny, babe," he said, reaching for her again. "We can talk about it later. I just thought maybe we could start thinking about it. I don't want to rush you. We've got plenty of time -"

"Your life wouldn't change a bit," she said angrily. "You wouldn't have to get fat or go through labor or change diapers or -"

"Whoa, honey," he said, sitting up, too. "Later, okay? We'll talk about it later. I'm sorry I said anything."

But there had been no placating her and they hadn't talked about it later. They hadn't talked about it at all.

Starsky put a hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze. He was alarmed by the way the color had drained from Hutch's face.

Cassandra covered her mouth with her hand. "You mean you didn't know about the baby?"

"What baby?" Hutch repeated, and Starsky could feel the tension in the muscles of Hutch's arm.

"Oh, God. Oh, Ken, I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Van was pregnant -" She stopped and her eyes grew moist. "You really didn't know?"

"When was she pregnant? And what happened to the baby?" Hutch's voice shook, try as he might to steady it.

Cassandra reached for her wine glass, but it was empty. She signaled the waiter, who brought another one, and she didn't speak until it arrived. Hutch waited, but his face was still too pale, and it was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to shake her and force her to give him the information. Finally, she took a big gulp of her wine and reached across the table to take his hand. "She had just found out a few weeks before she left you," she said gently. "She – she had an abortion."

"When did she have this abortion?" Hutch felt his eyes beginning to burn and he had to work hard not to let Cassandra see it. Starsky unobtrusively slid his arm around the back of Hutch's chair. He was close enough that Hutch could smell his aftershave, and though he didn't say a word, he didn't have to. Just having him there helped.

"In July of ‘73," Cassandra said. "She was about three months along, maybe a little less. I can't believe she didn't tell you -"

"I can," Hutch said bitterly, and didn't care if he sounded bitter. "She knew I'd try to talk her out of it. She also knew it would affect the divorce. All she wanted was to be rid of me and anything to do with me, including my child!"

"Hutch," Starsky said quietly, and that one word brought Hutch's emotions back under control.

He glanced at Starsky. Thanks. I'm okay now.

No, you're not, but I ain't goin' anywhere.

There were tears in Cassandra's eyes and one slid down her cheek. "Oh, Ken, I am so sorry. I thought you knew. I thought it was a mutual decision -"

"I would never have agreed to that," he said shortly.

"She didn't even tell me until it was all over and she'd moved back to Duluth," Cassandra said. "She never told our parents at all. They'd have been horrified, not just about the abortion, but that she got it at one of those -" She stopped. "It wasn't a regular clinic," she finished lamely.

"A back-alley butcher, in other words?"

She nodded. "I think so. She didn't really go into details. And I'm not sure, but I think something went wrong and she probably wouldn't have been able to have children afterwards. I remember when she told me about it she said, ‘I'll never have to go through that again.'"

“Wasn’t that the same year it was legalized?” Starsky asked.

Hutch answered, still sounding bitter, “I’m not sure, but what difference does it make? She wouldn’t have wanted there to a record anywhere.”

How could Vanessa have done that and he'd never known? Hutch searched his memory, but knowing how Vanessa could manage to present a perfect appearance to the world even when she was deathly ill, he wasn't really surprised. And right after she'd left him, there had been weeks they hadn't seen each other. They'd communicated only through their lawyers...

"Cassandra," Starsky said, "no offense, but I think we oughta call it a night. Hutch has had a bad shock and -"

"Of course." She signaled the waiter again and asked for the check, removing a Diner's Club card from her wallet. While they waited for the waiter to come back, she slid a business card out of a gold case and wrote on the back of it. She held it out to Hutch. "Call me at home or at work if you need me," she said. "Anytime at all. I can't tell you how sorry I am -"

Hutch made no move to take the card, so Starsky did and slid it into his shirt pocket. The waiter came back and handed the slip and the card to Cassandra. She signed it quickly, returned the card to her wallet, and stood.

"I am sorry," she said again, looking down at Hutch. He didn't raise his eyes.

"Thanks for dinner, Cassandra," Starsky said for both of them. He stood, too, and prodded his partner to his feet. "We'll see ya later, huh? Come on, partner."

They climbed the stairs to Hutch's apartment in silence, with Starsky keeping in physical contact with Hutch all the way. He was the one who opened the door and prodded Hutch through it, steered him to the couch and sat him down. He went to the refrigerator and brought back a beer. Hutch took it without a word and drained half of it in one swallow. Starsky sat down next to him and put his arm around his back, rubbing in soft, soothing circles as he felt the tension. Hutch's muscles were stiff and his face was white, with dark circles forming under his eyes. Long minutes passed before Hutch, staring down at his beer bottle, said in a soft, hoarse whisper, "She killed my baby, Starsk. Vanessa killed my baby."

Starsky's throat closed at the raw pain in those quiet words, and he pulled Hutch a little closer. He didn't know what to say. He couldn’t help thinking terrible thoughts about Vanessa. Thoughts he was trying to keep from showing on his face. Of all the ways that woman could have chosen to hurt his partner, this one had to be one of the worst. This was worse than cheating on him, but Starsky thought Vanessa was above that. When she bored of her time with Hutch, she simply dumped him.

Sitting next to his partner, his arm around his shoulders in supportive silence, Starsky let his mind wander to Hutch and Vanessa’s breakup. The two men had known each other a long time when it happened, and they had been plainclothes partners for a year.

Starsky would never forget how upset Hutch was that night. Van had decided if he wasn’t going back to law school, she was finished with him. She needed to set her gold digging sights on someone who hadn’t pissed off his wealthy parents with his career choice. The phone call he’d made to tell Starsky she was gone was burned into Starsky’s memory.

“St-Starsk?” Hutch’s voice sounded weak and as if he were in pain.

“Hutch? What’s wrong, buddy?”

“I... Oh, God,” Hutch replied without answering.

“Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

“I’m... she’s... aw, shit.”

“Where are you?” Starsky had begun to feel panicked. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but whatever it was, couldn’t be good.

“Wh...Why?”

“Why, what, Hutch? Tell me what happened, dammit!”

The long pause on the other end of the line caused Starsky’s heart to feel tight in his chest. He called Hutch’s name a few times and didn’t get an answer. He was already putting on his shoes to rush to wherever Hutch was, but he hadn’t gotten any answers from his obviously despondent partner. His mind was racing with the possibilities. Had Hutch hurt Vanessa? Had she hurt him? Somehow, he knew it had to be about Vanessa. She had been on a roll hurting his partner lately.

“HUTCH! Listen to me! Are you at home?”

He heard a muffled sniffling sound and a quiet reply. “Yeah.”

“I’m on my way.”

Starsky had raced to Hutch’s apartment, unsure of what he might find. What he found nearly broke his heart. Hutch was sitting in the middle of his bare living room. The only things the Wicked Witch of Duluth had left him were his guitar, his clothing, his plants, a lava lamp, and the telephone. He found out later, she’d even taken the coffee pot. Not to mention having cleared out his bank accounts. The ones she could get to, anyway. Hutch had a sizeable trust fund that she was legally barred from touching. Mr. Hutchinson had seen to that. Even Starsky hadn’t known about it for years.

The only other thing Vanessa left in her vapor trail was a cruel note that drove Hutch to thoughts of suicide. Starsky worried about him constantly for a couple of months, rarely leaving him alone. Taking the Magnum away from him wasn’t an option as long as Hutch was on active duty, but his having it scared Starsky to death. Hutch was so depressed; Starsky thought he was taking chances on the street. Not with Starsky’s life, never that. He was always there to back up his partner, but Hutch was taking chances with his own life. One night, they’d been separated and Hutch had gotten himself cornered in an alley. He’d been severely beaten before Starsky came along to rescue him.

Picking up the pieces of his friend’s broken heart had been a difficult task. Starsky never wanted to see Hutch in such pain again. He thought that Vanessa’s death had at least assured that she could never hurt Hutch again. Now, Starsky got a chill from the realization that the woman had reached out from beyond the grave and grabbed his partner with her icy hand – wrapped around Hutch’s heart.

Hutch felt Starsky shiver and said, “What?”

“Sorry, Blintz. I was just thinking.”

“About Van?”

“What else? Aw, Hutch, I don’t know what to say. I know this hurts you. I can feel how much it hurts you.”

Hutch was crying now. Silent tears that made Starsky’s heart ache for him. “How could she, Starsk?” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and dropped his face into his hands.

Starsky rubbed Hutch’s back and said, “I don’t know, buddy. It’s a terrible thing to do. To not even ask you....” He stopped speaking because Hutch was shaking his head.

“No, no, you don’t understand. I want to know how she could hate me so much.”

That simple statement marked the end of Starsky’s composure. The tears he’d been trying to hold back so he could be strong for Hutch started to slide down his face. Hutch was starting to lean toward him and he slowly collapsed into Starsky’s lap.

“I would have kept the baby, Starsky. She had to know I’d want it.”

Starsky didn’t have it in him to speak platitudes about Vanessa’s possible motivation. He didn’t believe that she had anything other than selfishness in mind when she had the abortion. No doubt she hated Hutch then, but the fact that she kept it a secret was telling. Short of killing Hutch or, worse yet, killing Starsky, Vanessa couldn’t have done anything more hurtful to his friend, but she’d have had to tell him about it for it to be effective.

Starsky was angry. Angrier than he’d been in a long time. “It wasn’t that she hated you, Hutch. That’s not it at all. What good did it do if she never told you? She didn’t want any ‘complications’ in her life, buddy. Her motivation was simple. She was a spoiled, selfish bitch who wanted her own life, without hindrances. A baby would have tied her to you in some way forever and she couldn’t have that.”

Hutch wrapped an arm around Starsky’s leg and held on tightly while he cried. Starsky knew this was going to be a long haul. They had to work in the morning and he was worried that Hutch wasn’t going to be in any shape.

“Buddy, I’m gonna call Dobey in the morning and tell him we’re not comin’ in.”

“No. We’re going in.”

“Hutch....”

“I can’t just lay around here all day tomorrow and wallow in the pain. I can’t. Work’s what I need.”

“Buddy, you need to give yourself some space to grieve. This is a big deal.”

“I mean it, Starsk. I need to work.”

Starsky considered it. Maybe he could arrange for them to work in the precinct for their whole shift the next day. The mounds of paperwork they always seemed to be behind on could probably be counted on to see to that.

“All right,” he said while gently patting Hutch on the back. “We’ll play this your way. If you can’t handle it, though, you tell me.”

Hutch nodded on Starsky’s lap.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

They sat that way for a long while. Both of them cried and Hutch poured his heart out to Starsky about all of the feelings he was being flooded with since Cassandra had dropped the bomb on him.

“What if she’d kept the baby, Starsky? He’d be about five and a half now.”

“Hutch, don’t do this, buddy.”

“He’d be in kindergarten. Old enough for T-ball.”

“Stop it, now. The only thing this is going to do for you is make you more upset.”

“I know. I just can’t help wondering. I might never have a child. What would it have been like? Would he have looked like me, or would she? Would I be a good dad?”

“You’d have been the best dad ever, Hutch. Don’t think like that. You might still get that chance, buddy. You’re still young. Besides, I thought the ‘What If’ game was my department. You tryin’ to horn in on my act?”

At least that got an abbreviated laugh out of the troubled man. Starsky spent the best part of the next two hours getting his partner calmed down enough to go to sleep. He wished that Hutch would get angry, vent, throw things. That would be better than the state he was in at the moment. When Hutch crumbled this way, quietly sobbing his pain out, Starsky knew how deeply hurt he was. This was not Hutch’s, “I’m angry but I’ll let off some steam and feel better” pain. This was deep, in his soul, shattered heart pain. Starsky knew he’d have to work hard to help his best friend find his equilibrium again.

When Hutch was cried out, and his breathing was becoming slower and more even, Starsky knew he needed to get him to go to sleep. Hutch was as limp as a noodle, but somehow Starsky managed to get him on his feet and help him to bed. He pulled off Hutch’s shoes. He’d already divested him of his jacket and tie hours ago. He sat on the side of Hutch’s bed and rubbed his back, soothing him to sleep.

Starsky stood to go out and crash on the couch when he heard Hutch quietly ask, “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Of course not, pal. I’m gonna stay here tonight.”

“Thanks, Starsk.”

“Good night, Hutch.”

“‘Night, Starsk.”

Starsky made a bed on the couch and proceeded to actively not sleep for hours. He was so angry HE wanted to throw things. How dare Vanessa do such a thing? He mentally smacked himself when he had the thought that it was a good thing she was already dead. He had definite homicidal thoughts toward her on this night. One thing was bothering him and he was going to check on it the next morning. Whatever his thoughts, he knew he’d better get them all out of his system so he could be there for Hutch.

~*~*~*~

The next day, Hutch wasn’t up at the annoying hour he usually arose. Starsky woke up early for a change and realized his partner hadn’t budged all night. He was glad in a way – that probably meant Hutch’s dreams were not too distressing. He often had nightmares, but not last night. He must have been too wrung out to have nightmares.

In the year since Vanessa’s murder, Hutch had become more cynical. He’d given up a lot of his healthy habits, he’d let his hair get a lot longer, grown a moustache, and lost his every morning jogging habit. Lately, he’d only gone a few times a week. Starsky went to the kitchen to make them something for breakfast, a little sad that he didn’t need to worry about how to make the blender produce one of Hutch’s morning shakes. He’d given them up, also.

After breakfast, showers, and getting dressed for work, they went out of the apartment to the Torino. Hutch had barely touched his food and he looked rough around the edges.

“You sure you’re up to this?”

“I’m sure. Let’s just go.”

As they pulled away from the curb, Hutch stared at Chez Helene’s like it was new to him. He would always remember that it was where he’d heard about what Vanessa did.

The morning was going better than Starsky had hoped. Focusing on their paperwork monster was giving Hutch something to do that was keeping his mind off of things. Starsky had found the time to slip in to see Dobey and explain things, and then he went out and told Hutch he had to run down to records for something.

Starsky was on a mission. He wanted to see Vanessa’s autopsy record. He’d read enough autopsy reports to know that the ME often mentioned whether a woman had ever given birth. Maybe they could tell if she’d ever been pregnant and had recorded it.

He took the file into a small conference room and reviewed it – paging past the reports, the records of Hutch being accused of her murder, the pictures of the crime scene, and the notes naming the real killer. Hutch had been exonerated. He finally came to the autopsy report and he read it with an odd sense of detached fascination. Hutch had never read the report. He couldn’t. A lot of people saw Hutch as cool and collected to the point of being icy. His Nordic stoicism was well known. Starsky, and Hutch’s other friends, knew the truth. Hutch was like an onion – a man of many layers. That calm demeanor was his exterior facade. Starsky sometimes wondered if the deadly accurate, dangerous man he partnered with on the street was a mask for the musical, sensitive, gentle soul that was his best friend. His recent bout of cynicism had Starsky worried, but he couldn’t think about that now. He needed to focus on the autopsy transcript.

The victim, Vanessa Davenport Hutchinson, was a Caucasian female, age 34. Victim was 67 inches tall, weight 120 pounds. Blood type A+. Cause of death was from a single, large caliber gunshot to the chest. The murder weapon was a Colt .357 Magnum. The bullet....

Starsky skipped through the more graphic parts of the autopsy. He didn’t care how much Vanessa’s liver weighed, or really need to read about the skin and blood found under her fingernails. Skin she’d scraped off of Hutch’s hand after he blocked her from slapping his face at The Pits. He finally came to the part he wanted to read.

Extensive uterine scarring indicates that the victim had an abortion, probably done in a non-sterile environment. The condition of the uterus is such that the victim was rendered incapable of carrying a child to term. This abortion was possibly mid term, and probably done four or five years ago, based on the appearance of the scars and the level of healing.

The victim’s general health....

That was what Starsky wanted to know – if it was true that Vanessa had ever had an abortion. He was feeling a bit guilty about his attraction to Cassandra. She was a beautiful woman, but she was Hutch’s ex-sister-in-law. He almost felt disloyal. That’s why he had decided to try and check out her story. He didn’t want to take it on face value because she was a beautiful, sophisticated woman to whom he was tremendously attracted. This was Hutch’s heart she was playing with and Starsky wanted to be certain. His secondary reason was a natural caution brought on by the fact that Cassandra was Vanessa’s sister. She looked a lot like her sister. Maybe she WAS like her in more ways than one. Starsky knew he’d better tread lightly.

He returned the file to the records room and went back upstairs. Hutch was just finishing up another report when he walked into the squad room. Starsky was getting pretty hungry and he was hoping he could coax Hutch into eating.

“What’d’ya say we knock off for a while and grab some lunch?” he asked as he pulled out his chair and sat on the back of it, resting his feet on the seat.

Hutch looked up from signing the report and said, “You go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

Starsky leaned closer to him and said, “Come on, go with me. Maybe you’ll find out you are hungry. Besides, the fresh air will do you good. Come on, we’ll grab some sandwiches and run down to the park to eat ‘em. Okay?”

Hutch could rarely resist Starsky when he was like this – concerned only for Hutch. He decided to give in with little argument. Maybe his partner was right.

Just as they were exiting the squad room, Simmons and Babcock were walking toward them. They were laughing about something. Starsky stopped them to say a quick hello and Simmons explained. “Man, they’ve got about eight brand new bikes downstairs for that new group of motorcycle jockeys.”

Starsky’s eyes lit up at the news. “They’re here?”

“Yeah,” Babcock said. “They let us take one around the block. You should go down there and ask ‘em.”

“Come on, Hutch, let’s go,” Starsky said, grabbing his partner’s arm excitedly.

“Starsk, I don’t -”

“Sure you do. It’ll be fun. Come on, please?”

Hutch shook his head, resigned, and followed Starsky down to the garage, where a row of shiny new Harley-Davidson Super Glides was the center of an admiring throng of officers. Benny Barton, the officer in charge of the motor pool, was beaming as proudly as if he’d just given birth to the bikes.

“Starsky! Hutch! I wondered how long it’d take you two to show,” Benny said with a big grin. “Whattya think of ‘em? Ready to turn in the Tomato for a real set of wheels, Starsk?”

Starsky laughed. “Naw, Benny, not permanently. Too hard to make out on a bike, y’know? But I’d sure love to take one of these babies for a spin. Can I, huh? Can I, please?” He folded his hands and pretended to plead.

Benny’s grin got even wider and he tossed a set of keys toward Starsky. “Be my guest, Sarge. Don’t wreck it.”

Starsky caught the keys and strode toward the bike Benny indicated. “She’s a beauty,” he said, walking around it and gently stroking the shiny fender. “Who’s gonna ride ‘em?”

“The traffic guys,” Benny said. “Department thought it’d be easier for ‘em to hide and spring speed traps with bikes than it is in squads.”

Starsky mounted the bike and experimentally stood it up off the kickstand to get the feel of it. Benny held out a helmet, which Starsky accepted and put on before he started the bike. “Hey, Hutch, come on. I’ll give ya a ride.”

“No,” Hutch said, making no move to climb on. “You go ahead.”

“Aw, come on, buddy,” Starsky begged. “I won’t do nothin’ crazy.”

“You can ride one yourself if you want,” Benny offered.

Hutch shook his head. “No, my concentration’s kind of off today. I wouldn’t feel safe.”

“Then get on with me,” Starsky said. “Just around the block, then we’ll go get some lunch.”

Hutch rolled his eyes, but gave in and climbed on behind Starsky, pulling his sunglasses out of his pocket and putting them on. “Once around the block,” he said. “And only once.”

“I promise,” Starsky said, revving the motor and giving a mock salute to Benny. “Be right back.” Traffic was light this time of day, for a change, and Starsky, waiting for a break so he could pull out of the lot into the street, grinned over his shoulder at Hutch. “Almost makes a man want to go back to uniform, don’t it?”

“Nope,” Hutch said. “Traffic duty sucks almost as much as writing reports.”

Starsky chuckled, found his break, and pulled out into the street. The big bike responded almost like a living thing and even Hutch had to admit it was fun. Starsky stopped at the light and, just for fun, hit the siren.

“Cut that out,” Hutch said, laughing in spite of himself. He was holding onto the chrome luggage rack behind the seat, and he let go with one hand to poke his partner in the ribs. “Juvenile delinquent.”

Starsky snickered and turned right. What happened next happened so fast that neither of them could ever get the story the same. An alley cut the next street in half, a street lined with small businesses – a pawnshop, a couple of clothing stores and a mom-and-pop grocery. Starsky was going about thirty miles an hour when a car careened out of that alley and broadsided the motorcycle. Hutch saw it coming out of the corner of his eye and only had time to shout his partner’s name in warning before the impact, which threw him through the air to land with a sickening thud in the street about 10 feet away. Starsky desperately hung onto the bike as it skidded sideways and fell over, sliding into the curb and pinning his right knee to the sidewalk. The car kept going, and Starsky just caught a glimpse of white as it sped away. His ears were ringing and his knee was on fire, but he disentangled himself from the motorcycle and his helmet with the help of a pedestrian who had run over to help, and staggered over to Hutch. Another motorist had stopped her car just in time to keep from running over Hutch, and she was already out of her car and kneeling next to him.

“H-Hutch?” Starsky’s heart was in his throat and he threw himself down next to the woman. She had produced a scarf from her jacket pocket and was using it to wipe blood from Hutch’s face. So much blood...it soaked into his hair and ran over his forehead and dripped onto the ground. “Oh, my God, Hutch!”

Hutch’s face was white and he was out cold, but he was breathing. Starsky was afraid to move him or touch him.

The man who had helped Starsky get off the bike said, “I sent my son to call an ambulance. Is he hurt bad?”

Starsky couldn’t speak. He shook his head helplessly and gently touched Hutch’s cheek.

“Looks like he took a nasty knock to the head,” the woman said. “It probably looks worse than it is. Head wounds always bleed a lot.”

Starsky was shaking like a leaf, with tears standing in his eyes.

The woman laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right,” she said, very gently. “Are you hurt?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he said blankly, his whole attention focused on his partner, who still had not stirred.

A squad car roared up and a traffic cop Starsky didn’t know got out. Simmons and Babcock were right behind him in their car. They had gone back downstairs to wait and see what their friends thought of the new bike, and they heard the dispatch to roll to a motorcycle accident right around the corner. Without a word, they’d run for their car to make sure it wasn’t Starsky and Hutch. Simmons got to Starsky first and knelt, putting his arm around him. “You okay, Starsk?”

Babcock very carefully parted Hutch’s hair to see if he could tell how badly he was hurt.

“Be careful!” Starsky barked at him. “Don’t move him!”

“Easy, pal,” Simmons said soothingly. “He’s not going to make it worse.”

The traffic cop was taking statements from the witnesses first and had just got to Starsky when the ambulance arrived. “All right, sir, I need you to tell me what happened.”

“Go to hell!” Starsky said, rising long enough to get out of the way for the paramedics, but not so far out of the way that he couldn’t watch what was happening.

The traffic cop frowned fiercely. “Look here, sir, you can’t talk to an officer of the law that way, even if you are upset -”

“You look,” Simmons said angrily. “This is Detective Serg