Note: Oh brother, she's at it again. Somebody stop her please! LOL.....

More Sweet Revenge thought's from a broken hearted Hutch pov.

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Wasn't I always told by my Mother, my Father, friends, other family member's, my partner, to be careful? Not to walk upon that road that is less traveled. Not to step to close to the flame? Never to play with fire? Never to look directly into the sun or go blind?

Well, any cop will tell you this job is that less traveled road. You often blind sided by the glaring truth. This job...it's..... it is like carrying the lighted end of the torch in your bare hand every single day. Sooner or later you going to get burned.

I sit here in this bedside chair. A revolution surging through my soul. My world lying before me flattened and unmoving, hooked up, and near, buried beneath God only knows what, fighting for his very life.

My hands? Don't even know where to put them. Afraid if I put them on my buddy he will disappear all together, so I shove them nervously between my knees. I squeeze my legs tight. Keeping my hands trapped. Keeping them from reaching out to my partner. I can't touch him. Feel the cold clamminess of his ghostly pale skin. The reality is just too, it's just too damn m..... much.

I prefer to stay in this deep cavern; as I let my brain wander, looking absorbedly at him. But my mind is not seeing the trampled form bound in gauze. It's in another place, another time. His dying body dissolving away replaced by better days. Pockets of images glide smoothly across my field of vision. Free floating memories of...... of our past. I can't stay here forever, dwelling in this world of make-believe. Where he is laughing, and standing. Walking, and talking. Ribbing me about my car, my choice of cuisine, women.

My heart is shattered like spun glass. There is nothing I can do for him now, but sit. Sit and wait, and hope, and maybe pray a little. Okay, a lot.

Awe, Starsk, damn it all to hell! You know I'd give you my heart, my breath if I could.

Feel me buddy. Feel me here with you p.....p..... please. Try, just try. Can you feel me channeling my life into yours?

He is trapped among the rigging of these God-forsaken machines that imitate life. I lean in as close as I can get. Needing him to feel me near. My eyes closed tight, choosing not to look upon the snare of death. How'd this day go from a relaxed engagement of ping-pong for dinner, to blood -chilling, knee quaking, heart sickening tragedy?

I know how. Any cop will tell you how. There's no denying it. When you choose to become a cop you choose to place yourself on that imaginary drawn line. Bravely facing the evil of this world. Barricading it from burrowing so deep into our society you'd never pull its sword from that stone.

You know, going into this job; know full well the consequences that could befall you. Be it a bullet to your chest, a bat to your skull, or be it standing your ground, placing your self between your partner and certain death. You step over that drawn line and you make your sacrifice. That's what Starsky did, does, and would do a thousand times over for me.

"Damn you. How could you let this happen to him?" My eyes raising to the ceiling, but looking past the ceiling tiles to some other entity I know must be there listening. "Of all the murderers, of all the thieves, rapist's, cultists, you could of rid this world of, you choose to rid the world of this man..... this hero?" My eyes roam back down to my partner's stock-still form. Anger seething in me. "I don't understand you. Your logic. What kind of God.....?" Despair and concern cropping up, making me think things I shouldn't be thinking. Ask questions I have no authority to ask. My partner so still, so vulnerable and weak; damaged so badly they didn't think they could keep him alive long enough to get him to the hospital. This catastrophe beyond my imagination. But it’s here slapping me in the face like a woman scorned.

My head hangs low in shame. "Sorry," I whispered on bated breath. I loosened my gripping knee's, releasing one of my captured hands to snag my buddy’s. I can feel his life. A light pulse throbbing across my palm as I squeezed his hand. My partner.....sigh......my partner and I are eternally linked. I can't do this, God help me. "I'm so sorry." I could feel a wet drop skim down my cheek. Within that drop are all my memories, my love for him. "I'm afraid. I can't loose him." The pure white tone of the room matches the numbness in my very spirit.

There is no denying that behind every good cop there is an even better cop backing him up. That better cop, my better half, now lies dying before my very eyes. Those eyes are glazed, my mind confounded. I take in a shaky breath suddenly wondering how long it's been since the last one. Have I been breathing?

What can I say about Starsk? He is the crowning achievement of my life. Without him I stand naked and alone against this cruel demented world.

I sit here in this bedside chair. Hidden away from the eyes of the world. His eyes hidden away from me. I wish.....I wish for this all to vanish in a puff of smoke. To be at Huggy's with a frothy beer in one hand and a lean pool stick in the other. But, life's not as easy as making a wish. Why is that? Why can't we weave the star's into our own personal utopia?

At the academy I learned that knowing your partner wasn't enough. You had to feel him. Sense his mood swings, know every step, every breath better then you knew your own. I know my partner, his fighting nature. Fighting for all he is worth. But this time I think it's not going to be enough. My mind it’s.....it's running ahead of itself. He's dying. That's all it sees. I can't see past these wires anymore. Can't think past this room. It's suffocating me. I can't breathe now. My heart skipping beats, my hands sweaty, and my eyesight swimming with tears.

Point is I am lost, alone, at the mercy of my partner's fate. There's nothing I can do sitting here. Waiting for him to awaken. Waiting for something that may never happen. I can’t do this, watch him die. My hand forced, coerced against my will. It’s his will now, all his. I can't make that happen, can't change things or make them go my way. No matter how much I wish for it to be all right.

I have to draw upon what I can do. I can go out there, and get those bastards that did this to my partner. The power to do that is within my grasp. The power to keep my partner from sliding down hill away from me isn't within my reach, but getting the lousy scum that did this is. It's not too late for that. That I can do. I will do. So help me God!

Something rest's in my soul. Speaks to me without a glossary of words. Something tells me deep inside that from gray skies can come rainbows, from the tiny acorn shell can come the mighty oak, and from my love can spring hope, life.

No action is without consequence. Starsky's heroic action brought him to the ground, spilled his blood. I pray that the action I take now will bring him back.

All that's left to do, here, in this room is to drop down from this bedside chair to land upon my knee's and pray. Not letting go his hand I slowly, sheepishly, humbly slip to the floor never taking my eyes from his, as I speak words I hope I can remember because it's been that long. I hope I am brave enough, worthy enough to speak them.

I let his hand down softly back to the sheeted bed, and sit back up into the bedside chair.

I watched him a moment, my mind void of all thought. A deep, heavy sigh breaks the forced silence.

I have to go now. I bend as close as I can to him. Only my breath touches him this time. I speak in the mildest of whispers hoping it will reach his heart in the loudest of roars.

In this bedside chair I sit in I need not say anymore. I stand to leave, being sure not to look back. Gunther will go down and I won’t sit in the bedside chair again till he does!

That's all she wrote....