The harsh sound of weeping reached them
clearly even through the closed door.
Both men paused; the sound stabbed
deep, a sharpened sword piercing, slicing, cutting through both
heart and soul and leaving only bloody tatters in its wake.
With a wrench the darker of the two pulled himself away from the
sound.
He cast a single glance at his fair
companion -- a burning glare ripe with anguish, reproach, and
even hatred.
Then he was off, running hard to his
car, tires screaming as he pulled away from the curb and was
gone.
The blond froze stock still, stunned by that single look.
The anguish in his own face mirrored
that of the other's, a pain and a guilt too deep to bear.
He hesitated, one hand on the door,
uncertain.
To knock or--?
The hand fell away.
Leaden feet carried him to the
battered
Ford parked behind that great empty
space which had once held the red Torino.
Wearily, he climbed in, allowing the
seat to enfold him in firm embrace.
Habit and instinct alone turned him
in the direction of home.
Behind the closed door, a slender blonde listened intently,
choking on the sobs shaking her body.
She heard the dark man's pounding
feet, then the roar of a high-powered engine being revved up
past its tolerance.
A horn blared, and it was gone, lost
in the rush hour traffic.
Tense moments passed, then a second pair of feet made their way
across her porch to the pavement, slowly, brokenly.
Another car started up, not
high-powered like the first; this one was old, choking on its
own exhaust.
Then it, too, faded, swallowed up by
the hungry city.
She waited until she was sure both
men were gone, then sniffed loudly,
the tears shutting themselves off as if on a tap.
Grabbing a tissue from the nearly
full box she'd secreted near the door for the occasion, she
swiped futilely at her ruined makeup, succeeding only in
smearing her mascara further.
A muffled
curse escaped her full lips at the
thought that. she'd have to put up with puffy eyes for the rest
of the day.
Maybe a little ice...?
But there was something she needed to do first.
En route to the kitchen she made a
detour, settling down in the pleasant little nook that housed
the telephone.
The ice would have to wait a few
minutes.
She dialed a number long since
committed to memory, waited a moment before speaking.
"This is Kira.
Everything went as planned."
With only half her mind on the curt
voice speaking on the other end of the line, she stretched long
legs out in front, wiggling her toes with a sigh.
If nothing else, Ken was certainly
... energetic.
She sat up suddenly, responding unconsciously to the whiplash
question hurled at her.
"What?
Oh, yes, so far your plan is working
perfectly.
By the time I'm finished, the famous
partnership of Starsky and Hutchinson will be ancient history.
... Yes ...no.... Yes, I can handle it.
No problem.
And good day to you, too, ... Mr.
Bates."
***
He paced the apartment, a sleek, angry cat in a steel cage.
Only, this cat had broken claws --
broken clean off.
And the steel cage was his own
heart, locked tight.
Why?
Thought or spoken, the word rang
through the house, echoed within his skull.
Why did you do this to me?
Why?
Despair welled up, overflowing the
empty corridors of heart and mind, temporarily washing away the
anger.
Why, Hutch?
Reality trembled before the
dissolution of a bond that would have withstood time and danger
and even Hela icy touch.
Death, yes, but... betrayal?
He choked on the word, teeth clamped so tight his jaw ached.
Kira and Hutch.
Betrayed.
...
Hutch.
Trembling arms wrapped around
himself, Starsky collapsed in a heap in one corner of the sofa.
It hurts, Hutch.
The rattle of a key in the lock pierced his consciousness.
Go away, he begged.
I don't want to face you now.
He huddled tighter, miserable,
refusing to raise his face at the soft step behind, denying
reaction to the quivering hand on his shoulders.
"Starsky."
Barely a whisper, but the naked pain
in that whisper was at least as intense as his own.
He longed to accept that hand and
the comfort which went with it.
Longed -- wished -- with every fiber
of his being, needed to return the comfort and ease away the
edges from that bleak voice.
But he couldn't.
The wounds were open, raw, seeping
blood.
He shivered slightly, murmuring to
himself, "Go away, Hutch."
The need grew: solace, assurance, reaffirmation of normalcy, of
friendship
And then the memory -- stubborn, bedamned memory -- flooded back
with a roar.
He turned tightly, still huddled.
"How could you do that to me.
How, Hutch?"
The words escaped of their own
volition, forced between clenched teeth.
"You knew how I felt.
I told
you how I felt.
Didn't that mean anything to you?
That's what I can't accept: you didn't even--"
He choked, the outburst damming
against the lump in his throat.
The hand on his shoulder froze, solid as marble.
"Starsky...?"
Rage flared.
Starsky growled deep in his throat,
voiceless testimony to passions barely , violence striving to
break free.
The darker man leaped to his feet,
brushing off the offending hand curtly.
"You lousy--"
"I'm sorry," was the slow, sad reply.
The effect of that single sentence was like a dash of cold
water, driving anger away in a rush, adrenaline dissipating
suddenly.
Starsky perception was of shrinking,
and crawling back into the refuge of
the sofa he felt more like a bewildered child that a man.
"Sit," he croaked.
One word, but Hutch seized it
gratefully, a lifeline.
The blond settled on one cushion gingerly, causing Starsky to
remember the vicious blows rained onto the lean body earlier --
damage inflicted by himself.
I hope it hurts, he thought
spitefully, while recognizing the lie for what it was.
His face, bloodless with misery,
colored with honest shame.
He'd never struck Hutch before, not
in anger.
Why, Hutch?
They sat like that for a long time, not speaking, simply
looking.
Feeling.
Hurting.
Silence enveloped them like a womb,
smothering.
Outside, a nightbird called to its
mate, the hoarse shriek piercing the stillness.
It penetrated the suffocating
atmosphere of the room, galvanizing both men to speech.
"Hutch--"
"Starsky, I--"
Hutch laughed slightly, humorlessly,
with his lips but not his eyes.
"You first."
Starsky sank even further back into his corner, drawing his
knees up to his chest in an oddly defensive position for so
strong a man.
He wrapped his arms around his legs,
allowing the other hand to drop, worrying fretfully at a loose
thread on the couch.
It cost him an effort to speak
again, and when he did, the words were low, defeated, even in
his own ears.
"It hurts, Hutch."
"I know it does."
Softly.
"Everything gone.
Everything.
Kira, you, gone."
Silence during which Starsky could
hear his own blood pounding in his ears.
"It hurts so much -- more than
anything ever hurt me before."
"Starsky, I--"
"Why?" the words came faster now, more impassioned with the
desperate need for understanding.
"Why, Hutch?
Just tell me, why?"
"I don't know."
The agony in that soft voice cut through Starsky's own pain,
bringing his head up with a snap.
He sought the taller man's eyes
above the ragged blond mustache, but Hutch's face remained fixed
on the long fingers he'd twisted in his lap.
"You don't know?"
Hutch shook his head.
"No.
She was there, Starsk.
I don't know."
He lifted his hands, palms up in a
helpless gesture.
"What can I say?
Tell me what I can say or do.
Anything, Starsk, to make it right."
The hollow, resigned note matched the dead eyes, as if Hutch
already knew that nothing could really make it right again, and
he was correct.
Nothing could ever make this right,
but maybe--
Was there anything left of them to
salvage?
That was the main -- the
only -- real
question at this point, and suddenly it was vitally important to
both of them to know the answer.
"Starsky...."
"Hutch...."
Again they spoke as one -- one thought, one mind, one heart.
This time it was Starsky who gave
way.
He clamped his hand on the cushion,
abandoning the abused thread.
"Your turn."
Hutch swallowed hard, seeking to force numb lips to move.
Why was it so hard to apologize?
So incredibly difficult to admit he
was wrong.
This is
Starsky!
He raised his own head, drinking
deep the gemstone eyes fixed so determinedly on his own.
There was the smallest glimmer of
encouragement laid over the desperate need in that pale face,
and suddenly speech wasn't so difficult anymore.
"Starsky, I'm sorry.
I have no explanation to offer -- I
don't understand myself, but I am
sorry.
I'm sorry because I hurt the one
person closer to me
than anyone on this earth."
A single tear trickled down Hutch's face, lodging in the blond
mustache.
It caught the light of the table
lamp, sparkling with myriad facets of color.
Starsky uncurled himself from his
defensive huddle, dropping his feet to the floor and reaching
out to touch the small circle of moisture.
He dislodged it from the mustache,
allowing it to complete its fall.
"It's all right, Hutch," he said
softly, unaware of the wetness of his own face.
As easy as that.
Easy for Starsky.
Not so easy for Hutch.
Hutch accepted the forgiveness, the reaffirmation of friendship,
gratefully, absorbing its warmth into the cold, dark hole which
had slowly and inexorably taken the place of his heart over this
past year.
The warmth soothed him, filled him,
but couldn't quite heal him.
Starsky -- dear, resilient, ever
trusting Starsky -- Starsky perhaps would heal as he had healed
in the past.
Maybe even forget in time.
But Hutch.... Kenneth Hutchinson looked inside his own soul and
was unable to forgive himself, for his judge was that cruelest
magistrate of all -- himself.
Guilt remained a heavy burden on his
broad shoulders, settling as it had so often in the past,
sinking sharp talons deep into his heart.
Impulsively, Hutch pulled the other
man into his arms, laying one cheek against the soft hair and
holding on for dear life.
He felt warm arms wrap themselves
around his own waist, clinging tightly, seeking as well as
offering comfort and solace.
How long they sat like that, neither man was afterward able to
tell, but it was a long time, neither willing to relinquish his
hold on the other, neither willing to let the moment pass.
Two weary souls reached through the
restraints of "self," pouring a balm of love and affection over
still-bleeding wounds, anodyne to suffering and pain.
Heartbeats slowed, matching rhythm,
a steady thump-thump of empathic synchronicity.
Hutch brought one hand up, idly fingering the dark curls.
Remorse
welled, a bitter fruit.
How could I have hurt you so badly,
my friend?
The only person in my entire life
who's ever loved me
for myself rather than who they
wanted me to be, and I seem to bring you nothing but pain of
late.
I wonder that you
don’t hate me
by now.
And yet the arms around him did
give him comfort.
Starsky held tight to his dearest
friend as thought superstitiously afraid of letting go lest
Hutch vanish like some poppy-induced Elysium when confronted by
the light of day.
The lean jaw was still tight with
anger, yet even that was fading.
They'd both lost much that morning,
yet had had as much returned.
There was relief releasing the
hopelessness; the faint stirrings of almost-joy at the
restoration of their lives.
After a long time, Starsky made to pull away from the comforting
arms holding him, and Hutch let him go reluctantly.
Even such crushing guilt could be
tolerated, he reflected, so long as there was a still a Starsky
in his world to provide the needed strength to endure.
Starsky wiped his eyes again and smiled shyly, embarrassment and
pleasure returning color to his cheeks.
"Want a beer?"
"That'd be nice."
Hutch smiled back, a lighter, easier
smile from one worn corner of his weary heart.
" 'Kay." Starsky rose.
"How about something to eat, too?
I haven't eaten since Kira called
this...."
He trailed off mid-sentence, an
astonished look crossing his face.
Hutch leaped to his feet apprehensively.
"Starsky?"
He grasped the lean shoulders,
giving the man a little shake.
"Starsky, what's wrong?"
In answer, Starsky pushed Hutch
back, forcing him down onto the couch, reseating himself more
slowly.
There was a faraway, vacant look in
the sapphire eyes.
Hutch, seriously alarmed by this
time, failed to recognize the signs of revelation in his friend.
He took one arm in a crushing grip
and shook again, more roughly.
"Starsky!"
The curly head turned slowly, awareness returning by degrees.
The blond's worried features sobered
him instantly, but it was a long moment before he could bring
himself to drop his bombshell.
"Hutch, Kira
called me this
morning."
"Yeah?
So?"
A puzzled frown tugged Hutch's
mustache down.
"What's so strange about...."
Dawning comprehension.
"When
did she call you this morning?"
"About seven-thirty.
She wanted me to come right over ...
wanted to ... talk to me."
"Seven-thirty?"
"Yeah.
And unless you're a lot ... uh ...
'faster' than ... uh..."
Starsky suddenly found the pattern
on the carpet worthy of his undivided attention, a blush
deepening his restored color.
A frown knit Hutch's brows.
He lifted one hand and stroked his
mustache, brushing a strand into his mouth and biting down
savagely.
"She ... she left the room.
Said she was going to the john."
"At seven-thirty?"
"At seven-thirty."
The room was so silent one could almost hear the soundless music
in which a ghostly Kira danced around both men.
Kira, so warm and open in their
arms; Kira whispering words of love; Kira cautioning them each
against mentioning their "relationship" to the other.
"She wanted to keep it a secret,"
Hutch murmured, speaking for them both.
"That--"
Starsky spat a curse, a vicious
snarl.
"She set it all up.
She set
me up."
"She set us both
up," Hutch corrected grimly.
Anger transmuted the classic
features into a tight mask.
"There's no other explanation, is
there."
"And we fell for it like a couple'a real jerks."
Fury blossomed, nova hot in the
darker man's lean features.
"That---." He sputtered to a stop,
beginning again, "The whole time...all she wanted was to break
us up."
"She almost succeeded," Hutch allowed ungraciously, puckering
his mouth as though the words tasted bad.
They did.
"But why?"
Again Starsky found himself uttering
that question, that same blasted question.
It always boiled down to 'why?'
He shook his head, half
disbelieving.
"For kicks?"
"Maybe, but ... I don't know.
It doesn't feel right."
Hutch was speaking from his cop's instincts, honed by many long
years among the less-than-truthful classes on the streets, but
Starsky, who would normally have wagered his life on his
partner's instincts, was in no mood to give the woman the
benefit of any doubt.
"Why not?
After what she did to us...."
He mumbled something
incomprehensible.
"I wouldn't put it past her to get
off on something like this.
Lousy...."
"Maybe,
but...."
Hutch shook his head again.
"It's possible, Starsk, but Kira's
so ... practical.
I mean, what would it gain her?
A reputation as a player, but not
much more."
He spread both hands wide, palms up,
in a 'you got me' gesture.
"No.
Like I said, it doesn't feel right.
There's got to be something else
behind it."
Slumped back in the supporting corner of the couch, his partner
worried his lower lip between his teeth.
"Revenge, maybe?" he grumbled,
grimacing when he bit down too hard.
Hutch shrugged.
"Revenge for what?"
"How should I know, revenge for what?" Starsky snapped crossly.
He broke off, instantly contrite.
"Sorry."
The blond patted him absently on the shoulder.
"We're going to have to get a look
at her personnel and arrest records, dig into her background a
bit."
"Not gonna be easy.
We don't have access...."
"Never stopped us before, pal."
They shared a smile, still tentative, but there.
It laid another strand to the
fragile bond reweaving itself between them.
"That redhead down in Records could help us.
I could use a little 'persuasion.'"
Starsky wiggled his eyebrows
suggestively, earning an answering groan.
"Why you?
I'm more her type."
"But
I'm...."
The gentle banter died away,
slaughtered on the sharp instrument of a single name -- Kira.
"That's how we got into this mess in
the first place."
"Yeah."
A pause.
Hutch stared at the scarred coffee
table, mind racing to find another source of the information
they needed, finally giving up the attempt with a sigh.
"We're still going to have to
convince that redhead in Records to pull Kira's personnel files.
One of
us is going to have to talk her into it."
"You do it."
Starsky withdrew slightly, resumed
plucking at the loose thread on the couch.
"I-I'd rather not, anyway."
Hutch maintained a tense silence.
He didn't want to do it, either.
It smacked too much of the
manipulation Kira had used on them.
"I don't think I can pull it off,
either, buddy."
He reached out, stilling the
fidgeting hand, grasping hard.
The hand froze, then relaxed
fractionally in his grip.
"I never realized...."
Starsky cleared his throat, that
introspective look in his eyes telling of a serious inner battle
being fought.
"We're users, too, aren't we, Hutch?
Just like her."
He waited for the reassurance that
would have been automatically forthcoming only hours earlier.
But
Hutch could dredge up none save an
increased pressure on his hand; Starsky met the grim look
forthrightly.
"So, maybe we are just as bad as
Kira," he muttered more to himself than the tall blond cop.
" She used us, we use them.
Same thing."
He sighed.
Louder,
"How are
we gonna get that info?"
Hutch scratched his head.
"I guess we could ask Minnie to talk
to the redhead.
She might be able to get us what we
need. If so..."
"...we won't need the sweet talk," Starsky finished for him.
"Of course, you realize that revenge
is a pretty thin motive for all this."
"Just covering all the bases, buddy."
Dark curls bobbed in the affirmative.
"Barring revenge, that only leaves
one possible motive."
"Money."
Hutch grimaced; that word tasted
even more foul than the others had.
His partner nodded solemnly.
"If we're right about this, then she
really was out to bust up our partnership; somebody could have
been paying her to do it."
"I hope they paid her well."
Hutch's agreement was bitter,
remote.
"She was worth every penny."
He caught Starsky's involuntary
wince.
"Omigod, buddy, I'm sorry.
I didn't mean...."
"S'all right," Starsky assured him with a crooked smile, but
pulled his hand from the other's grip anyway, unable to bear the
touch.
Obviously, they still had a long way
to go.
A moment passed while each regained
some measure of equilibrium.
It was Starsky who, with no little
effort, brought the discussion back on track.
"All right, then, let's suppose Kira
is working for somebody.
Who?"
Hutch resumed stroking his mustache, a thoughtful gesture that
did nothing to mask the calculation shining in his icy blue
eyes.
"More to the point," he rapped
curtly, "why?"
"Why?"
Starsky looked puzzled.
"To bust us up, of course.
Why else?"
"No, I mean, why us?"
"Oh."
The darker man shrugged.
"I don't know.
The streets're awful quiet lately.
Nuthing big comin' down the beat."
"Case load is light at the moment, too.
We're working on the Sanderson
murder..."
"...but we know her old man did it.
Just a matter of finding him."
"That hooker over on Hill..."
Hutch ticked off a second point on
his fingers.
"...small change hustler.
Ain't no way she could be hooking in
to something
on Kira's level."
"Judge McClellan's murder...." He stopped dead.
"We got Soldier for the shooting..."
Starsky caught his breath.
"...but not..."
"... whoever hired him," Hutch finished the disjointed dialogue.
"That's got 'ta be it!"
Starsky sat up, getting excited.
"It's the only case big enough to
explain all this!"
Hutch nodded slowly, a knot untying itself deep in his gut. "It
feels right, Starsky, I know it does.
Only problem we've got is proving
it."
"Let's start on that now."
Starsky reached for the phone, eyes
sparkling with a combination of righteous anger and the
anticipation of the hunt.
"You know Minnie's home number?
Never mind, I got it."
A pause.
"Minnie?
Starsky.
Listen, baby, I got a little problem
maybe you can help me with...."
***
"Hey, Kira, wait a minute."
The handsome young man from Records
slipped a familiar arm around the woman's slender shoulders,
glancing around quickly before lavishing a light kiss on her
neck.
She allowed the familiarity.
She'd gone to bed with the boy a few
times, figuring that a contact in Records might be a useful
commodity to have someday.
Today was the day it paid off.
"Listen, Kira." The boy leaned
close, his breath tickling her ear.
"My wife is going to be out of town
for a couple of days and I thought...."
"You probably shouldn't," Kira purred, running light fingers
down one well-muscled arm.
"Out of town, eh?
Gee, Will, I don't know.
I'm kind of busy at the moment
and...."
The young man caught his breath, face flushing at the feathery
caress.
"I ... uh
... if you can get away ...
Saturday...."
"I'll think about it, all right?"
Kira turned the full force of her
large eyes on the boy, while languidly smoothing her short green
dress over her rounded hips.
He flushed deeper.
Really,
she thought to herself, sometimes
it's almost too
easy.
"Now if you'll excuse me...."
"Sure, I--
Hey, wait!"
She waited impatiently, barely repressing a foot from tapping.
She had to get away from this young
fool; there were others she needed to contact, and fast.
"Did you want something else, Will?"
He nodded rapidly, reminding the tall woman with some distaste
of an overgrown puppy. "Uh ... yeah.
I just thought you'd like to know
that someone accessed your records this morning."
Kira frowned, all thoughts of puppies and sex leaving her sharp
mind in a rush.
"Which records?"
He spread both hands, managing to 'accidentally' brush her
shoulder with one.
"All
of them.
Personnel, financial, arrest reports
-- everything."
"But ... who?"
Will shrugged.
"I don't know, but it's coded 6-298.
That's originating from a terminal
in Dobey's squad."
"Dobey....
Oh."
Kira scowled again, mind working
furiously.
They know.
Darn them, they know....
Know what?
Her mind downshifted, settling into
the deductive reasoning mode she'd surpassed in at the Academy.
All right, so they suspect.
That's a far cry from proving
anything.
She relaxed another infinitesimal
notch, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders.
Bates made sure I was too well
covered for anything to stick.
I've just got to remain calm.
The young man watched the interplay of emotions across the
lovely face.
"Kira, are you all right?
Is there anything I...?"
A smile radiating pure sunshine graced Kira's painted lips, a
prelude to the boy's reward for the information. "No, Will.
Everything is fine."
She tossed her blonde hair over one
shoulder in a calculated gesture he loved.
"Thanks for telling me, love."
She pressed full lips to his, the
full force of passion and promise behind them.
"And about Saturday ... I guess I
can ... get away for a while."
"Right!"
He bounded off, looking more like a
puppy than ever.
Right, echoed Kira silently.
Paid in full.
Now let's see what I can do about
getting me
paid in full before this house of cards
collapses right around my head.
***
"So, what's the solution to this troublesome triangle we have
here?"
The words were smooth, but easily
audible over the background noise of the bar.
As if that's still the question,
Kira thought, blood rising to the confrontation.
Her large eyes widened innocently,
laughingly, lat them.
"We've decided," the other man added, just as smoothly, "that if
there's a decision to be made, we're gonna make it."
Oh, you are, are you?
Then what are we doing here?
Kira noticed that Starsky hadn't so
much as looked at her while he was speaking.
Still on the hook, Davey? she
thought with that part of her cop's mind which automatically
catalogued all potentially useful information.
Idiot.
"And after a long deliberation, we've finally settled it."
Hutch spoke the words lightly,
mockingly, and hardness glinted in those crystal eyes.
Kira did not pretend to
misunderstand -- this was not about some lovers' squabble.
He was leaving the choice in her
hands whether she would resign gracefully or challenge these two
to bring her down -- if they could.
Not much of a choice.
At least they'd warned her, even if
she knew that this meeting was designed primarily to shake her
up, startle her into making a mistake.
However, a warning was, after all, a
warning.
But it had been a mistake on their
part nonetheless, because now she was prepared.
Try it, Kira telepathed with more than a trace of contempt.
I'm too well covered for you two to
touch.
She smiled her sweetest, most
come-hither smile, echoes of pleasure and promise playing around
her lips.
"And?"
In answer, the two men stood
simultaneously and faced each other like old time gunfighters.
Why, it's a game, she thought,
surprised.
Even with three lives hanging in the
balance, these two can find it in them to play their little-boy
games.
Amazing.
Hutch closed the gap between them, near enough for her to smell
his cologne, light and fragrant.
On the other side Starsky flanked
her, as close to her as was Hutch, but somehow giving the
impression of being even closer to his partner.
The indefinable bond stretched
almost visibly between them again.
Kira caught the unmistakable
impression that they were closing ranks against her, and she
admitted defeat on that front -- but only to herself.
By discovering her ploy, they'd
moved beyond even her considerable ability to manipulate.
The wedge between them had slipped,
although she could still discern the crackle of a subdued
tension in the air.
Perhaps she hadn't failed
completely, after all.
They both turned to face her, then, leaning closer in
anticipation.
Kira shook her head.
"No."
"No?"
The question caressed her, stroking
her with a velvet touch.
But there was steel beneath the
velvet and she made no mistake as to what Hutch was asking her.
Are you going to resign, Kira?
Or do we take you out?
Kira fell into those sky blue eyes; they were laughing at her,
mocking, triumphant.
Choose, Kira, resign or no?
"No."
"No?"
This one was more of a feline purr,
throaty, seductive, and Kira felt a stirring of desire deep
within.
Starsky's eyes were bright, almost
luminescent, but glowing with a different light than did
Hutch's.
The note of triumph, so prominent in
the one, was missing from these eyes, a deeper, darker shade of
blue than the other's.
Pain flickered inside the sapphire,
pain and betrayal: St. Elmo's fire entrapped within indigo
depths.
Kira remembered a night about a week after they'd started
working together.
Starsky had brought her home -- it
was his turn to 'watch' her.
She'd gone into the kitchen to make
coffee, and when she'd returned, she found him curled up on the
sofa and deeply asleep.
Obviously,
the long hours had finally caught up with him.
He'd looked so sweet in repose, that
she'd felt a touch of affection deep inside.
It had been definitely stimulating.
She'd watched him sleep a long time
that night,
then woke him with a sweetness that
was all her own.
The thought lasted but a moment
before Kira's battle hardened emotions walled up any fledgling
regret in mortar comprised of a certain sense of satisfaction in
her own judgment.
She had played the game correctly,
had almost brought off the victory.
If only they hadn't discovered....
If only.
Stupid words.
Futile words.
Useless words.
But she had
been correct in her analysis.
Hutch's need for what she offered,
his hunger to possess her, to fill some empty space inside
himself -- that was her lever, and she'd used the tool well.
He hadn't loved her -- might never
have come to do so.
But he
needed, and that was almost as
useful.
Again, time wavered, allowing her to glimpse a fleeting moment
past: the blond head bending toward her, frenzied lips claiming
her own, eager hands finding their way across her body, burning
with raw desire.
She hadn't given herself then, she'd
been taken, possessed, the night swept away in the open need of
the man.
A need deeper than lust; deeper,
perhaps, than even love.
It was overpowering and intoxicating
both.
A pleasure rather than a paid
performance.
Yes, the need had been a useful tool for her, but there had been
need in Starsky as well.
With Hutch it had been all fiery
desire.
With this one, simple affection.
Unlike Hutch, he might have come to
love her; passionately, possessively, the way a man loves a
valuable and fragile piece of art.
And that kind of emotion could be
wielded with great effectiveness, by one who knew how -- an
arrow aimed at the heart ... and striking home.
All this flashed across the surface of Kira's mind in the
fraction of an instant -- not consciously, but summed up and
remembered on the instinctive levels.
She sighed imperceptibly.
Good judgment or not, she'd failed
with these two, and Mr. Bates, or Mr. Bates' employer, would not
be pleased.
Still, she was too well covered to
be touched, and her contacts
-- no less than
two Criminal
Court Judges -- put her well beyond the reach of these two
common street cops.
She looked up again, matching azure and sapphire with a haughty
look and mocking smile of her own.
The decision was no longer -- if it
had ever been -- in doubt for any of them.
She licked her lips seductively
before answering.
"No."
Blond brows lifted, an echo of that soft voice stroking her
again.
Challenge accepted.
Dark brows mirrored the blond, more question than challenge
here, but there was determination in that look, drawn half from
inside the resilient spirit, and half from the expanded aura of
the blond, reaching out, engulfing him with light.
Kira smiled again, flaunting herself, overtly sexual.
Take a good look, boys, at what you
could have had.
And dream on.
The mean little dart struck home with one of them.
Starsky flinched almost
imperceptibly.
Pain flickered and was lost, covered
over from view.
Touché.
She could feel -- almost see -- the sympathetic response in
Hutch to his friend's distress; little more than a strengthening
of his aura, but there, nonetheless.
These two were tuned to each other
even more tightly than she had suspected, operating on near
psionic levels.
Her own empathic abilities picked up
on the silent encouragement and support broadcast through those
touching auras.
As if choreographed, two heads rose, one fair, one dark.
Two pairs of eyes met -- azure and
sapphire.
Lightning flashed between them,
soothing away hurt and betrayal.
Soothing away
her.
A smile lifted the blond mustache, sounding a responsive chord
in the other.
A spark of amusement twinkled bright
when they turned back to her, twin marionettes on the same
string.
A dual shrug.
"Okay."
They walked off, arms about each
other's shoulders, leaving her to sit at the bar ... alone.
Challenge given.
Challenge accepted.
End game.
***
As
soon as they had cleared the door, the amusement faded away as
though it had never been.
The side street stank with the
accumulated smells of humanity -- a rottenness corrupting the
polluted city air and permeating every brick of the living
organism men called City.
Ten feet from the door of the bar, Starsky faltered, spirit
crumbling.
The casually slung arm across
Hutch's shoulders had become a death grip the minute they'd
escaped Kira's sharp scrutiny, fingers dug deep into the
material of his shirt.
Hutch's own hold had tightened as
well; each man seemed to need the extra strength drawn from the
physical contact, if only to negotiate the filthy alley.
Starsky released his hold, bringing both hands across to cover
his face.
He sighed deeply, from the core of
his being. "Oh, man, Hutch, did you see the look on her face?
She was laughing."
The low voice was little more than a
whisper, hurting deep.
"She was laughing ... at us."
A heartbeat passed.
Hutch had not released his grasp
when the other had; his arm still stretched across the man's
back, gripping the lean shoulder with a supportive hold. Eyes
the color of polar ice fixed the dirty ground, brimmed over with
a hatred turned outward ... and in.
Out to the woman who had planned it
all, manipulated and used them one against the other.
It burned even hotter inward, turned
against one Kenneth Hutchinson, a self-disgust at having allowed
himself to be deceived at all.
He made to withdraw his hold, withdraw himself, but something
made him pause before completing the act.
It was his compassion, as much a
part of him as his blond hair, that stayed his hand.
Instead of dropping his hold, Hutch
tightened it.
"I could have loved her, you know," the bare whisper rose,
offered to the night.
"I know, buddy."
Muted response, dispersed on the
wind.
Starsky turned in half-protest as Hutch's arm left his trembling
shoulder and the blond stared at his palm as though surprised to
discover that the shaking was not all coming from the other's
body.
"Starsky...." He waited helplessly,
mouth moving but unable to speak further or to respond to the
pain radiating from the other man and from himself.
He licked his dry lips and tried
again.
"My fault ... I'm so sorry...."
He trailed off, unable to finish,
powerless to raise his eyes from the filthy concrete of the
alley, unworthy to face his friend.
At his side, Starsky slowly uncovered his eyes,
the gemstone gaze boring into the
taller man, stripping away facade and defenses clear to the
soul.
Hutch waited.
The pause was interminable,
stretching onward through the ages to the time of Ending,
echoing back to the Now.
And still he waited.
Starsky stirred, taking a step closer inside the circle of
Hutch's aura.
He reached out, tentatively, a hand
trembling with suppressed emotions.
"Don't do this to yourself.
We were both used --
both of us.
She knew--"
He swallowed convulsively, half
gasp, half sob.
"She understood exactly which
buttons to push to maneuver us into loving her -- needing her.
She ... knew us better than we know ourselves.
I-I don't blame you, Hutch.
Please don't blame yourself ... not
like this."
Somehow the blond found the courage to raise his head, to look
deep into the naked soul peering back at him.
There he found comfort, reassurance
and
trust -- trust for him!
Their partnership, it seemed, was
not quite so easily shattered.
Deep within the polar eyes, a warm little kernel stirred, hope
struggling to life once more.
"I blame myself, Starsky."
The blond's voice was low , calm,
and all the more frightening because of it.
"I will always blame myself.
I don't know why I did it, but...."
"I know."
Hutch drew up, surprised.
"You do?"
Starsky nodded earnestly.
"You needed her, Hutch.
I ... guess I should have seen it
before, but I was so wrapped up in her myself, that...."
"Needed her?" Hutch repeated, mulling over the thought.
"I thought ... I mean, I desired
her, wanted her, but need...?"
"I knew you needed something, Hutch."
The solemn eyes scanned Hutch's face
as if memorizing every detail, every new line etched into the
fair skin, every change drawn onto the perfect features over the
past four years.
"You've been needing something -- or
someone -- for a long time, and
I didn't understand ... I ... didn't
know what to do...."
Starsky faltered
then plowed on determinedly, the
words spewing forth as though dammed up a long time.
A cornered, desperate expression
crossed the pale features.
"You were hurting and I didn't know
what to do.
You wouldn't let me help.
I wanted to help, Hutch."
He reached out, laying a hand
lightly on Hutch's chest.
The blond moved quickly to snag his
wrist, trapping it in his own as if fearful Starsky would bolt
if released.
Then it was Starsky's turn to wait
out the silence.
"You're right," Hutch said at last.
There was supreme control in his
voice, but a tremor just beneath the surface betrayed the stress
of revealed truths.
"I did ... do ... need.
Oh, man, how badly I need."
He ran shaky fingers across his
face, not relinquishing his hold on the other's hand.
"This city, the job ... all of it.
I'm so tired of if all."
"All of it?"
The question was so soft it might
not have been asked at all.
"No!
Starsk, you know I didn't mean
that!"
He stretched out again, resting his
left hand against the soft curls, briefly then away.
"You're not a part of 'it,' Starsk,
you're part of me."
The answer seemed to satisfy the
darker man.
"It's the rest of this crummy hole I
can't stomach."
Starsky leaned back against the soot-covered brick, ignoring the
stain it put on his shirt.
"Why did you take back your badge if
you felt that way?
I remember without it ... how happy
you were.
Light ... free...."
The blond shrugged slightly, also leaning back,
shoulder-to-shoulder with his partner.
"I'm a cop, Stark.
Things are changing -- I'm changing.
I guess I just want to give it a
chance.
I need to see if I can still handle
it."
"The way you used to?"
"No," firmly.
"Not the way I used to.
Different.
Better, I hope."
"But still...."
The words were bitten off, as if the
man hadn't intended to utter them at all.
Hutch had no trouble filling in the
rest, however.
"Still with you, partner."
Partner, friend,
brother.
Hutch smiled gently.
"If you still want me."
"Still...?"
Momentary confusion, then relieved
delight.
A blur of energy, Starsky had pulled
his hand from Hutch's light hold and thrown both arms around his
partner's neck in a crushing bear hug.
It was answer enough.
Hutch wrapped his own arms around the other's body, holding on
tightly.
The smile grew wider, warmer.
"I take it that means yes?"
"Ass."
Starsky retorted pleasantly.
He released him, swiping one hand at
suspiciously bright eyes, and grinned.
"Of course I still want you.
You're my partner."
The grin faded.
"But, Hutch?"
"Yes, Starsky?"
"Not like before.
Please?
You've got to open up at least a
bit.
Agreed?" There was no pleading in
the New York accented voice; this was a demand to be met.
Eyes the color of a summer sky rose again.
"I'll try, Starsk.
Before God, I'll try."
"Good enough, then."
As one, they suddenly became aware
of their surroundings, the garbage piled high in the squalid
alley, the smell of urine and decomposing food.
"Let's get outta here," Starsky
suggested, wrinkling his nose.
"I got a case at home.
Hardly been touched."
"'Hardly' touched, huh?"
Hutch laughed lightly, ruffling the
unruly curls.
"Well, almost hardly."
Starsky grinned sheepishly and slung
one arm around the blond's shoulder.
"I got pizza, too, and...."
They strolled off, arm in arm again, the night brighter for the
sounds of shared laughter.
Neither was aware of a pair of large
eyes steadily regarding them from the doorway.
Something which might have been
envy, might have been contempt, gleamed there now as the woman
watched her prey depart safely.
So much love there -- and a facet of
that emotion with which even passion could not compete.
The envy grew, an uncomfortable
pang, and with it a most unfamiliar loneliness.
Part of me is almost glad you got
away.
The other part is sorry that you
did.
In another time ... it might have
been ... different.
She paused, then grinned impishly.
Nah!
And a beautiful woman with a heart of ice turned and walked
away, never looking back once.
finish
|