Dobey showed up awhile later, shuffling into the room with a big vase of colorful flowers.

"Why, Cap'n," I said, holding a hand to my heart, "they're beautiful. I didn't know you cared."

"Can it, Starsky," Dobey growled. "They're from everybody down at the station, and they're for Hutch."

He set the vase down on the windowsill and spent a few seconds arranging the flowers so they looked all nice and pretty – and then he seemed to realize what he was doing and turned away, clearing his throat and foldin' his arms over his chest. I couldn't help grinning.

"So," he said, glancing over at Hutch, who was sleeping again, "how's Hutch?"

"Better," I said, and felt another rush of gratitude that it was actually true. The part of me that was all tied up with Hutch was still in pain, but it had faded to a soft, barely-there kinda hurt, and Hutch's mind was all fuzzy and comfortable with sleep, safely disconnected from the pain. "Doc says he's gonna make a full recovery, it's just gonna take some time."

Dobey actually gave me a little smile at that, 'cause for all he tries to hide it, he and I both know he's just an old softie at heart. "I'm real glad to hear that," he said.

And then the smile faded, and he took the chair on the other side of the bed and dragged it over so it was next to mine.

"Listen, son," he said, sitting down and giving me his best Stern, Fatherly Captain look. "This past year's been pretty rough on you and Hutch. This is the third time one of you's ended up on the wrong side of a bullet, and…well, it's got me thinking about what might be best for the two of you."

I frowned, not liking the sound of that at all. "Best for us? Whaddya mean, Cap'n?"

"Look, you and Hutch are the best detectives I've got, and nobody'll ever tell me different. But what I'm saying is, it might be time for you two to think about getting out of the action for awhile."

It was like something heavy had thudded down into my stomach, a big lead weight sinking down into my gut. "You mean a desk job," I said in a flat voice. "You wanna put Hutch and me in some pencil-pushing desk job."

"I want you and Hutch to get through six months without ending up in the E.R.," Dobey shot back. "Look, I'm not saying it'll be forever, but you two are a hell of a lot more use to the force alive than dead. And there's more to detective work than running around chasing down perps and leaping off of buildings, you know. You and Hutch can still do a lot of good, you just won't be doing it out in the streets. Not for awhile, anyway." He reached over and touched my arm. "Don't do it for yourself, Starsky. Do it for Hutch. The next time something like this happens, he might not be so lucky."

There was a lump in my throat; I swallowed hard and tried to get rid of it, but it stayed right where it was. "Yeah, all right, Cap'n," I said, real quietly.

Dobey patted my arm and got to his feet. "I'll see you back at headquarters," he said, all gruff and businesslike again. "You can take today off, but tomorrow I'll expect to see you, bright and early and ready to work."

I couldn't find my voice, so I just nodded.

He gave me a little nod in return, and there was something kinda sad in his expression, like he knew what he was doing to me but thought it was for my own good. And maybe it was, but it still didn't feel right.

I looked back over at Hutch, and for all that he was still asleep, I could see a little crease forming between his eyebrows, and the edges of his mouth were turned down. He was still floating in a nice dark pool of sleep, but there were little tremors of uneasiness going through him – coming from me, I realized.

I felt ashamed of myself all of a sudden. I mean, Hutch had enough to worry about just getting better, and I was heaping more bad feelings on top of that? Yeah, so Dobey thought we were getting too old and slow for real police work. So, he wanted to stick us in some dull desk job while the murderers and drug dealers and hold-up men ran around the streets with no me and thee to take 'em down. So what?

Ha. So what? So what? This was what Hutch and me were made for, this kinda work. What was the point of having this crazy connection between us if we couldn't use it to make the world a little safer? I mean, what were we gonna do with it in a desk job? Use it to say, Hey, Hutch, can I borrow a pencil? or magically sense when one of us needed another cup of coffee or something?

No. No way.

"Cap'n," I said.

Dobey had been backing out of the room, trying to make a quiet exit, but I heard him stop in the doorway. "Yeah, Starsky?"

My voice was hard, uncompromising. "We're not doin' it," I said. "Hutch and me, we belong out there on the streets. You know it, I know it, Hutch knows it. If it ends up with one of us dead, then that's just how it's gotta be." I turned around to face him, 'cause some things you can only say when you're looking somebody straight in the eye. "We knew what we were signing up for when we took this job, Cap'n. And maybe we're not as fast as we used to be, but we're still the best you've got, and sticking us on the sidelines would be a pretty stupid move."

Dobey was quiet for a long time. "You calling me stupid, Starsky?"

"Nope," I said, grinning. "'Cause you're not stupid. And that's why you're gonna let Hutch and me back out on the streets after he's better, 'cause it'd be stupid to put us in a desk job when we can do a hell of a lot more good out there takin' down the bad guys."

Dobey just stared at me for awhile, his face all stern and grim. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. "Fine. I tried. But this is on your head, Starsky. One of you gets yourself killed, I'm not going to feel guilty about it, understand? This is all on you."

"Understood, Cap'n," I said. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Dobey shook his head again. "I still expect to see you bright and early tomorrow. Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said, and Dobey grunted at me and left.

I turned back to Hutch and saw that he was smiling in his sleep, his face looking more relaxed than I'd seen it in a long time. I took hold of his hand and squeezed a little. Yeah, maybe next time he wouldn't be so lucky. Or maybe next time, I'd be the one on the end of the bullets, and he'd be the one sitting there while I bled out on the street. But we were made for this, Hutch and me. We'd done a lot of good over the years, and there was still a lot more good left for us to do, and whatever Dobey said, we couldn't do it from behind a desk. Not us.

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest, just enjoying the quiet room and the sunshine streaming in through the window, the soft in and out of Hutch's breathing. It wasn't synched up with mine anymore, but the link was still there, ready whenever we needed it.

I closed my eyes and drifted off, warm and comfortable and pretty damned happy with the world.

"Starsk, I'm fine."

I readjusted my grip on Hutch's shoulders and went back to helping him up the stairs. "You've been outta the hospital for two hours, and the doc said you should take it easy. That means letting me help you up the damned stairs."

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Whatever you say, Starsk."

"Why the hell do you have so many stairs, anyway?" I muttered, trying to ignore the shooting pains going through my legs and arms. "Your old place didn't have all these stairs."

"Stairs are good exercise," he said. "Keeps you fit."

"Fit," I said, almost wheezing now. "Right."

"Starsky," he said in a different tone of voice, and we came to an unsteady halt about six steps from the top. He was looking a little thinner and softer these days, more baby-faced somehow, like bein' laid up for so long had shot him back ten years. "You remember that first day in the hospital, when you told me not to keep the pain all to myself? That goes both ways, partner. You don't have to take everything onto yourself, you know. I can handle some of it, too."

"I know," I said. "But you should be focusing on getting better."

"I am better. That's kinda why they released me from the hospital, Starsk. Now come on, let's do this together. Me and thee, right?"

"Right," I said, sighing, because I knew he was right. "Me and thee."

And not even knowing how I was doing it, I reached out to the bond that tied me and Hutch together – and it opened like a floodgate, feelings and thoughts and sensations rushing between us until I wasn't even sure whose were whose.

I had to close my eyes for a minute as everything swept over me like a wave – pain in my chest, dull and keeping a steady pace with my heartbeat; concern, deep like a crease between my eyebrows. And guilt, shame at not being able to be there for my partner, for Starsk, I have to be strong so he doesn't have to be, he's been doing everything lately and now it's my turn.

It took some work to balance everything out, get it so Hutch and me were holding things equally, taking equal shares of the pain and bad feelings. But when we were, I opened my eyes and looked over at him and smiled, and he was smilin' back at me, 'cause somehow the pain never seemed quite so bad when there was somebody else there sharin' it with ya.

We hobbled the rest of the way up the steps, slow but steady, and finally made it to the door and into Hutch's apartment. He'd lived in lots of different places over the years, switching apartments about as often as he switched girlfriends, but this one was probably my favorite (except for all the damn stairs).

It wasn't a big place, just a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and little kitchen area, but it was all just so Hutch that I couldn't help feelin' at home the second I stepped into it. Comfy couches and armchairs, a weird patterned rug on the floor, a glass coffee table with a stack of health food books sitting on it. Everything was clean but homey, the shelves stacked with little knick-knacks, the walls decorated with paintings of the ocean, Hutch's guitar leaning against the wall in the corner. It looked like a place somebody lived in, a place somebody loved.

Hutch gave me an amused sideways look. "Would you stop waxing poetic about my decorating and help me over to the couch already?"

"Yeah, arright, keep your pants on," I said, but I was grinning. I got Hutch set up on the couch, sitting there with his legs stretched out across the cushions, then grabbed an afghan from the nearest armchair and draped it over him.

"Thanks," Hutch said in a dry voice. "If you ever give up police work, you've got a great career ahead of you as a nurse."

"Nah, it'd never work," I said. "The uniform's not my color. You want something to drink?"

Hutch's eyes lit up. "Yeah, think you could blend me up some kale and spinach juice?"

I stared at him for a minute. "I'm gonna pretend that's just the pain talkin'. How 'bout some water or a cup of tea or something?"

"What's wrong with kale and spinach? They're healthy."

"They're green."

"So?"

"So, drinks aren't supposed to be green. Looks like you're drinkin' toxic waste or something."

"If I want to drink toxic waste, that's my business, right?"

I grumbled a little but headed over to the fridge and opened up the door – and there, sitting in the middle of the top shelf, was a bunch of leafy green stuff in produce bags. "You've been in the hospital for weeks," I said. "How's this stuff still fresh? It oughta be all brown and disgusting by now." I wrinkled my nose at the stuff, which was just way too green and healthy-looking. "Well, more disgusting, anyway."

Hutch was looking amused. "Marianne picked it up for me yesterday. When she found out I was being discharged today, she asked if I needed anything, and…"

"And you said kale and spinach."

Hutch gave me a sunny smile. "That's right. Blender's in the top right cupboard. And don't put too much water in. Nobody likes watery kale and spinach juice."

I glared at him but did what he said, 'cause that was kind of what I'd signed up for with this whole taking-care-of-him-while-he-got-better thing. But nobody'd told me I'd be grinding up leafy bits into nuclear green goo.

Then again, with Hutch, I probably shoulda known.

"So," I said while I was tearing off bits of spinach and dropping them into the blender, "you and Marianne are gettin' pretty serious, huh?"

He shrugged a little. He had his eyes closed and was looking pretty comfy there on the couch, his blond hair glowing white-gold in the light from the window. "Not really," he said. "She's a nice girl, fun to be with, but I don't think it's anything serious."

I added another handful of spinach. "Hey, Hutch."

"Yeah, Starsk?"

"You ever wonder why it's never anything serious with us?"

The connection between us had faded out a little – it always did after awhile, especially when we weren't touching each other or actively trying to keep it open – but I could still feel him frowning.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you and me, we go out with a lotta girls, right? Over the years, we musta dated about half the female population of California. But it never turns into anything serious, does it? It always just kinda ends."

When I looked over at him, his eyes were open and he was looking right back at me.

"Well, sure it does, Starsk. We have dangerous jobs, and getting too involved with somebody never leads anywhere good."

A quick little ache went through him, and I felt it echo through me, too. Gillian. Terry. And how many others? How many other women got hurt because of us, because we got too serious about them and put them in the line of fire?

"That's why it's better this way," Hutch said.

"Better what way?"

"Like this." His voice had gone quiet, and he wasn't really looking at me anymore. "Just you and me. That way nobody gets hurts but us."

The way he was feeling came through loud and clear right then, and I was surprised by how strong it was, the feeling that all we really needed from the world was each other. All the other stuff, girls or friends or even the job, were just details, just background noise. The realest thing we had was right here, between us. Always had been, always would be. No matter what else might be happening in the world or our lives, we were solid, always and forever.

"It's strange, isn't it, Starsky?" Hutch murmured.

"What is?"

"Us," he said. "What we have, the way we are. I mean, it's the kind of thing everybody talks about finding, someone to love and rely on, someone you can always count on, no matter what. If you were a woman, we'd probably be married by now."

I smiled. "Hutch, are you proposing to me?"

"Can it, Starsk, I'm being serious."

"I know ya are, buddy. And the truth is, you're probably right. Anyway, who needs to get married? We've got somethin' more solid than marriage, and I never even had to buy ya a ring."

"Yeah, all you had to do was save my life."

"You saved mine first. Anyway, if we're keeping score, who knows how many times we've saved each other's lives over the years? Point is, I'm still here today 'cause of you, and you're still here 'cause of me. That means something, Hutch."

"What's it mean?"

I looked him straight in the eye and said the exact truth, for once not worried about looking like a sentimental idiot. The guy could feel what I was feeling anyway, so what was the point in hiding it?

"It means you're mine and I'm yours," I said, and for all that it sounded like some cheesy line in a movie, Hutch didn't laugh.

"Yeah," he said, looking straight back at me with a warm little half-smile on his lips. "I guess it does."

There was silence for a few moments, then Hutch leaned back against the couch cushions and closed his eyes.

"Hey, Starsk, hop to it with that kale and spinach juice, wouldya? I'm thirsty."

"I can tell ya this," I muttered, measuring out some water as per Hutch's instructions, "if we were married, you can bet your ass I wouldn't be makin' you kale and spinach juice every day. You can make your own damn juice, Hutchinson. I'm your wife, not your slave."

"Yes, dear," Hutch said, and when I turned on the blender, it just about drowned out the sound of his laughter.

To be continued…