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"Starsky!" I yelled, hanging my jacket by the front door.
No answer came and there was no sight of him down the hall. I looked around, sticking my head into the living room in case he was there.
"Starsky!" I yelled again.
"You keep doing that, you're gonna scare the neighbors."
I spun around, startled. Starsky had always been quiet on his feet, but he was even more silent in the chair.
"And you're gonna give me a heart attack." I leaned down and kissed him. "Where were you hiding anyway?"
"I was making dinner." He smiled. "But since you're here now, you can help." Starsky turned his chair back towards the kitchen, leaving me to follow.
"What is it anyway?" I asked as the smells wafting from the kitchen greeted me.
"Baked chicken," he said, opening the oven door and checking on the process. Closing it, he seemed pleased. "Should be done in another ten minutes." He pointed to the table, where he had already laid out vegetables. "Sit down and start chopping."
"Bossy chef," I teased, taking my seat.
"I try, I try."
He rolled over and grabbed the knife off the counter, bringing it back for me. Once he saw I had the task under control, he continued. "Anything exciting happening down there?"
Down there was the station. Down there was where I still worked, at least for a while. Down there was where he still refused to go. He'd see the guys at the bar or in town, but he would never go to the station. It was a mental block for him, but one I was sure he'd get past eventually. Being a cop was all he ever knew, but now that he couldn't do the job anymore he tried to avoid it. At first, when he asked about my day, I would be vague and not want to hurt him by sharing all the things that he couldn't do anymore. That didn't last long. He told me straight out that he needed me to share it with him, needed to still feel connected. I was only planning on being on the force long enough to finish out Gunther's case, but the reaches of the investigations went far and wide. I wouldn't take another partner, couldn't, so I was more of a desk jockey now. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, maybe transfer over to the Academy or something, because even with my current role I was still in too much danger in his eyes.
"Nothing really. Files, interviews, the same old thing," I responded, absently chopping the carrots. I should have been paying more attention because the next cut came down on my finger instead. "Damn!" I cursed, jerking my finger back.
"Lemme see," Starsky said, pulling my hand towards him. "It's not too bad. I'm gonna go get a band-aid." He turned to leave, retreating to the back bathroom to retrieve a bandage for my wound.
I started to suck on my finger, trying to still the blood. It was amazing to me, after so little time, how well Starsky was doing. The argument over this house, the one I had offered to him as a new beginning, had ceased once he began on the final leg of his recovery. It wasn't a bad house; actually it was pretty nice. The rooms were large and spacious, allowing us to position the furniture so that Starsky could easily get around. The builder had laid it out to allow his wife the same mobility that Starsky needed; she had been in a wheelchair, too. What Starsky had angrily referred to as a "cripple house" had become our first home.
And the life that we were just now trying to rebuild, reform into something normal, was quickly feeling right. Starsky had still not decided what he wanted to do, but he was open to many possibilities. He was even looking into going to college for a while, getting an education and a career in something removed from his past life. He still hadn't decided what that would be, though. I didn't push him to decide, he was healing and adjusting well on his own. The disability checks from the department weren't much, but they did help. Between that and my own paycheck, we were doing okay.
"Stop sucking it or the band-aid won't stick," he ordered as he rolled back into the kitchen.
I quietly put my injured hand into his as he applied the bandage. When he had wrapped my finger, he kissed it. "See? All better."
He took over the chopping, not trusting me to remain safe even within our own kitchen.
"And what about you? What'd you do today?" I asked him as I watched the salad quickly coming together.
"Same thing, like always." His voice was a little sad.
Starsky's routine was meant to take his mind off things, keep him focused on becoming more independent, but the only thing it ever did was to leave him with a sadness that I couldn't erase.
"Did Huggy come over?"
"Yeah." He continued chopping, concentrating on his task.
"Did the two of you get into any trouble?" I teased, trying to draw him out.
"Nah," he said, sounding deflated. "We went downtown, had lunch at the Pits, saw his new waitress." He paused, trying to play off his sadness. "I don't know if she'll be sticking around long, though."
"Why's that? Got a better thing coming along or something?"
"She's just..." he trailed off, arranging the cut vegetables in the salad bowl. "Huggy yelled at her today."
"Did something happen?"
"Don't worry about it." He turned away from the table and went back over to the oven. "Dinner's ready, so why don't you get the plates and clean the mess off the table?"
I didn't push; I tried to never push when he was sad like this. He'd always held things in and then somehow I'd find out the cause, either through him or someone else. The dinner was supposed to take our minds off of whatever bad things had happened during the day. By the end of it, he was more animate and seemed to be back to his old self. And I could almost believe that nothing had happened down at the bar if it wasn't for the fact that he wasn't fully acting the part.
"What do you wanna do tonight?" I asked, stacking my plate on top of his and taking them over to the sink. He cooked, I cleaned, or vice versa when I had the time.
"I just wanna rest, watch a movie or something."
"Anything in particular?" I ran the water for the dishes, retrieving all the glasses and things from the table and piling them into the sink as well.
"Dunno, just something." He pushed away from the table. "I'm gonna go see what's on. Just come in when you're done."
And with that, he wheeled himself out of the kitchen on his way towards the living room. I could hear him switching the channels until he found something he liked, then silence until he made it to the couch. Then there were the sounds of Starsky trying to get situated, swinging himself over from the chair.
I remember when he was just learning how to do that, transferring his body from the chair to somewhere else or back again. It was hard going at first, but over time he'd built his upper body strength and made it look easy. His upper body was amazing to look at, muscles firm along his arms. I loved running my hands along them, over to his chest. He was still self-conscious of the scars that dotted his chest from the shooting. They were healed now, barely able to be discerned from the rest of his body through the hair, but he knew they were there and I knew they were, too. To me, it just proved that he was still alive. I would kiss each one and tell him how they meant he was still with me. He knew that it meant everything that he had survived, but sometimes he couldn't help but get that look in his eyes that told me he was remembering before, remembering when he could still do everything he had taken for granted.
The dishes were quickly done and put away. I went out to the living room and found him stretched out on the couch, watching some mindless show on television. He seemed to be enjoying it, laughing at the girl's plight of not being able to find her diary.
"Where am I supposed to sit if you're hogging all the couch?" I laughed.
"You were late, so I have squatter's rights." He smiled back at me.
"Squatter's rights don't extend to our couch," I pointed out.
Gently picking up his head and sliding onto the couch, I settled him back on my lap. He loved lying in that position, watching television as I ran my fingers over his chest. It always put him to sleep, too, before the movies or shows were ever done.
"What are you watching anyway?"
"I dunno. I was waiting for the movie to come on. This kid's got his sister's diary and she's freaking out. It's supposed to be funny."
"Is it?"
"In a cheesy sorta way, I guess," he laughed.
"Your kind of entertainment," I said, resting my head back on the cushions.
Twenty minutes later, the show was over and the movie was just starting. But Starsky was dead to the world by then. Between the dinner and my massaging, he had fallen asleep. I could do it myself, too. I was almost asleep when the phone jarred me into awakeness. I looked down, making sure it hadn't disturbed Starsky, before quickly grabbing it.
"Hello?"
"Hutch. Hey, man."
"Huggy, hey." I yawned, trying to snap myself into coherence. "What's up? I heard you took Starsky out for lunch down there today."
"Yeah, I did." His voice sounded different, not as happy. "Tell him Francine's sorry about it."
"About what?" I was more alert now. "What happened?"
"Starsky didn't tell you?"
"He said he didn't know if she'd be sticking around long. Said you and she weren't seeing eye to eye on something."
"Francine just made a fool of herself is all. She didn't know, man."
"What did she do?" I asked more sternly.
"We were at the table by the time she got out and...Well, she was doing her job and all. We were joking around and stuff, then I had to go to the back for a delivery. I was just coming out of the kitchen again when I saw it."
"Huggy, will you stop stringing this along and just tell me already?"
"Somebody had put the jukebox on and Starsky was flirting like he always does, you know?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, Francine jumps up and starts asking him to dance."
"No...." I knew where this was leading.
"I guess she didn't notice. I mean, I never told her about the chair, why would I? And she never saw us come in and we were in the back corner so she couldn't see the chair and..."
"What happened?"
"She kept pulling on him, telling him that he should put his money where his mouth was and show a lady a good time. Finally he came out from around the table and she found out why he was begging off." Huggy paused, breathing into the phone like he was losing his grip. "He left to go to the back and I came out. I yelled at her up and down about it and she kept crying and saying she didn't know. I finally sent her out for a while so she could clean herself up." He sighed, his voice cracking a little. "I found him in the bathroom, just sitting. He told me he wanted to go home, wouldn't even listen to me about how she was sorry or anything."
"Huggy, I....thanks for telling me."
"No problem, man." He sounded like he was about to hang up, but said one last thing. "Hutch, she really didn't know."
With that, the line went dead. I replaced the phone on its hook, trying to calm myself from what I just heard. I wasn't expecting him to be awake, but he was.
"It was even one of our songs," he quietly said, his face turned away from me.
"Starsk..."
He turned his face towards mine, looking up into my eyes. "I was telling her how I used to be a dance instructor undercover. She was laughing and we were joking and then she was pulling my arm and telling me to dance with her."
I put my hand on his cheek, trying to soothe away the pain he was hiding. "Are you okay?"
"It's stupid, but I'm still angry with her. It's not her fault, you know? But I was angry at her for reminding me." He took a shuddered breath to cover his breaking voice. "I just forget sometimes and when I remember, it hits me hard."
"I know."
"It wasn't her fault. I know she didn't mean it, but it still hurt."
And it wasn't her fault, wasn't his either. He had just been reminded of a limitation once again, been reminded that he wasn't the same man who went undercover and played a role. This was reality, a life-long undercover role that he had to take on. Strong and fearless Detective Sergeant Starsky had to be a man with limitations, with boundaries, with a loss of many of the things he once loved.
We sat on the couch for a long time, him laying on me and trying to forget. We had come a long way, but we still had a long way to go. This was a lifetime commitment, a life-long adjustment, but we could make it together. The limitations would be many, but it wouldn't be impossible. We were together, we were alive, and we would take on everything that came one day at a time.