So, in that first week after the shooting, when at first Starsky was in a coma and later, after he'd woken up and had been too fuzzy to be enjoying any visitors anyway, Hutch had kept Rachel informed by frequent phone calls.
Two weeks after the shooting she'd made a short visit.
Much later, when Starsky was more alert, she had stayed for a longer period.
And now, upon Starsky's return to his apartment, she would be staying over again. Not she, or Starsky or Hutch for that matter, knew how long her stay would be this time. It all depended on how well Starsky recovered.

He had taken three bullets in his torso.
One of them had been high in his back, just an inch to the left from his spine yet close enough to seriously bruise the immediate area around the spine; another, an inch to the right of his spine, had pierced his right lung and cracked a few ribs, and the last had nearly shattered his shoulderblade. The quality of the bullets had been such that they had damaged a lot of tissue and caused severe internal bleeding.
For the first week his life had been hanging by a thread and he had even died for a fourteen-minute span when the hospital staff fought frantically to bring him back.

Hutch had been living on automatic pilot during that nerve wrecking first week.
Afraid to hope, afraid to despair.
He had found himself telling everyone, from Huggy to Captain Dobey, that Starsky was going to die. It was as if he had to say it out loud to prepare himself for the shock he would endure, should his partner really not survive the attack on his life.
But at the same time, there was this little voice inside his head.
As tiny as that voice was, it screamed a message to Hutch's heart at the top of its lungs
"Starsky has to live. He has to. He will live. He must!"

Time had ceased to exist for Hutch as much as it had for Starsky, during that first week.
For 56 hours, Starsky was in a coma.
During those 56 hours Hutch carried on like a machine.
Looking at that still form in the hospital bed, hooked up to a myriad of IVs and life support equipment.
Standing at the foot of that bed, still panting from his mad dash to make it in time after Starsky had barely survived his cardiac arrest.
Sitting on that bed, his back towards his slumbering partner, talking to himself in a state of despair, not knowing where to go from there.
Standing up and turning around only to find his miraculous partner's unfocused gaze meeting his own incredulous stare when Starsky emerged from the coma.

And now today.
Today was the day no one could have thought possible two months ago.
Today David Michael Starsky was coming home.
It had been decided that Hutch would join Rachel in Starsky's apartment, to help her care for her convalescing son for the first transition weeks.
Dobey had been very co-operative in giving the blond detective some time off to help his partner get back on his feet. In all truth, Dobey figured Hutch himself might finally do some healing of his own in the process.

Ever since that fateful day of the shooting, Hutch had been out of sorts. Like a half of a whole. At first his determination to find and bring to justice those responsible for the attempted homicide of his partner had kept him going. When that task was fulfilled, Dobey had witnessed Hutch deflate, become unfocused and distracted. He had burned the candle at both ends as he worked to keep his normal shifts and still muster the energy to spend the remaining hours with his severely injured partner. Before long, Hutch had started to look like a shadow of his former self.

Since it became evident around the precinct through various reports on his conduct, that Hutch was running on empty, Dobey had ordered Hutchinson to see the department psychiatrist. The recommendation from Dr. La Rue had been that the detective should take some personal time or he would be a risk to himself and anyone he worked with.
Dobey had been very forthcoming in supporting this advice since he was aware that the department needed to hold on to all the good men it had. If that meant letting one of those good men function on a back burner for a while, then so be it. All for the benefit of the department.
And, in this case, for the benefit of one Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson's well being too.

So, Dobey had taken Hutch off street duty and had reduced his total number of hours on the job. This action of his superior had provided Hutch the opportunity to devote more time -- within reason -- to help Starsky get back on his feet.
Before long, the entire department had witnessed the resurfacing of the old Hutch.

That was two weeks ago and now his personal time really began.
Hutch watched as Rachel collected her purse. They looked at each other.

"He's coming home," Rachel said simply as she looked up at her son's best friend and partner.

Hutch smiled at her and replied, as he pulled her into a hug,
"He's coming home."

Dave Starsky sat in a wheelchair next to his bed in his room.
Correction, he thought, former bed, former room.
He wore the jogging suit Hutch had brought over the other night, but had insisted on his familiar blue and white Adidas and leather bomber jacket to complete the ensemble. If it weren't for the fact that he sat in a wheelchair, he would have looked just like the old Starsky -- pre-Gunther, pre-cardiac arrest, pre-dependent.

He was happy but extremely tired.
Happy to be going home, finally, after all those weeks in a sterile environment.
Tired because being up and around and getting dressed still was a big and strenuous event for him.

Starsky hated being dependent. Unfortunately the nature and location of his bullet wounds as well as the aftereffects of his coma and cardiac arrest made him quite dependent on others for the simplest of tasks even now, two months after the shooting.
The injuries from the bullets still caused him a great deal of pain and general discomfort.
But it was a good pain now, a healing pain.
What bothered him more was that the coma and the cardiac arrest had shot his fine motor skills, his coordination and his endurance.
The medical staff had assured him that it would be just a matter of time and hard work with the physical therapist to make him well again.
Maybe not a hundred percent but close enough to be able to live a full life.

They didn't talk about him getting back on the streets.
Whenever he'd touched on the subject of picking up his life as Detective Starsky again, his doctor had cautioned him,

"One step at a time, David. You still have a long way to go. If you push ahead too much too soon, you may jeopardize your chances for as full a recovery as is possible."

The medical staff had been honest with him. Enough to let him know he still had a lengthy, arduous convalescence ahead of him to just be able to do everyday things, let alone to be thinking of resuming such a demanding job as a detective on the streets.

Two weeks ago he had started physical therapy, the real stuff. Up until then, he'd had light massages and exercises in his bed.
At first he'd laughed at the question of his physical therapist when he'd asked him to touch his left shoulder with his right hand.
He'd asked Moses -- yes the man's name was really Moses -- if he was serious. He'd told Moses he was supposed to perform physical therapy, not party tricks.
But Moses had been patient and had asked him again to touch his left shoulder with his right hand. He'd complied while chuckling how dumb he thought this particular exercise was.
But then he'd failed to reach past his left biceps, not once, but repeatedly not being able to reach up any higher and a panic had struck him.
Moses had had to calm him down and explain to him that this was a consequence to be expected considering the location where the bullets had hit him in his back and shoulderblade.

Moses had talked long and seriously with Starsky and had explained what lay ahead of him on his road to recovery. Starsky had listened in panic at first, but gradually he'd understood that this was a process that would take time, perseverance and determination.
Although he was fully aware that he wasn't the most patient person, he also knew he certainly possessed determination and perseverance.
And so, for himself, David Michael Starsky had decided then and there that his bottle was half full and that there was hope that everything could -- no, would, be all right again.
That it only took hard work, determination and perseverance from his side to make it happen.

He asked Moses to be honest with him, making sure this big, black, former football player understood he should never keep anything from Starsky, to not cut him any slack and to fight with him, to make him whole again.
They'd shaken hands on that and from then on, they were a team. For the next weeks they worked on getting Starsky's muscles active again through massages, stretching and bending while he was lying in bed.
During these long, painful and tediously slow hours of little progress they'd talked about almost everything together.
This intimate time with each other made Starsky feel as if they were old friends.

Now that Starsky was going home, Moses would start visiting him there for his daily physical therapy session, until his condition improved enough for him to be an outpatient. No one knew when that would be.
Right now, Starsky was quite mobile already, being able to walk small distances.
His hand-eye coordination was improving as well.
The main problems were his general lack of strength, lack of equilibrium, diminished lung capacity and impaired fine motor skills.
Rebuilding his strength was difficult due to his lack of appetite. If he did eat, he often wasn't able to hold all the food down.
His painkillers decreased his appetite and caused frequent bouts of nausea that kept him from taking in all the building blocks he so needed. The vast amount of antibiotics he still had to take had their effect on his energy level as well. On top of all that, he suffered bouts of the oddest food intolerances every now and then.
The medical staff explained it as being just a general state of shock his entire system had had to endure because of the enormous trauma suffered in the shooting, and that eventually things would settle back down to normal again.
Starsky couldn't wait for that moment to arrive. He still craved his junk food; he just wasn't able to enjoy it as much and as often as he'd like to.

As Starsky was daydreaming about junk food, he was suddenly brought back to reality by a knock on the door.
His mother, Hutch, Moses, Dr. Jamison and a nurse entered, all smiles and excitement.

"You're going home, sweetheart!" Rachel exclaimed as she bent down to hug her son.

Hutch stood behind her wearing a grin so wide it almost split his face in two. Starsky couldn't resist cracking a joke,
"So y're finally here to bust me out, huh, Blondie?" His smile mirrored Hutch's.
"It's about time I got sprung from this joint!"

Everyone laughed, though perhaps a tad nervously.

Dr. Jamison stepped forward. He had been the treating physician for the better part of Starsky's long hospital stay and had grown to like the young detective with the indomitable spirit.
As he looked at Starsky with a fond expression on his face, he gave his long-time patient some last instructions.
"Now Dave, you know the drill. Take it slow and take it easy. Don't try to do things you're not up to yet. Watch your diet. Eat according to the list we've given you. Don't stay up too late and don't move around too much, too long and too soon. Keep to the schedule Moses has worked out for you. Oh, and I understand you have a second floor apartment? No stairs for you until Moses says you can, you got that?"

Starsky rolled his eyes and said,
"Yes sir, I got it. I won't do nothing I'm not supposed to, scout's honor."

"Now that would have significance if you'd ever been a scout, Gordo, " Hutch responded.
Then he turned toward Moses and Jamison.
"Don't worry, we'll keep him on a leash."

Again everyone laughed, except Starsky who made a face at Hutch.

"Nurse Williams will accompany you and give you some last information. Take care, Dave. You're doing very well."
Jamison shook Starsky's hand for a long moment.

Then Hutch asked Starsky,
"Are you ready to go home, buddy?"

Starsky looked up at his best friend, his eyes a bit moist.
Suddenly the emotions overwhelmed him. He'd been having a lot of that lately. They had told him that was to be expected after the trauma he had endured with all the psychological ramifications of near-death, pain and his extended hospital stay.
"Are ya kiddin'? Let's get the hell outta here," he said, his voice a bit rough.

And so they left. Moses carried Starsky's bag. Hutch pushed the wheelchair with Starsky in it and Rachel walked next to it, frequently touching her son's arm or curls, as if she couldn't believe the moment had finally arrived that her son would come home again.
Nurse Williams stopped by the nurse's station where most of the staff, who had cared for Starsky during his long hospital stay, had assembled.
It was an emotional farewell for both the caregivers and the patient.
The nurses, orderlies and doctors had been there when Starsky was brought into the hospital as a lost cause. Then they had witnessed his transformation into something that couldn't be defined any other way than as "a miracle", and had soon dubbed their resilient patient "the miracle man".
Now they all hugged Starsky goodbye, as he was finally well enough to go home. Some eyes were moist, some even shed a tear or two, but all were in awe of what Starsky had accomplished. He had truly come back from the dead.

After all the good-byes were said the Starsky group left for the parking lot, where Moses carefully helped him get settled in the car before getting his own car so he could follow Hutch to Starsky's apartment.

With Rachel in the backseat, Starsky next to him in the passenger seat, Moses in his own car behind him and the knowledge that back at Starsky's place people would have gathered already to welcome him home, Hutch glanced sideways at his best friend.

Inside Hutch's heart was singing, joyful over the fact he still had his best friend and that he was coming home today.
But as his eyes found Starsky's features the singing in his heart stilled.
God, how he has changed, Hutch thought as he inconspicuously tried to study his friend.

Outwardly, at first glance, Starsky seemed the same.
So he was a bit thinner and paler, but then he hadn't been outside for so long. His outward appearance seemed just okay.
But it was the look in his eyes, the little tug around the corners of his mouth, the almost melancholic expression that hovered over his features most of the time that signified the fact that something profound had happened to Dave Starsky.
Pain. All I see is pain when I look at him. Even when he's smiling or laughing, there's this underlying sense of pain. Don't know if it's just physical -- on the one hand I hope it is, because then it will fade eventually. Only time will tell.

"If ya keep starin' at me any longer, I might think you're hypnotizin' me 'n start barking like a friggin' dog." There was a hint of irritation in Starsky's voice.

"I wasn't staring at you! I was----" Hutch weakly started his defense.

"Yeah, yeah, 's all right."
Starsky turned and looked Hutch straight in the eyes.
"I ain't goin' nowhere, Hutch. Not anymore. Been there, done that. Wasn't any fun."
He squeezed Hutch's thigh and looked back ahead of him.
"Nope, ain't goin' nowhere for a long time to come."
He took another quick glance at Hutch who was swallowing away the moisture in his eyes. Thinking he'd better get them in a sunnier mood, he added,
"So I guess it's just you and me, Blintz, ain't ya just tickled pink at that prospect?"

Hutch laughed through misty eyes. He knew exactly what Starsky was trying to do and it worked.
Your bottle is always half-full, buddy, even when you had one foot in the grave. And I'm going to help you fill it up all the way again. Count on it.

Rachel Starsky leaned forward and squeezed both young men's shoulders.
"God, this is a beautiful day, " she sighed before leaning back in her seat again.

They entered Starsky's street. Unbeknownst to Starsky, a small welcome-home party had been planned to celebrate this milestone.
As far as he was aware, Moses was going home with them for the first time, to explain some final things to Hutch and his mother on how to take care of him.

The party guests had parked their cars a bit further down the road, so as not to give away the surprise. Hutch and Moses parked their cars right in front of Starsky's apartment.

Rachel got out and got the smaller of Starsky's bags. Hutch took the big bag and the wheelchair and headed the party up the stairs to the front door. Moses followed, with Starsky in his arms.
Moses effortlessly carried his burden, for the former football player stood a towering 6'7" and weighed 225 pounds, most of which was muscle. He truly was a rock. Rachel followed the men silently up the stairs.

As Moses took the last three steps and neared the front door, Starsky couldn't resist wisecracking,
"Are ya sure about this, sweetheart? Ya know what it means if ya carry me over the threshold. If ya wanna get out of it once we're inside, ya better get yourself a damn good lawyer."

Moses began to shake with laughter.
"Shut the hell up, Dave. Shit, if I lose my grip, we both end up in the hospital!"
He looked at the man in his arms. They'd been through many tough times together these past weeks and he'd come to respect and -- in some way -- even love this feisty guy with his weird sense of humor at the most unexpected moments. He smiled at Starsky and quietly said,
"You really are a mental case, huh? Man, they let just about everything on the force these days!"

Starsky chuckled. He loved the relationship that had developed between him and this gentle giant. Their rapport made him believe he could just about achieve anything he wanted. And so, as long as Moses was his physical therapist, he was sure he'd make it back on the force in no time.

Hutch and Moses exchanged looks on the landing and then Hutch opened the door to the apartment while saying,
"Well, here it is. Your own little corner of the world. Come on in, buddy."

Hutch stepped in first and smiled widely at all who had gathered in Starsky's kitchen area, while Moses made sure he carried in Starsky with his back toward the kitchen.

As soon as he'd settled Starsky on the couch, the guests stepped out of the kitchen yelling
"SURPRISE!!!!! Welcome home, Dave!"

Starsky almost jumped off the couch from the noise then looked up at all the unexpected guests.
There was Huggy, Minnie, the Dobey family, Mrs. Walters and Junior and some of his other friends as well as his Uncle Al and Aunt Rosie. In all some 17 people had come to welcome him home.

His fatigue forgotten for a moment, he beamed his 1000-watt smile up at everyone who came to shake his hand or carefully hug him.
Hutch watched his buddy and just melted with pride and happiness for him.

At one point though, the emotions were getting to Starsky again.
To Starsky's relief Hutch seemed to notice his discomfort and distracted the crowd by yelling over all the buzz,
"Hey, I thought we had a cake. Didn't we have a cake somewhere, Rachel?"

Starsky noticed the look his mother and partner exchanged and realized that their time together had already given them a kind of non-verbal shorthand that was so second nature between him and Hutch.
He watched as his mother picked up the message Hutch had relayed to her without words. She caught her sister's arm and both women disappeared into the kitchen only to emerge with a huge cake with "Welcome Home" spelled out on it.

The two sisters placed it on the table in front of Starsky and Huggy handed him the knife to make the first cut.
"Here ya go, my man. Long overdue, long overdue," and he squeezed Starsky's shoulder.

Starsky swallowed hard and Hutch stepped in to make it a bit easier on him.
"Do you think you can find the cake with that thing or do we have to put our bulletproof vests on?"

Starsky grumbled,
"It's a knife, dummy! I can handle it."

"Yeah, well, watch the crown jewels," Hutch said before he could stop himself, making the adults in the room laugh.

"Hey bozo! There's kids in here! I thought you knew about manners!" Starsky whined, blushing lightly as he looked at Edith Dobey and little Rosie.

"Oh, just get on with it, Gordo, before it starts to mould," Hutch replied, to chuckles of everyone.

Starsky just sighed and, with a slight tremor in his left hand, made the first cut in the cake. Everyone cheered and applauded and his mother and her sister proceeded to cut the cake in enough pieces to serve everyone present.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon they spent laughing, talking, reminiscing and in general just being ecstatic that Dave Starsky was here with them, living and breathing.

After an hour or two the guests began to leave. Everyone hugged Starsky "goodbye and see you later" and soon only the Dobeys, Huggy, Moses, Al and Rosie were left.

Rosie and Al were the first of the last group to leave. They hugged and kissed Starsky and his mother and told them they'd come to visit again soon.

Then Huggy said his good-byes to his friend.
"You're looking good, amigo. Everything's gonna work out just fine. But you'd better listen to this man-mountain over here or you're in big trouble, ya got that?"
He winked at Starsky who smiled back at his good friend while holding on to his hand.

"Thanks for everything, Hug," Starsky said with wavering voice.

Huggy patted Starsky's hand and softly replied,
"Any time, my man. Any time. Later." And with a pat on Hutch's shoulder, a kiss on Rachel's hand and a smile for Moses and the Dobeys, Huggy left.

Captain Dobey bent over to Starsky and told him,
"I never thought I'd admit openly I was happy to see that ugly mug of yours on my own time or listen to your lousy jokes and trivia but I'm glad to have you out of the hospital, Dave. Now you follow doctor's orders and behave! And don't rush things. Take all the time you need to get back to your job again. Take care, son," and Dobey squeezed Starsky's shoulder while uttering his last words.

Cal and Starsky exchanged their own private handshake.
Then little Rosie kissed him on the cheek, as did Edith,
"We'll visit again soon, Dave. You get some rest now. It's been a busy morning for you."

Starsky didn't realize how tired he was until the Dobeys had left. He could barely keep his eyes open and failed to suppress a yawn.

"Okay, that's it. Let's get you ready for bed, kid," Moses said as he held out his hands to Starsky.
"On the count of three. One, two, three --- there ya go, steady now? Okay, now take it nice and easy. Here we go."
Moses supported Starsky while they walked over to his bedroom, where a hospital bed had temporarily replaced his own bed.

Hutch and Rachel watched as the two men slowly made their way to the bedroom, then they hugged each other and silently cleared away the mess of the party.

They had been receiving instructions the past week on how to help Starsky change in and out of his clothes.
How to change the bandages and tend to the fresh scar tissue and how to help him bathe, as his stiffness from especially his shoulder injury prevented him from being able to reach all the way round.
For the coming period during which Starsky would still not be able to do those things for and by himself, Hutch and Rachel would have to do those tasks for him.
That fact took a lot out of Starsky's pride, but he knew he had no other choice. It just made him more determined to succeed and achieve a full recovery as soon as fate would allow it.

Minutes later, Moses joined Hutch and Rachel in the kitchen.

"All done?" Hutch asked softly.

"Yes, he's in his jammies and he was out like a light the moment his head touched the pillow," Moses responded as he took the root beer Hutch offered him.
"I've checked your supplies. Everything looks good. You have enough bandages and everything else you need for two weeks. Now I'll be here at ten sharp tomorrow morning for his session. I checked my calendar and the next patient cancelled so if you want to, you can just skip his morning wash-up until after he's done with his PT and I can do it for you. Your choice."

Rachel Starsky and Hutch exchanged looks. It was going to be uncomfortable having to help Starsky each day with his morning rituals but they would have to get used to it. This was what his and their life was going to be like for the time being.
A patient and his caregivers.

"No, I -- I think we can manage, right, Rachel?" Hutch softly asked his partner's mother.

"Yeah, I bathed him when he was little and I'd be lying if I'd tell you I thought there would come a time I would have to do it again ----- but Hutch is right. You have done so much for him already. You just help him become himself again and we'll take care of the other things," Rachel said as she rubbed Moses' arm.

Moses finished his drink, gave Rachel a hug and shook hands with Hutch.
"Well, you've got my number. If there's any problem, call me. I mean it! Day or night, okay?"

When Hutch and Rachel nodded their heads, Moses turned and got his jacket.
"I'll see y'all tomorrow then. Don't forget his painkillers at five, okay? Bye."

Rachel and Hutch were alone now with her son and his partner.
This would be the first of many days and nights during which both relationships, the one between mother and son and the one between two best friends and colleagues, would be put to the test.

As Hutch and Rachel tiptoed to Starsky's bedroom to check on him, they found him fast asleep. He was hugging one of the extra pillows and all they could think was how peaceful he looked and how -- for the now foreseeable time -- he would only find peace and comfort while asleep.
They also realized it wasn't just Dave Starsky who had a long hard road ahead of him, after Gunther's assassination attempt, but that it affected everyone around him as well.
They looked at each other, instantly knowing they were both thinking the same thought.
Hutch said,
"He'll make it. We all will. His bottle is half full and with any luck, we'll fill it right to the brim again. I promise."
Then he hugged Rachel Starsky once more and together they left, leaving the miracle man in his peaceful slumber.