Okay, I've seen the movie once and have had disco music stuck in my head ever since. Somebody help me. This was something that rattled around in my head (too much disco) while I was waiting at a doctor's office (you all know just how long one has to sit around in a doc's office) and I jotted it down while I was there. I haven't polished it up or anything, so you must take it as it is, holes and gaps and all. Maybe if I have another long wait somewhere I'll fix it up or write Starsky's p.o.v. or something. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. As always, this is all in fun, so flames will be doused with a fire extinguisher and otherwise ignored. This is movie-verse. I've only seen a couple episodes of the t.v. show, not nearly enough to try to tackle a fic for the t.v. version and do it justice. I've tried to keep to the slightly warped (I mean that affectionately) humor of the movie, so the humor's a little cruder than I'd normally write. Also, there are a couple of song-lyric references. If any of the songs alluded to (including the story title) came out after the year the movie was set, I apologize. Anachronistic and politically incorrect dialogue is intentional ;-)

Disclaimer: Don't own the boys, the movie, the t.v. show, the songs, or the car (I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though <wicked grin>), not making any money off this. William Blinn, Colubia Tri Star, and Warner Brothers own them. I do own Salgado if I ever do a story in which he actually shows up. "I Am A Rock" lyrics owned by Simon & Garfunkel.

Rating/Warnings: I'd rate it for ages 16 and up for language, more than I'd normally use, alcohol use, political incorrectness, and sex-related humor. (I would have edited the language and sex-humor, but it just didn't seem appropriate to have 'shucks' and 'darns' for this particular fic. And with this movie, how could I keep the sex-related humor completely out? As I said, do NOT expect political correctness and don’t say I didn’t warn you if you don’t like it). No slash. SPOILERS.

Plot: What plot? <g> Expanded/Missing scenes and at least two cop-show/movie clichés I noticed didn't make it into the flick: The corrupt ex-partner and the obligatory shpeel on "The Rules" ;-). Hutch p.o.v. after the suspension and split-up.

Starsky & Hutch (Movie-based)

"BLINDSIDED"

(a.k.a. "I Will Survive")

by lln_books

I ended up exactly where I always wind up at times like this---my table at The Pitt. All the truly spectacular career screw-ups, and a few romantic ones, bring me back to Huggy Bear's bar and this rickety table and the chair with the split that yields a nasty pinch right on the ass (and other places I won't mention) if you shift your weight the wrong way. The next time a fight breaks out here, I swear I will subdue the brawlers with this chair, if all goes well smashing it to kindling and putting it permanently out of my misery. Of course, this would probably result in the perps suing for police brutality (assuming I haven't been officially fired by then) and my being suspended--again--and finding myself right back at this bar with another chair that would no doubt be even more pinchy than the first one. It's the circle of life.

So this is what my career---my life---has been reduced to: Drinking myself blind in the middle of the week with the hookers, the street hustlers, the drunks, and God-knew-what other fringe element haunted The Pitt. You have to give the fringe element credit, though, at least you always know where you stand with them. If they stab you in the back, they at least do it to your face. They don't play friends with you first.

I think I'm on my fifth round of drinks now. The upshot is that, after about ten of Huggy Bear's watered-down tequila shots and beer chasers, I won't feel anything at all and the offending chair will no longer be a problem. And feeling nothing is exactly what I'm going for. The plan is to sit on this cursed chair until I've drank myself into a stupor that will erase all memory of the past few days. I raise my shotglass in a silent toast to alcohol-induced oblivion.

As soon as the shotglass and beer mug are empty, the waitress appears with refills, bless the raven-haired angel. I'd thank her by name if only I weren't very blurry doubles of her name tag. I'm okay with that, as I am also seeing two of the buxomous goddess in the too-small t-shirt. I'll never in my life be so drunk that I can't appreciate a beautiful woman in a skimpy outfit that accentuates all the right curves---whoah, down boy, plenty of time for that later. You don't want to ruin your bad mood just yet.

Damn David Starsky, on top of everything else he's got me so pissed off that I've actually lost the will to carouse.

"Hey, baby, what are we drinking to?" she asks pleasantly in a honeyed voice that perfectly compliments that gorgeous body.

"Enlightenment." I raise the tequila glass she has just placed on the table in a toast and down it in one gulp. "Also known as the cosmic blindside that puts the screws to you the minute you let your guard down." (Did I mention that, after a half-dozen tequila shots, I can talk even more than my usual mile-a-minute conversation?)

She stares at me like I've grown a second head. Clearly she's not familiar with the cosmic blindside. Must lead a charmed life. "Ummm..." she starts, quite visibly trying to think of a response to that.

I try again. "How about 'unemployment'?"

This she understands. "Oh." I'm rewarded with a sympathetic pout of her incredible mouth. Sympathy is good. "Where's your partner? What was his name---?"

I cut off that line of questioning. "I have no partner."

The outburst startles her, I can tell. I feel a little bad about that. It also draws looks from the few other occupants of the bar. The waitress recovers quickly. She was probably used to drunks piping off at her, poor kid. She tilts her head a bit, definitely looking interested. I know that look---she's going to offer to comfort me or something of that nature. Maybe I should rethink my plan to drink myself into a stupor and let the dark-haired waitress-goddess help me forget this truly awful week...

"Are you crying?" she blurts out.

So much for romance.

I can feel my ears burning even through the alcohol fog in my brain. "I am NOT crying. I...I'm a cop. I carry a badge and a gun...I don't cry. I am a Rock. I am an Island..." I stammer.

"I thought you were unemployed?"

Annoyed now, I hand her a generous tip and send her quickly on her way. She makes a bee-line for the bar and says something to Huggy Bear that I can hear over the music blaring from the jukebox. It must be about me, because he glances my way and shakes his head. He pats her on the shoulder and says something that makes her laugh. I can only aspire to being as suave with ladies that he is.

So, it's not exactly a surprise when Huggy Bear grabs a bottle of beer and joins me at the table. He gives me a scrutinizing look that, if he were to use it at the precinct, would make the most unrepentant scum of the earth squirm. I'm in for an interrogation, whether I want one or not. He gets right to the point: "So, what's bugging your ass, man?"

It would be pointless to ignore the question. Huggy Bear would sit in that chair until the end of time until he got an answer. Since I was anxious to get back to inducing my alcoholic coma, it was best to just tell him and be done with. "'What's bugging my ass?' Well, let's see...I've been suspended for so long that the difference between it and unemployment is subtle at best. Meanwhile, Reese Feldmen is probably running around the city with a buttload of cocaine free and clear...there's justice for you. Manetti keeps crank-calling me pretending to be a casting agent for gay porn. Oh, and I almost forgot, there's a convict with a dragon fetish who wants to make me his sex toy."

Huggy Bear nods as I rattle off my list of grievances as though he heard this sort of thing all the time. Then again, considering the neighborhood, maybe he did. "And where's Perm-job?"

"If you mean that uptight, irritating, rulebook-hugging, candy-assed, back-stabber David Starsky, then I don't know and I don't care. He filed for a transfer. He's not my problem anymore." I took a long pull on my beer. Huggy Bear's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. "Do you know what that weasel wrote about me in that transfer request? That I showed up late..."

"Do you?"

"Who cares!? He said I was 'unreliable'. Do you believe that? After all the humiliation I had to go through backing him up? The wigs and the hand towels and the mime outfits and the tape recorders and him pointing guns at me and the perverted prisoners...'There's a gumball machine robbery in progress, Hutch, let's roll'. Is he freaking kidding me with that!? How can someone be a cop that long and still act like such a greenhorn? And that tape of Big Earl’s interrogation is probably going to follow me around for the rest of my life..."

"Who's Big Earl? Some tiny little dude?"

"Ironically no," I wave off the subject. "Can we not mention Big Earl? The whole thing is too horrifying to contemplate without a whole lot more beer in me." I pick at the label on the bottle. "I'm unreliable? I backed him up when he wanted to investigate that floater. I wanted to sail it down to the next precinct, but no, he's stuck on that whole 'department procedure' thing. I carried his sorry ass home from that disco bar while he was all Davy in the Sky with Diamonds. I took care of his date while he was passed out..."

Huggy Bear quirked an eyebrow. "You slept with her didn't you?"

"Well, I was already going to sleep with Staci. Holly was there all alone. I didn't want to be rude..."

He nodded his understanding. "What are partners for?"

"Exactly! And who figured out that powder Feldman is dealing really was cocaine?" I pointed to myself. "Me."

Huggy Bear looked suitably impressed. "Well played. How'd you do that?"

"Uh...it's not important." I felt my ears going red again. "I actually liked that little piker."

That admission surprises even me. I suppose in a weird sort of way I owed him some respect. I mean, he wasn't completely lacking in style. Just look at that Gran Torino he favored, even if he tended to be way too anal about keeping the thing pristine. And give him credit, he could kick some ass when he had to. It wasn't everyone who would body-check, much less attempt to pound into the ground, a guy Manetti's size while wearing nothing but a hand-towel. Not to mention he was one helluva wingman with the ladies. Who'd have guessed that by looking at him? I had him figured for one of those guys who saves himself for his future wife. Not that it mattered---Starsky had made it crystal clear to me that he didn't feel the same the minute the captain dropped his request for reassignment in my lap. "He said I took bribes and consorted with criminals and tampered with evidence and had no respect for policy or procedure or the badge..."

Huggy Bear shrugged at that. "Myself, I find your moral flexibility to be one of your most respectable qualities."

"He said I was a bad cop." And why the hell did I even care what he thought? "I mean, I may not follow the 'Rulebook', but..."

"But there's a difference between 'The Rulebook' and 'The Rules'," Huggy Bear finished my thoughts damn near verbatim. He leaned back in his chair with a smirk that suggested he'd just solved a riddle and was waiting to share the answer. "Now I know what's bugging your ass."

Now, I was confused. "I'm telling you what's bugging my ass--the knife sticking out of my back."

His grin grew wider. "I know what's really bugging your ass. You want to hear it?"

"Oh please, I may not be able to sleep another night until I do."

Sarcastism tends to just roll right off Huggy Bear. He hit me right between the eyes with a single word: "Salgado."

The alcoholic haze instantly disappeared. My blood ran ice cold at the mention of Detective Darren Salgado. "This has nothing to do with Salgado," I growled in warning for him to drop the subject.

Huggy Bear pressed on: "I remember the first time he rolled around here with his new rookie partner. No moral flexibility back then. Man, you were the..." A wicked glint came to his eyes. "...the greenest, most irritating, uptight, rule-loving, candy-assed little white boy I'd ever seen in my life…at least until I met Perm-Job. We had bets going around here---how long you'd last before you got capped, whether you'd get smoked by a perp or by one of your own officers. Salgado and his running dogs were crooked as hell and you were the only man in the entire city who didn't know."

"I would have figured it out..."

"Dude, you hauled about five grand worth of stereo equipment around in the trunk of your car for him!"

"I thought I was helping him move his stuff...He said he was having problems finding a good apartment."

"Oh you were helping him move his stuff, all right." Huggy Bear rubbed his eyes, not even bothering to try to hide his amusement.

"So, why'd you warn me about Salgado? Didn't that screw up the betting?"

He was suddenly quite serious. "When I told you about that little business of his, why did you take a brother's word over another badge's? When those boys hauled you down to that pier and were breaking your fingers and shit, why didn't you just tell them who your informant was?"

"'Cause I didn't want to die, why do you think? You were the only bargaining chip I had..."

"It was 'cause you gave me your word that you wouldn't," Huggy Bear disagreed.

“You saved my life. I'd have been a floater if you hadn't shown up."

"If a man's got your back, it ain't right to not return the favor. Boy, what were you thinking trying to arrest all eight of them on your own? Simple math should have told you that you can't take out eight men with a six shooter and no spare bullets. Lord give me strength..." He shook his head, wincing at the memory. Not that I blamed him, the memory still gave me gray hairs now and then.

"It's not like I planned it that way...dragged me out of my bed in the middle of the night, down there on the pier in my boxers with the winos hooting at me..."

"Never, never tell me where you were hiding that revolver."

"How'd you even know I was there?"

"It's my neighborhood. It's my business to know what's going down here. That includes when greenhorn rookies who still think the good guys are supposed to win by virtue of the fact that they're the good guys are about to get a lesson in the difference between the rulebook and the rules of survival."

I remembered Huggy Bear saying those exact words to me on the pier that night. He'd been right. "Youth and naivety. Salgado cured me of that."

"Maybe he did...maybe he didn't."

"Still not seeing the connection between being pissed off at Salgado and being pissed off at Starsky."

"You remember what you wrote about Salgado in your police report? Something along the lines that he was corrupt? That he accepted bribes and tampered with evidence and that he was a bad cop?"

Aw hell....now I saw what he was getting at. It didn't help that he was right.

"I've known you a long time, Hutch. You aren't a bad cop, and you for damn sure ain't no Salgado. It's just that Salgado and every Salgado in a badge or a black robe that you've come up against since him trampled the hell out of your faith in the job. I think maybe the reason you got your shorts in a bunch over what he wrote in that file is that working with someone who still believes that good guys win because they're the good guys was giving your faith back to you."

"Stabbing me in the back is a helluva way to restore my faith."

"Did you even get his side of it?" Huggy Bear asked. It was a reasonable question, some still-sober part of my brain realized, but I wasn't ready to be reasonable yet. "You said you like the dude."

"Piker was the word, and it's like-d. Emphasis on the 'd'. Past tense. As in no more, thanks for the memories, see ya, wouldn't care if he came crawling back..."

Huggy Bear was giving me that look---like a dad who's trying to figure out what to do with a petulant child. "Everyone makes mistakes, man."

"Yeah, well, I won't make that mistake again."

"I was talking about Perm-Job." He sighed and rose from the chair. "You think about it. I'll get you another beer, but then you are cut off. Righteous indignation has a seven-round maximum. You'll see things different tomorrow. Trust me." He made his way back to the bar.

I didn't want to think about it--not about Feldman, Salgado, unemployment or seven kinds of public humiliation and for damn sure not about David Starsky. I wanted to resume my original plan of getting thoroughly drunk, and I might have actually succeeded if Huggy Bear, for the second time that day, hadn't brought me crashing back to reality (and sobriety) by reminding me of the day: Wednesday. More importantly. Wednesday afternoon. Very late Wednesday afternoon. In my morass of self-pity, I'd screwed up big time. I was three hours late picking up Willis. The kid was gonna kill me. Sonnuvabitch!

I was on my feet surprisingly fast for a man in my advanced stage of intoxication. In my haste, I toppled that God-awful chair and, for good measure, tripped over it. The chair's leg broke with a snap, ruined beyond repair. Things were looking up already. I muttered apologies and promises to pay for the rounds later as I tried to get my fingers to cooperate with my brain's command to remove my truck keys from my pocket. I had just managed to fish out the keychain and made it to the door before Huggy Bear caught up with me.

"Wait!" he commanded, taking the truck keys from my grasp. "We'll take my car. That truck of yours may be an eyesore, but I'm not gonna let you wrap it around a tree."

"I'm fine." Sure, even I didn't believe that, but it's the standard comeback in such a situation.

"Really?" Huggy Bear waved my raven-haired angel over to the door and stood her in front of me. Pointing to the appropriate curves, he asked, "How many boobies do you see?"

Personally, I counted six. "That depends. How many of her are there?"

He smirked and shoved me in the direction of his gargantuan Lincoln. "I'm driving. My car, not that disgrace on wheels of yours."

*

My ever-crumbling universe spiraled further downwards the minute Huggy Bear turned that behemoth vehicle of his onto my street. We hadn't bothered stopping at Willis' school, as I was so far beyond late that there was no way the kid would still be waiting for me there. Instead, we headed straight for his house, just a few doors down from my place. The first thing I saw was the column of smoke rising into the afternoon sky and the flashing lights of fire trucks and patrol cars. The lumbering giant in a black uniform among the cops standing around could only be Manetti. Slowly, I realized the firefighters were pouring water on a pile of burning debris that lay on the exact spot where my home had once stood. Well, to be precise, there was a small but impressive crater where my house had been, the pile of rubble was burning at the bottom of the pit like a beach bonfire. Smoldering pieces of wood, roofing, and burnt pieces of personal belongings were strewn along the length of the neighborhood.

Huggy Bear looked at the wreckage and whistled. "You said the kid would be pissed you were late, but damn..."

"Reese Feldman." I growled. I should have seen this coming---Feldman had already sent his goombahs after Starsky, of course they'd come after me next. My fist slamming against the passenger-side window drew a glare and a protest from Huggy Bear.

I was out of the car and running before he had brought the car to a complete stop. All the while, I was cursing Feldman under my breath and planning all possible ways of making him pay. I cursed myself for letting Starsky get me so wrapped around the axles that I'd lost focus and, worse, let Willis down. Most of all, I was praying to every saint I could recall that Willis had not been waiting for me in my house. I might actually have charged right into that flaming wreckage if one of the firefighters hadn't intercepted me via boardinghouse reach and held me back. "Where do you think---?" he started.

I heard Manetti's voice boom: "It's all right. That's his house."

The firefighter nodded sympathetically. "There's nothing you can do."

I wasn't interested in any more sympathy. I turned to Manetti. "There was a kid. Did you see a kid? This tall? African American? Smart mouth? Big hair?"

Manetti shook his head negatively. "No, sorry."

"Look again!" I snapped. I guess he got that I was serious, because he nodded without question and headed off to search the crowd of on-lookers who'd gathered to watch the spectacle.

I might have gone into a full-blown panic right on the spot had a loud whistle from Huggy Bear not drawn my attention. He was standing beside a paramedic truck and waving me over. "Hutch! Over here!" At least, I think that's what he said. It was hard to hear above the sirens and shouts and the deafening pounding of my own heartbeat that almost drowned out everything else. I shoved my way through the crowd of uniforms and spectators, not really caring about the remarks my rudeness earned from them, towards Huggy Bear and the paramedics.

There was Willis, awake and---thank God--alive, laid out on the sidewalk with a blanket covering most of him. One paramedic was bundling up what I was sure was a broken leg while another clean and bandaged a cut on the kid's forehead. Willis let out a yelp at the sting of antiseptic on the small gash and tried batting away the medic's hand. "Ouch! Man, do you see the blood? Head injury! Don't touch it!"

It's amazing how fine a line there is between relief and nausea. I was never so glad to see anyone in my life, but, at the same time, I never had a worse need to find a bush somewhere and be sick. I stopped halfway to the group, half bent over with my hands on my knees, sucking down gulps of smoky air and trying to calm my pounding heart and frayed nerves. I muttered thanks to whatever patron saint watched over cops and small children.

Huggy Bear was kneeling beside Willis on his right, watching the medics like a hawk. They gave him a dirty look as they tried to work around his massive and unmoving form. "Sir, you'll have to stay back."

"It's okay. He's my father," Willis lied. The kid spotted me then. "Hutch! Where the hell have you been, man!?" He looked behind me like he was expecting to see someone else there. "Where's that stiff they got you riding with? You owe me twenty bucks and a new football! All I did was throw my football and your freakazoid house tried to kill me!"

"Jeez, I'm a couple hours late and you vaporize my house? Harsh. Look at that---my entire collection of Statler Brothers on 8-track is in Mrs. Delfino's coi pond, I think I saw my favorite lounge chair flying over Ninth Avenue, and Mr. Kinney's lawn jockey is wearing what's left of my...uh, that was a gift..." Okay, so I was resorting to humor when I should have been apologizing, but it at least got a smile from the kid. Willis shook his head at me. The movement made him yelp a bit and wince and the paramedic warned him not to move his head again.

I finally made my feet carry me over to the boy's side. I knelt down at Willis' left side, took his free hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm so sorry, kid." Jesus, did that sound inadequate, but what else could I say?

Willis absolutely floored me then, "Sorry? Are you kidding? I got at least a six-week free pass out of housework and gym class with this baby." He patted his heavily wrapped leg. "It's Dodge Ball season, you know. And I get some kind of medal or award or something? I mean that bomb would've blown up your sorry ass if I hadn't found it, right? That's like saving a cop's life, right? That's what he said." Willis jerked a thumb towards Huggy Bear.

It was near impossible to believe how easily the kid was letting me off the hook. "Absolutely. You're a hero. Maybe the mayor will present it. At the very least, we can get you a new ball."

Willis definitely lit up at the word 'hero'. "Cool." I have to hand it to him, he was dealing with the whole disaster a lot better than I was.

I'd been concentrating on the kid so hard that I didn't notice the ambulance arriving until the paramedics lifted Willis' onto the gurney. I walked alongside the group. Willis never did trust doctors or hospitals, so he had a deathgrip on my hand. "I don't want a hospital. Just tie a couple sticks around my leg and give me some crutches. I'll be fine."

"Behave," I ordered.

Willis made a rude gesture at me with his free hand. "You're coming too, right, Hutch?"

The ambulance driver answered for me, "Family only."

Willis glared daggers at the man, arguing, "He's a cop."

"Family only."

"But he's my dad," the boy added.

The paramedic frowned. He indicated Huggy Bear. "You said he was your dad."

"What's your point?" Willis countered, straight-faced. In spite of my bad mood, had to bite my lip to stifle a laugh. This kid was going to be a helluva poker player someday.

"Wise guy," the driver muttered as he and the paramedics hoisted the gurney into the ambulance. Willis released my hand, not looking at all pleased with the situation. "You can follow us to the hospital, officer," the driver told me. They slammed the doors closed and, a minute later, the ambulance sped away.

Huggy Bear was suddenly standing beside me. I felt him give my shoulder a squeeze. He steered me back to the Lincoln. "Don't worry. The kid's gonna be fine."

"Easy for you to say, you're not the one his mom's gonna string up by his cajones when she finds out her son almost got blown up."

He chuckled at bit. "What's bugging your ass now, man?"

"Well, I'm out of a job. My partner called me 'unreliable'. Willis just confirmed it. A drug dealer just charbroiled everything I own…and I now live in my truck. Other than that, I can't complain." I was trying to keep my good humor but failing miserably. "Damn it!" I vented my fury by giving the hood of the car a sound punch.

"Hey!" Huggy Bear protested. "You know, you are never getting near my ride again..."

"I screwed up. Really screwed up."

He nodded, not bothering to argue. "Like I told you...everyone makes mistakes." As he climbed into the driver's seat, he added, "You'll make it right."

He was right about that much. I was done wasting my time worry about Starsky, transfer requests, crooked bastard cops from my past, or my own stupidity. I survived Salgado and a hundred more crooks like him, and I'd survive just fine without Starsky if that was the way it had to be. As soon as I was sure that Willis was being looked after, I was going to take care of Reese Feldman---by the Rules, not by the rulebook. I climbed into the Lincoln.

Huggy Bear pulled out into traffic, trailing the ambulance. "So. You've been holding out on me. Tell me about this 'mom' of Willis'..."

*

Epilogue

Okay, so David Starsky didn't exactly "crawl" back---he just waltzed into Willis' hospital room, gifts in hand, right in the middle of Huggy Bear reading to the kid (a nice gesture on my informant's behalf, but, since he got a good-look at Willis' mom last night, I suspect an ulterior motive to his paternal fussing over the kid. It's always hard to tell where Huggy Bear is coming from; he's always been something of a natty-dressed walking engima).

Willis was impressed with the wrist rocket Starsky brought for him. I'm surprised, I'll admit it, that S even knew where to find the very illegal gift, much less forked over the money for the thing. I could have sworn he would break out in hives or get angina at the mere notion of breaking the law. I should took the chance when I lugged him back from that disco to check my theory that he sleeps with a copy of the Bay City Penal Code tucked under his pillow.

Even though the kid was thrilled, it didn't change how I felt. So, the supercop wanted to talk to me. I didn't care if he bought out an entire toy store and delivered it to Willis wrapped up in a giant bow, I wasn't interested in apologies or anything else he had to say. I was perfectly okay with him turn around and walk right out of that hospital and into the Ken Hutchinson History Book of Extraordinary Personal Screw-Ups. Naturally, as soon as I gave my ex-partner the verbal heave-ho, hasta la vista, and see ya never, Huggy Bear started giving me that damn look again. Now, wait just a minute, wasn't he supposed to be on my side?

" 'To err is human, to forgive is divine," he reminded me. "You know who said that?"

"No, who?"

Huggy Bear smiled. "God. The greatest mack of all."

Well, there you have it. I mean, what was I going to say to God? "No"? I had enough explaining to do when I got to the Pearly Gates already (and, yeah, I owed the big mack one for taking care of Willis in that explosion yesterday and letting me escape his mom's wrath with most of my vital organs intact). In the interest of Divine Forgivness, I'd listen to whatever he had to tell me---and then I'd repeat the verbal heave-ho, hasta la vista, and see ya never...

So, wondering at what point my informant turned Jiminey Cricket on me, I trotted out into the hallway to catch S before he reached the exit. "Say what you came here to say," I told him. It won't make any difference.

Okay, so, I hadn't actually expected him to ever admit being wrong about the whole 'bad cop' remark...or about anything. In fact, I'd been reasonably sure he'd have preferred to sit on his gun and pull the trigger first. Okay, so I appreciated it, I guess, maybe I even forgave him. But I still didn't want him back. I didn't want any partner. I was flying solo now. Period. I wasn't changing my mind, either. It didn't matter if he begged, bribed, blackmailed, or----

"Are you crying?" I looked at him closer. Yep, no mistaking it.

"What!? No. I'm not crying. I don't cry. I work out..."

Aw hell...just what I needed, an entire ward full of pretty, and potentially datable, nurses seeing me hugging another man, but c'mon, what was I supposed to do? Let my best friend stand there crying by the nurses’ station?

Whoah, wait...'best friend'? Where did that come from? At what point had I stopped thinking of David Starsky as the pain-in-the-ass ball and chain that Captain Dobby had shackled to my leg and started regarding him in terms of any kind of friendship? When did I go from subscribing to the "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em" theory of crime-fighting back to giving one tiny damn about the job?

And then it hit me: I could beat thieves and drug dealers and pimps and murderers and perverted prisoners and crooked cops, no problem, but this too-serious-for-his-own-good cop had gotten the best of me, had turned me---despite my better judgment and every effort to resist it---back into one of the good guys. True to the concept of the 'Cosmic Blindside', I never saw it coming. What was I going to do, go back to rolling floaters and robbing Korean bookies? Especially now that I'd have him dogging my every step? Besides that, he's gonna get himself killed (by a perp or by another officer) without someone besides the patron saint of overzealous cops watching his back.

I guess that's my job now. Lord, give me strength.

I suppose the one upshot to the Cosmic Blindside is that, every so often, it works in your favor.

End