Many thanks to Starsky´s Strut for helping me to correct and make better this story

This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit, and is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders of the rights to Starsky and Hutch.


(Dobey´s P.O.V.)


Guess what? All along my life always I have clung to the belief that there's something beyond us, beyond our rational understanding. Most likely I am more religious than I am willing to admit, I guess, and scenes, moments like this one that it's right now unfolding in front of my eyes does nothing but to reaffirm my beliefs, my faith in that The Lord cares for us.


Here we are, at my place, sitting down around my dinning table in a sunny, beautiful Sunday of late summer. We are Edith, Cal and Rosie, my beloved family, myself, of course, and they both. My best detectives, my cherished friends, somehow my older sons, in short, my boys.


They are today here to have lunch with us and to celebrate their return to life after coming back from their travel to Hell. A travel that began about three months ago, when the bullets of two hit men hired by James M. Gunther shattered the body of Starsky, almost taking off two lives in just one hit. Starsky’s life and the life of his best friend, Kenneth Hutchinson, our Hutch.


The road they had to go through until being able to be here and now, sitting around my table sharing food and love with us has been long…Well; in fact it's not over yet. But the roughest part is over. At least that’s what I beg God every day.


My heart still squirms in pain in seeing the traces of the ordeal in their bodies and indomitable spirits. Something inside me still does scream in the agony of the recent memories.


That morning, the precinct was a chaos…Cans of paint here and there, painters doing their job…Starsky and Hutch messing around, playing an improvised game of paddleball before going out to hit the streets. Those are my last memories of them before they left the squad room, being still healthy and happy. Short minutes later, when they were already in the parking lot and I was back in my office, I heard the unmistakable, blood-curling noise of shots coming from a machine gun, and at that same moment, I knew without any doubt that something had gone wrong, very wrong short distance down…though I didn’t know how much wrong yet.


At that very instant, as Starsky did lie bleeding and nearly dying on the ground, with Hutch by his side, telling him soothing words, applying pressure with his bare hands onto the bullet holes in Starsky’s chest in a useless attempt to stop the bleeding while losing a bit of his soul at every ragged breath escaping from his partner's mouth, the hardest test of endurance began for my boys.


Along those days, and in the months to come, I was witness of the most amazing display of strength, willpower, loyalty and utter, fierce love coming from both of them. Not any real blood-brother could have done even a small amount of all that Hutch did to help Starsky to survive and heal. No man could have struggled as hard as Starsky did to come back to life. And I know; all the people who happens to know them well enough does know that if Starsky is today here, sitting at my table, willing to do his best to do full justice to Edith’s cooking despite his lack of appetite, is thanks to Hutch and his unwillingness to give up on his best friend.


Sure, they aren't the same ones they used to be just a few months earlier, and only God knows if eventually they will be able to get back all that these last months of suffering has taken away from them. They both do look thin, pale, frail and drained of their strength and joy, because all of that has gotten lost in some point of their hard and long road. The future is still uncertain and quite frightening for them, because no one can assure yet that Starsky will be able to return to the force, and if Starsky does not come back, then, Hutch just is going to quit too. I am old and wise enough to know it, just by looking at their eyes. However, they are here, alive, hopeful despite all the odds against them, willing to hold on, fighting, enjoying, suffering and taking all the gifts or crap that life can put ahead them from now on.


Quite often I feel proud of the people I love, proud of Edith, my loving, brave wife, the woman of my life. Proud as well of my smart, good-hearted kids, of my deceased parents, humble and hard-working people that did their best to give me and my siblings all those things they couldn't have in their childhood along with lots of love. I have to feel proud of my former partner Elmo, both along our partnership and after his death too, but which I feel for Ken and Dave…That’s a special kind of pride, I guess. A pride a little difficult to put into words…


Now I must say; the first time that, quite a while ago I saw them together, standing in front of my desk, eagerly asking me; coaxing me by all means into teaming them up together, I just couldn't believe what I was hearing. A streetwise, short-tempered bundle of energy who most likely gets his clothes from any Salvation Army Center partnering up with a guy rather quiet, a little shy, well-mannered and refined like a damn young European member of the aristocracy…no, that idea sounded plain ludicrous to me. As silly as if you try to mix lemon juice with milk. The resulting stuff isn't milk nor lemon milkshake but a half-congealed, disgusting glop only suitable to be dumped down the sink. However, I did it. Don't ask me why, but I'd agree to their requests to put them to work together, hoping that it will be worth the try.


From then and in the days to come, I saw in utter amazement how the most dissimilar guys in the department turned out to be the finest team I had ever had under my command…Geez! Most likely, they were the best partners in the force. A pair of outstanding and valiant detectives that did make me feel proud of them once and again. Sure, they'd make me mad quite often too, they weren't too fond of working by the book, and they used to bend the rules more often than I liked to know, but they got results, they were two damn good cops, always covering each other's backs and caring for each other and guess what? Given that they never did cross some lines, and they got the scum off of the streets, their work methods were the right ones, as far as I am concerned.


Nothing though; no one of the busts they’d make together, no one of the dangerous criminals they have put out of the streets in the last years makes me to feel prouder of my boys than the simple image that I’m seeing right now in my dinner table. The image of Ken pouring water in Dave's glass from a pitcher too heavy for his yet too feeble hands, while accompanying his simple gesture with a gentle squeeze in his friend's shoulder as they both exchange a soft smile that speaks volumes about what words like friendship, love, loyalty  and care does really means. The depth, the strength of their friendship is there, unrevealed in many, constant ways, both small and big for anybody able to see them. I´m just grateful for being capable to perceive which not everybody can…


Oh, my God… I’m glad that no one, especially Edith can read my thoughts right now, because I’m starting to realize that I’m turning real soapy in my old age… most likely too soapy for my own sake…