From: HILLEMANN@MACALSTR.EDU
Date: Wed, 26 Apr 1995 21:40:23 -0500 (CDT)
Subject: "Partners"  (Part 7)
Message-Id: <01HPT36NVWCOAL34X6@MACALSTR.EDU>

"Partners"  (Part 7)
By Beth Hillemann


Day Three

Sam woke suddenly, startled by some noise.  He peered blearily at this watch
and thought is said 5:00.  Then he heard Hutch cry out, and he dived off the
couch and stumbled to the bed, banging his ankle on the coffee table in his
haste.  On the bed Hutch was thrashing about, mumbling words, obviously caught
up in a dream.

"No!" Hutch cried clearly, and he started up, flailing.

"Hutch," Sam grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little.  "Hutch, wake
up!"

"Hutch's eyes snapped open and he looked dazedly at Sam, then raised a shaking
hand to his head.  "What?" he whispered.

"It's okay," Sam soothed.  "You were just having a nightmare, I think."

Hutch stared at him, comprehension gradually replacing the confusion.  He fell
back on the pillow, his eyes closing.  "No," he said, almost too softly for Sam
to hear.  "I'm still living it."  After a moment he opened his eyes and 
regarded Sam.  "Is there a reason why you're here?"

Sam explained, "You needed a little help getting home last night."

"Oh," Hutch said.  "I see.  Sorry about that."

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, shrugging off the apology.

"Like my head's in a vise; but otherwise okay," Hutch answered.  "Is there any
coffee around?"

"Yeah, out in the kitchen.  Shall I bring you some?"

"No, I'll come out.  Just...give me a few minutes to get vertical."


Some time later, the two men sat at Hutch's kitchen table, sharing a cup of
coffee.  The sun was up and shining through the kitchen window.  Hutch, after a
quick squint, sat with his back to the window.

"Remind me not to do that again," Hutch said, holding his head.

"What?  Look at the sun?"

"No.  Drown my sorrows at Huggy's"  Hutch gave Sam the ghost of a rueful smile. 
He seemed more relaxed this morning in Sam's company.

Sam smiled, sipped his coffee, and wondered if this was his chance to ask Hutch
about Starsky.  He wanted Hutch's perspective, but he was wary of losing the
little trust he had gained in the past two days.  Finally Sam put fate to the
test and said quietly, "Tell me about your partner."

Hutch grew still, and Sam held his breath.  Like a diamond cutter he had made
his first cut--and he waited to see if it would open up riches or crumble to
dust.  "Why do you want to know?" Hutch asked in a low voice.

Sam chose his words carefully.  "Because you're hurting," he said.  "There are
a lot of people who are concerned about you.  And sometimes it really does help
to talk.  Even to a stranger--perhaps most easily to a stranger."

Hutch regarded Sam for a moment, then looked away and Sam braced himself for a
retreat to arctic coldness, but then Hutch spoke again, his eyes still averted. 
"He was the best friend I ever had," he said, and swallowed.  "Those words seem
so inadequate to describe it.  He was my partner and...I loved him."  He fell
silent.

"Not all partners are so close," Sam ventured.

"No," Hutch agreed.  "We were.  It got so we didn't even need to talk to know
what the other was thinking."  He stared into the distance a look of sorrow and
something close to longing in his eyes.  "'Me and thee'," he murmured to
himself, as if quoting.

Sam hesitated, then asked softly, "How'd you meet?"

Hutch's eyes refocused and he drew in a breath.  "We met at the Academy, but we
didn't really know each other until Captain Dobey put us on a case."  The
glimmer of a smile tugged at his mouth.  "I think he thought we'd either kill
each other or wind up a team.  And considering the difficulties he'd been
having with us individually, I don't think he cared much which way it went."

"And you ended up a team."

"Mmhmm," Hutch nodded.  "After awhile."

Sam looked at him questioningly.  "You weren't right away?"

"No," Hutch said, and the smile blossomed to a grin at some private thought. 
"I think you could safely say we didn't get along."

"What happened?" Sam asked, curious.  "What changed it?"

Hutch was gazing into the past, his smile turning reminiscent.  "Our
differences ended up being a bonus.  We complimented each other."  He
transferred his gaze to his cup.  "And we felt the same on the important
stuff."  He fell silent again, contemplating his coffee.  Sam held still;
sometimes waiting was the best encouragement.

Hutch shook his head, almost in amazement.  "He was so different from me.  He'd
eat the most God-awful food, thinking it gourmet cuisine.  He prided himself on
that souped up Torino.  Drove me crazy with his enthusiasms and his bizarre
sense of humor.  He was by turns wise and silly, cynical and naive.  Sometimes
he could be a real jerk; others...a better friend than I ever believed
possible."  Hutch closed his eyes for a moment.  "Yet for all his wise-cracking
and that tough exterior, he never could separate his heart from the job.  He
was a very good cop."  Sam, watching Hutch, saw despair creep across his face
as he continued.  "And he saw right through me to the core."  Hutch's eyes
lifted to meet Sam's, their expression a curious mix of grief, wistfulness and
pride.  "He was himself," he said simply.  "And I was myself with him."

It was Sam's turn to look away, hiding his reaction, thinking there was no
better way to describe a friend.  When he could trust his voice, he asked,
softly, "And now?"

"Now," Hutch said, taking a deep breath, "he's gone and I feel... 
unbalanced--like losing a leg and having to learn how to walk all over
again."  He shook his head.  "No, it's worse than that.  I've lost my center. 
No matter how crazy things became around here--kids raped, innocent people
dying for stupid reasons, leaks in the Deaprtment, bad cops...I could always
count on him.  For my life, for my sanity.  He was the one thing I was
absolutely sure of."

The hair on the back of Sam's neck rose as he heard the conviction in Hutch's
voice.  What if Starsky _had_ betrayed him?

"You must have known," Sam said, after a pause, and seeking perhaps an answer
himself.  "You must have known that one or both of you could die..."

"Yes," Hutch agreed, "we knew; we never talked about it.  The risks were part
of the friendship--maybe they were part of the reason it grew so deep."  He
hesitated, then admitted with difficulty, "There were times when I thought
maybe we'd be better off not caring so much.  More than once he almost
died--and _God_ that scared me.  And I know it scared him, too, when I was in
danger.  I would have spared him that, if I could."

Hutch was gazing into the distance again, his face settling into desolate 
planes. "Then it happened, and I wasn't there when he needed me."

"It wasn't your fault," Sam said weakly, knowing it wouldn't help.

Hutch shook his head.  "It's not so much a question of fault," he explained. 
"It's simply the fact that I wasn't there.  That, and the helplessness--I never
felt so helpless.  All those times before, when he was in danger, there was
always _something_ I could do.  Even if it seemed like nothing at the time. 
What I can't forget now is what I felt when I saw that building blow up...and
when I couldn't find him, after."  Hutch was staring at a vision only he could
see, and Sam prayed he'd never see it himself--or Al.

Sam, diverted from his purpose, spoke urgently from the heart, "How do you
survive that?  Risking your own life is one thing, but how do you survive
allowing your best friend to risk his life--or his sanity--repeatedly.  Maybe
even for you?"

"We're cops," Hutch shrugged.  "I couldn't very well keep him out of danger."

Sam brushed that aside impatiently.  "I know that; it's too easy an answer.  He
was in double-jeopardy wasn't he?  Risking his own life, and risking yours--and
what your death would do to him.  Look at what his death has done to you.  You
just said you'd have spared him that.  Where does your duty lie then, in
friendship?"

Hutch gazed at him for a long time, and Sam saw strength and conviction
gathering from everything he had experienced.  "You do what's right for your
friend," Hutch said quietly, with steadfast faith. "Even if I could have kept
him out of danger, I never would have.  Being a cop and throwing himself into
those situations was too much a part of who he was.  How could I be his friend
and not allow him to make his own choices?  Including the ones that kept him by
my side, despite everything and against all reason."  A small smile quirked one
corner of his mouth, and his eyes warmed.  "You were right yesterday, you
know--about partners and risks.  And maybe that's the best way to describe how
we felt about each other.  I allowed him to risk his life, and he allowed me to
risk mine--and we both tried our damndest to keep each other alive."  There was
joy now, growing at the back of the serious blue eyes.  "It's a wonderful
privilege to have a partner like that--and a terrible responsibility."

Caught in that gaze, Sam was silent, struggling with his own conflicting
feelings of responsibility for the well-being of his friend and partner.


Sam left soon after to get an early start on work, hoping to get a look at
Starksy's and Hutch's files before Hutch arrived.  The events of yesterday and
that morning had served to breach the barrier that Hutch had put around
himself--but Sam had a pretty good idea what Hutch would think of his going
through the files.  Gaining access to the files was not difficult since they
were kept in cabinets in the squad room.  There were a few officers scattered
about even that early, so as nonchalantly as possible, Sam gathered up the pile
of records and found an empty interrogation room to read them in.  Al popped in
some time later to check on his progress.

"Find anything?" Al inquired.  Today he was in a blue metallic-looking suit
with a purple shirt and black bow tie, with white squares on it.  Sam studeid
his partner, relieved to see that the unusual nervousness of the last two days
had disappeared.  Al seemed to have come to terms with the situation they were
put in on this leap--or he was hiding it better.

"Yeah," Sam replied to his partner, "that all sorts of people might want to
kill either or both of them.  Idon't know how they survived _this_ long."

"Well, they are cops," Al said, coming around to peer over Sam's shoulder.

"Yesh, and that's the other point," Sam said.  "Regardless of how these people
felt, they were smart enought to know there'd be hell to pay if they killed a
cop."

"So the guy set them up to make it look like a tragedy rather than an
execution," Al explained.

"Or we're back to Starsky," Sam said depressingly.

"Well keep looking," Al ordered, "'cause I don't want to believe that."

Sam turned his attention back to the files.  After a few moments he said, "Al,
this is kind of interesting..."  He read some more.  "Al," he said with growing
excitement, "how many days was it after Starsky 'died' that Hutch committed
suicide?"

"Uhh," Al poked at the handlink until it squeaked out an answer.  "Twenty-five. 
Why?"

Sam raised his eyes, a look of understanding spreading over his face.  "We might
_have_ it," he said with suppressed triumph.

Suddenly the door opened and Hutch walked into the interrogation room, his face
shut tight and his eyes hostile.

"Oh-oh," Al said, "I think you're in trouble, Sam."  He began manipulating the
handlink.  "And I think I'll go for a little walk..."

Under his breath Sam hissed, "Al!"  He turned to Hutch and said, rather feebly,
"Morning, Hutch."

"Just what the hell is this all about?" Hutch inquired in a deceptively
pleasant voice, that didn't fool Sam.  He closed the door and walked forward,
fingering the files on the table before Sam.  "Starsky's and my files," he
nodded.  "Peterson said you were into them.  What's going on?"

"I just wanted to check something," Sam began gingerly, standing up to talk to
Hutch.

"And you couldn't ask me?" Hutch asked, with raised eyebrows.  "You working for
I.A.?"

"No," Sam shook his head.  "Look, I know this looks like I'm prying..."

"Damn right," Hutch agreed.  "And all those questions about Starsky this
morning..."

"I was just trying to help," Sam insisted.

"I think you'd better tell him your theories Sam," Al said, surveying Hutch's
tense frame.  "_Not_ the one about Starsky, though," he added strongly.

"I think you can stop 'helping'." Hutch said heatedly.

"Look," Sam said, rattled.  "I know this doesn't look right, but I _am_ trying
to help.  I think you and Starsky were set up at that asylum and," he
hesitated, then plunged ahead, "I don't think Starsky was killed."

"What?" Hutch asked incredulously.  "You think _what_?"

"I've been looking at the report at the asylum," Sam continued, ignoring
Hutch's response.  "The guy they identified, Evan Thorpe?  The medical examiner
said there was a contusion on his head as if something had struck him from
behind.  But the wound wasn't consistent with the other injuries from the
explosion.  He concluded that he couldn't tell how it had gotten there.  I
think Evan Thorpe was knocked out _before_ the explosion, which means that
either Starsky hit him or someone else was in that building."

"Maybe Starsky did hit him, and then tried to get to the bomb..." Hutch broke
off, not wanting to continue.

"Maybe," Sam conceded.  "But maybe someone else was in that building.  Look at
the other things.  Did you know that the lock on the door of the room you were
trapped in was the _only_ well-oiled and working lock in the place?"

Hutch was silent, but Al comented in an aside, "Not that you actually checked
every other lock in the place, Sam."

"I _saw_ Thorpe drag Starsky into that building," Hutch said in a level voice. 
"I saw the explosion.  They found him."

"They found a body they couldn't identify," Sam interrupted.

"If Starsky didn't die, then _where is he_?"  Hutch was working hard to keep
his voice controlled.

"I have a guess," Sam began cautiously.

"Don't tell him that one, Sam," Al warned.

"I-I thought at first that maybe Starsky was involved in it--had faked his own
death..."

"Aww, _Sam_," Al shook his head.

Hutch stared at him, a myriad of emotions passing over his face.  To Sam's
great surprise, the one that finally surfaced was laughter.  Hutch shook his
head.  "Where the hell did you ever get that idea?" he said finally, when he
was able to speak.  The laughter had worked as a release and he was now more
relaxed.

"I...uh," Sam hesitated, at a loss for words.  He glanced at Al who threw his
hands up, then looked back at Hutch.  "A...part of me told me it was
impossible, but..."

"But it seemed a reasonable hypothesis," Hutch concluded.  "I'd have thought
the same thing if I were you," he nodded.  "Of course I'd have first had to
think of this wild idea."

"I think I know who's responsible," Sam blurted out.

Hutch closed his eyes, the laughter beginning to be replaced by fatigue. 
"Who?"

"Cameron," Sam said.  "I think it was Cameron."

"Who's Cameron?" Al asked with interest.

Hutch opened his eyes.  "In revenge for his brother?" he said dubiously.  "That
was more than a year ago."

"He wanted to get it just right," Sam argued.  "So he set it up perfectly.  He
made you think that Starsky had died, kind of like how his younger brother
'died' when you shot him and he was paralyzed."

"He chose to shoot it out, in the drug bust," Hutch said.

"What drug bust?" Al asked.  "What's going on, Sam?"

"I know," Sam agreed.  "I know how it happened.  But listen, it was _exactly_
25 days after the shooting that he died in the hospital.  I think that Cameron
planned to put you through two deaths, just like he felt he had gone through. 
I think he's got Starsky and he's going to call you to come get him tomorrow
and then he's going to kill you both."

Hutch stared at Sam for a long moment.  "That's crazy," he said.  "That can't
possibly be right," but his voice wavered with the slightest bit of
uncertainty.  His eyes were looking at Sam with a haunted expression.

"I know," Sam began, and his voice cracked.  "I know it sounds crazy.  Maybe it
is, even.  But it seems certain that whatever happened you two were set up. 
Why don't we try to find out who did that, at least?"

Hutch visibly pulled himself together.  "Yeah," he said, his voice rough. 
"Sure, we can do that.  And I know where to start."

"Where?"

"With the tip that sent us there," Hutch said with conviction.  "Let's go see
Huggy."  He turned and headed out of the room.

Under cover of gathering the files, Sam whispered to Al, "Find out all you can
about a Vernon Cameron."

--End of Part 7--

Beth Hillemann
hillemann@macalstr.edu