Author: Daydreamer
Posted: 23 March 2003

Alone - Part 3

When Pete knocked on the door and stuck his head in, Starsky was still sitting where the doctor had left him, his mind swirling with the ramifications of the man's words.

"Hey," Pete said softly, "can I come in?"

Starsky jumped slightly, then smiled and nodded. "Of course," he said, nodding. "You get it?"

Pete held up a bottle of water in one hand and a bag in the other. "I got a case of the water," he said, passing the bottle over. "The nurses marked it for him and put it in their lounge, with a few bottles in the fridge to keep 'em cold."

"Great," Starsky said, rising to stand by the bed. "And clothes?"

Pete placed the bag on the chair Starsky had just vacated. "Two sweatshirts, two pairs of pants, a couple of packages of T-shirts, a half dozen pairs of boxers," he paused and flushed slightly, " -- I didn't know his preference."

"Boxers are fine," Starsky said, smiling.

"I got him a dozen pairs of thick socks, too, and a robe and some slippers. Had to guess at sizes," he added. "He's so ..."

"Yeah, but he won't be forever," Starsky said, looking fondly at the man in the bed. He turned then and smiled at Pete. "Thanks, man. This was above and beyond and we won't forget it."

"I'm glad to do it." Pete looked at his watch. "Look, I'm gonna go back to my book. Betsy's coming at seven." He looked faintly worried as he asked, "You are gonna eat with us, right?"

Starsky nodded. "Yeah, I will. I don't know about Hutch. They want him to eat, but everything's gotta be approved."

"I'll call home and find out what's she's bringing. Then you can check it out."

"Sounds like a plan." He waited until the younger man was at the door then added, "And Pete? Thanks."

He turned back to Hutch, laying one hand on the sallow cheek. "Hey, buddy," he said softly, "time to wake up. Your water's here."

Hutch rolled onto his back and looked up at Starsky, then painfully pulled himself up to sit. He took the bottle in his hand, studying it longingly before his eyes filled with tears. He put the bottle on the bed and lay back down, turning his back to Starsky.

"Hutch?" Starsky asked worriedly, growing more concerned when there was no answer. "Hutch?" he repeated, rubbing the other man's back softly. "What's wrong?"

There was still no reply, no acknowledgement, just the muted sound of tears hitting the pillow.

Starsky walked around the bed, bending low to look Hutch in the face. "Hey, babe," he said gently, his hand on Hutch's cheek, "what's wrong with the water?"

Hutch opened his eyes again, surprise evident for a moment as he said, "S-starsk?"

"Yeah, Hutch," his partner replied, "I'm here." He brushed the blond hair back from Hutch's face, letting his fingers linger on the scalp, rubbing gently. "Can you tell me what's wrong with the water?"

"W-w-weak," Hutch mumbled. "C-c-can't op-pen it."

"Ah, babe, I'm sorry," Starsky said quickly. "Here, let me help you up." He pushed the button and then supported Hutch as the top half of the bed shifted upward. When Hutch was mostly sitting up, Starsky opened the bottle and passed it over. Hutch drank greedily, then looked at the floor. "What're you looking for?" Starsky asked.

"O-oatmeal."

"Oatmeal? You want some oatmeal?"

Hutch looked at him blankly.

"You want oatmeal?" Starsky repeated but again there was no response.

A hurried conversation with Pete produced a bowl, hot water, several packets of instant oatmeal, and a container of applesauce. Starsky mixed the cereal, then rolled the bed table over and helped Hutch sit up.

Hutch touched the oatmeal, then smiled and mumbled, "It's h-hot th-this time."

"This time?" Starsky touched Hutch's shoulder to get his attention. Every time he did this, it was like Hutch was seeing him for the first time.

The blond blinked, then opened his eyes wide, then smiled and said in a voice half-fearful he wouldn't be answered, "S-s-starsk?"

"Yeah, Hutch," Starsky replied, petting his hair, "I'm here. You, uh, eat a lot of oatmeal?"

Hutch nodded and stuck his fingers in the bowl, bringing them up to his mouth. "It's f-f-food. H-have to eat t-t-to stay st-strong."

Starsky took Hutch's hand, nodding as he wiped the sticky cereal from his fingers, then handed him a spoon. "You want to try it with this?"

Hutch stared at the spoon for a long time, then dipped it awkwardly into the bowl, his hand shaking as he tried to bring it up. Starsky reached out and steadied him, helping him spoon the gruel to his mouth. Hutch managed several more bites with assistance, then seemed too tired to eat more.

"What else did you eat, Hutch?" Starsky asked.

Hutch gave him the blank look again, then said, "O-o-oatmeal is f-f-food."

"Aw, jeez, Hutch!" Starsky exclaimed, horrified. "Are you telling me all you ate for two years was oatmeal? That's all they gave you?"

"I-It's f-f-food," Hutch insisted.

"You never had anything else?" Starsky asked, taking over the spooning process as Hutch seemed willing to eat, just too weak to manage on his own. As the spoon would approach his mouth, it would open like a baby bird's, awaiting whatever would be offered.

"H-had a-a-apple once," Hutch said.

"An apple?"

Hutch nodded, then frowned. "I-I-I think it w-w-was r-real. It f-felt r-real."

Starsky pushed the oatmeal away, suddenly disgusted. "Hutch," he said softly, "how about we try some applesauce instead of the oatmeal? Would you like that?"

"A-a-apple?"

"Apple sauce." Starsky opened the container and lifted a spoonful to Hutch's mouth.

The blond's eyes closed in ecstasy and he held the applesauce in his mouth for a long time before swallowing. When he opened his eyes, they were shiny with unshed tears. "G-g-good," he said at last, smiling.

"I'm glad it's good," Starsky said, offering another spoonful. "Have some more."

Hutch managed to eat about half the applesauce as well as the few bites he'd managed of the oatmeal before Starsky had taken it away. Then his eyes began to close and he fell asleep. Starsky sighed and threw the oatmeal away. If he had his way, Hutch would never eat oatmeal again. From now on, meals would be a variety of the approved items on Dr. Patel's list. And since Hutch didn't eat much, Starsky was going to make sure he ate often -- like every time he woke up.

Hutch slept through Pete and Betsy's visit, but Starsky set aside the chicken rice soup she'd brought -- no meat, just rice and broth -- for him to have when he woke again. Despite Betsy's original concern that they would disturb Hutch, they ate in the room and Starsky laughed over stories of DK's latest antics. Now that the kid had his feet under him, there was no stopping him -- he was into everything.

"So I was in the living room," Betsy said, "putting the tapes back on the shelf and I hear this crash. I race into the kitchen and he's happily pulling all the pots out of the cabinet."

They all laughed and Pete added, "I'm getting those lock things this weekend. Shoulda done it months ago, but I kept thinking we had time."

"Locks aren't going to protect the bookshelves," Betsy said smartly.

"Just move the stuff on the bottom shelves for a while," Starsky suggested. "Maybe you could put his toys there. That would let him satisfy his urge to pull stuff out while you still made sure he only pulled out what you wanted."

"You sure you don't have kids?" Betsy asked, her head cocked and a smile on her face. "You're pretty good at this stuff."

Starsky snorted. "Not me, thanks. I'll stick to uncling -- not sure I could handle it full-time." Without thinking, his eyes drifted to the man on the bed.

"You can do this," Betsy said, rubbing his arm.

"It's Hutch that's got to do it," Starsky said, but he smiled to make sure there was no sting to his words.

"No," she corrected gently, "it's both of you. You're in this just as much as he is." She turned and studied Hutch's sleeping form. "In a lot of ways, it's gonna be harder for you, Davey, than it will be for him."

"I, uh, don't understand."

Betsy patted him on the arm. "You will. You just remember -- you are not alone. You've got me and Pete and Captain Dobey and his family and Huggy Bear ..." She smiled at the name. DK had taken to calling the bear Starsky had given him -- the first bear, not Ollie -- DK called it Huggy. "You've got everyone at the station; none of us are going to let you do this alone."

"I, uh, don't know what to expect," Starsky confessed quietly. "I don't know what I thought he'd be like when I found him. I guess I figured he'd just come back. It would be like it was before. I didn't -- couldn't have -- imagined this."

Pete rose and stood beside Starsky, his hand resting on his shoulder. Betsy moved to join him and he wrapped an arm around her. "We're gonna help, Davey -- all of us. Whatever you need."

"I -- I just ..."

"Davey," Betsy said, waiting for him to look at her, "remember what we told you when we named DK?"

Starsky nodded. "It's about love."

"We love you," she said softly, her hand cupping his cheek. "And you love him. It all connects, Davey."

"Is it enough?" Starsky asked, his voice rough as he rose to his feet and was pulled into an embrace by Pete and his wife.

"Love is always enough," Betsy said, and Starsky nodded, letting his friends hold him while he tried to believe.

After Pete and Betsy left, the nurse came in and checked Hutch's IV, changing the large bag and adding a smaller one that she indicated was antibiotic. Before Starsky could stop her, she shook Hutch, saying, "Let's wake up, Mr. Hutchinson. You need to try to go to the bathroom."

Hutch woke up, eyes blinking sleepily, then he pulled away in panic. Starsky was already around the bed, pushing the nurse out of the way. "What the hell's the matter with you?" he snarled at the woman before he reached out and touched his partner. "Hey, you," he said softly, waiting as the blue eyes blinked again, then focused.

"S-starsk?" Hutch asked as he had every time before. Starsky helped him as he struggled to sit up.

"Yeah, babe, it's me," Starsky replied, "in the flesh." He jerked his head at the woman who was sputtering behind him. "Nurse Ratched here wants you to pee."

Hutch calmed, then nodded, looking around the room. "W-where i-is it?" he asked.

"Where's what?"

"B-bedpan."

"You don't need a bedpan, Mr. Hutchinson," the nurse spoke up. "We need to measure output, but you can just use a urinal."

Hutch's head was swiveling again, searching for something and he was growing agitated. "Easy, buddy," Starsky soothed, "just give me a second to sort things out and we'll figure out what's going on, okay?"

Hutch nodded slowly, then leaned forward, his head resting against Starsky's side. Starsky wrapped his arm around his shoulders and gently stroked the silver-blond hair.

"Is there a reason he can't use a bedpan?" he asked the nurse.

"Well, not really," she replied uncomfortably. "It's just the orders say he can get up and it's a good idea for people, uh, like him, to, uh, get moving as soon as possible."

Starsky's eyes narrowed and his voice was cold as he asked, "And just how many police officers who have been held in isolation for two years and starved nearly to death have you treated, Miss?"

"Well, uh ..."

"Just what I thought. So you don't have a clue what's a 'good idea' for 'people like him,' do you?"

The woman stuck her chin out and said, "We have to measure his output. It's easier if he uses the urinal."

"Easier for who?" Starsky demanded.

The woman didn't answer and Starsky sighed.

"Just get me a bedpan, will you? I'll try and get him to use the urinal, but if the bedpan works -- then you'll just have to deal with it."

"You're not making this very easy for any of us, Mr. Starsky," the woman complained as she moved slowly toward the door.

"I'm not here to make it easy for you, lady," Starsky shot back. "I'm here to make it easy for him."

The door closed and Starsky slowly released Hutch. "Think you're ready to get up? Maybe take a whiz?" When Hutch nodded, he lowered the rail and helped his partner to slide his feet over the side.

The nurse came back in with the requested bedpan, set it on the end of the bed and left without a word.

Hutch looked at it in confusion, then stared around the room. "N-not my r-room," he mumbled.

"Yes, it is. Your new room. You're here with me now, remember?"

Hutch turned and looked at Starsky, eyes lighting up as he drank his presence in. "K-keep forg-getting." Hutch batted his head a couple of times, until Starsky reached out and gently took his hand. "L-like my br-brain d-doesn't want to w-work."

"It'll come, Hutch," Starsky said reassuringly. "Just give yourself some time."

"G-gotta pee."

Starsky laughed. "Well, let's do it then."

Hutch pulled himself to his feet, holding Starsky with one hand and snagging the bedpan with the other. He stumbled a few steps to the corner and dropped to his knees.

"What're you doing, Hutch?" Starsky asked, still holding onto Hutch's arm.

Hutch was pulling his gown out of the way, lining up to hit the bedpan, and as Starsky waited for a reply, Hutch began to pee.

"Guess that means you didn't want to try it in the bathroom, eh, Hutch?" Starsky said with a smile. He waited until the other man had finished then helped him to his feet and led him back to the bed. "You get back in bed and I'll get you a cloth to wash your hands, okay?"

"W-wash?"

"Yeah, Hutch, wash. Remember? You wash your hands when you pee." Hutch just stared at him blankly and Starsky sighed. "It's okay, buddy. I'll show you."

He got a washcloth and wet it, then helped Hutch wash up. Picking up the bedpan, he was moving to transfer its contents into the urinal in the bathroom, when Hutch stopped him.

"L-leave it, S-starsk," he said.

"Why? Don't you want to get it out of here?"

Hutch shrugged. "It'll b-be gone wh-when I w-wake up. A-always is."

Starsky nodded. "I'll just take care of it this time, okay?"

Hutch shrugged again and settled back in the bed.

When Starsky finished in the bathroom, he came out and opened another bottle of water, passing it to Hutch. Hutch drank it all, then passed it back. "Think you can eat some soup?" Starsky asked.

"S-soup?"

"Yeah, soup. Chicken broth and rice. Pete's wife made it."

"S-soup? N-not oatmeal?"

"No, babe. Not oatmeal. Not oatmeal ever again."

Hutch smiled, a real Hutch smile and nodded. "I-I-I can d-do soup."

He managed to eat only about a quarter of the generous serving Betsy had brought before drifting off to sleep again. Starsky took the rest out, asking that it be put in the refrigerator for Hutch for later.

When he came back to the room, he settled in with one of the books that had been left for him. He had books, newspapers, a couple of jigsaw puzzles, crossword puzzles, as well as half a dozen little hand-held metal and wooden brain teasers and a Rubik's cube. Everyone was determined that he would have plenty to do to fill his time while Hutch slept.

He chickened out of calling Hutch's parents, postponing the inevitable until tomorrow, when it wouldn't be so late in Duluth. But he couldn't resist calling his own mother, knowing that even though it was an hour later in New York, she'd probably fly out and kill him if he didn't share the good news right away.

She squealed, then cried, then squealed again, then cried, and then began asking when she could come. Starsky put her off for the time being. He told her Hutch was sick, that he'd been starved but apparently not beaten, and that was all it had taken. The call to provide food was one that Deborah Starsky was not capable of ignoring. They settled on compromise; she'd bake and send care packages for a while, and when Hutch was stronger, she'd be one of the first who could come and see him.

Their conversation ended with her fussing over him like he was ten instead of forty.

"You have to eat, David," she ordered.

"Yes, Ma."

"Don't let yourself get run down. You have to eat and you need to sleep, too. You can't stay up all the time."

"I know that, Ma."

"Ken will understand that you need to sleep now and then. You have friends there, right? People who can stay with him while you take a break?"

"Lots of friends, Ma."

"Because I could come you know, help out ..."

"Not yet, Ma. Give him a little time."

She sighed. "All right. But you take care of yourself as well, Davey, you understand?"

"I will, Ma."

"Ken needs you, but he needs you strong, so you have to take care."

"Ma -- I'm taking care, I promise."

"I just don't want you to forget."

"I won't forget, Ma. Betsy -- Pete's wife? She's almost as insistent as you. Brought me dinner tonight and some soup for Hutch."

"Good girl. You listen to her. And you let Pete take a turn with Hutch, and your Captain and your other friends. They can all take a turn. They need the chance to take a turn."

"I will, Ma, when Hutch is ready."

"I mean it, David. I know you love him, but other people do, too. You let them help."

"I will, Ma."

"And just be careful of yourself, Davey. Don't get run down."

"I'm being careful, Ma."

"It's early now, son. But it's going to get rough and you're going to need your strength."

"Ma -- I'll be okay. I'm not going to lose it, I promise."

"Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

"I'm sure. I mean, I do want you to come, Ma, just not yet. Hutch'll want to see you -- you know he adores you -- but he's gonna want to be stronger before he has too many visitors. Things are still -- confused -- for him."

"All right. Well, if you're sure."

"I'm sure. Just send some of your apple cookies -- he loves those. Nothing with oatmeal in it though, okay?"

"I heard you the first time, David."

"Oh. Sorry, Ma."

"You'll call me again in a few days?"

"Yeah -- Sunday night."

"Sooner if there's a change."

"Sooner if there's a change, Ma." Starsky sighed. "Look, Hutch is waking up. I better go."

"I love you, David."

"Love you, too, Ma."

"Give Ken a kiss for me."

"I will."

"Bye, Davey."

"Bye, Ma."

It was -- comforting -- and he needed it. The adrenaline surge he'd been riding for weeks was finally starting to burn off and he was feeling a little emotional. Thrilled and excited and scared and confused and furious and vengeful and a hundred other emotions he couldn't name. It was all a little overwhelming, but as always, the gentle back and forth with his mother had soothed him.

Hutch really was waking up and as Starsky hung up the phone he threw back the blankets and began to claw at the flimsy hospital gown, growing more agitated each second until he finally got it off.

"Hutch, Hutch," Starsky said as he reached out to capture the flailing hands in his own. "What's wrong, buddy?"

"N-no," Hutch moaned, "no, no, no!"

"No what, Hutch? What's wrong? Are you hot? Does the gown bother you? What is it?"

"C-an't," Hutch breathed. "N-no -- n-no ..." he paused, head swiveling back and forth as if he wasn't sure where he was, and then his eyes cleared fractionally and he looked up at his partner. "S-starsk?"

"Yeah, babe, still me. I'm still here." He pulled the fluttering hands to his chest, then let the rail down and slid onto the bed with Hutch. "I'm not going anywhere." He wrapped his arms around Hutch and the blond sagged into the embrace, resting his head on Starsky's shoulder.

"S-s-sorry," he whispered. "C-confused."

" 's all right. It'll get better. What confused you?"

"C-covers. N-no c-covers. I-I-I d-don't w-wear ..."

"You didn't have any clothes for a long time, buddy, but that's over. You can wear them now. It's all right."

"P-punish," Hutch muttered darkly. "N-no m-m-m-mattress."

"They took your mattress?"

Hutch sat back and nodded grimly. "L-long time."

Starsky thought back to the stark little room. The mattress on the bed had been the only thing Hutch had that might have offered the slightest bit of comfort. And they'd taken it as punishment. His jaw tightened and he closed his eyes, working hard to keep from squeezing his partner too tight.

"Hey, buddy," he said softly, "you're awake now. How about a shower? The doc says if you're up to it, it's okay, and it might make you feel better."

Hutch shook his head, fear filling his eyes.

"Hutch? What's wrong? Don't you want to clean up? Put on some real clothes?"

Hutch shook his head again. "D-drugged." He reached out and weakly gripped Starsky's arms. "No d-drugs, Starsk. P-promise?"

"No, babe," Starsky said reassuringly, "no drugs." He gently touched the IV in Hutch's wrist, scratching at the itchy tape and added, "This is just to help feed you -- vitamins and stuff like that." He decided to avoid mentioning the antibiotics at this point, not sure if Hutch would understand the distinction. "What about the drugs and the shower, Hutch? What happened?"

Hutch shrugged. "Drugs -- a-asleep. W-wake up -- c-clean."

"They bathed you while you were drugged? You never had a bath or a shower awake?"

Hutch shook his head. "N-never s-saw anyone." His eyes filled and he began to shake. "W-was j-just -- a-alone."

Starsky wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. "You're not alone anymore, partner. I'm here. I've got you. You're not going to be alone again." He held the frail form until the shudders eased, then gently laid him back on the pillow. "Tell you what, buddy. It's really late, nearly midnight. How about you eat a snack or something, and we can do the shower tomorrow?"

"A-apple?" Hutch asked, his eyes brightening.

"Apple sauce," Starsky said, agreeing. He retrieved a container of applesauce from the nurse's station, then helped Hutch manage the spoon and was pleased that this time, the blond ate more than half before drifting off to sleep.

Starsky threw the rest away, then wiped Hutch's hands and face with a washcloth, noting that the exhausted man never woke during his ministrations. He washed his own hands and face again, then stood in the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. He was exhausted. All the exhilaration and excitement of having found his partner, of finally having him back and knowing that he was alive had run down until nothing was left but a bone-numbing weariness. The enormity of the task before him was daunting. Hutch was so -- broken -- and he had no idea how long it would take to fix him, or if he could be fixed.

Starsky sighed and went back out to the room. The chair folded out into a bed of sorts, and someone had left linens and a pillow for him. He made his makeshift bed, stripped down to just his boxers and slid between the sheets. He lay there for a long time, not able to relax, sleep completely eluding him.

At last he rose and went to stand by Hutch's bed. He looked down at the sleeping man, so frail, so thin, such a shadow of his former self, and Starsky felt the tears well up in his eyes.

"I counted while you were gone, Hutch," he whispered. "I kept a calendar -- marked off the days. I knew you'd come back, knew I hadn't lost you forever." He swallowed hard, straightening his shoulders as he fought the urge to give in and cry.

"You're here, babe," he whispered, one hand gently stroking the nearly translucent skin on a bare arm, before he tucked blankets around it. "And I'm counting again."

"Today was Day 1."

Day 2 - Friday, March 20, 1981

It was dark when he woke up; that was the first thing that clued him in that something was different. Not completely dark; a small light cast slight illumination but it was much darker than it was in his room. There, the lights were always on.

He rolled onto his side and hit a barrier, but not the wall. It was some kind of railing. That was the second clue that things were different. He had on some kind of clothing, and there were sheets on the bed and blankets over him. He wasn't cold. Something was stuck in his hand, a tube of some kind that led up to a bag on a pole.

It was all different and it was all scaring the shit out of him.

He yanked at the tube in his arm, pulling it free, then fumbled at the covers and managed to pull himself up to sit. Scooting down, he worked his way around the railing and slid down out of the bed. The bed was much higher than he remembered.

He wasn't in his room anymore.

He must have been moved.

His heart began to race and he was having trouble breathing.

If he wasn't in his room, then he didn't know where he was. He didn't know what would happen. He had clothing and covers, and he wasn't cold, but maybe it was just a trick to break him down. Maybe all of this was designed to lull him into a false sense of security and then they would take it all away again.

He sat on the floor where he'd fallen when he'd slid from the too-high bed. It was cool, and he could feel the warmth leech from his body into the tiles.

He looked around again.

Starsky was laying on a cot or something, sound asleep.

That was different, too.

Starsky didn't sleep when he came to stay with him.

He just sat in his corner and watched.

So why was he here? And why was he sleeping?

Hutch continued to survey the room. There were two doors this time. He picked one at random and crawled toward it. Reaching up, he was shocked when it pulled open at his touch. It was even darker in here and he relished the sensation. The lack of light was oddly soothing and he could almost feel his heart slow down.

This was another room, a small one. Even smaller than his old room. The tile here was cool and it felt familiar to him. His hand was bleeding where he'd pulled the tube out and he stuck it in his mouth absently, while he tugged at the covering he wore and eventually managed to get it off. He looked around to see if he was being observed. He couldn't see anyone but Starsky and he was always there, just watching.

Hutch scratched his head for a minute, a new thought running fleetingly through his mind but refusing to stay still long enough for him to grab it. Something about Starsky being real and talking to him, but he couldn't hold the memory. He couldn't remember much of anything anymore.

Everything all just ran together. He knew there was a time when he lived somewhere other than the room, but it was growing hazier and hazier. He could remember different foods and being with different people, and music -- he remembered music. But when he reached into his memory for words or melody, there was nothing there.

He remembered his job -- he was a cop. He worked with Starsky. Hutch looked back over his shoulder to where the other man slumbered on. He'd lost Starsky somehow, and he'd been put in the room. And then one day, his partner had just been there, quiet and smiling from his place in the corner. He was there for a long time, then he was gone again, and then he was back.

And when he came back, he talked and he touched and he could be touched. He gave him his shirt. Hutch looked down at his naked body and sighed. He wished he still had Starsky's shirt. Something had happened after Starsky had come back -- Hutch had been in the sun. He remembered the sun. It had been warm and had felt so good.

But he'd been so tired.

He'd slept and Starsky had kept talking to him, kept touching him, but now he wasn't talking or touching. Starsky was just laying there. And it was dark. And he was in a different room. He shook his head. It was all so confusing and it made his head hurt.

He needed something familiar.

He needed something to do.

He needed his routine.

Hutch turned his attention to the floor and all the little tiles and began to count.

It was a sharp gasp that brought him awake. He was up in an instant, eyes taking in the nurse at the door, the empty bed, and then, the long bare legs that protruded from the bathroom.

"Hutch!" he called, moving quickly to kneel beside the prone form.

Hutch did not respond. He was touching each tile on the bathroom floor and his lips were moving, though no sound escaped.

"Hey, Hutch," Starsky said again, gently touching the bare shoulder, "whatcha doing?"

Hutch turned his head slowly, looking at Starsky for a moment, then smiling. "Hey, S-starsky. You're s-still t-talking."

"Yeah, babe, I'm still talking. You know where you are?"

Hutch shrugged, then laid his head on the floor. "N-new r-room?" he mumbled.

"Hospital," Starsky said. He nudged the still form and said, "How 'bout we get you up? Maybe take that shower we talked about earlier?"

"Sh-shower?" Hutch said, his eyes lighting up. "Awake?"

"Yeah, awake." Starsky put his hands under Hutch's arms and lifted Hutch to his feet, wrapping an arm around him for support.

"Mr. Starsky, it's the middle of the night and he needs to be in bed. I'm going to have to restart his IV."

Starsky nodded. "After. Since the thing's out now, let me get him cleaned up, then settled in the bed then I'll call you."

The woman nodded. "I'll get you a stool," she offered. "I don't think he'll make it standing up through a shower."

Starsky smiled gratefully and steered Hutch to the toilet. "You want something to drink?" he asked. Hutch nodded and when the nurse returned with the stool, Starsky asked for a bottle of water and for some of the soup to be heated up. He figured since he was up, Hutch might as well eat.

He got Hutch up, managed to convince him to pee in the bathroom, not the corner he'd used before, and helped him wash his hands. That little activity nearly exhausted the wasted man. Once finished, he helped him pull on the robe that Pete had bought that afternoon.

The nurse returned and Hutch drank his water sitting on the toilet, then let Starsky spoon-feed him another serving of the soup. Once finished, he was nearly asleep where he sat, leaning heavily on Starsky.

"Think you can make it through a shower?" Starsky asked softly, nudging Hutch awake.

"Sh-shower," Hutch nodded, struggling to keep his eyes open.

Starsky started the water running, put the stool in the shower, and checked to make sure he had everything he needed: washcloth, soap, shampoo. He'd been given an electric razor as well, but he figured they'd tackle that particular chore a little later. Bathing was enough of a first step.

He spent a few minutes wondering how he was going to manage this task, then shrugged and stripped himself. He pulled Hutch to his feet, took the robe off and helped him into the shower. Once the blond was seated on the stool, Starsky lathered the washrag and began with Hutch's back. He washed slowly and carefully, continuing to be appalled at how thin and wasted Hutch had become. As he felt every bone, traced each rib, gently lifted the man to his feet so he could wash the non-existent buttocks, he was amazed that Hutch could still walk and talk. He seemed skeletal and Starsky was reminded of pictures he'd seen of concentration camp survivors.

He was only halfway done when Hutch began to fall asleep, leaning precariously to the side. Starsky shifted to support his partner, finishing the shower awkwardly with one hand trying to hold Hutch up while the other washed him.

Body done, he said, "Close your eyes, Hutch, I'm gonna do your hair now." He poured shampoo into his hand and began to rub Hutch's head. The blond moaned and Starsky froze. " 's it hurt, Hutch? Am I hurting you?"

Hutch shook his head. "F-feels nice," he said softly. "M-missed this."

Starsky smiled. "Well, not this exactly, my friend," he said with a chuckle. "Can't say as how you've ever had Mr. Tyrone wash your hair before, but I imagine it does feel good."

"M-missed you," Hutch mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Starsky's eyes filled again. "Yeah, partner," he said softly, leaning over to hug the seated man, "I missed you, too."

He finished Hutch's hair, rinsed it and then turned off the water. Toweling Hutch dry, he wrapped him in his robe and seated him on the toilet again while he dried himself off and skinned back into his shorts. He then dressed Hutch in the new clothes Pete had brought, starting with boxers, then the sweatpants and then a T-shirt and sweatshirt. Last, he pulled a pair of the thick socks over Hutch's still cold feet. "Doesn't that feel better?" he asked, looking up from where he knelt at Hutch's feet.

But there was no reply.

Hutch was asleep again.

"Let's call your folks, Hutch," Starsky said when the blond finished his breakfast. He'd eaten a soft scrambled egg and a half a piece of toast, as well as finished another bottle of water.

Hutch frowned at the words. "Y-you think I-I should?"

Starsky nodded, trying for enthusiastic. He wasn't sure what Hutch's parents would say about his sudden reappearance, but he couldn't avoid telling them, so he pasted on a smile for his partner's sake. "Your mom will be thrilled to find out you're okay."

Hutch still looked worried. "I-I d-don't know, S-starsk," he murmured. "Are y-you sure?"

"I gotta let 'em know we found you, babe," Starsky said softly. "If I don't, Dobey'll have to call, or someone else from the department. We gotta tell 'em."

Hutch nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. I-I c-can see th-that."

Starsky raised the bed, then helped Hutch get settled in a sitting position. He dropped the rail, so that he could sit beside him on the bed, then picked up the phone and dialed. It was odd to go through the formalities again, he asking for Mrs. Hutchinson, the maid telling him to hold, the long wait and then, finally, Hutch's mother answering.

"Mr. Starsky? There really is no need for you to continue to call me," she said by way of opening.

Starsky looked at his partner and grinned. "Oh, yes, there is, Mrs. Hutchinson. I found him."

There was a long silence and then, in a disbelieving voice, she said, "Kenneth?"

"Yes, ma'am," Starsky said proudly. "He's weak, and he gets tired easily, but he's right here."

"Kenneth? Really?"

"You wanna talk to him?" Starsky was actually enjoying the woman's discomfiture.

"Please," she whispered and he passed over the phone.

"M-mother?"

"Is that really you, Kenneth?"

Hutch smiled and nodded, then when Starsky nudged him gently, he said, " 's m-me."

"What happened to you?"

Hutch shrugged and again Starsky nudged him. He flushed, then said, "I w-was al-lone."

"Let me talk to Mr. Starsky."

Hutch handed the phone back to Starsky.

"What is the matter with him?" Hutch's mother demanded.

"Uh, maybe I should talk to you later," Starsky said with an uneasy look at Hutch.

"You'll talk to me right now, young man," the woman ordered imperiously. In the background, he could hear a man calling, "Who is that, Katherine?"

"They've found Kenneth, dear." The words came through clearly on the line.

There was the sound of feet shuffling, then a deep male voice said, "This is Elliot Hutchinson. Who is this?"

Starsky frowned, but answered, "David Starsky -- I'm Hutch's partner."

"Let me speak to my son."

Starsky put his hand over the phone and asked Hutch, "You wanna talk to your dad?"

Hutch's face paled and he shook his head.

"He's sleepy right now. He can't talk." Starsky was getting very tired of these people.

"You tell him he will either speak to me on the phone or he'll speak to me in person."

Starsky sighed. This really hadn't been a good idea. He held the phone out and repeated Hutch's father's words.

When Hutch took the phone this time, there was fear on his face. "F-father?"

"Just where the hell have you been for the last two years?"

The words were spoken so loudly that even Starsky could hear them, and he immediately scooted onto the bed and dropped an arm around Hutch, putting his ear by the phone.

"Do you have any idea how worried your mother has been?"

Hutch struggled to sit up straight in the bed as he answered, "Y-yes, S-s-sir."

"And you're stuttering again. What the hell's the matter with you?"

"S-sorry, S-s-sir."

"Oh, for Christ's sake. Just how much of a mess are you in now? Am I going to have to come out there and deal with this?"

Hutch's eyes filled with tears and his mouth worked, but no sound emerged. Starsky pulled him close, easing him down in the bed until the blond head rested in his lap. He yanked the phone away, took a deep breath and said, "This is David Starsky again, Mr. Hutchinson. Your son is not well, but he'll recover. Your presence is not required, and in fact, at this point, I intend to inform his doctors that I am convinced it will be counterproductive. Any decisions that need to be made that Hutch can't make for himself, I'll handle."

"You -- You can't do that!"

"Actually, I can. Your son gave me that legal authority some time back." Starsky took a deep breath again, and stroked the silver-blond hair, cursing himself for having put Hutch through this. "You know, I've always known he wasn't close to his family, but now I see why. You can tell your wife, Sir, that she won't have to worry about me calling again." He hung the phone up, then wrapped his arms around the form huddled against his leg. "I'm sorry, Hutch, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I really didn't know it was that bad."

Hutch snuffled a bit, then nodded. "N-not al-w-ways like th-that."

"Oh, you mean he's sometimes better?"

Hutch shook his head. "N-n-no," he said, looking up with still fearful eyes, "w-w-worse."

The call had exhausted Hutch and he'd soon slept again. When he woke the next time, he'd eaten, then Starsky had tackled shaving him. It was awkward at first, even with the electric razor, but he'd finally managed it by the simple expedient of climbing in the bed -- again -- and sitting behind Hutch. Then he'd been able to shave his partner using the motions he was already familiar with from dealing with his own beard each day.

Hutch had rewarded him with a smile and a shy, "Th-thank you," before drifting off to sleep again.

Starsky was learning to take advantage of Hutch's downtime to sleep himself, so when the phone rang later that afternoon, it woke both of them. He reached out and grabbed it, even as Hutch slapped his hands over his ears.

"Hello?"

"David?"

"Ma?"

"I couldn't wait for Sunday," she said with a laugh. "Can I please speak to him?"

Starsky laughed and said, "Hang on, Ma." He looked at Hutch and asked, "Are you up to talking to my mother? I talked to her last night and she was supposed to wait until Sunday to call, but she couldn't wait."

Hutch grinned and nodded.

"Here he is, Ma. Go easy on him, okay? He's still a little ..." Starsky paused, trying to think of how to describe his weak, disoriented, emaciated, confused partner, and finally settled on, "tired."

"I'm not going to hurt him, David," his mother said crisply and he passed the phone over to Hutch.

"Ken?"

" 'lo," Hutch said, managing the single syllable without a stutter.

Starsky lowered the rail again and crawled back into the bed, listening shamelessly.

"It's so good to hear you, Ken! We've all been worried sick about you."

"G-good to b-be ..." He trailed off and looked around in confusion.

"In the hospital, Hutch," Starsky prompted him. "Remember?"

Hutch nodded. "... here."

"Are you really okay, Ken? Are you in pain? Is there anything I can do?"

"N-no p-pain," Hutch said, smiling.

"Apple cookies!" Starsky hollered into the phone. "You can do apple cookies!"

"I've already made them. They're already in the mail. Now, Ken, you tell that son of mine that I made these cookies for you. Don't you let him eat them all, you hear me?"

Hutch was smiling, totally relaxed as he leaned against Starsky's shoulder and let him share the phone. "M-my c-cookies," he said happily, looking at Starsky.

"Well," Starsky said, teasing, "you still have to share."

"No, he doesn't," Deborah Starsky said curtly. "David, you leave him be. Now, Ken," she said almost without stopping to breathe, "I've been so worried about you, and here you are, sounding like yourself."

Hutch frowned and shook his head. "N-not m-me. S-s-stutter."

"Oh, pshaw! I understand you fine, and that's all that matters, right, Davey?"

"Right, Ma." He looked at Hutch and added, "And I understand you too, babe."

"Now, Kenny," Starsky's mom went on, "I want to come and see you ..."

"Ma, we talked about this," Starsky interrupted. "It's too soon."

"No one asked you, David. I was talking to Ken. Now, Ken, when do you think I should come?"

Hutch was smiling again, almost laughing as he nodded his head, but didn't speak.

"Ma?" Starsky said. "He agrees you can come, but it's still going to have to be a while, okay?"

"Of course, that's okay. Whatever you want, Ken. It'll be okay."

"I-I-I ..."

"Shhh, now," Starsky's mom said. "David? Are you wearing him out? You need to let the man get some sleep. What's he doing, Ken? Keeping you up to keep him company? Well, you just remind him that you need to rest to get your strength back."

"I-I-I ... t-tired."

"Well, of course you're tired. I'm sure you've had a busy day. You just go right on to sleep. But, Ken?" Her voice softened and was filled with love. "Before you go, I just want you to know how very, very happy I am that you're back with us."

"W-want t-t-to see y-you," Hutch forced the words out around a yawn.

"And I want to see you too," Starsky's mother said. "So, you rest and get strong, and I'll be on a plane out there before you know it."

"He's asleep, Ma," Starsky said, settling Hutch against the pillow and pulling a blanket up over him.

"He sounds awful, Davey."

"Yeah. He's really messed up, Ma. Really bad."

"Oh, baby! I'm so sorry. Is he ... will he get better?"

Starsky nodded then said, "Yeah. The docs think there's a good chance. I mean, physically, almost certainly. He just needs to eat and get his strength back."

"But mentally? Emotionally?"

"Aw, Ma -- I just don't know. He's pretty -- destroyed."

"It's okay, Davey. Tell me."

"He can't remember where he is. He can barely communicate. He gets confused so easily. Has flashbacks, or at least I think that's what they are. He just isn't ..."

"Shhh," his mother said, "yes, he is. He's sick. He's hurt. He's tired, and confused, and scared. But he's still your Hutch."

"I feel so guilty, Ma. I never considered, never thought that he could be like this. I just assumed that, you know, when I found him, he'd be okay." He petted the head that had rolled up against him, holding his partner close.

"David, people don't disappear for two years and turn up 'okay.'"

"Yeah, I know, Ma. Pretty dumb, huh?"

"Nothing dumb about it all, David. I would imagine that that image of Ken was a lot of what kept you looking for him, kept you believing."

"I missed him so much, Ma, and now he's right here and I still miss him!" Starsky couldn't help the tears that rolled down his face. "It's like I don't know who this is. He sorta looks like Hutch, but ..."

"It's all right to be sad, Davey," his mother said gently. "Ken is not the only one who's suffered here. I know what you've gone through the last two years, and finding him, well, it's wonderful. It's a miracle. But it's also devastating to see him so broken, such a shadow of himself."

Starsky sniffed. "Yeah. That's it exactly. And then I feel like I'm being ungrateful or something. I mean, I got him back. Am I greedy to want him back the way he was?"

"Not greedy, son, just human."

Starsky wiped at his face. "God, Ma, it hurts so bad!"

"You'll get through it, baby. You're strong. It's okay to be sad, and to miss what you used to have. It's all right to cry and to grieve. You're entitled. But then," her voice hardened, "David Michael, you have to pull yourself together. You picture that image of Hutch, your Hutch, the one you held onto all the time he was gone. You hold that image in your mind and you help him get himself back."

Starsky sniffed again. "Yeah, Ma. Thanks. I can do that."

"Davey?"

"Yeah, Ma?"

"I wish I was there so that I could hold you and hug you and tell you it would be all right."

"Me, too, Ma, me, too."

"You know," Deborah Starsky said quickly with a tease in her voice, "I could always get on a plane ..."

Starsky laughed. "You never give up, do you?"

"Are you okay now, David?" she asked.

He laughed again. "Yeah, Ma, I'm okay."

"It really is okay to cry," she said again.

"I know, Ma. God knows, I've done enough of it lately."

"It's good for you. Let it out and deal with, then you can move on."

"Moving on now, Ma."

"Fine. You give Ken a hug for me, and a kiss, and don't you eat all his apple cookies."

"I will, Ma, and I won't." Starsky hugged the sleeping form beside him and gently kissed his brow.

She laughed. "I love you, David."

"I love you, too, Ma. And Ma? Thanks."

"For what, baby?"

"For loving Hutch, too. He needs it."

"He's easy to love."

"Yeah." Starsky looked at the man who curled next to him in the bed. "Yeah, he is."

Deborah Starsky's Apple Cookies

Ingredients

an apple
2 sticks butter (16 tablespoons total)
1 teaspoon baking soda
1.5 cups brown sugar
a couple glops of honey or maple syrup
2 eggs
2 tblspns of vanilla
cinnamon (add until the dough is a light-brown color)
optional nuts
2.5 or so cups of flour

Procedure

Dice apple into cubes about 5-10 mm per side.
Lay apple cubes on baking tray.
Set oven to around 300 degrees F, and put apple tray in for about 15 minutes or until they are slightly soft.
Let apples cool a little before adding them into mixture.
Melt butter in a large bowl.
Add in everything but the flour and apple pieces.
Mix.
Add flour and apple pieces.
Mix some more.
Add extra flour until dough doesn't stick to fingers too much.
Drop little clumps of dough onto baking sheet.
Bake 9-10 minutes at 375 degrees F.

Don't overcook -- cookies should come out slightly undercooked for that delicious chewy texture.

Day 3 - March 21, 1981

He woke up alone again. Back in the cold, little room. No window, no clothes, no blankets or sheets or pillows. No food, no water, no bathroom. No Starsky -- not in a chair, not on a cot, not even sitting in a corner and watching him without talking.

He was all alone again.

He was on the floor -- in what he had come to think of as his corner. There was the corner the bed was in, the corner the bedpan was in, the corner Starsky stayed in, and then there was this one -- his corner.

The tiles were cold on his naked butt, and even with his knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, even when he blew warm breaths into the crevice there, he couldn't get warm. It was like all the heat had been stolen from him. He couldn't remember the last time he had been warm.

And he was thirsty.

The food and water hadn't been coming as regularly of late, and he was beginning to miss it. His mouth was dry, his head ached, his belly was empty.

He was scared.

Scared he was going to die, all alone, forgotten, in this cold, white room.

He began to rock, just a soft shifting back and forth on the floor, but before long, it had increased in intensity and he was not just rocking, he was banging his head against the wall.

Wham!

Wham!

Wham!

"Hutch!"

He stopped for a minute, eyes shut as he listened. It had almost sounded like someone was talking to him, but there was only silence and he began to rock again.

Wham!

Wham!

Wham!

"Turn the damned lights back off!"

He pulled up short, stopped again, and listened. Still nothing. But he could feel something -- someone -- touching him.

He shivered.

It had been so long since anyone had touched him.

"Can you open your eyes for me, babe?"

He screwed up his face, thinking about the words. Someone talking to him. Someone touching him. He had to be dreaming, right?

He was alone in the cold, white room. He'd been alone for a long, long time and there was no reason to believe he was ever going to get out.

He was losing his mind, if he hadn't already lost it. He started rocking again.

Wham!

He was caught in strong arms, pulled close to a broad chest.

"Please, Hutch!" the voice begged. "Open your eyes and talk to me!" Gentle hands rubbed his back, stroked his hair.

He rocked in the arms, eyes closed, soaking up the illusory warmth and comfort. He could just stay here -- this was nice. If he could stay here, and feel warm, and have someone hold him and touch him and make him feel good -- well, if he could have that, he didn't care if he was mad.

"Hutch! Please!"

The voice was more insistent and he risked opening one eye.

The room was dark. He frowned. That wasn't right. It was never dark in the room. He rocked harder.

He tried to remember.

He'd dreamed, hadn't he? Dreamed that Starsky had finally come? That he'd been in the sun, and there'd been a warm, soft bed, and food -- applesauce! -- and Starsky touched him and talked to him, told him it was over and he was okay.

But it had just been a dream, hadn't it? Like any of the hundreds of other dreams he'd had?

"Hutch, babe -- you're scaring me. Please, please, wake up!"

He pried open the other eye and looked around the dark room. He stopped rocking and risked a look up, a look at the face that belonged to the arms that held him.

"Starsk?" he asked tentatively, afraid there would be no answer.

Starsky breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah, Hutch, it's me. You awake now?"

"I'm d-dreaming," Hutch said. "This c-can't be real."

"What? What can't be real?"

Hutch waved at the room, at Starsky, at the clothes he wore and the blanket his partner had wrapped around him. "This. I-I dream this all the time. You come. Y-you finally come and get me. We leave. S-sometimes we go home. Sometimes we come here -- to the hospital." He shook his head sadly. "B-but it never lasts. I always wake up and it's all gone and I'm a-alone again."

Starsky pulled him close, cradling the too-thin body against his chest. "Not a dream, Hutch," he said softly. "It's real this time."

Hutch shook his head. "No," he said, fear in his voice, "I can't b-believe that." He began to rock again, and only Starsky's grip kept him from banging his head against the wall once more.

"Hutch, shhhh," Starsky soothed, rocking with him but keeping him safe. "It's all right. You don't have to be afraid."

Hutch stopped rocking suddenly and tried to pull away.

Starsky let him go, reluctantly.

Hutch stared at him, his eyes vivid blue pools of fear and desperation. "I can't believe, Starsky," he whispered, "I j-just can't." He stretched out one hand and latched onto Starsky's arm.

Starsky reached out, placing a hand on each side of Hutch's face, gently holding him in place. "Why can't you believe, Hutch? Why can't you believe it's over?"

Hutch took a deep breath, then slowly let his head fall forward until his forehead rested against Starsky's chest, just below his chin. "Because," he said, still whispering, "if I wake up and it's not r-real, I think I will die. I can't do it anymore. I just can't. I can't be a-alone." The last word was broken by a sob, and Hutch wept.

Starsky wrapped his arms around him, gathering him close again, and said, "It's real, Hutch. I promise. It's over and you gotta trust me on this. You're not dreaming."

He shifted carefully and rose to his feet, bringing Hutch with him. Hutch never let him go. Starsky gently led the other man back to the bed, turning him to sit, then sliding him in and helping him to lay down until he was comfortably settled, head on pillow, blankets pulled up.

He gently broke Hutch's grasp on his arm, saying, "I'll be right back." He darted to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, wetting it in cold water, and then returned. Hutch immediately latched onto him again. He sponged Hutch's face, lingering over his eyes and mouth, then set the cloth aside and lifted a cup, holding the straw to Hutch's mouth and saying, "Drink." To his surprise, Hutch did.

"Good, Hutch, good," he murmured as he refilled the cup and held it out again.

The nurse at the door, the one who had turned on the lights at the sound of Hutch banging his head, called softly, "Do I need to call Dr. Patel, Mr. Starsky?"

"No," Starsky replied, his attention still on Hutch.

"It's real?" Hutch asked again, his hand tightening on Starsky's arm. "You promise?"

"I promise," Starsky answered, stroking Hutch's hair.

"Do I need to call Dr. Barot?" the nurse asked.

Starsky paused, studying Hutch. He was relaxing, the panic in his eyes had receded and the tension in his body was lessening. He still clutched Starsky's arm, but the fevered desperation was fading. "No," he finally said. "I'll talk to him tomorrow."

"All right," the woman said. "Do you need anything?"

He shook his head. "No, thanks. I think we'll be okay now." He looked at Hutch. "Won't we, partner?"

Hutch just stared at him.

Starsky heard the door shut, but ignored it, never taking his eyes off Hutch. "You're all right now, Hutch," he murmured soothingly. "It's all over. You're here with me and I ain't gonna let anyone hurt you, you got that?"

Hutch nodded, but didn't release his grip. "Stay with me, Starsk," he begged. "Please stay with me."

Starsky nodded and climbed into the bed, wrapping himself around the other man. "I'm right here, Hutch," he whispered. "You ain't ever gonna be alone again."

The next time the nurse came in to check on Hutch, they were both sleeping in the bed. She woke Starsky carefully, and said, "Dr. Barot is here. He wants to talk to you outside."

Starsky nodded and gently disentangled himself from Hutch, then rose, his back cracking sharply from the cramped sleeping arrangement. He stepped to the door and waited until the tall, dark-haired man looked his way.

"Ah," Dr. Barot said as he approached, "Mr. Starsky. I understand you had a rough night."

Starsky shrugged. "A little. Hutch had a really bad flashback. It took a while to convince him all this..." he gestured around him vaguely, "was real."

"Can you tell me about it?"

Starsky shrugged again. "He thought he was back in the room -- thought this ..." he gestured again, "was all a dream."

"Did he say anything?"

"He said he couldn't stand to be alone again." Starsky frowned as he remembered Hutch's desperate plea. He replayed the events in his mind, a smile slowly crossing his face as he remembered. "Hey, Doc," he said, "he wasn't stuttering last night!"

"At all?" the doctor asked.

Starsky pursed his lips and thought. "A little, maybe, but nothing like before." He looked at the doctor. "What do you think it means?"

The doctor was smiling. "I think it means, that despite his flashbacks and moments of doubt and insecurity, Mr. Hutchinson is beginning to trust that he is really here and his ordeal is over." He patted Starsky on the shoulder. "I think, Mr. Starsky, that it is a very good sign."

Starsky nodded and went back into the room with a much lighter heart. He was grinning and couldn't seem to stop. He walked to the bed and looked down at his sleeping partner and murmured, "Oh, yeah, babe -- you're gonna get well. We'll beat this yet."

The phone rang and he hustled to answer it, picking it up before the first ring ended. "Hello?"

"Starsky? Dobey here."

"Oh, hey, Cap'n." Starsky shifted into full alert, his eyes flicking once to check on Hutch before he focused totally on the phone call. "What's going on?"

"How's Hutch? He sleep all right? He need anything?" the Captain asked gruffly.

Starsky chuckled softly. "Nah -- he's good. Had a bit of a rough time last night, but we got through it. He's sleeping now."

"Good, good," Dobey said. "You need anything, Starsky? Something to read? A magazine?"

Starsky looked at his pile of books, magazines, puzzles, and games and smiled. "Nah - I'm good, too, Cap. What's up?"

Dobey sighed. "Todd Mitchell. They picked him up at the barn the night after you got Hutch out."

Starsky stiffened, listening intently.

"We've had him for over twenty-four hours, but he's not talking."

"You gotta let me talk to him, Cap," Starsky said. "He'll talk to me."

"Yeah," Dobey replied, "I was thinking the same thing. But, Starsky," he added warningly, "don't make me regret calling you."

Starsky snorted. "I gotta get someone up here to stay with Hutch."

"How about Ferguson?"

Starsky shook his head as he said, "Nah -- Hutch doesn't know him that well yet. He was just another uniform when Hutch went missing." He looked at his watch, then grinned. "I think it's about time the Bear was getting up, don't you?"

"Just get down here, Starsky," Dobey grumbled. "Let's get this over with."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and be sure and tell Hutch I called. I'll stop by and see him again soon. Don't want him to think we don't care."

"He knows, Cap'n. I explained that the docs think it's best he doesn't have too many visitors until he's feeling better. He understands." Starsky sighed. "I think that's part of what's so hard for him. He does understand. He knows that the way he's behaving, the way he's reacting, it's not normal, and he feels helpless to stop himself. He remembers what he was like and can't help how he is now." Starsky swallowed hard. "It scares him, Cap."

"He'll get better, Starsky," Dobey reassured him. "Today's only the third day he's been back. Tell him to give himself some time."

"I do. I tell him that all the time. He just gets -- frustrated." Starsky shook himself, then sighed again. "Anyway ... let me call Huggy and get him over here, then I'll be in."

"Is Ferguson there yet?"

"He wasn't when I talked to the doctor a few minutes ago. Why? You want him to come with me?"

"No," Dobey replied. "I want him to stay there. This protective custody is more than just a beard to allow you to stay in the room with Hutch. If you're not going to be there, I want someone I trust with him. And it's not that I don't trust Huggy ..."

"No, Cap, you're absolutely right. I agree. And Huggy will understand."

"Then make your phone calls and get your butt over here now!" Dobey said, hanging up the phone.

Starsky chuckled again and placed the phone back in the cradle. He stepped to the bed, smoothing Hutch's hair and tucking the blanket around him before he moved into the bathroom and quickly went through his morning routine. He forewent a shower, but washed his face and hands, shaved, and brushed his teeth, then ran a comb through his unruly mane. He rummaged in the gym bag of clothing that Pete had brought and changed into a clean shirt, then settled into the chair and put on clean socks.

Rising once more, he lifted the phone and called Huggy. The phone rang fifteen times before a very tired voice answered and said, "This had better be good."

"Huggy?"

"Starsky?" The voice was instantly wide-awake. "Is Hutch okay? Is something wrong? Do you need something?"

"Yes, Hutch is okay. No, nothing is wrong. And yes, I need a favor."

"Anything, man -- ask and ye shall receive."

"I gotta go in to the station for a few hours. I need you to come stay with him."

"You got it. You want I should bring breakfast?"

Starsky could hear the other man pulling on clothes even as they spoke. "Breakfast would be good. Something simple. Maybe those muffins Hutch likes."

"Yeah, yeah," Huggy agreed distractedly, "from that place over on 23rd. I can do that." He paused a moment, then went on in a disgusted tone, "Next time, give me a little notice. I'll make the muffins. Do you know how embarrassing it is for me show up with food from another place?"

Starsky laughed. "Aw, Hug, that's never stopped you before. Remember Dobey and the wonton soup?"

Huggy laughed. "Yeah, well, my man, I was just trying to, um, impress the captain."

"It worked," Starsky replied. "So just put the muffins in a bag from your place -- I'll never tell."

Starsky heard a muffled snort, and then Huggy was back. "All right. I'm dressed. I'll go by the bakery and be there in, uh, thirty minutes?"

"That's fine, Hug," Starsky responded. "I've still got to get Hutch cleaned up so we've got some time."

"See you soon then," Huggy said.

"Yeah. Thanks, Huggy."

"Anything for Hutch, man, you know that."

"Yeah, I do know." Starsky hung up the phone with a glance at the bed and was surprised to see two blue eyes studying him. "Hey, you," he said, stepping over to lay a hand on Hutch's arm. "You're awake."

Hutch nodded. "I-I think I am. I dreamed, didn't I?" He lifted a hand and touched his head, and Starsky suddenly wondered if Hutch had hurt himself banging into the wall in the night.

"You okay?" he asked in concern, reaching out to run his fingers lightly over Hutch's head. There was a slight bump, but the skin had not been broken.

Hutch nodded, then lifted his hand. "IV itches."

Starsky lowered the bed rail and sat facing Hutch, taking his hand into his lap and gently scratching at the tape around the IV. "Look, Hutch," he said softly, "Huggy is coming over in a little while."

Hutch smiled. "Good. I miss -- m-missed him."

"He's bringing muffins from that bakery over on 23rd. The one you like so much?"

"Banana?" Hutch asked, still smiling.

"Banana, blueberry, pineapple. He'll bring a bunch." Starsky continued to scratch at Hutch's hand, but his eyes skittered around the room.

"S-starsk?" Hutch asked, worry apparent in his voice. "What's wr-wrong?"

Starsky shook himself, then placed Hutch's hand on top of the blanket and reached for the water pitcher. He poured some into the cup, then held it out to Hutch and watched approvingly as Hutch drank through the straw. "You know what you just did, don't you?" he asked when Hutch was done.

Hutch just looked confused.

"You drank from the cup, buddy, instead of a bottle. You used the straw."

Hutch smiled for a moment, then snorted in disgust. "S-sounds like I'm a b-baby -- drinking from a c-cup, instead of a b-bottle."

"It's a step, Hutch. The doc said you had to start with baby steps, so maybe this is just one of those baby steps."

Hutch threw his arm over his eyes and turned his head away. "D-don't know why I'm like this," he said in frustration. "J-just want to be m-me again."

Starsky gently turned the blond head back to look at him, removing the arm and taking the hand back into his lap. "You are you. And look at how much better you are already. You've been through a lot, you know that, babe. You're not going to be back to normal right away. You've got to eat, gain your weight back. Sleep, get your strength back. And be patient with yourself."

"So I get myself back, right?" Hutch asked with a wry smile that seemed so Hutch-like, Starsky thought for a moment he might cry.

He settled for swallowing hard and nodding. "Yeah. You'll be back to normal -- it's just going to take some time. And you gotta be patient with yourself."

"Frustrated," Hutch muttered.

"Are you listening to yourself?" Starsky asked.

"Huh?"

"You're not stuttering -- hardly at all."

"I'm not?"

"No, and Dr. Barot says that's because, uh, subconsciously, you're beginning to believe that it's over and you're safe now."

Hutch thought about that for a minute, then nodded and grasped Starsky's hand. "I'm with you," he said simply.

Starsky stepped into the interrogation room. He moved over to the table, turned a chair around and sat down, placing a couple of cans of Coke and a candy bar on the table. "Hi," he said.

Todd Mitchell looked at him skeptically, but responded with a quiet, "Hi."

"You want anything?" Starsky asked. "Soda, candy bar, that kind of thing?"

"Are you the good cop?" Mitchell asked suspiciously.

Starsky stared at him for a long moment then slowly shook his head. "Oh, no. I am not the good cop. I am definitely not the good cop. I am so far from the good cop, they don't even know what to call me."

Mitchell drew back at the icy coldness of Starsky's words, then looked around the room frantically.

"Where, uh, where'd the other guy go?"

Starsky just shook his head. "You sure you don't want something?" he asked again, his voice no longer cold and deadly.

Mitchell shook his head.

"Where's the other guy?"

"Nobody here but us, Todd. Just you and me." His voice grew cold again as he added, "And you know who I am."

Mitchell shook his head.

"Sure you do, Todd," Starsky said, his voice warm again. "C'mon now, say it with me -- 'not the good cop.'"

Mitchell's eyes were wide and he swiveled his head, looking over at the large mirror that took up most of one wall. "They're watching us, right? Watching you."

Starsky shook his head again. "Just you and me, buddy," he said. "Nobody needs to watch us." He opened the candy bar slowly, broke off a piece and held it out.

Mitchell shook his head.

Starsky shrugged and popped it in his mouth. "You know," he said slowly, "funny thing about eating. You can choke and never even know why. I mean ..." he rose to his feet and began to move around the table, "we eat all the time. It's almost a -- reflex. So what happens when suddenly, it goes down wrong or gets stuck in our throat, and we choke?" He stood next to Mitchell and laid one hand on his shoulder. "Have you ever thought about that?"

Mitchell had broken out in a sweat, and he lifted one hand and wiped his face. "I want a lawyer," he said, his voice shaking.

Starsky shrugged. "I want world peace, but hey, you know how it is. We can't all have what we want."

"I asked for a lawyer," Mitchell whined. "I know my rights. You gotta stop talking to me until he gets here."

Starsky shrugged again. "I can't help you right now," he said. "I'm not allowed to leave you unattended in this room, and there's no one here to relieve me, or to take your request to the public defender." He leaned down close and said, "Guess you'll just have to put up with me for a while longer."

"Who are you?" Mitchell demanded, trying to work up his own courage by being aggressive.

"I told you," Starsky said and he reached out and gently slapped Mitchell's cheek. "I." Slap. "Am." Slap. "Not." Slap. "The." Slap. "Good." Slap. "Cop." Slap.

Though the blows had been gentle, tender even, Mitchell's eyes were full of fear.

"Think you can remember that now, Todd?"

"What do you want?"

Starsky sat again, holding out the candy bar once more. "You sure you don't want some of this? I mean, I don't want you to worry about choking or anything. Not because of anything I said. I know that Heimlein, Heimler, uh," Starsky snapped his fingers, "Heimlich maneuver. So if anything happened, I could help you." Starsky's face grew thoughtful as he watched Mitchell. "Of course, you know, sometimes people's ribs get broken from that. You can push too hard and actually rupture their internal organs. Who'd have imagined that? But," he made a gesture as if waving the words away, "I'm sure that wouldn't happen to you."

"What do you want?" Mitchell asked again.

"You had a man ...." Starsky said, the words hanging heavy in the air between them.

"I didn't hurt him!" Mitchell cried. "I never did nothing to him."

Starsky's eyes were hard and cold. "I want to know who hired you."

Mitchell shook his head.

"Todd, Todd, Todd," Starsky said, disappointment evident in his tone, in the way he held his body. "Have you forgotten who I am?"

Mitchell looked up warily. "Uh ...."

"C'mon, Todd, say it."

"Youarenothegoodcop," Mitchell mumbled.

"Say it again, Todd -- a little louder, please."

"Youarenothegoodcop," Mitchell repeated, not quite as softly.

"Now, one more time, Todd, and this time, let me hear the words."

Mitchell glared angrily at him, then said, "You are not the good cop."

"Very good!" Starsky said, smiling like a proud parent as he praised the man. He leaned back in the chair, propped his feet up on the table and asked, "And if I'm not the good cop, then who am I?"

Mitchell looked up. "Uh ... the bad cop?" Starsky shook his head. "You weren't listening, Todd," he said, opening one of the cans and taking a long swallow. "What did I tell you?" He held the other can out, and Mitchell shook his head frantically. "Now, who am I?"

"Far, uh, far beyond the bad cop?"

"Very good," Starsky purred, sipping the cold drink. "And they told me you weren't very smart." He shook his head sadly. "I really need to have better evaluations from my people before I come in to do these -- interviews. I mean," he looked at Mitchell with cold, hard eyes, "they led me to believe you're not very smart, but you know what, Todd? I don't think that's true. I think that when you realize that the man you were holding is a cop, that he's in the hospital right now, and he's pretty bad off, and that I'm his partner -- well, Todd, I think you're just going to want to tell me who hired you."

"I, uh, I told you. I never hurt the guy."

"What was that, Todd?" Starsky rose and advanced slowly around the table. "I couldn't hear you. It sounds to me like -- you're choking. Yeah, you're choking." He reached out and grabbed the man, wrapping his arms around him and lifting him from the chair. "Here," he said, "let me help you with that." He squeezed.

Mitchell began to struggle, but he couldn't scream because he couldn't get any air.

"Who hired you, Mitchell?" Starsky asked, his mouth at the man's ear.

Mitchell waved his arms and kicked.

"What was that, Todd? I couldn't hear you." Starsky squeezed harder.

Mitchell's movements were beginning to slow.

Starsky released the tension fractionally and asked again, "Who hired you?"

"You. Can't. Do. This," Mitchell panted.

"Do what?" Starsky countered. "Try and save the life of a suspect who choked on a piece of candy? Shit, man, I'd lose my job if I didn't try to help." He tightened his hold again. "Who hired you?"

Mitchell's arms waved again, and Starsky let him breathe. "George. George Rizzo."

Starsky let him go and Mitchell collapsed to the floor.

"You need anyone to come and look at you, Mitchell?" he asked solicitously as he sauntered toward the door. "You want a doctor?"

Mitchell clutched his throat, breathing heavily, but shook his head.

"You still want that lawyer?" Starsky asked as he opened the door and a uniform slipped in.

Mitchell just glared at him.

Day 8 - Thursday, March 25, 1981 -- Starsky's birthday

The room was crowded -- Dobey and his wife, Huggy, Pete and Betsy, and of course, Starsky. Hutch was on a pass to the waiting room for Starsky's birthday. Cal and Rosie Dobey were there, as was little DK Ferguson. Hutch had walked down on his own, one hand towing his IV pole, and the other only needing to reach out for Starsky's arm a couple of times to keep his balance. He was hugged and kissed by both Edith and Rosie, while the teenaged Cal had restricted himself to a firm handshake.

Everyone laughed when DK toddled over to Hutch, looking up and up and up until he finally met his eyes, and promptly lost his balance and landed on his butt. His well-padded butt. It didn't faze him for a minute; he just reached out and grabbed Hutch's pant leg and pulled himself to his feet again. "I know how you feel, kid," Hutch said with a smile as he moved to sit down.

It was the first time he'd been out of the hospital room for something other than tests. He sat quietly, enjoying the hubbub, but not really participating. At times, it was almost too much - too many people, too much movement, the laughter too loud -- but every time he felt he couldn't take another minute, it would quiet, and Starsky would appear beside him, the others seeming to know to back off and give him space.

There were presents and cake and ice cream, and Hutch was very annoyed that cake and ice cream were not on his list of approved foods. Despite several pleas and numerous pitiful looks, the best he was able to do was one very tiny bite of cake which Starsky let him sneak.

At one point, while Dobey, Starsky, Huggy, Pete and Cal were having a rather boisterous discussion on the Lakers' chances for the playoffs, and Edith and Rosie were busy with the baby, Betsy Ferguson came and sat quietly beside Hutch.

"You're P-pete's wife," he said, and she nodded. "H-he's Starsky's new p-partner." Hutch wasn't able to keep the bitterness from his voice, but she just shook her head.

"He's a new detective," she said, pride in her voice. "One of the youngest ever. But," she turned and looked at Hutch, "he's never been Davey's partner. That job is filled."

Hutch smiled at her words, then murmured, "Davey?"

She blushed a little, then nodded. "It's his name, isn't it?"

"I-I call him Starsky," Hutch said softly.

"I know," Betsy replied, "and it didn't seem right for Pete to call him that, too. That's your name for him. We call him Davey."

Hutch's eyes filled with tears and Betsy looked away, calling, "Hey, Davey, I think Ken is getting tired."

Immediately, Starsky was at his side, pulling him to his feet. "Good night, folks," he said as he walked to the door with Hutch. "Thanks for coming over tonight."

"Glad to be here."

"Happy Birthday, Davey."

"Good to see you, Hutch."

"See you tomorrow."

The words filled the air, but Hutch was suddenly focused on one thing, getting back to the safety of his room. He moved as quickly as he could without losing his balance, and breathed an audible sigh of relief when he was in his bed with the door shut.

"You okay, Hutch?" Starsky asked in concern, taking in the abnormally pale face, the light sheen of sweat that streaked Hutch's brow. "What happened?"

"It was j-just -- too much," Hutch said, his hands raised in a gesture of helplessness. "Too many people, too much noise." He smacked his fist on his leg. "I w-was panicking."

Starsky moved to sit by him. "No, you weren't, Hutch. You were fine. And it was a lot -- a lot of people, a lot of noise. It's okay that it was hard for you."

Hutch pouted and replied petulantly, "D-didn't use to be hard for m-me."

"Things are different now, babe," Starsky said softly, no accusation in his voice. "You have to give yourself time. It's only been a week."

Hutch hit his leg again, and Starsky took his hand. "Hey," he said gently, "stop beating up on my partner. I may have to hurt you." He turned the fist in his hand and scratched around the tape holding the IV in place, knowing it was a source of constant irritation to Hutch.

"What if -- wh-what if I n-never ...?" Hutch let the question hang, unfinished.

"You will," Starsky said firmly. "Look at you. You walked down to the waiting room by yourself."

Hutch rolled his eyes.

"And you've already gained three pounds, Hutch. That's great progress. The docs are really pleased."

Hutch turned his head and looked away, but Starsky gently cupped his cheek and turned his face back to meet his eyes. "You have to be patient. You can't give up."

"T-tired," Hutch said, his eyes closing.

"Then sleep," Starsky replied, tucking the blankets around his partner. "You'll feel better tomorrow."

" 'm sorry," Hutch mumbled.

"For what, babe?"

"D-didn't get you a p-present."

Starsky leaned over and hugged the man in the bed. "Oh, yes, you did. The best present of all. I'm holding it now and I ain't ever letting go."

Day 14 - Thursday, April 2, 1981

"C'mon, Hutch," Starsky said, fighting for patience. "You need to take a shower."

"I said I don't want to!"

"At least come in the bathroom, wash your face, brush your teeth, shave?"

"I-I don't want t-to get up. Why are y-you always p-pushing me, Starsky?"

Starsky took a deep breath. "I'm not pushing, Hutch, but you know you need to do this."

Hutch didn't respond. His eyes were closed and he had his arms folded over his chest as he lay in the bed.

"Fine. You don't want to clean up, then don't." Starsky wheeled the table over and opened the breakfast tray. "Why don't you eat then?"

Hutch pushed it away. "Not hungry."

Starsky bit his lip for a minute then forced a smile. "Look -- you've already gained five pounds. That's great progress, but you gotta keep eating to keep gaining."

"I d-don't want it! Wh-what's wrong with you, S-Starsky? Y-you can't h-hear?"

"Hutch -- you know you gotta eat. What's wrong? You want something else?"

"W-want to g-go h-home," Hutch said stubbornly.

"You know you can't go home till you gain some more weight. You're still too sick."

"N-not sick, S-starsky!" Hutch shoved the tray again, pushing until it fell on the floor. "S-sick of this!" He waved at the room, the bed, himself. "W-want to g-go home!"

"Well, you can't!" Starsky said in frustration. "You're too weak! You have to stay here and you damn well better start taking care of yourself -- clean up when you're told to, eat what you're given. If you ever want to get home, you better do something about that attitude you're developing!"

The door opened and Pete Ferguson peeked in. "Uh, hey guys. Everything okay?" He stared pointedly at the food and tray on the floor.

"No, everything is not okay," Starsky said angrily. "Hutch has decided to act like he's DK's age, instead of like a grown man, and I'm getting pretty damned sick of it!"

"Y-you're so s-s-sick of me, then g-get out!" Hutch pulled the pillow from behind his head and heaved it at Starsky. "Just g-get out and l-leave me a-al-lone!"

"You want to be left alone? Fine! I can do that! I can leave you so much alone, you'll think you're back in that godforsaken little room!" Starsky turned on his heel and marched to the door. "You want alone?" he said staring back at the man in the bed. "You got it!"

Pete's head swiveled. He stared at Hutch, watching as his eyes grew huge and tears welled, then he turned to stare after Starsky as he stalked down the hall. He ran a hand through his unruly shock of red hair, stared after Starsky again, then stepped into the room. "How about I clean this up?" he asked softly as he knelt and began to pick up the broken plate and silverware that had fallen when Hutch shoved the tray.

Hutch didn't respond. His head was turned to one side and Pete could hear him crying. He didn't know what to do. Should he go to the man in the bed, try to comfort him? Go after the man in the hall? Try to comfort him? Pete ignored the quiet sniffling for as long as it took to finish the clean up, then went in the bathroom and brought out a wet washcloth.

He walked to the bed and held it out, but Hutch didn't acknowledge him. "Uh, Ken?" he asked quietly, reaching out to touch the blond's shoulder.

Hutch looked up slowly, eyes unfocused and bloodshot. "S-starsk?" he asked, his voice broken from his tears.

Pete shook his head. "Pete. Pete Ferguson. You remember me?" He held out the washcloth again.

Hutch nodded miserably, but took the rag and scrubbed his face. "He left me," he said softly.

"He'll be back."

"I-I told him t-to go."

"He'll still be back."

"He's g-getting tired of this." Hutch waved at the room and at himself. "W-wants his partner back."

Pete ran his hands through his hair again. He felt wildly out of his depth. "He's got his partner back. He's got you."

"N-no good," Hutch muttered. "H-he needs s-someone who c-can back him up." He looked up at Pete. "Someone like y-you."

Pete lifted his hands in surrender and backed a step away. "No way, man," he said with a smile. "I just worked with him while you were gone. You're the only one who can put up with him full-time."

Hutch smiled. "N-not so hard."

"No, it's not," Pete said as he stepped back to the bed. "You two have a system, a routine." He patted Hutch's shoulder. "It'll be all right."

"I st-still gotta stop b-being weird."

"You're not weird, Ken," Pete said. "You're sick."

"Not s-sick," Hutch said insistently.

"Okay, so you're not sick," Pete agreed. "But you're not well, either." He leaned forward and said earnestly, "You went through a lot, Ken. A lot of people wouldn't have made it out as intact as you are. But you can't get well overnight. You gotta give yourself time. Give yourself a break."

"And S-starsk?"

"Yeah, him, too," Pete said, nodding. "He hasn't left this room for two weeks, except to walk down the hall and go to the station that one time. He needs a break."

Hutch reached up and clutched at Pete's shirt. "I d-don't want to be alone," he said, pleading.

"I know," Pete replied, patting his hand. "I'm gonna call someone to come and visit for a while, okay? Maybe Huggy? The Captain?"

Hutch didn't speak, but he nodded minutely.

"Then when they get here, I'm gonna go find that partner of yours. I've got an idea of just what he needs. I'll have him back in three or four hours, okay? Can you handle that?"

"H-have to," Hutch mumbled, his eyes blinking rapidly as he fought sleep.

"No, you don't," Pete said softly, reaching out to touch Hutch again, waiting until he had his attention. "If I go out in the hall and get him, he'll come back in here, no questions asked. But," Pete raised a hand to silence Hutch, "I can't guarantee that next time it won't be him throwing the tray on the floor. He just needs a little break, Ken. Can you see that? It doesn't mean he's deserting you, he just needs a break."

"I know," Hutch agreed. "Just -- t-take care of him for me, please?" His eyes closed and he was quickly asleep, exhausted by the morning's emotions.

"We'll take care of him together," Pete murmured to the sleeping man. "That's what partners do."

"Are you sure he's okay with this?" Starsky asked again.

"The Captain's with him and Huggy is cooking up something special for him and when that's done, he's coming over. He's gonna be fine." Pete stopped at a red light and looked over at Starsky. "You needed to get out of there for a little while."

Starsky dropped his head, running his hand through his hair. "I can't believe I did that..." he said softly, shame in his voice.

"Did what?" Pete asked as he pulled forward and turned right. "Acted human?" He watched the other man out of the corner of his eye. "I hate to be the one to break it to you, Davey, but, uh, you aren't a saint."

Starsky made a fist and lifted his hand as if he were going to punch the roof of the car. Pete reached out and captured his arm, saying, "Hold that thought." He pulled into a parking spot, adding, "We're here."

"The gym?" Starsky asked.

Pete nodded. "Yeah. You have way too much energy locked up in you after being cooped up in that room for two weeks. You need to let loose a little." He stared pointedly at the arm he still clasped in his hand. "And I'd really prefer you let loose on something other than my car."

Starsky relaxed and dropped his arm, and Pete let him go. "It's a nice thought, Pete," he said, "but I really don't want to go in there with all those other people. I'm just not up for that."

"No one's there," Pete said. "I called Vinnie and he's shut the place down for a couple of hours."

Starsky stared at him. "How'd you work that?"

Pete shrugged. "He owes me, from back when I was on the beat. I just decided to collect today."

Starsky got out of the car, staring at the old building warily. "This is really more of Hutch's thing than mine."

Pete came around the car, a gym bag in hand, then grabbed the arm of Starsky's jacket and towed him toward the door. "Just come in and try it. If it's not what you need, we'll leave. We can always go somewhere else, do something else."

Starsky nodded and followed him in.

True to Pete's word, the place was deserted. Pete went by the equipment locker and grabbed a couple of gloves, then continued to nudge Starsky forward. They ended up in the locker room, and Pete tugged a sweatsuit out of the bag he was carrying. "Here," he said, holding it out. "Change."

Starsky quirked his mouth in an 'I'm not so sure about this' motion, but took the proffered clothes and began to change. A few minutes later, sweats on, Pete was holding out the gloves.

Starsky shook his head. "I don't want those."

"You'll need them to protect your hands."

Starsky shook his head again.

Pete shrugged and dropped the gloves. "Suit yourself."

They walked out of the locker room and Starsky headed for the heavy bag, hanging off by itself to the side of the ring. He walked up and studied it for a moment, then swung at it half-heartedly.

"That's no good," Pete said, appearing on the other side and bracing the bag. "You have to really nail it."

"I feel silly."

"What would you do if it was Todd Mitchell?"

Starsky lifted a fist and plowed into the bag.

Pete's eyebrow lifted. "That's it? That's all you'd do?"

Starsky swung again, then said, "I told you, I feel silly."

"You think Hutch felt silly, being kept naked all the time?"

"Don't ..." Starsky said, his voice a warning.

Pete pushed the bag and it swung into Starsky, knocking him back several steps.

"You think Hutch felt silly when Todd Mitchell was bathing him? Touching him ..."

Starsky hit the bag again -- several blows in quick succession.

"You think Hutch ..." Pete started, but Starsky interrupted him with a roar.

"STOP!" He pounded the bag furiously, blow after blow rocking it, only Pete throwing his whole body against it held it in place. The pounding continued for long minutes, the only other sound the struggling gasps for breath of the two men.

"What about George Rizzo?" Pete taunted, when Starsky began to slow.

The blows picked up again, fast and furious.

"And how about the man that hired them?"

Starsky was swinging again, pounding the bag, throwing all his strength into each blow.

"What would you say to them, Davey? What would you tell 'em?"

"I can't," Starsky panted, his fists flying into the bag. "I can't ..."

"Yeah, Davey, you can."

" 'f I start, I won't," he emphasized his words with several more rapid-fire blows to the bag, "be able to stop."

"No one's here but me, Davey," Pete said, "Tell me what you'd say." He pushed the bag forward again, breaking Starsky's rhythm for a moment before the dark-haired man found it again. "Tell me what you'd do to them."

"Why?" Starsky screamed. "Why'd you do this to him?" He punctuated the words with a staccato of blows to the bag. "How could you do this to anyone?"

"Just why, Davey?" Pete was panting, working hard to anchor the bag.

"No -- I'll kill you!" Bam! Bam! "I'll track you down," Bam! Bam! Bam! "and fucking kill you!" Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! "You won't get," Bam! Bam! "away with this!" Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

"Why, Davey?"

Starsky yelled again, and laid into the bag, his hands and shoulders screaming from the effort, but he didn't stop. "They took him!" Bam! Bam! "They took my Hutch!" Bam! Bam! "God damn it, Pete!" Bam! Bam! Bam! "Just look at him!" Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! "Look what they did to him!" BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Starsky stopped and pulled away, his eyes wild. He spied the weight benches and darted over to them, then, with a mighty roar, he tipped the first one over. Weights scattered across the floor. "He's not even the same man!" A second bench went over. "He's broken -- shattered -- and I can't do any fucking thing about it!" Another bench hit the ground and Starsky followed it down.

He sat shaking, huddled on the ground, and Pete slid down beside him, his arms going out tentatively to wrap around the older man. Starsky threw his hands up, pushed Pete backward and scrambled away. He began to pound on the wooden floor. "It isn't fair! It isn't fair! He didn't deserve this! It just fucking isn't fair!" he howled.

"No, it's not fair, it's not fair at all," Pete echoed. He moved forward again but was once more pushed away.

Pete watched him from a distance until he saw the red on the floor. Scraped and raw, Starsky's hands were beginning to bleed. He scooted forward once more, saying, "Davey -- Davey, let me help." His arms went out slowly, reaching for Starsky as if he were a wild animal or a skittish colt, and this time there was no rebuff. Pete wrapped his arms around Starsky, and pulled him close. Starsky stiffened, then leaned into the embrace, the first sob coming out choked, but rapidly followed by others. "He's so fucking broken," Starsky sobbed, his chest heaving as the tears streamed down his face. "I lost him. I left him there alone for two fucking years!"

"It wasn't your fault," Pete soothed, rocking Starsky as he wept. "It wasn't your fault."

"He was alone! He was fucking alone for two fucking years." He sobbed again and clutched desperately at Pete. "And where was I? Where was I when he was so fucking alone it was driving him crazy?"

Starsky's head fell and he rocked harder, the tears choking him as he struggled for breath. "I was working -- closing cases like nothing was wrong." He suddenly pushed Pete away and rose shakily to his feet. "What the hell was the matter with me? What was I thinking?"

He turned back to the bag and began to beat it again, leaving bloody streaks on the covering. The bag rocked, crazily swinging out of control with each punch and Starsky welcomed the blows as it banged into him. The last one unbalanced him, and he fell, and Pete was there again, now pleading, "Stop it, Davey. It's not your fault."

"Do you know what I was doing?" he said, staring at Pete and ignoring the tears that still fell. He choked out the words. "I was having dinner with you, and Huggy, and Dobey, laughing and talking and having a good old time, and he -- he ..." Starsky stalled, then clutched his stomach, his eyes haunted as he stared at Pete, "he was fucking starving!"

He rolled away from Pete, coming up on his hands and knees and began to vomit. He choked and heaved and cried, until there was nothing more he could bring up, and Pete gently drew him away.

"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God ..." Starsky moaned, and Pete pulled him close, holding him as tight as he could, knowing he would leave bruises and not caring. It seemed as if Starsky were ready to fall apart, to shatter into a million pieces and Pete was the only thing keeping him together.

"No one talked to him, Pete, no one. Do you know what that's like for someone like Hutch? He's so smart, always thinking, always learning -- and they just took it all away. All -- gone."

The sobs were slowing now, the rocking not so violent. "He's destroyed, ravaged, torn down," Starsky said, resting now in Pete's arms. "And I don't know if I'm strong enough to build him back up."

"You are," Pete said confidently. "You're the only one who can do it."

Starsky sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Didn't do a very good job this morning."

Pete barked out a laugh. "We know your limit now. Two weeks and you have to have a break."

Starsky nodded, leaning heavily against the younger man for a minute, then pulled away, both hands scrubbing at his face. "Hutch didn't get a break, Pete."

"No, he didn't" Pete said seriously. "And look what it did to him." He reached out and touched Starsky's cheek, then dropped his hand. "You have to take care of yourself, let others take care of you, so that you can take care of him. No one loves him like you do -- none of the rest of us can be what he needs. It's not fair, Davey. None of this is fair, but you have to deal with it. And part of that means, you have to let us love you, so you can love him."

Starsky was quiet as they drove to his apartment, quiet as he showered and changed again. He was quiet as Pete cleaned his hands, and bandaged the worst of the splits on his knuckles, still quiet when Pete insisted he lie down and sleep for a few hours. When he woke, Pete had soup and sandwiches ready for lunch, and they ate in companionable silence.

After a quick kitchen clean up, they were headed out the door when Starsky darted back into the apartment, back to the spare room. He emerged seconds later, a good-sized box in his arms.

"What's that?" Pete asked curiously.

"Something for Hutch," Starsky said, his eyes shining again. "Christmas, birthday, and some other stuff."

He bounced in his seat the whole way back to the hospital, chattering non-stop about the holster he'd had made for Hutch, about the tapes he'd bought and how much Hutch was going to like them. He wondered out loud what was in the Dobey's gifts and Huggy's, and tried his best to get Pete to own up to what was in the ones from him and Betsy. Pete just grinned and told him he'd have to wait.

Starsky jumped from the car and practically raced into the hospital, Pete hurrying to keep up. But when he got to the door of Hutch's room he stopped, suddenly reluctant to step inside.

"What's wrong, Davey?" Pete asked quietly.

Starsky shook his head. "I -- What I said to him this morning." He looked at Pete with worry in his eyes. "What if he's still mad at me?"

Pete snorted. "Him? Mad at you? He stays mad at you about as long as you stay mad at him." He reached out and patted Starsky's arm. "Trust me, man, he is not mad at you."

"You talked to him?"

Pete nodded. "Yeah. This morning. He was -- worried -- about you."

Starsky dropped his head and shook it slowly. "That's Hutch. He's always worrying about everyone but himself." He looked over at Pete. "Hey -- did he eat this morning? You think I shoulda brought something?"

"Huggy made him something and brought it over. I'm sure he ate. Now -- will you," Pete poked him in the chest with his finger, "quit stalling and get in there and make up with your partner. And you can tell him, we have a new rule -- Ferguson's rule. From now on, the person who throws the food on the floor has to clean it up."

Starsky laughed, then reached out impulsively and hugged the younger man. "We gotta get you a real partner. You're too damned good to keep hanging out with an old buzzard like me." He sobered as he pulled back and looked Pete in the eyes. "Thanks, man. I mean it."

Pete just patted his arm, then made a shooing motion. "Go on, get in there."

Starsky went through the door and set his box on the floor to one side. Hutch and Huggy were playing checkers, and they both looked up at his entrance. No one spoke for a moment, though Starsky stared at Hutch and Hutch stared back. Huggy began to pack up the checkers set.

"Hey, brother man, you're back. And just in time, too," Huggy said as he put the checkers in a box and folded the board. "Time for this dude to head back to the Pits. Some of us gotta work -- you know what I mean?"

Starsky nodded, his eyes never leaving Hutch. "Thanks, Hug. Thanks for coming over and staying."

"Yeah, thanks, Huggy," Hutch added. "Breakfast w-was good, and I a-appreciate the company." He kept his eyes on Starsky as he spoke.

Huggy gathered his coat, and a bag with dishes, then headed for the door. "I'll, uh, see you two later, right?"

Starsky nodded. "Yeah, Hug. Thanks again."

Huggy left and Starsky waited until the door was shut then he walked slowly over to the bed. "Hey, Hutch," he said softly.

"I-I'm sorry, Starsk," Hutch interrupted. "I was being an asshole."

Starsky shrugged. "You're entitled. I was being one myself. And a jerk, and an idiot." He let the rail down and sat on the bed next to his partner, reaching out to take his hand.

Hutch looked away at last, biting his lip, then said, "I-I don't r-really w-want to b-be a-alone," he said in a small, scared voice.

"Hutch," Starsky said gently, but the other man did not move. "Hutch," Starsky said again, releasing his hand and reaching for his chin. He turned Hutch's head back to face him, his stomach clenching when he saw the tears in his partner's eyes. He closed his eyes in pain for a moment, then opened them and brought his other hand up to cradle Hutch's face. He used the balls of his thumbs to wipe away the tears, then leaned forward so his forehead was pressed against Hutch's. "I'm sorry for what I said," he murmured. "I'm not going to leave you alone, you know that, right?"

Hutch was still for a moment, then he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Starsky sighed. "Well, I'm not sure you believe me right now, but that's okay. I'll just have to show you." He pulled Hutch into a hug, waiting patiently until the other man lifted his arms and hugged him back. "I'm not going anywhere, Hutch," he said softly. "You're not going to be alone again."

This time Hutch's nod was almost immediate. "S-sorry."

" 's okay," Starsky murmured. "We were both being jerks, but hey, we should look at the positive in all of this."

"P-positive?" Hutch asked, pulling away and sitting up.

"Yeah, positive. You were positively a jerk," Hutch rolled his eyes at Starsky's bad play on words, "and that means you must be positively getting better."

Hutch laughed and punched Starsky on the shoulder. "You're insane, you know that?"

Starsky rubbed his shoulder in mock pain. "And you're positively getting stronger, too."

"What happened to your hands?" Hutch asked.

"Went to the gym. Went a few rounds with the bag."

"No gloves?"

Starsky shrugged. "I told you I was an idiot."

"You okay?" Hutch's blue eyes were worried but Starsky just nodded.

"Oh. Okay then." Hutch looked at the box on the floor and asked, "What's in there?"

Starsky bounced up and retrieved the box, setting it in Hutch's lap. "Remembrys," he said, pulling out a gaily wrapped gift, snowmen dancing on the blue paper.

"Looks like a Christmas present," Hutch said. "Why'd you call it a 'remembry?'"

Starsky shrugged. "It's what my mom called them. When you get something for someone who's not around. It's a remembry."

"These are mine?" Hutch asked in disbelief.

"Yeah." Starsky looked at the package, read the tag, then said, "That's from Huggy, but I can't remember if it was the first Christmas or the second."

Hutch was still staring at the package in confusion. He looked up at Starsky and said, "I'd been gone almost a year by Christmas."

Starsky nodded. "Yeah. It was hard. I put up the tree at your place, did the lights and everything, but it just wasn't the same."

"You decorated my place?"

Starsky nodded.

"Starsk -- I don't even like Christmas."

Starsky nodded again, smiling. "Yeah, but you always decorate for me. I just ..."

Hutch reached out and took his hand. "I know ..."

"I missed you so much, Hutch," Starsky said. "It was an ache that wouldn't go away. I hurt all the time."

Hutch squeezed Starsky's hand.

"I kept wondering, Hutch, wondering what was happening to you. Where were you? Were you hurt?"

"How long did the department keep looking for me?"

"I never stopped," Starsky said. "There was a bunch of us, we never stopped. Every lead, every scrap of information, we followed up. It's just --" he raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness, "there was nothing."

"The department, Starsky. What did they say?"

Starsky dropped his head. "After a while, they, uh, started saying that with no leads, you had probably just taken off."

Hutch shrugged. "I'm not surprised."

"It doesn't make you mad?" Starsky asked in amazement.

Hutch shook his head. "If there were no leads, they had to move on, had to come up with something." He tapped Starsky on the chest. "Just glad you didn't give up."

"Never," Starsky said, his eyes shiny with unshed tears.

"I never gave up on you either," Hutch said. "I always knew if I was ever getting outta there, it would be you who found me." He turned away again, suddenly uncomfortable.

"What?" Starsky asked gently. "What is it?"

"I-I'm sorry I'm so -- chicken -- about being alone. It's gotta be -- weird -- for you."

"Hutch, babe," Starsky said, waiting for the blond to turn and look at him, "I don't wanna be alone either. I've had enough of being alone to last me forever, okay? So, it works out good -- us being partners and all. We can be not alone together."

"Did that even make sense?" Hutch asked with a laugh.

"I understood it," Starsky countered, laughing as well. He stared at Hutch, drinking him in hungrily, memorizing his face, his eyes, his hair, and reveling in the joy of having him here and having him alive, until Hutch began to flush under his scrutiny. Starsky turned away for a moment, swallowed hard and blinked to clear his eyes, then looked back and asked, "You gonna open that, or what?"

There was silence for a moment as Hutch stared at him just as hungrily, but then he said, "Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna open it, but ..." Hutch paused and looked around the room.

"What?"

"I want Christmas lights," Hutch declared.

"Christmas lights?" Starsky asked in confusion.

"Yeah, Christmas lights. You know, strings of bulbs that light up when you plug them in? Lots of different colors? Twinkly?"

"Twinkly?"

Hutch harrumphed. "Yeah -- twinkly. If I gotta be here for a while, I don't want it to look so much like a hospital room. I want Christmas lights."

Starsky smiled. "You got it. Tomorrow, we hang Christmas lights. Twinkly ones." He nudged his partner. "Now -- open it! I've been waiting two years to see what's inside!"

End Part 3

On to Part 4

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