Chapter Text

“Shit!" Starsky swore, and with a swing of his arm he swept the half-built model ship off his coffee table. The brunet was bored out of his mind; bored and worried sick over Hutch, who was out patrolling the streets without Starsky to cover his back.

Over at the Precinct, Hutch was feeling very similar emotions.

Starsky was still on sick leave after Gunther’s hitmen had almost killed him. Hutch had initially refused to be partnered with anyone else, but he had been forced to relent. The precinct was short staffed and Dobey was being pressured by the commissioner. Despite feeling truly sorry for both members of his favourite team, he had no choice but to assign Hutch a new, temporary partner. The blond one was partnered with Collins, a soft spoken, calm man in his mid 40`s.  Collins was a very capable officer, experienced in everything from negotiating hostage situations to subduing the most violent felons, and he was also a fine marksman. In short, Collins was a professional cop who, to Hutch's chagrin, always acted by the book.

However, despite that notable shortcoming, they got along fairly well. Hutch sorely missed Starsky’s banter, his silly jokes and trivia, and the care they had for each other, born out of years of being best friends. Sure, Collins had his back, and he would do all in his power to protect him if danger arose, same as Hutch would do; but without Starsky by his side, the blond one couldn’t help but feel lost.                                                                      

                                                                 ==========

It was a balmy springtime afternoon in Bay City, and the weather was too nice to stay indoors. As it was also one of those rare, almost pain-free days, Starsky grabbed his camera and called a cab. Ten minutes later, he was at the beach, ready to breathe fresh air and take a little stroll, just as his physiotherapist had been advising him to do. Starsky had been discharged from the hospital about three months earlier, after a very long stay, and he was on the mend. He was slowly improving, day by day, but his future still looked bleak. He didn't yet know when or if he’d be able to go back to the job he loved. He missed patrolling the streets with Hutch, catching the bad guys and serving justice. Besides, his body still ached and he was still on prescription painkillers. His stamina was gone and he looked frail and thinner than before. The ordeal he’d been through less than a year ago was clearly noticeable in his pallor, his thin frame and his walk, which lacked its usual strut.

“Look at what a useless piece of trash I’ve become! I don’t even have the All Clear to drive!” Starsky mused bitterly. He missed driving his beloved Torino, feeling the power of its engine, the soft leather touch of the wheel under his hands, and the breeze on his face.

Once at the beach, Starsky strolled by the shoreline, raising his face to the soft afternoon sun. He missed jogging along the seashore with Hutch, taking a dip in the sea and swimming without a care in the world for as long as he felt like it. But both those things, along with quite a few others, were out of the question for the time being. All he could do was walk along the shoreline at a relaxed pace, checking for the physical signs that he was pushing his limits.

Shaking off his reveries, Starsky kept walking, searching for images worth capturing on film. A boat on the horizon, a kite up in the sky or a couple of kids building a sandcastle. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Turning his head to look at it better, Starsky saw a very large, black furry dog. Unsure whether it was a wise thing to do, but somehow compelled to do it anyway, Starsky walked slowly towards the dog, until he was close enough to pet him.

“Hey pal, how ya doing?” he asked the dog, slowly crouching by its side, petting him and looking for a collar and a tag, something to identify the large animal.  It must have run away.

Seeing that the dog seemed harmless, Starsky ran his hand across its back and sides. Its large amounts of fur were dirty and matted, but other than that, the animal was in good shape, strong and fit.

“Geez, dude, looks like you could use a bath and a nice brushing,” Starsky said to the dog, who looked back at him, softly wagging its tail.

“Sorry buddy, I can’t help you with that, but I’ll tell you what we’ll do… Come with me. Your new friend Starsky will buy you a nice dinner.” Starsky stood with a wince and headed to a nearby greasy spoon with the dog in tow.

Once there, Starsky patted the dog’s head. “Ok, now wait here. I am sorry buddy, but you can’t come in. Just sit tight, and in no time you’ll have a yummy burger with all the trimmings,” he said.  As he stepped into the small diner, Starsky was pleased that the dog did as it was told and waited patiently outside.

Starsky ordered a large egg-topped bacon cheeseburger with a double side of fries for the dog. Not long ago, he would've been buying another one for himself, but that was another one of the many things Gunther’s assassination attempt had taken away from him. The extensive damage the bullets did to his body, plus the many pills he had to take during the long months of his recovery had badly messed up his stomach. Greasy food made him feel queasy and nauseous. For the time being, he'd have to stick to salads, soups and all sorts of healthy, boring food if he didn't want to be puking out his guts.

A friendly, plump lady in her mid 60’s handed Starsky his order. Her name was Gloria, the owner of the joint, and she had a soft spot for Starsky. She had been heartbroken when she heard of the assassination attempt and was now overjoyed to see that apparently the young man was feeling good enough to have one of her burgers again.

“Here you go, Starsky, bon appétit” She said, smiling at Starsky.

“Oh well, Gloria, I’d love to have one of your burgers, ya know,” Starsky said, returning the smile. “But my stomach wouldn’t agree with it yet. This burger is actually for my friend.” Starsky nodded at the eatery’s entrance. Gloria looked quizzically towards the open glass doors. No one was to be seen there.

“But… what the… He was there, just a minute ago,” Starsky said puzzled. He stepped outside the burger joint to look around.

“I thought that he was going to wait for me to give him dinner.” Disappointment colored his voice.

“Who? Who was there, Starsky? Hutch?” Gloria asked.

“Oh, no. Not Hutch but a bear-like dog. A stray one, I think. Perhaps someone’s looking for it,” Starsky explained. “Black, huge and very furry. Have you seen him around the area?”

“Nope, kiddo, I haven't,” the woman answered. “I’ll let you know if I do.”

“Ok, sweetheart, many thanks.” Starsky left the eatery and after some minutes of searching for the dog to no avail, he headed back to the area on the beach where he’d seen it earlier. Once there, he unwrapped the food and carefully placed it by a large rock, just in case the vanishing giant came back.

By then it was near 5 pm. Soon, Hutch would drop by his place, as he did every single day, as soon as his shift was over. Starsky didn’t want to scare his friend out of his mind by not being there when he arrived. Besides, his ribcage was starting to ache.

Great, here we go again. Starsky thought, wincing as he rubbed his throbbing ribs. Time to have my fucking pain pills, my fucking soup or boiled veggies for dinner and another fucking restless night. With this gloomy thought, he headed to the nearest cab stand to pick one and go back home.

Unbeknownst to the dark-haired detective, there was a shady looking man watching his every move. He stood discreetly a few feet away, smoking a cigarette with his back against the wall and pretending to read a newspaper. Upon seeing Starsky climbing into the cab, he folded the newspaper, tossed away his cigarette and headed towards a nearby phone stall.

“He’s on his own most of time… we can get the ball rolling,” He said to someone on the other end of the line.

Chapter Text

“Looks like you didn’t feel like finishing that model ship of yours, huh?” Hutch teased gently after casting a quick glance at the model pieces still scattered around the living room floor. Picking them up would have to wait. He’d just arrived at Starsky’s and before anything else, he wanted to check on his friend. “How was your day, buddy?” Hutch asked, squeezing Starsky’s shoulder.

“Same as yesterday, same as tomorrow… t’rrific.” Starsky grumped, moodily. The brunet sat slouched on his couch, his arms wrapped around his midriff. Like many other times since he’d been shot, the discomfort he had been feeling earlier at the beach had escalated, from a dull ache to a full force pain that made him sick to his stomach. But he still wasn’t willing to take his evening pain pill. He’d rather wait as long as could. Memories of Hutch going cold turkey through heroine withdrawal at Huggy’s upstairs room and the unsettling prospect of getting hooked to the strong painkillers fretted Starsky more than the pain itself.

“Here, take these,” Hutch had retrieved the pills bottle from the bathroom cabinet and now he was giving two to Starsky with a glass of water.

“Later Hutch, I’m ok.” Starsky refused the pills.

“My ass you’re ok!” the blond one snapped.

“Listen, Hutch…”

“No, you listen, partner,” Hutch said, adamantly. “You’re in pain. In a lot of pain, actually. I can see it. Damn! Even a kid would!  So what’s this nonsense about not wanting to take your pain pills?”

“Hutch, I... I just don’t.” Starsky’s faltering words were met with a concerned look from Hutch.

“Ok, partner, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Starsky remained silent for a bit before muttering, “I just don’t wanna get hooked on that crap, that’s all.” His eyes were glued to the floor at his feet.

“Listen, Starsk,” The blond one sat by his side on the couch, patting his knee. “You’ve been through hell and back these last few months. Just having you here, by my side, is a miracle in of itself, but the fight isn’t over yet. Your body’s healing, but the damage it endured was very extensive, so you’re still hurting. And it sucks. Sucks big time, partner, but it can’t be helped. Your doctors know it, and that’s why they’ve prescribed you this stuff.  They did everything in their power to save you, to bring you back from the brink of death…” As Hutch said this, the memory of Starsky lying unconscious, almost lifeless in his hospital bed while doctors and nurses tried to make his heart beat again sent shivers up Hutch’s spine. Swallowing hard, he kept on talking, “So, give them some credit, buddy. They know what they’re doing.”

“Hutch… what if I end up like you? I mean...” Starsky trailed off, feeling dizzy because of the pain and unable to think clearly.

“I know what you mean,” Of course Hutch knew. “But that’s not gonna happen, Starsky. You'll don't have to quit the pills cold turkey, hiding from everything and everybody. Doctors will take care of that, and eventually, once you get better and your pain starts to subside, they’ll lower the dosage, slowly and safely, until you'll not need to take any more of these pills.” Hutch couldn’t help but curse Gunther once more. Starsky had survived, which most doctors deemed impossible, but the physical and emotional ordeal his best friend was going through was far from over.

“Now, come on, Starsky, take your pills and go lie down while I fix you some dinner. Looks like you need it.” Hutch rose from the couch and picked up the pills and glass of water. He handed them out to Starsky, who took them silently.

                                                          ==========

The night before, Starsky had gone to bed early. But after only a couple of hours of sound sleep, the nightmares began. After tossing and turning for a while, he found himself out of bed at the crack of dawn. Hutch was still snoring softly on the couch. Feeling tired and achy, the brunet poured himself a glass of orange juice, and stepped outside for some fresh air. He left the front door ajar. And there it was. A few feet away, looking at him and softly wagging his tail, Starsky saw the black, furry giant he’d met the day before at the beach.

“Hey pal! Here you are!” Starsky said, stepping closer to the dog. “Did you find your dinner yesterday? Hope so… Anyway, now it’s breakfast time, so how about coming in with me so I can fix something for you to eat? I don’t have dog food, but a few eggs and bacon will do the trick, I guess."

Upon hearing Starsky’s voice, Hutch woke up with a start. Stretching and rubbing his eyes to get rid of the last remnants of sleep, he got up in just his pyjama bottoms and headed outside to where his friend’s voice came from.

“Starsk, you ok? Who are you talking to?”

“Look, Hutch, it seems like we’ll have a guest over for breakfast,” Starsky turned to greet his friend as Hutch walked towards him.

“A guest over for breakfast?” The blond one asked, puzzled.

“Yep, a large, black dog I meet yesterday at the beach…  look at him, Hutch. It’s huge, isn’t?” Starsky spun around to point at the dog.  Or rather, where the dog had been a split second before.

“Dog? What dog, partner?” Hutch was by his friend's side, peering around the street, but there was no dog in sight.

“But… how?” Starsky said looking around. “I saw it Hutch; it was right over there.” Starsky pointed toward the spot where the dog had been standing. “Then I turned to talk to you and… poof! It’s gone, same as yesterday.” Starsky scratched his head, looking puzzled.

                                                           ==========

“Twice! That dog has disappeared on me twice, Hutch! I just don’t get it. Such a huge animal shouldn’t be able to vanish into thin air,” Starsky said while downing his morning pain pills with a swallow of coffee. During breakfast, the dark haired detective had filled his friend in on the first time he had seen and lost the elusive dog, at the beach.

“Listen Starsk, perhaps we should call animal control.” Hutch suggested. “It’s not safe to have such a big animal roaming freely around; he could attack a kid or something. Actually, it could have bitten you.”

“Come on, Hutch, you can’t be serious!” Starsky retorted. “Animal control? You mean to send the poor thing to some sort of doggy jail? No way Blondie, that idea sucks; we should try to find his owners instead.  I am quite certain someone’s out there looking for him.”

“Ok, ok, partner.” Hutch conceded, raising his hands. “Tell you what we’ll do. You can call Huggy and ask him to do some diggin’. Meanwhile, I’ll ask at the precinct. Perhaps someone knows someone who’s looking for that dog.” Hutch drank the last of his coffee and rose to his feet. “Anyway, Starsk, I’d prefer if you didn’t get too close to any stray dogs. It could have bitten you, or knocked you over, and besides it may have ticks or fleas, and your immune system isn’t at its best.”

“Are you done mother-henning me, Hutch?” Starsky retorted, annoyed.

“Nope, buddy. Eat your cereal; you need to get some food into that body of yours.” Hutch said with a wink, placing the bowl of cereal that Starsky had set aside earlier, back in front of him. Starsky set it aside again, stubbornly.

“Ok, Starsk, gotta go to get some work done at the precinct.” Hutch patted Starsky’s shoulder before picking up his jacket and holster. “See you later, and call me if you need something, anything, do you hear me?” The blond detective was trying his best to hide his worries, but leaving Starsky alone for most of the day was stressing him out more than he was willing to confess.

“Yes mom, heard you,” Starsky groused.

Later that morning, Starsky decided to try and finish his model ship.  But before he could get started, he had to find a tube of glue.

Rummaging through one of the drawers in his living room, his hand touched a book-like item. Not sure what it was, he picked it up. It was his photo album.

“Let’s look at what we got here,” Starsky said to himself. Turning the pages, he smiled at the pictures. One of Hutch and him back in their rookie days, wearing uniforms, another one of them standing in front  of Starsky’s Torino, arms wrapped around each other's waists, and another one taken at The Pits in which they and Huggy were toasting to the New Year. Then, Starsky’s heart lurched a little. The next picture was a headshot of Terry that he himself had taken during a picnic at the park. The girl was smiling brightly at the camera, her soft wavy hair framing her lovely face, her blue eyes shining with happiness.

“Terry…” Starsky said in a hoarse whisper, tracing fondly with his finger the line of her smile. A wave of sadness washed over him and memories of a very happy, yet short lived time flooded his mind.

Distressed, he closed the photo album and placed it back in its drawer. He did not want to wallow in self- pity but he was unable to avoid wondering how and why things had gone so wrong for him in the last few years.

Chapter Text

After dinner, Starsky had called Huggy to ask if he knew of someone who was looking for a dog like Buddy. Once he’d finished the phone call, he lay down on the couch. The evening had become cloudy, and a few raindrops were falling from the darkening sky. Bored, Starsky turned on the TV, flipping through the channels, until a NBC evening newscast caught his attention.

…after having served six years of his sentence, Mark Peterson,  best known for acquiring one of the biggest fortunes in the State of California through multiple illegal business deals, was paroled from Bay City Penitentiary this morning. the news anchor said.

“On parole? But…What the fuck!” Starsky cursed, quickly sitting straight and instantly regretting the sharp movement as a piercing pain tore through his torso. Wincing and rubbing his ribs, he continued watching the newscast. A close shot of Peterson wearing his orange prison scrubs filled the screen as the reporter kept talking, listing his criminal convictions.

…Money laundering, extortion, attempted rape of a minor…

 “Damn piece of scum!” Starsky muttered to himself.

In the painfully grueling aftermath of being shot by Gunther, some of Starsky’s memories were blurry.  However, and despite the years that had passed since he and Hutch had busted him, he recalled Peterson perfectly. A wealthy and influential businessman in his mid-forties, Peterson had a sinister look.  He was tall, pale skinned and muscular. Starsky recalled his angular features, the thin line of his lips, and the deranged look he had cast at Hutch and himself, when both detectives had caught him just about to rape, in his own mansion, a runaway who couldn’t have been older than 15.

Cuffed, Peterson had stared defiantly at Starsky. “We’ve got a score to settle, detective. Don’t forget it.” Hutch was a few feet away, gently covering the trembling, half naked girl with his own jacket. Starsky didn’t say a thing; his indigo eyes never wavered from the felon’s, but his cop instincts told him that Peterson meant his words; that if had a chance, he’ll retaliate.

I must give Hutch a heads up. Starsky thought. Better safe than sorry… that guy is a real nasty piece of work.  A frown creased his forehead as he dialed the precinct.

“What’s up, pal, are you ok?”  Hutch answered from the radio in Collins’s car. They were on a stakeout, and the blond one still felt very uneasy every time he had to leave his best friend alone all night.

“Hutch, listen, it’s important,” the brunet said soberly. “It’s Mark Peterson… he’s been released on parole.  Do you remember him, partner?”

“I know, Starsk. Dobey told Collins and me earlier,” Hutch said. “Don’t worry buddy; I’ll be ok,” the blond one added, knowing that his words weren’t going to appease Starsky’s worry in the slightest.

“‘Kay. Be careful out there, will ya?” Starsky asked, before he hung up the receiver.

Even if he wasn’t willing to admit it, the unexpected news had left Starsky edgy and upset. Hutch was out there, on a stakeout without him, while a perp, one that had promised revenge against them both, was back on the streets. Sure, Hutch had Collins, a damn good cop, to cover his back. There was no way Dobey would have partnered one of his favourite detectives with anyone less than the best cop he could find in the whole precinct. But even so, the fact was that Hutch did not have his best friend by his side, ready to put his life on the line for him if needed.

                                                                        ==========

After talking with Hutch and feeling the nagging ache he knew so well starting to take over his body, Starsky took his pain pills and lay down on the couch. Hutch is right. The curly-haired detective pondered as he succumbed to slumber. I hate these fucking pills, but I guess that I have no choice but to keep taking them…  I just hope I don’t get hooked on them.

A while later, still half asleep, Starsky woke to hear a strange noise coming from outside. He waited for a bit, all of his senses already alert. For a minute or two, there was nothing but silence. Then, he heard it again. A faint scratch at his front door. He hated feeling this way, but the news of Peterson being released from prison had him more skittish than he’d care to admit.  Getting to his feet, he reached for his gun, which was hanging from the coat rack, before looking through the peephole in the front door.  He saw nothing.

“Who’s there?” The brunet asked. The only answer was that odd scratching sound. Come on, Davey, boy, get a grip. Starsky chided himself. The boogeyman is not out to get you. Finally, he unlocked the door. What he saw at his doorstep curled his lips into a smile.

 “Geez! I can’t believe it!” Starsky said, tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans and opening the door wider with his foot. There, looking at him with caramel colored eyes, and gently wagging his tail, was the black, large dog.

“Come on buddy, get in!” Starsky stepped aside to let the dog in. Once it was inside, he locked his door again.

“Hiya big guy… how ya doin’? Starsky petted the massive animal. “Ok, now, make yourself at home while I find you something to eat.” He headed to his fridge and opening the door, rummaged through its contents to find something to give to his furry friend. Meanwhile, the animal sat on its haunches, following Starsky’s every movement with his head.

Finally, the brunet picked out a couple of grilled chicken breasts, leftovers from the day before.  Thinking that this might be too scanty a meal for such a large animal, he also scrambled a couple of eggs with bacon.

“Hmm, I think it’d be better if you ate out on the front porch. No offense buddy, but I don’t want you making a mess on my kitchen floor.”

Patting the small of his back to make sure that his gun was still safely tucked into his waistband, Starsky stepped outside with the dog following close behind. He placed the bowl of food onto the floor and, in the blink of an eye, the large animal gulped down its contents.

“That wasn’t bad, uh, pal? Now, how about some water?”

It was then when, suddenly, the dog’s whole stance switched. His body tensed. Moving his ears back, he raised his head, and after sniffing the midnight air a couple of times, he broke into a run.

“Hey, buddy!” Starsky called after the dog. “Buddy! Where are ya goin’?” He saw the dog running away, deaf to his command to come back.  Hoping that he’d see the animal again, the brunet retrieved the empty bowl and stepped inside.

                                                            ==========

At that very moment a patrol car was headed towards Starsky’s place, down the empty streets of his neighborhood. The uniformed men were just a couple of blocks away from their destination, when suddenly a large form came running towards the black and white vehicle. In a knee-jerk reaction, the driver stomped on the brakes and the car halted with a screech.

A massive dog was standing in front of the patrol car.

“What the heck!” One of the men said, as he climbed out of the car to try and scare it away without honking. What he saw in front of his vehicle made him scurry back inside as fast as he was able, slamming the door. The dog was showing its teeth, and frothing at the mouth.  The fur on its back was standing on end, and its eyes were staring menacingly at the man, all while uttering a low, warning growl. If the two men had been fond of books or old movies, perhaps the image they were seeing would have reminded them of the Hound of the Baskervilles.

“Run it over, Mike! Step on the fucking gas and just run that thing over, for Pete’s sake! It’s just a lousy dog!” The man in the passenger side said to the driver. As if the menacing beast had somehow heard and understood him, it bolted around the side of the car and reared up on its hind legs.  It braced itself against the passenger side window, growling and barking loudly at them, actually rattling the car. Neither man had any doubt that had the car window been open, the vicious dog would have leapt inside to tear their throats out.

Then, the man in the passenger seat rolled down his window an inch and drew his gun, aiming it at the dog’s head. “NO, JAKE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU IDIOT!” Mike shouted, lunging towards his partner in crime to snatch the gun from his hand. “Don’t you know how loud a gunshot would sound?” He asked, already seeing lights turn on in a few windows. The dog’s barking was waking people up.

“Do you want to someone to call the actual cops before we have a chance to get the job done?” Mike asked. Without waiting for an answer from Jake, the driver stated adamantly, “Okay, we’re leaving! Our paycheck isn’t high enough to deal with a beast from hell!” Mike made a U-Turn and left Starsky’s neighborhood. Both men watched, in the rearview mirror, the black dog still chasing them as they drove away, until it finally disappeared from view.

“Peterson will bite our heads off for coming back empty,” Jake groused.

“Yeah, but if we go back there and try to get the cop, that goddamned dog might actually tear us apart,” Mike retorted.

Chapter Text

“Hey, partner, I think we should go shopping for groceries. I thought that we had more eggs and bacon left, and even some leftover chicken,” Hutch said, perusing the fridge. “Did you eat all of that?” he asked, being pretty sure that there was no way his convalescent friend could have eaten that much food without being seriously sick to his stomach later.

“Uh?” Starsky asked absentmindedly. He was browsing through the newspaper Hutch had bought on his way back home after his overnight stakeout.

“Groceries, Starsk. The fridge is almost empty!”

“Oh, well, see, Hutch, it was Buddy. He ate quite a lot last night.”

“Buddy... who the heck is Buddy, Starsky?” The blond one asked, bemused.

“The big black dog. Don’t you remember, Blondie? The one that I met at the beach? and then it showed up yesterday morning a few feet away from here. He came back last night and I fixed him something to eat… and wanna know what’s really strange?” Starsky didn’t wait for an answer. “Right after eating, he broke into a run… seemed to be in a helluva hurry.”

Ok, let’s see. So there’s a dog out there, somewhere. Hutch thought absentmindedly, while fixing breakfast for his friend and himself.  A very large one, according Starsky. But so far, no one’s seen it, no one but Starsky, of course… Oh, boy, this is starting to look like when I was seeing that Dalmatian…

“By the way, Hutch, any word on him?”  Starsky took him out of his thoughts. “Were you able to find out if someone’s looking for a dog like Buddy?”

“Nope, Starsk, nothing so far,” Hutch said, pouring two glasses of orange juice and placing one of them on the table, across from Starsky. “I’ve even asked Merle, but he’s not seen the dog anywhere, and no one has asked him about it.”

“I wasn’t any luckier,” Starsky said, dejectedly. “I phoned Huggy, but none of his patrons has lost a pet. What a shame!  A nice dog like him shouldn’t be a stray, roaming around, all matted, filthy and hungry. I just hope he doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

==========

Afterward, Hutch went back to the precinct, leaving Starsky at home, once more feeling trapped inside the four walls of his apartment. Sure, he was glad to be alive and on his way to recovery, but he missed his old life so much! He wanted to be out there with his partner by his side, doing the job he loved and was so damn good at, not spending countless hours on his own, worrying about Hutch and bored.  And that was on a good day.  On his bad days, he was on his own, worrying about Hutch and in pain.

Unwilling to give any more room in his mind to these somber thoughts, Starsky decided to drop by the Pits to have a soda and chat with Huggy. Since he was on painkillers, beer was out of the question, so a soft drink would have to do.  Starsky called a cab.

A short while later, after paying the cab driver, Starsky was walking towards the Pits, when a muscular mutt stepped from behind a nearby trashcan chewing on a stale bone. It wore a collar but no muzzle or leash. Maybe it had run away from home, or perhaps its irresponsible owner let it roam freely around.

Starsky’s posture stiffened as the dog headed towards him, growling menacingly and showing its teeth. “Hey… take it easy, dude… I didn’t mean to disturb your lunch,” he said, calmly while reaching for his gun. He’d hate to have to shoot the dog, but he knew that in his current condition, if he had to break into a run or fend for himself unarmed, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

Wouldn’t be kinda creepy if a couple of wet-behind-the ears rookies found my mauled body just a few feet away from Huggy’s place? The brunet mused wryly.

His concerns, though, were short lived. From a narrow alley at his back, a familiar black animal came running.  Brushing past Starsky, he forcefully knocked the other dog backwards with a thrust of his massive head, just as a bull would do. Swiftly, Buddy slid to stand protectively between Starsky and the intimidating-looking dog that had scrambled back to its feet.

For some seconds, both animals looked each other in the eye, growling hoarsely. It looked as if a fight might break out between them at any moment, so Starsky stepped cautiously back.  He knew that any sharp movement; any attempt by him to prevent the fight from happening, would only make things worse. The growling escalated for a bit, but then all of sudden, the smaller dog uttered a faint yelp and stepped back.  It scurried away, tail tucked in between its legs.

“Whoa, Buddy! I owe you one!” The dark-haired detective said, releasing a breath he didn’t know had been holding. “How did you do that? You’re quite the Alpha male in town, aren’t you?” Starsky crouched down to effusively pet Buddy.

“Know what we’re gonna do, Buddy?”  he said to the dog, who was looking at him, head tilted and slowly waving his tail, “I’m going to ask Huggy to let you in and give you a well deserved treat. You just wait for me, I’ll come back to get you in a minute, ok?” Saying this, the dark-haired detective stood and headed to Huggy’s.

“Hey! Look at who came to visit his ol’ friend Huggy! Hiya Starsky! How ya doing, bro?” Huggy greeted Starsky cheerily, as he entered the Pits.

“Short version; I feel like a 90 old with plenty of aches and pains. I spend most of the day bored out of my mind or dozing off because of my painkillers. Does that answer your question?” Starsky answered, dejectedly, sitting down on a stool by the bar.

“Come on, bro, give it time. You’re still recovering. Better days will come, you’ll see.” Huggy put a friendly hand on Starsky’s shoulder. “Want something to drink or eat?”

“Double bourbon, neat, please, Hug,” Starsky asked, keeping a straight face.

“Right away!” Smiling, Huggy went to the kitchen and came back a moment later with a glass of milk and a healthy portion of apple pie for Starsky.

“Here you go! Brenda did the pie herself, and ya know, that girl makes the best apple pie in all the West Coast.” Huggy put the apple pìe and glass of milk in front of Starsky.

“Thank you, Huggy, but I’m not hungry. By the way, I’d like you to meet someone. Would you let a friend of mine in?”

“A friend of yours in?” Huggy inquired, feeling a little puzzled. “And how come he’s not come right in with you?”

“Well, see, Hug, my friend isn’t a guy or a lady, but the stray dog I was talking you about yesterday. He’s just helped me get out of a hairy situation and I’d like to give him a treat.”

“It’s ok, Starsky, go get it,” Huggy said.

Starsky headed outside, but once more, the dog was gone.

Peering around, Starsky called out for the dog a couple of times, to no avail.

Alright, so it looks like Buddy doesn’t want to meet any of my friends, he thought, disappointed, and headed back inside. At the bar, Starsky drank a few sips of the glass of milk and took a couple of bites of the apple pie, while telling Huggy all about the aggressive-looking mutt Buddy had scared away earlier.

Shortly thereafter, Starsky decided that it was time to go back home.  His body ached and exhaustion was starting to take its toll on him.

==========

“Hutchinson,” The blond one answered the phone, as he browsed through a file at his desk in the precinct.

“Hiya bro!” Huggy greeted him in his usual upbeat fashion.      

“Hey Huggy, what’s up?”

“Curly... he was here a little while ago.” Upon hearing Huggy mention Starsky, Hutch went into fully alert mode.

“Is something wrong with Starsky, Hug? Is he ok?” His voice sounded a tad more anxious than he’d intended.

“Well, he seems to be pretty ok, given his current circumstances. No way ol’ uncle Huggy would’ve let him leave my humble abode otherwise.  Ya know bro, I really care about Curly,” the lanky man answered. “But see, Hutch, it’s about that dog. I mean, the one that only our mutual friend is able to see.” Huggy filled Hutch in on exactly what Starsky had told him about the black dog saving him from a different stray dog. “He even asked me to let the doggo in.  But, there was no dog in sight. Listen Blondie; don’t get me wrong, Starsky seems to be in his right mind, no doubt about that, but even so… Do you think that maybe those pain pills he’s taking might be messing with his head?”

An unsettling suspicion began to creep into Hutch’s mind.

“That stuff may be as legal as goin’ to church, Hutch. But it ain’t candy, ya know. And I wouldn’t like to see our Curly losing his marbles, especially not with his gun within reach, if you get my drift…”

Hutch didn’t need to hear more. He hung up the phone, bolted from his chair and grabbing his jacket, stormed out of the squad room, almost colliding with Minnie on his way out of the precinct.

Idiot! I am a fucking idiot! That’s what I am!  Hutch chastised himself, as he raced with light and siren towards Starsky’s place. Could Starsky be having painkiller-induced hallucinations? Why didn’t I think of that earlier? Actually, the doctors had warned them that hallucinations could be a possible, albeit uncommon, adverse effect of the strong medication Starsky had been prescribed.

Starsky, partner; be at home please; be at home and don’t get yourself in trouble… Hutch begged mentally. I’m gonna ask Dobey for a leave of absence. And if it isn’t enough, I’ll resign; whatever it takes, but I’m not going to leave you on your own, not even one more time, until I’m sure that you’re completely ok.

==========

Starsky’s doorbell began to ring insistently. The dark haired detective had come home less than five minutes earlier. He sat up on the couch, got to his feet and opened the door. What he saw there made his heart skip a beat.

“Detective Starsky? I am Officer Lewis and he’s Officer Daniels,” the patrolman on his doorstep looked contrite. “Captain Dobey asked us to take you to Memorial Hospital. It’s your former partner, Detective Hutchinson. He’s been shot. It’s bad, Detective, real bad.”

Hutch… no… please Blondie, not you! Starsky thought as a cold terror gripped his heart. Hang in there, partner, I’m coming!  He closed his door, hurrying to the patrol car. His jacket hung forgotten from the rack coat.

His holstered gun too.

The patrol car took off and for a few minutes no men spoke; however, soon Starsky realized that something wasn’t quite right. They weren’t heading towards the hospital but towards Bay City’s warehouse district.

“Hey guys…  Where are we going? This isn’t the way to the hospital,” Starsky said; an alarm ringing at the back of his head.

“Nope… it’s not.” The man who had earlier introduced himself as Lewis, answered, not even turning to look at him.

No, shit!… oh, damn! no… At that point, Starsky had no doubts left. He’d been set up. With a quick movement, he reached for his gun, just to realize that he hadn’t brought it.

“Looking for something like this beauty, Detective?” Lewis teased, turning towards Starsky and aiming his gun at the brunet’s head.

Starsky’s eyes darted left and right. As he had guessed, the car’s back doors were locked. There was no way out, he was trapped and at the mercy of his captors.

Soon the car pulled to a halt in front of a derelict warehouse ion a lonely alley. The fake cops dragged Starsky roughly out of the car as he tried to put up a fight.

“Lemme go, you bastards!” The curly haired detective hollered, fighting like a feral cat against the firm grasp his kidnapers had on him. His struggles were cut short when the gun pointing at his head made its reappearance.

==========

Meanwhile, back at Starsky’s house, Hutch slammed on the brakes, jumped out of his car, and climbed the three front steps in one single stride.

“Starsk? Partner, are you at home? You ok? STARSKY!!” he called out, while searching the small, empty apartment.

“Damn, Starsk where did you go?” Hutch said, rubbing his face. Then, lowering his gaze, he saw it. A small note made with cut out letters had been left onto the floor. It read…

One down, one to go.

Chapter Text

There was a flurry of activity at the ninth precinct. Everybody was putting in their best efforts to try and find the missing detective. Starsky had been kidnapped roughly twenty hours ago, and time was of the essence. As Peterson was their main suspect, Hutch and Collins went to pay him a visit at his lavish mansion in the hills of Bay City.

“Well, well, look who we have here… Come in, Detective Hutchinson, make yourself at home,” Peterson said, sitting behind his mahogany desk and playing idly with a gold letter opener.

“And…  With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" Peterson addressed Collins.

“Detective Anthony Collins. I am Detective Hutchinson’s partner,” Collins said, showing his badge.

“Partner?” Peterson said, arching an eyebrow and glancing from Collins to Hutch. “As far as I recall, your partner used to be that other cop, you know detective…, the scruffy-looking one, what was his name?  Starsky, oh yes, Starsky.” Peterson saw Hutch clench his fists and Collins discreetly move a step closer to him. The perp knew very well that Hutch was about to lose his temper and make a mistake, and he was enjoying it.

“By the way, if you don’t mind me saying… I like your new partner much better, Hutchinson. He seems to have manners. Also, his clothes don’t look like he found them in a dumpster.” The evil perp teased Hutch pitilessly.

“I’ll ask you just once, Peterson! Where’s Starsky?” Hutch asked, staring intently at Peterson.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea, Hutchinson,” Peterson stated. “Why should I know or even care? Anyhow, he’s been a cripple since that assassination attempt, so I don’t think he’d be able to get too far…  Frankly, I have a hard time picturing him being able to do even ordinary stuff like, I don’t know… going out with a lady on a date.”

This was too much for Hutch to take. Before Collins could stop him, he lunged toward Peterson, grabbed him by the front of his jacket, and lifted him from his seat.  Forcing him onto his desk, Hutch choked the perp with his forearm and used his free hand to press the tip of the letter opener against his neck. 

“WHERE’S STARSKY, PETERSON? WHERE DO YOU HAVE HIM?” Hutch bellowed.

“Hutch!...  HUTCHINSON, LET GO OF HIM!” Collins shouted, trying to pull Hutch off of Peterson. “Don’t fall for his tactics!”

“I’m warning you, Peterson,” Hutch spat, releasing the vice-like hold he had on him. “I know that you are behind Starsky’s disappearance!”

“No, Hutchinson. I AM warning you.” Peterson got to his feet, gasping for air and straightening his clothes. “I have my rights! And I’m not going to put up with this kind of police brutality. Come back here once more and my lawyers will get a restraining order against you...  Have I made myself clear?”

==========

“Come on, Hutchinson! What the heck was that?” Collins scolded once they were out of Peterson’s house. “A fucking letter opener to his neck; really?”

“Drop it, Collins! Fuck! Just drop it!” Hutch warned angrily, pointing his forefinger at Collins.

“No Hutch; damn! I’m not gonna drop it! What are you now? A thug? Don’t you see it? That guy could and I mean COULD really sue you and even the whole department for police brutality, and then, what, huh? Do you want Peterson getting off the hook, if he has something to do with Starsky’s disappearance, just because you’ve been acting like a goon instead like the experienced cop you supposedly are? Listen, Hutchinson, rules are important, and they are there for a reason.”

“Oh, of course! The rules, THE FUCKING RULES!” Hutch shouted, “You’re so fond of these damn rules! Listen Collins, I am positive that that scumbag has got Starsky!”

“And if you are right, then we have to prove it, Hutch. Otherwise, we have nothing.” Collins put his hand soothingly on Hutch’s shoulder. “Listen Hutch, do you think that I don’t care about Starsky? Because if so, let me tell you how wrong you are. He may not be my partner, or my best friend, but I know how much of a good guy and a fine cop he is, and I am truly worried about him. I really am, and I can picture how are you feeling.”

Hutch breathed deeply, running both hands through his disheveled hair.

“You look exhausted, Hutch.” Collins said, sympathetically. “Tell you what we’ll do. I am going to drop you off at your place, where you will take a shower, change your clothes and get something to eat. Then, in an hour, I’ll pick you and we’ll keep looking for Starsky. Sounds good?”

“Yes Collins… sounds good enough,” Hutch said dejectedly.

“Ok, then, let’s go to your place.” Collins made an U-turn, heading towards Hutch’s place.

“Collins?”

“What?”

“Thanks… It may seem like I don’t care, but I really appreciate your concern.”

Collins acknowledged Hutch's thanks with a nod of his head and a smile, as he kept driving towards his place.

==========

Starsky was thirsty, exhausted and most of all, he hadn’t his painkillers for more than twelve hours. His whole body was screaming in pain.

When he’d been kidnapped, his captors had brought him to a large empty warehouse, tied him to a chair and left him alone for a long time.  Starsky tried to tug on the ropes, but they were very tight and didn’t loosen an inch.

Finally, someone opened the warehouse door. A tall, muscular man wearing an expensive grey suit and matching tie walked in. The man had pale skin, angular features and blond hair, matching a pair of light blue eyes that gleamed insanely. This was one face that Starsky remembered all too well and that he had hoped never to see again.

“Detective Starsky… we meet again!” The main said, as an evil smile curled his lips.

“Let me go, Peterson!” Starsky said with all the strength he could muster. “You’re getting yourself into a bloody mess. Right now Hutch, and the whole Ninth Precinct, will be looking for me.”

“Well, maybe they’ll find you in time, or maybe they won’t. Let me tell you Detective; if I was in your shoes, I wouldn’t bet my next month salary on it. Most likely the only thing your fellow cops will find of you and Hutchinson will be your bodies floating adrift in the pier." Peterson followed up his words with a hard punch to Starsky’s already aching stomach.

“We have a score to settle, Detective, remember?” Peterson said sadistically enjoying the sight of Starsky wincing in pain. “And I always keep my word!”

“Let… let Hutch alone, Peterson, or God help me!” Starsky said, while trying to ride out the wave of pain that was wracking his entire body.

“Know something, Detective? I find you delightfully cocky, even in your current circumstances. This time, however, your attitude isn’t going to help you at all.”  Peterson glanced at his watch. “Well, unfortunately, I have to go,” He said, nonchalantly. “As you must know, I am a very busy man. However, I’ve asked a couple of friends to entertain you while I am gone. Rest assured, Detective. You’re going to enjoy their company. They are quite… how should I put it… imaginative? Creative? Yes, I think that either of those words would fit.”

Without further comment, Peterson headed to the warehouse door, opened it and signaled his men to come in. Right away, two tall, sturdy goons came in.

“Have as much fun as you want with this piece of scum, but don’t kill him, do you hear me?” Peterson commanded his men. “For things to go as I have planned, he has to be still alive when Mike and Jake bring in his partner.”

Peterson left and his goons began beating Starsky viciously. Punches to his face, to his abdomen, even kicks that repeatedly knocked over the chair he was tied to.

==========

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Starsky had lost track of time when Peterson returned.  He was followed by the two fake cops, who entered the warehouse dragging a half- conscious Hutch between them. They unlocked the cuffs that kept his hands tied at his back and quickly secured them to a nearby pipe. Hutch limply slid to the floor.  His cuffs made a screeching sound against the pipe as he fell.

“Now, leave us alone. The party’s grand finale is gonna be private,” Peterson said to his thugs. They stepped silently out of the warehouse, shutting the door.

“I’m glad to have you here finally, Detective Hutchinson. Now our little get together is complete; besides I bet that your partner here was missing you” The felon aimed his gun at Starsky’s head as he spoke, insanity shinning in his very clear blue eyes.

“Starsk? You... you ‘kay?”  Hutch asked, attempting to clear his mind.

“Yeah… Blondie, t’rrific… You?” Starsky tried to take a deep breath, wincing in pain.

“Shut up, you both! No one’s talking here till I say so!” The deranged man accompanied his words with a hard hit to Starsky’s temple with the butt of his gun. Starsky’s head fell sideways as he plunged again into unconsciousness.

“Le-leave him alone, you bastard!” Hutch tried to sound firm while struggling to shake off the last remains of the chloroform that Peterson’s goons had used to subdue him.

“Know something, detective?” Peterson said, unruffled, turning around to face Hutch. “I am a bit disappointed… quite a lot, actually.  I never thought that getting the two of you would be this easy.  It has been almost boring, I’d say.”

Just as Peterson said, nabbing Hutch had been much easier than he had anticipated. After watching his daily habits for a few days from a safe distance, Peterson and two of his goons only had to take Hutch’s house key from above his entrance door frame, get in and wait until the blond detective, exhausted and preoccupied after many hours without sleep, looking for Starsky, came home.  When Collins dropped him off to take a quick shower and change his clothes, Peterson’s goons only had to lunge at Hutch, taking him off guard.  After a brief two-against-one fight, they put a chloroform soaked cloth over his mouth and nose, as Peterson watched the scene with his arms folded across his chest and a smirk of sadistic delight in his lips.

“Never mind, I’ll make sure that we have fun all the same… Ok, and now, as Jack the Ripper would say, let's go by parts.” Peterson laughed out loud, genuinely amused by his own joke. Then, calmly, he placed his gun onto a nearby ramshackle table, produced a large claspknife from his jacket pocket and grabbed a handful of Starsky’s curls. He yanked Starsky’s head backwards pressing the knife against the brunet’s neck, drawing a thin thread of blood.

“Does this look familiar to you, Hutchinson? Earlier today, at my place, my letter opener and what you did with it? Though, just in case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a letter opener, but a knife, and a very sharp one…"

Chapter Text

Harry, a volunteer on the afternoon shift at the Humane Society, was a tall, muscular man in his early twenties who loved animals and was in college to become a veterinarian.  Because of his physical strength and skill in managing dogs, he was usually in charge of taking some of the strongest and most excitable ones for walks.

“Look what we’ve got here, Harry. Ralph and Steve brought him in a while ago. He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” John, the shelter coordinator said to the younger man.

“Whoa, it sure is… name?” Harry asked looking at the impressive Newfoundland dog that barked and whimpered, scratching the door’s cage, clearly distressed and wanting to get out.

“Well, Theresa has named him Blacky.  It sorta suits him, I guess.” John shrugged. “Want to take him out for a walk, kid?”

“Sure, how’s he behaving?”

“He doesn’t seem aggressive, though he did put up a bit of resistance to being brought in.  Lots of barking and trying to get out of the cage. I hope someone shows up soon to claim him, otherwise this poor doggo may go bananas.”

“Ok, big guy, let’s go for a walk. Some fresh air and exercise will be good for you,” Harry said to the dog, as John handled him a leash.

Once out of his cage, the dog appeared calmer.  He let Harry pet him and put the collar and leash on him.  It looked to Harry as if he was in for an uneventful walk, and for a few minutes, it actually was, until they had walked some distance away from the shelter. Then, unexpectedly, the strong animal yanked at his leash, throwing Harry to the ground and breaking into a run. The young volunteer tried to run after the dog, calling after him, but soon, the animal had run too far ahead to be caught.

==========

At the warehouse, Hutch kept trying to buy time, to save Starsky, and find a way out of the deadly trap they were in.

“Peterson… think about what you are about to do.” Hutch said, trying to sound calm, mostly for Starsky’s sake. “Killing a police officer is a very serious crime…”

“Really? And what about killing two, Hutchinson?” The perp grinned creepily, but then he lowered his knife, moving it away from Starsky’s neck. Peterson turned on his heel and headed to the back of the warehouse only to return carrying a gallon jug full of a transparent liquid. With his knife, he broke the seal and opened the lid.

“Damn you, Peterson! What are you doing?” Hutch kept pulling at his cuffs, trying to free himself from the pipe.

“What does it looks like, Hutchinson?”  Peterson splashed the contents of the jug all over Starsky’s still form, and calmly, he produced a matches’ box from his pocket, lighting one.

“Peterson…no…” Hutch said, as terror gripped at his very core.

“Yes, Hutchinson. Now, I am gonna drop this match onto your partner. He’ll burn to a crisp, screaming and hollering in unbearable pain, and there’s not a single thing you’ll be able to do to help him.  One thing is sure, though. He’ll go in a blaze of glory!” His bone-chilling guffaws echoed through the warehouse.

“Then, once done with him, I’ll think about what I want to do with you…. I might even let you live.  Perhaps a bit maimed, with a few fingers less than you used to have or something like that, but alive. Yes, that’s a great idea. Let you live, crippled, unable to be a cop anymore and tormented for the rest of your life by the memory of your partner’s horrific death.”

“Peterson… no… no, don’t do that, please, I am beggin’ you! Take me; me for him, but don’t do it, please, don’t kill him… please!” Hutch was aware that he was begging, but he just didn’t care. He knew that if he had to watch Starsky burning to death in front of his eyes, his sanity would be gone forever.

“Oh, my… look how sweet this is. I am almost in tears, Hutchinson,” Peterson mocked, cruelly. “Well, no more chitchat. Let’s get the fireworks started!”

“PETERSON!... DON’T!” Hutch bellowed, pulling frantically at his cuffs, and tearing the skin of his wrists in the process.

By then Starsky was half-conscious, unable to move, but aware enough to hear what the perp was about to do. He felt the wetness of the gas pouring over his exhausted body, and smelt the pungent smell of the flammable liquid permeating his hair and clothes. Starsky knew that he was about to die, killed in one of the most atrocious ways possible.

Then, out of the blue, amidst the fog in his brain, the words that the woman he’d loved dearly had said to him on her deathbed came to his mind, giving him a measure of peace.

‘I'll always be there when you need me. If you're scared...  Or your world seems like it's falling apart... Or just some dark night when you're all alone... You just close your eyes, and you try to remember me... I'll always be there.’

Terry, sweetheart… Starsky thought, his fear replaced by a strange kind of serenity, I think we’ll be together again soon…

Chapter Text

Starsky’s fate seemed sealed, when unexpectedly a large, dark form broke in through a cracked window of the warehouse, sending shards of glass flying in all directions.

It was... BUDDY!

Before Peterson could drop the match onto Starsky’s lap, the massive dog lunged at him, knocking him down to the floor and also, knocking over the table with the gun. Peterson lost the hold on his knife and the match, as the dog went straight for his throat. The felon covered his head with his arms in an attempt to protect himself, and tried desperately to scramble to his feet. There was no trace of the gentle giant Starsky had known before. His rage unleashed; Buddy looked like a werewolf from a horror flick, tearing its victim apart.

With a frantic pull, Hutch managed to break a segment of the pipe and set himself free.  However, his hands were still cuffed at his back. He looked around the floor, searching for Peterson’s gun. Despite being unable to use it, the blond one wanted, at least, to keep it out of the perp’s reach.

Then, he saw it. Peterson’s match had fallen into a small puddle of gas mere inches away from Starsky’s feet, starting a fire.

“Starsk!”

Had he not been cuffed, Hutch could have dragged the gas-soaked Starsky away from the flames and put them out with his jacket before the fire could grow out of control.

But this was not the case.

So without thinking twice, the blond one did the only thing he could to save his partner from being set ablaze. He threw himself onto the fire, rolling back and forth.  He felt the piercing pain of the flames biting at his skin for several agonizing seconds before his own weight extinguished them.

Meanwhile, Peterson was still struggling to fend off the vicious attack of the dog, trying with all his might to push it off, while simultaneously attempting to reach for the claspknife that rested on the floor a couple of feet away from him.  The strong animal didn’t budge an inch. Furious growls and blood-curling screams filled the warehouse as the uneven fight continued. Then, with his last ounce of strength, the perp managed to reach his knife and stab the dog between his ribs.

However, it was too late for Peterson. In that same moment, Buddy reached the man’s neck, biting into it and tearing his carotid artery.

With a pain-filled yelp, the dog released his hold on his dying prey. Staggering a few steps, he crumbled into a heap on the floor as Peterson bleed quickly to death.

For a moment, around Hutch everything was silence...

And then Collins and two uniformed cops stormed into the warehouse to meet a hellish scene. A man was lying in a large puddle of his own blood, his lifeless eyes wide open. Starsky was tied to a chair, badly beaten, gas soaked and barely conscious.  Hutch, a short distance away from him, was hurt as well.  And a large dog was lying motionless on the floor, bleeding and whimpering softly.

“Bennet! Untie Detective Starsky! And you, Martin, call dispatch and ask for an ambulance and the coroner,” Collins commanded. He rushed to Hutch’s side, quickly uncuffing him, as the two uniformed cops did as he’d ordered.

“God, Hutch!” Collins said placing a hand onto Hutch’s shoulder and looking at his burnt chest and abdomen.

“I am ok, Collins, don’t worry,” Hutch answered.  He hurried to kneel by Starsky’s side and helped Bennet free his friend from the ropes. Actually, the blond one was far from ok. His torso was fiery red and it was starting to blister.  It stung like hell, but his injury could wait. At that moment, he only wanted to help Starsky.

"Starsk, it’s over, partner, I'm here...” Hutch soothed his friend. He produced a handkerchief from his pants pocket and began to gently clean Starsky’s bloody mouth and nose.

“Hutch... you... you’re... h-hurt,” Starsky said feebly, pointing at his friend’s chest with a trembling hand.

“A bit of sunburn, Starsk, no big deal,” Hutch joked, holding his partner’s hand.

“H-hurts, Hutch... hurts...” Starsky mumbled leaning forward and wrapping his arms across his abdomen, where Peterson’s goons had punched him pitilessly several times.

“I know partner, I know it does.” Wincing, but not caring about his own pain, Hutch held Starsky close in his arms. He was preventing him from falling headfirst off the chair, but also offering some comfort to his hurting friend. From a short distance away, Collins watched in respectful silence, and with a pinch of well-meaning envy, the interaction between the two men; the raw display of their love for each other, and their unbreakable bond. He was there for his fellow officers if they needed him, but he didn’t dare to intrude.

“Hold on, Starsk. Help is on its way.” Then, with Collins’ help, the blond detective gently lowered his injured friend off the chair and onto the floor, sitting by his side and easing Starsky’s head onto his lap.

“The... the dog, Hutch... h-help... help Buddy.” The brunet pointed weakly towards the dog “He... he’s a h-helluva good p-partner... al-almost as... as good as... you,”

Hutch glanced at the momentarily forgotten dog.  He was panting fast, struggling to breathe.

“Bennet! Martin! Rush this dog to the nearest vet clinic and keep pressure on its wound until you get there!” He firmly commanded the two patrolmen.  With a wince, he took off what was left of his jacket. He tossed it to Bennet, who caught it midair.

“What if it bites, Sergeant Hutchinson?” Martin asked fretfully, glancing at the injured dog.

“Listen, Martin, if not for this dog, you all would’ve found a very different scenario here.” Hutch said, adamantly. “Now, move!”

Bennet and Martin picked Buddy up off the floor, gently loading the dog into the patrol car. Somehow, Bennet managed to squeeze himself into the back seat to apply pressure on the bleeding wound, as the car rushed, mars light on and siren wailing, to the nearest veterinary clinic.

So, the dog is real after all. Hutch thought, staring vacantly at the bloodstained spot where Buddy had been. And thank heavens he is...

The sound of an ambulance siren getting closer snapped Hutch out of his reverie.

==========

Many things had happened in the last few months.

Starsky had a hard time recovering, even just getting back to where he’d been before Peterson had held him and Hutch captive in the warehouse. Eventually though, he was back on his feet and feeling well enough to carry on an almost normal life.

Hutch’s burns had been diagnosed as first and second degree. Given some time and the proper treatment, they eventually healed nicely, leaving only the merest hint of a scar here and there.

Regarding Buddy, it had been touch and go for awhile, but finally, the dog was out of the woods and on the mend. He had lost a large amount of blood, and a pierced lung required surgery. Luckily though, a skilled team of veterinaries managed to save the life of the brave giant. Taking into account how viciously he’d attacked Peterson, once the dog had fully recovered, he was put through a series of behavioural tests and obedience training to make sure that he wouldn’t be a threat to anyone else, under normal circumstances.

The team of trainers, and the animal behavior consultant in charge of the process, surmised that Buddy might have been trained to be an attack dog. If so, the odds of him being able to live peacefully among ordinary people, especially children, could prove very slim.  In the worst case scenario, it would be downright impossible.  Fortunately, Buddy’s team were determined to do their best to re-educate the dog and give him a chance to get adopted.

With this in mind, they asked at several dog training centers, veterinary clinics and even police precincts in the area, if anyone had reported a missing or stolen police, military or guard dog.   When no one came back with a positive response, they feared that Buddy might have run away from a mobster or drug dealer. Ultimately, where the dog came from, and the nature and extent of his training, remained unknown.

Soon, the training sessions began.

A few months went by, and once Buddy’s training was completed, Carl Rodgers, the chief of the trainer’s team, asked Starsky if he would be willing to help.  He wanted Starsky to be a test subject to check on the behavior of the dog after his training.

“Ok, Detective Starsky, given that the dog has shown extremely aggressive behavior while protecting you, while at the same time being entirely gentle in any other circumstance, we’d like to try something…” Rodgers explained to Starsky. “If you agree, I would like a member of our team to fake an attack on you.  We’ll see how the dog reacts to you being attacked, versus how he reacts to seeing other two members of our team playing the same role. Rest assured, we’ll do nothing that might harm you or jeopardize your recovery process at all. Trust me; we know what we’re doing.”

“Oh, well, yes, of course, I’ll be glad to help,” Starsky agreed, willingly.

The next morning, having assured everyone that he was feeling well and was pain free, Starsky was at the training center, in a closed, large room, with Buddy wearing a basket muzzle and tied by a 32 ft long training leash fixed to an anchor ring securely attached to the wall.  This was to prevent the slightest chance of the dog attacking any of the trainers, or (though everyone agreed this was very unlikely) Starsky.

“Ok, now Steve and Lou here will fake a fight and see how the dog reacts.” Rodgers explained, gesturing towards two members of his staff.

A few moments later Steve and Lou were rolling over a gym mat, pretending to fight. During this exercise, the dog simply barked, clearly nervous and wanting the fight to end, but not showing any signs of wanting to attack the men.

Then, it was Starsky’s turn.

“Steve will shout at you and pretend to attack you,” Rodgers explained. “Don’t worry, he’s very experienced with this type of test.  We actually we do it fairly often, when we are working with dogs who suffer from aggression issues.  He knows perfectly well how to convincingly fake an attack without harming you at all. Feel free to shout back at him, but please, don’t arrest the best movie stuntman we have on our staff, Detective,” Rodgers joked, smiling to ease any possible nervousness on Starsky’s part. “The words Steve will shout at you don’t matter at all. What dogs react to is to the body language and the tone of voice, not what people in an argument or fight are saying...  Ready, Detective?”

“I am ready when Steve is,” Starsky said, feeling a mix of unease and curiosity.

The trainer approached Starsky, and began to play his part. With a swift movement he stepped behind Starsky and put him in a choke hold. Without applying any pressure, Steve shouted, “AM I HURTING YOU? JUST TELL ME AND I’LL STOP RIGHT AWAY. ARE YOU OK, DETECTIVE? IF SO, I NEED YOU TO FALL ONTO THE MAT ALONG WITH ME. CAN YOU DO THAT?”

“YEP, I’M FINE, YOU JUST KEEP ON!” Starsky shouted back, trying to sound mad and pretending he was struggling to release himself from Steve’s grasp, as they both fell onto the gym mat. Meanwhile Hutch, who was outside the room, looking at the scene through a wide glass window, was getting a bit nervous. Even knowing that the attack on Starsky was fake, it looked so real that he had a hard time restraining himself from storming into the room to help his partner.

Steve, having been previously informed that Starsky was still recovering from serious injuries, proceeded very carefully. His words were kind even as he was shouting them angrily, and the way he handled Starsky was outwardly aggressive, but also carefully controlled and considerate of Starsky’s comfort. The mix of kind words and his anger-loaded tone of voice, plus aggressive actions, made this a most bizarre, almost comical experience for both Starsky and Hutch.

As expected, Steve and Starsky didn’t need to play their roles for more than a moment before getting a reaction from the dog. As soon as the trainer grabbed Starsky and shouted at him, Buddy went berserk. He began barking and growling menacingly at Steve, jumping on his hind legs, and showing his teeth.  The fur along his spine stood on end, as he lunged forward, repeatedly trying to reach the trainer.  Buddy was yanking at the leash with such force that the anchor ring, despite being tightly secured to the wall, seemed to give way a little.  If the test had lasted much longer, odds were good that the dog would have pulled himself free and attacked Steve.

However, before that could happen, Carl stepped in front of the dog, and raised his palm towards Buddy.  In a firm, commanding tone of voice, he said, “Buddy, stop!”

Instantly, the dog relaxed his stance and sat on his haunches.  Panting heavily, Buddy stared intently at Starsky and Steve. He was clearly still concerned, however, he was no longer behaving aggressively.

And so, the test was over. It proved that the months of training had worked. Even so, the trainers were still puzzled by the strong protective instinct the dog continued to display towards Starsky; a man who wasn’t even his owner, and who had only interacted with him a handful of times. None of them, in all their years of experience training dogs with a wide array of behavioral issues, had ever seen anything like it.

“Calm and docile, while also protective and a guardian by nature. He is uniquely overprotective toward Detective David Starsky, however he reliably responds to commands even when under stress. Like most Newfoundland dogs, Buddy is gentle and emotionally stable, perfectly fit to be adopted and live among adults and children.” was the final conclusion of the animal behaviour specialists’ report, once Buddy’s training had finished.

Starsky, of course, would’ve liked to adopt the dog that had saved his and Hutch’s lives, but he knew that once his sick leave was over, even if he was restricted to desk duty, the animal would be spending too many hours alone. So, even though the decision pained him, he wanted the dog to go where he’d be happier.

To everyone’s surprise, Collins stepped in and adopted him.

“Ya know, guys; what Amanda wants, Amanda gets,” he explained, almost apologetically. “My wife has always loved Newfies, and after learning how Buddy saved the day in that warehouse, well, she was hell-bent on adopting him.  What could I do? She threatened to make me sleep on the couch every night until I said yes.”

Starsky and Hutch laughed, trying to picture the tough cop sleeping on his couch until he gave in and humored his wife.

Chapter Text

EPILOGUE

That Sunday morning Starsky and Hutch were at Collins’s house. He had invited his fellow detectives to a backyard barbeque.

The weather was warm and sunny. Collins and his wife were in the kitchen, getting the steaks, burgers and other stuff ready to grill on the barbeque. Starsky and Hutch were sitting at the outdoor table, with a beer for Hutch and a coke for Starsky. Buddy was at Starsky’s side. Now that his fur was clean and shining the dog looked younger that he’d seemed when he was a stray. According the veterinary team, he was still in his prime; around two to three years old.

“Know what, Starsk?” Hutch said, looking at the dog that lay calmly by the brunet’s side. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but Buddy looks an awful lot like Onyx, that Newfoundland dog Terry had back when she was still living with her parents. He even has white spots on two of his front toes, same as Onyx had.”

Starsky looked down at the dog, as Hutch was talking.

“You have a picture of Terry and that dog in your photo album, remember, partner?” The picture Hutch was talking about was one of Terry taken in her home town, long before she’d met Starsky. He had loved that pic, so she gave it to him shortly before her passing. When the picture was taken, Terry had been just an eighteen years old girl, smiling at the camera with her arms wrapped around a huge, black Newfoundland dog.

“Oh, yes. Yes, Blondie, I remember it,” Starsky answered, as the memory of the picture came to his mind, “If my memory is correct, that dog passed away of old age, right?” he asked.

“Yep, partner, Terry said he died at 11 years old, a few months before she finished college.”

“Starsky! Hutch!” Collins interrupted them, “Come on guys, we could use some help with this barbeque!”

“Coming!” Hutch said, helping Starsky to his feet. The blond detective headed towards the barbeque. Instead of following, Starsky looked again down at the dog. Buddy was still by his side, watching Collins’ kids as they played noisily at the pool. Then the brunet did it. Not sure why, but he did it anyway.

“Onyx?” In a low voice, Starsky called the dog. He quickly raised his head, staring up at Starsky’s eyes with a look that could only be described as one of recognition; a look that seemed almost human.

The eerie moment lasted only a few seconds. Then, the dog stood, trotted towards the swimming pool and jumped in unceremoniously, splashing everybody around.

‘Death ends a life, not a relationship.’ Morrie Schwartz

END