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TWO EIGHT ZERO

Part 5



Back in charge, Starsky had been busy.



Though usually teasing Hutch about tending to "fuss a guy to death" when concerned, he didn't give such a bad mother hen-performance himself when his partner was sick.



It was something they'd both developed as something completely new in both their outfits over the years that had formed their friendship. Sure, they'd both always been kind human beings, both somewhat too soft, both selfless, both quick to like other people, quick to care, but neither of them had experienced the instinctive, absolute feeling of being NEEDED before. And needed not as someone who just happened to be there, but as the distinctive individuals they were.



No one before had ever needed Starsky because he was Starsky. In fact, the only time in his life before Hutch that he himself had thought he would be needed, they had sent him away. Despite being just a teen, he'd truly thought his mother and Nicky would need him. After all, he'd been the older one, the man of the house. He should have been there to take care of things--at least that'd been what he'd thought. But they hadn't let him, instead, his mother had sent him as far away as she possibly could have.



Sometimes--not often--but sometimes, it still hurt.



Same with Hutch. Hutch had never ever been needed because of who he was. Sure, there'd been a time he'd thought Vanessa needed him, but it quickly had turned out that all she'd needed was for him to be another man.



That'd been something his parents had never failed to make clear, too. Nor had is sister. Every single member of his family, except for those who'd died before he'd reached puberty, had seemingly always needed him to change. Change into Kenneth, Kenny, Mr. Hutchinson Jr.--anyone but Hutch.



With Starsky it'd been different from the start. It never ceased to amaze Hutch that the curly haired, lively, stubborn, forever child-like man had liked him from the very first second. The moment he'd seen him stumble into their room at the academy.



Equally amazing--he'd liked him too. Quiet, withdrawn, rather shy, somewhat sarcastic young Ken Hutchinson had spent many days wondering why he felt so unusually at ease with his new roommate. Wondering why, though it did drive him crazy to listen to all that nonsense the guy could fill the air with in just one minute, he still enjoyed every single second he spent with him. Eventually, he'd stopped thinking about it and had accepted himself to be just plain lucky.



That feeling had changed. After seven years, Hutch knew that he wasn't lucky. He was blessed. He'd found the one person who not only accepted him as the person he was, but who also needed him to be exactly that. If the friendship had brought one change into Kenneth Hutchinson's whole composure, then it was the one that he finally could stop trying to change and just be Hutch.



It was a thought Starsky never understood when Hutch tried to express it--usually after the very, very last drink he'd have for that particular night--but that he accepted it to be quite important for his blond friend, figuring that maybe doing something incredibly right without even knowing it was the best one could do in a friendship. And it always worked. Just like now. Starsky knew what Hutch needed when he was sick.



Unlike most men--including Starsky--Hutch never whined, but had other subtle ways of letting his partner know when he felt under the weather, depressed or seriously down.



Though he'd never stopped to think about the how, Starsky could almost always read his friend, and from the very first time they'd traveled that road, he'd done everything right when it'd come to taking care of a sick Hutch.



Some things, of course, were simply the bit medical knowledge everyone had, like how to bring fever down, stuff like that. Others, though, were completely partner-instinct. For example had Starsky at a very early point in their friendship found out that his friend hated it to be alone when he wasn't feeling well. It wasn't that Hutch appeared needy when he was sick, but to Starsky it always was obvious that he was.



Hidden in his tough, self-confidence outer appearance, Hutch constantly carried a deep, gnawing fear of not being good enough, of failing, of being left alone. Starsky had seen it break through the surface more times than he'd have liked. Enough times, anyway, to know that Hutch wasn't scared of being alone, what he was scared of was being forced to be alone.



It'd taken some time for Starsky to find out that it'd been something that in the Hutchinsons' logic had been considered a proper way of training young Kenneth's ambition. Whenever Hutch had failed to accomplish something he'd been left alone to "think about it", meaning he'd been locked in his room, alone. No one had ever consoled him when he'd faced a personal failure, no one had ever once given him a cuddle for comfort.



After his divorce, his parents hadn't called him for almost six weeks, and when they had, they hadn't once mentioned Vanessa. To them, it'd been understood that he'd failed--and you didn't speak about failures.



As far as Starsky was concerned, that was the reason why his partner seemed so eager to hide it when he was getting sick or depressed. He'd rather OD himself with aspirin than lay down and admit he was ill, out of subconscious fear he might be considered weak.



While rummaging through Hutch's half-filled fridge, looking for some juice for his sick friend, Starsky thought that at the Hutchinson Home, things seemed to have been at least a little equal to another place he now knew about; being sick hadn't been allowed.



Whenever Hutch did come down with something--and Starsky had had his share of nursing him through several flues or other things over the years to know about it--and got really sick, he'd watch every one of Starsky's moves like a hawk, as if afraid his partner would leave him at some point. He knew better, of course, but the fear was there, and it didn't look like he'd be ever able to banish it.



It was this, his own fear, that bore the origin of the line he himself always used when he tried to comfort Starsky: "I'm here."



After he'd found out about all of it, Starsky had slowly but steadily took it over, so that it'd become "their" comfort line. "I'm here" meant nothing more and nothing less than that neither of them would be left alone. No matter what.



"I'm here, Hutch," Starsky muttered softly, when he returned to the bedroom with the juice. Hutch, though, who'd waken up for a moment, coughs cutting off the croaked out call for his friend, was asleep again; his left arm hanging limply down the side of the bed as if he'd been reaching out for Starsky, but had only found empty air.



Gently, the curly haired detective picked the arm up and placed it under the blanket again, then felt the blond's forehead again.



The fever had, though not completely vanished, subsided a bit. Enough, anyway, for Starsky to sigh with relief. The sun had risen outside a long time ago, and he felt his own exhaustion increasing as he sat down on the chair he'd dragged next to Hutch's bed for his vigil.



Exhausted. That was how Hutch looked too, he thought. Now that the fever had stopped tormenting him with nightmares and chills, the expression of illness had given room for the clear, appalling evidence of everything the blond had been through for over two months.



He hadn't eaten right, he hadn't slept much, he hadn't allowed himself to rest, and it showed. Adjusting the blanket on his partner's chest, Starsky recalled Hutch breaking down earlier that day, before the rain. At the memory of the utter, raw despair he'd seen on the pale, strained features then, he closed his eyes with a pained sigh.



"I'm here, babe," he whispered, briefly resting his forehead against the blond's. "Hear me, okay? I'm here. We're gonna make it."



'You're not alone anymore,' he added in his thoughts, aware of everything Hutch had had to face over the unendurable long time span of two months. 'Alone. I left him alone. Alone to run himself sick. Aw, damn it, Dave, you know it's not your fault! Hanging yourself out to dry won't help at all. Just help him get better and it's all gonna be okay again.'



Hutch moaned slightly as if he'd heard the thoughts, and Starsky smiled, bending over so he could stroke his friend's cheek. "Hey Hutch, you wakin' up?"



Another small whimper escaped the blond, bearing some resemblance to Starsky's name as Hutch struggled to lift his heavy lids.



"Yeah, I'm here, right here," Starsky assured him, sitting down in the edge of the bed next to his partner. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of blond hair from the still too warm forehead and was dismayed when Hutch flinched.



"Hutch? Hey, 'sokay, it's me, Starsk. I'm here now, hear me? No more numbers."



"N-no," Hutch moaned with half open eyes, his gaze unfocused, searching the room, haunted. "S-Starsk?"



Sighing, Starsky grabbed the damp cloth he'd brought along with the juice and gently placed it on Hutch's forehead. A shudder swept over him when he looked at Hutch's startled reaction and remembered the nightmares that'd tormented his exhausted friend the whole day long.



Nightmares he himself had only too often been the star of.



Nightmares that'd hit strangely close to home, as if Hutch could really see the truth before his inner eye.



Starsky didn't want him to see the truth.



Most of the time, though, the dreams had been about being left alone, Starsky could tell by the croaked, frantic calls for him that had kept him on the run for hours, trying to soothe Hutch, to get him, and if subconsciously, to understand that he wasn't alone anymore. That he didn't have to carry the burden alone any longer. That he didn't have to be strong. That Starsky was there now.



"Shh, it's okay, Hutch, it's me. Look at me, huh? C'mon."



Watery, glassy baby blue eyes finally settled upon him, and Starsky smiled. "See? I'm here. Right were I should be."



Wearily, Hutch reached up, his fingers clenching around a fistful of the material of Starsky's shirt. Still, the blond's eyes looked haunted, panicked. "D-don't..."he started, but a cough cut him off. When he spoke again, his voice seemed even more strained. "Don't... c-call anyone. D-don't go."



Reaching for the juice at the sound of his friend's painfully raw throat, Starsky frowned, surprised. "Who would I call, Blintz? What're you talking about? Hm? C'mere," carefully, he helped Hutch to sit up a bit, holding the glass to his lips.



Gratefully, Hutch drank a few sips, before falling back on the sheets, a bit more alert, but now spent. "Don't go anywhere," he said, his gaze changing into one Starsky thought he'd seen often over the past days. "They'll... They mustn't... I-I'm..." He blinked rapidly, trying obviously to stay awake. "I'll be okay." A deep sigh. "God, buddy, I'm sorry." Looking around as if for the first time, he yawned slightly. "I don't even remember... D'you bring me here?" he asked, looking back at Starsky, who nodded.



"You really have to work on your fainting places, Blintz," he wise-cracked with a sad smile, overwhelmed by the deep exhaustion, the despair he suddenly saw in the light blue eyes that'd cleared enough to show it.



Hutch chuckled, and yawned again. "I'm sorry. You didn't get scared, huh?" he added softly, dragging his eyes that'd fallen closed, open one more time to cast his frowning friend a worried look. "Don't be scared. Just tired, I guess... I'm just tired..." With fading mumbles, he fell asleep again, while Starsky worked on moving his jaw.



'Oh, that went well.' "Uhm... Hutch?" Starsky asked, softly nudging the blond's cheek. "Hey, can you wake up just for a sec again? I think you, uh, don't understand."



But the blond was sound asleep again, his features peaceful for once, so that Starsky didn't have the heart to wake him. "Never mind," he whispered, smoothing the blanket over Hutch's chest. "You just sleep, and I'll tell you later."



He sat for a few more seconds, allowing himself a moment of rest too, studying his partner in his sleep. 'God, look at you, he sighed inwardly, I can't even leave you alone for two months!' The wise-crack brought a sarcastic smile on his face that he wiped away along with the nagging exhaustion. 'Two months.'



Now that he could think of it, he'd started trying to sort out the real impact of the words, wanting to share his partner's pain, much like Hutch had shared his. 'Two and a half months. Hm. Two times of washing the Torino. Maybe three. Two phone calls to Aunt Rosie. Ten to Mom.' At that thought, he hesitated. 'God, Mom. Gotta call her.'



But then, the thought of talking to anyone but Hutch seemed to cause him more distress than joy, and he pushed it aside, assuring himself he'd do it--later.



'35 days of driving my car on the job. Wow. 35. Well, minus weekends.' His head tilted to one side as he, lost in thought, watched the steady rising and falling of Hutch's chest. '70 days. 70 days of waking up, driving to work, sitting on that desk, hitting the street, going back home at night... 70 days of...' The sudden realization hit him, that ever since they'd left the academy, he and Hutch had never been separated for so long. At first, he cringed inwardly, thinking how silly that sounded, like they were married or something--but he couldn't help finding a nagging truth in the words. Of course, part of it came with the job. Being working partners, they were bound to see each other every day, but when searching deeper, Starsky figured he'd consider two months too long a time to not see or hear Hutch under ANY circumstances. 70 days without Hutch... the mere thought seemed to stretch the time spam out until it looked like an eternity.



Add not knowing where he'd be, but definitely in danger... Add searching for him every single day... Add growing more desperate as time goes by...



Hell, he didn't want to know how HE'd look!



'Add finding a number,' he continued sadly and finally stood, as if having inwardly been pushed to do something useful for a change. 'Add finding... this.' Looking down on himself, he let out a deep, frustrated breath. 'God, I'm so fucked. Who am I trying to kid?!' The first sec they... At the sound of his thoughts, he trailed off, turning slightly to look back at the open bedroom door.



'They?'



Hutch had said that. '"Don't go anywhere. They'll... They mustn't..."'



They? Who were they? Not... No, Starsky shook his head fiercely. They were gone. He was home, he was with Hutch. They couldn't get to him again. But then, who...



And then it hit him. They. Everyone. The world outside. They.



Suddenly feeling very weary, he slowly made his way into the kitchen, swallowing past rising panic, his thoughts racing again as they tended to do ever since he'd really come back. 'Gee, what d'you do, Hutch, hide me? No... Dobey knows. Dobey was here.' Glancing over his shoulder from where he'd rummaged through a cupboard, he frowned. 'Wasn't he? Yes. Yes, definitely. I saw him. So Dobey knows. A-and there was this... doctor. At the hospital.' A shudder grabbed him, and he turned quickly to start preparing something light to eat for his patient, in order to keep himself distracted, going. 'Yeah, remember the doc. Scary.' Thinking about that, he arched his brows as if mocking himself. 'Okay, to me, everyone's scary, but he was... mean. Okay? Better choice of words? Mean.'



So people knew. Well, probably not... everything, he mused, fighting desperately to keep the urging confusion at bay. Confusion--the enemy within. Whenever he tried to figure something out, he started to feel like an eggshell, like he had to be ultra careful to not break the fragile bridge to the sane part of his mind he'd managed to build.



'Okay, so there are 'they', and then there's him... Hm. "Don't go anywhere." Like outside again.' Glancing up almost involuntarily, he found bright sunlight outside. No rain. When realizing what he was doing, though, he quickly looked back down at the breakfast bar. 'Get a grip, damn it! Think! Hutch's afraid, they... Well, someone might... Uh... Take me?' Insecure, as if seeking a positive nod, he found himself looking in the direction of the bedroom again. 'That it? But why... Oh. Right. I'm probably officially insane. Screwed up. And what d' we do with screw ups?'



Shuddering at the answer, he muttered, "Oookay, not going anywhere. Uh uh," under his breath, starting to chop a lonely carrot he'd found somewhere, when the phone rang.



He jumped so badly, he almost cut his finger, and wheeled around, staring at the noisy thing on the coffee table.



A second ring. Starsky stood, staring.



'Phone,' his mind suddenly spilled, and another, very alert, very sane, very Starsky-like part added, 'Yeah. Phone. C'mon, Davey, what d'you do when a phone's ringing?'



In slow-motion, as the third and forth ring followed, the curly haired man walked over to the table. The fifth ring saw his hand hovering over the receiver--just before the sixth, he picked up.



And listened. In silence. Tensed. Scared. So scared.



"Hutch? `Ey man, you there?"



"Huggy." The surprised whisper was out before Starsky had even time to think what to do. A strange feeling swirled in his body, so glad to hear his friend's voice again, yet so scared of it at the same time. He looked over his shoulder.



'Still here. Still real.'



A shocked silence answered him, then, "Oh my... Starsk?! That you?!"



"Uh... uhm..." he stammered, swallowing past rising panic. "Y-yeah, I..." He cut himself off, a sudden voice seemingly screaming in his mind. 'What the hell 're you doing?! What if it's a trick?!'



"What... Where's Hutch? Are you okay?"



"H-Hutch is..." 'No trick! C'mon, `s no trick!' "Uhm... he's..."



"Starsky? You alright? What happened? Where's Hutch? What happened?!"



'Hutch is sick, c'mon say it. Hutch is sick, and you're taking care. - B-but... `s not... allowed to be... sick. Not allowed to... care. Not...'



"Starsky?"



He hung up. Stared at his hand on the receiver. Tilted his head to his right.



Huggy. Home. Fun. Laughter. Friends. Good times.



''Kay.' A deep sigh almost broke into a sob, but he restrained himself, strolling back into the kitchen. '`Sokay, Davey. We try again next time. We just keep on trying.'



Despite his own encouraging words, though, he felt like a failure. When passing the bedroom, he cracked the door open a bit to peek inside.



Hutch was still sleeping peacefully. Starsky smiled, turned and went back to his work.





****







After he'd tried a couple of times, when it at least looked as if Hutch would be alert enough to understand it, to explain to his weak partner the changes that had occurred, Starsky finally gave up and settled for just nodding--"No, Hutch, don't worry, won't go anywhere.", "Yeah, I'm fine.", "Sure, you'll be up and about in no time."--and coaxing his patient to sleep, eat, drink and out of his ever so often returning nightmares.



At the end of the day, he felt like collapsing himself, but couldn't help finding it'd was a good exhaustion. A somewhat earned tiredness, not something artificial, not from sleep withdrawal, not from pain. From taking care of his friend.



Normal.



A normal exhaustion.



He'd never known how much he loved everything that was normal.



"Hutch, want some more juice?" he called from the bathroom, having thrown all the cloths he'd used over the day to cool the blond's face into the laundry basket. The fever seemed to have subsided at last, and thinking about it, Starsky assumed that after all Hutch wasn't really sick, just so beat his immune system had decided to kick him into awareness. It wouldn't have been uncommon for his stubborn partner, anyway. Since Hutch tended to keep his feelings to himself in times of distress, it was often left to his body to ask--or rather scream--for help.



Knowing that, Starsky hoped that after a whole night of undisturbed sleep and some more of his "lonely carrot soup", Hutch would be on his feet again. Or at least finally able to understand the information that'd sure help him to recover like nothing else.



Smiling as he imagined Hutch's reaction when he'd realize what had happened while he'd been out, Starsky walked back into the bedroom, sighed and shook his head in mock helplessness.



Hutch had drifted off again, the empty glass he'd held a minute ago lying next to the bed on the floor, along with the top blanket Starsky had draped over the other one to keep him warmer. His face was hidden somewhere in a pillow, strays of blond hair sticking out from under it, and one of his arms hang somewhat awkwardly over the whole bed, his hand hovering just above Ollie who sat in his normal place on a chair next to the bed.



"Even in sleep you're a slob, you know that?!" Starsky muttered while gathering up the blanket and covered the sleeping man again, thereby carefully rolling him onto his side to check on his temperature again. Relieved to find Hutch's forehead cool enough, he then picked up the glass and was about to leave, when his gaze fell upon Ollie on his chair.



"Hm."



As if on cue, Hutch gave a tiny whimper and shifted, so that he now lay facing the teddy.



"Hm-mm-mm," Starsky grinned. Quietly, as to not wake Hutch, he crossed the room to grab Ollie off the chair and crouched down next to the bed to ever so carefully lift Hutch's arm slightly. As Starsky knew he would, Hutch instinctively nestled his face into the teddy's soft fur as it was placed in his arms, sighed a little and fell into a deeper slumber.



"Still works," the curly haired man chuckled under his breath, patted the blond head and turned to leave, a wide grin spreading on his lips when he looked over his shoulder again.



Gee, it felt great to tease Hutch again!



Normal.



He loved normal.



Back in the kitchen, he started washing the dishes, humming softly to himself, amazed at how great his mood had suddenly become just by doing his teddy joke on his partner again. Every so often when Hutch was on the mend after a flu or something, Starsky would play it on him, partly because he just needed the relief of some serious teasing after having been worried--and partly because deep down he felt the gesture somewhat... necessary. His own mother had used to do that when he'd been sick as a kid, and since no one had ever done anything nice for Hutch as a boy, Starsky figured it was his turn now.



Of course he'd never admit that to his partner. In spoken words, the teddy joke was teasing, something Hutch would roll his eyes at. The start of the after-illness-banter.



Still humming when he dried a plate, Starsky opened the cupboard again, put the thing inside--and froze. Pinned by a bowl, a folded sheet of paper lay against the wooden wall, seemingly having been stashed inside in a hurry. Its edges were crumbled, but the colors shining through the white paper seemed familiar. Frowning, Starsky grabbed it and unfolded it.



A red car. Clumsily drawn. Like a child's work.



'"I drew the turkey's car. We can just write under it that the color's not right. Would you mind doing that? I'm not that far yet."'

His mouth hanging open, humming dying in his throat, Starsky stared at the picture. '"Only good kids get candy."'



He swallowed dryly. '"Miss you. Miss you so much."'



A breath escaped him he hadn't known he'd held. His knees felt weak all of a sudden. Picture still in hand, he slowly sank to the ground, back against the drawers.



The whole scene enfolded like the picture before his inner eye--Hutch's irritated look, the conversation with Dobey. '"Maybe, if you're careful, none of you will have to be drugged this time."'



Throwing a coin, leaving the office. '"All kids who go to the hospital get candy."'



The last time he'd seen Hutch before...



Drugs. Isolation. Pink socks.



'"Hutch, something's happening in here."'



Places. So many places. Dark cells. Hunger. Thirst. Tables. Examination tables. Too many. Hurt too much. Hurt too much to think.



'"I'm no number, ya hear me?! You can't do this to me! You can't do this to me!!!"'



Darkness. Punishment. Bright lights. Tied down. Chained.



'"Sorry! I'm sorry!"'



Rats. Cold. Screams. His own.



'"Sorry! I'm sorry! I forgot the fucking number! Honest! C'mon, please! Tell me the number and I'll say it! I promise! Please! I'm sorry!"'



And then--nothing. Not, not nothing--fear. Healing fear. Helping fear. Fear that'd prevent him from being hurt. Fear that'd get him through the darkness alive. Fear that'd silence him.



'"Two Eight Zero is sorry."'



He blinked, snapping to the present. The sheet of paper in his hands trembled along with them. His eyes burned from unshed tears. His face felt flushed. His whole body hot, his heart beating in his throat.



"I. Am. Not. A. Number."



He didn't look. They wouldn't come. They weren't here. They'd let him go.



"I. Am. Not. A. Number."



He hadn't escaped. Hutch hadn't come. They'd let him go. They'd beat him. Destroyed him. And then let him go. Their game. Their rules. Their triumph.



"I'm not a number!" Too fast for himself to actually register what he was doing, he was on his feet, facing a wall, punching it. Fiercely. "I'm a human being, you hear me?! I'm not a number! I'm not a number!" He was screaming, blood appearing on the wall as if he'd hurt it with his pummeling. He didn't feel the pain.



Not the physical one.



"I'm David Michael Starsky! I have a name! I have a life! I'm not a number! I'm no-"



"Starsk."



He wheeled around, fists still up, and almost punched Hutch. Only the blond's jumping backwards saved him.



Blood dripped on the floor. They stared at each other, eyes wide. A split second passed, but to them it felt like an eternity. Realization sank in light blue eyes. A tear escaped cobalt ones.



Starsky sniffed. "I'm not a number."



Slowly, carefully, Hutch shook his head. "No. You're not."



"*sniff* I didn't do anything wrong."



"No." Tentatively, the blond took a step forward. "You didn't."



Starsky blinked, another tear cascading down his cheek. He sniffed, wiped it away, looked at the bedroom, then back at Hutch. "You shouldn't be up."



A mixture of a laugh and a choked sob caught in Hutch's throat. Gently, he reached out, lifted one of his friend's hands, studied the bloody knuckles. "And you shouldn't try to kill the wall. I might still need it."



"Oh." Feeling a bit silly, Starsky glanced at the blood splattered wall. "Sorry `bout tha-"



"No," Hutch quickly interrupted him, almost frantic. "Don't."



Starsky lifted his brows, but understood, and smiled. "Okay."



Returning the smile, Hutch nodded. "C'mon," he said, starting to guide his partner to the kitchen table, "we better get that cleaned."



Starsky followed, sat down. When Hutch returned from the bathroom with bandages and a clean cloth, he carefully grabbed the blond's arm. "Hey. How're you feeling?"



Hutch stopped in his tracks, his gaze meeting Starsky's. "You gotta ask?"



The smaller man opened his mouth to reply, but Hutch cut him off before. "After you played that silly teddy thing on me again?"



Staring at his friend, a wave of affection seeming to overwhelm him, Starsky couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm so... You looked like you needed him, y' know?"



"Oh yeah? Bet I did," Hutch shot back, equally giddy, while he carefully wiped the blood from Starsky's knuckles. The other one didn't even flinch. Compared to what he'd been used to for a long time, cleaning small cuts was a piece of cake.



Hutch noticed, but didn't comment on it. He was far too lost in utter relief to think about anything else at the moment, anyway.



"Pity I didn't take your picture. I always wanted to do that," Starsky continued. "For the Police Force Calendar. Bet they'd pay me a-"



"Don't you dare, buddy."



They both laughed slightly, then fell silent, Hutch busy bandaging Starsky's hands, Starsky watching him.



"Hutch?"



"Yeah?"



"I'm sorry I wasn't here."



"Starsk-"



"No," Starsky interrupted him softly, his fingers brushing against Hutch's sleeve. "Let me. Please."



After a second, Hutch nodded, drew his hands back; listened.



"I'm sorry I left you alone. I'm sorry I didn't fight harder. I'm sorry you had to... see..." He trailed off.



"Starsk," Hutch started, wanting to soothe, but his partner closed his eyes, as if to brace himself. As if he couldn't say his say when looking at his friend.



"I'm sorry I was scared of you. And I'm sorry I..." He swallowed, his voice quivering a little when he spoke again. "I'm sorry I lost myself. I'm sorry I lost... you."



Close to tears himself, Hutch couldn't restrain himself any longer from reaching out to place his hand carefully over his partner's bandaged one. "Buddy, please... You didn't lose anything. You're here, aren't you?"



The curly head was bowed, a shudder grabbing the slumped shoulders. "Why?" a whisper reached Hutch's ears, but before the blond could answer, Starsky looked up again, his eyes bright. "Why me? What'd I ever do to them? What... How could they do this to me?"



"I don't know," Hutch answered softly, brushing his thumb over the smooth skin under Starsky's eyes. "I don't know, buddy. I don't understand it myself."



Starsky's gaze dropped. "When I hit a wall last time..." He trailed off. When he peeked up at Hutch again, the tears that'd threatened to fall seemingly dried in his eyes, froze from the cold of despair. "It'll never go away, will it?"



Hutch widened his eyes in dismay. "Starsk, hey, course it will!" he said, bending nearer. "You're going to be okay. We're going to be okay." A smile tugged at his lips. "D'you trust me?"



Looking directly into his partner's eyes, the smaller man nodded, understanding. He returned the smile with his gaze. "What kinda question is that?!"



Now fully grinning, Hutch tilted his head to the right. "And d'you believe me?"



Again returning the grin, Starsky replied, "Don't get funny. 'Course I believe you. Always."



Laughing in relief, Hutch patted his friend's arm, stifling a yawn. "That's my partner."



"Okay, Blondie," Starsky cut him off, standing to drag Hutch up with him. "You're going back to bed."



"Starsk-"



"No arguing! You're-"



The rest of his sentence was cut off by a sudden loud knock at the door. Instinctively, Hutch took a step forward as if to shield his partner who'd, also instinctively, flinched.



"Starsk? You there? C'mon, open up."



"Huggy," the detectives said in unison, and before Hutch could even move, Starsky had walked passed him to open the door. The tension drawing his shoulders back was visible, but still Hutch restrained himself from interrupting the proof of control over himself Starsky was trying to give.



Huggy stood in the open door, staring at the curly haired man in disbelief.



"Hey," Starsky finally smiled. "Hug."



His gaze wandering to Hutch, who nodded with a wide grin, Huggy stepped inside, turned--and wrapped Starsky in an original Bear Hug.



Starsky flinched, but laughed a split second later, returning the hug. "Good to see you too, Huggy."



Releasing the smaller man, Huggy stepped back in mock embarrassment, straightened his shirt and wiped his eyes in a quick, discreet gesture. "You've been missed, man. And I'm only gonna say that once."



Starsky laughed. "Sure thing, Hug. Missed you too. Well," he added after a moment, waggling his hand sarcastically, "sorta."



Giving a short snort, Huggy looked over at Hutch, who had one hand placed against a wall as if for support. Following Huggy's gaze, Starsky frowned and quickly approached him. "Hey, y'okay?"



"Sure," Hutch winked. "Stop fussing."



Huggy smiled, hearing the utter joy over Starsky being able to fuss in the blond's voice. "You do look pale, Blondie, y'know. And you," he turned to Starsky again, "don't you ever scare me like that `gain, ya dig? Hanging up on me like that, I thought-"



"Huh?" Hutch asked. "You called?"



"Yeah, but it seems your mother hen of a partner was just too busy wipin' your nose to talk to me," Huggy joked, knowing his words would be understood right.



They were. Starsky cast him a quick, grateful look and grinned. "Someone has to be in charge here. You know how he is."



"Yeah," Huggy nodded, a shadow rushing through his dark eyes, "I know."



At Starsky's deepening frown, Hutch quickly said, "Uhm, hey Hug, d'you mind giving Dobey a call to, uh, explain... things," he finished lamely.



"Consider it done."



"Thanks," Hutch smiled, but in that moment sagged a little more as a sudden wave of dizziness swept through him. Starsky caught him by his arm. "Okay. That's it. You're going back to bed, Blintz, c'mon."



"I'm just tired," Hutch protested.



"That's why I said bed," Starsky replied, shot Huggy a quick glance and guided his partner into the bedroom.



When he returned, he closed the door behind him, his expression suddenly serious. "Hug, when I was gone..."



He didn't finish the sentence, but Huggy understood. He sighed slightly. "Let's say Blondie had a rough time. We all had," he added after a moment's thought. "But I don't need to tell you, huh?"



Smiling, Starsky lifted one brow briefly.



"He was pretty out of it," Huggy continued, "but I get the feeling he's gonna be okay now."



Their eyes met.



"Yeah," Starsky finally said.



"Yeah. You take care of him."



"I will," Starsky replied and paused. "Hug--thanks."



"Hey, man, no need thanking me. I'm just glad you're back."



Starsky nodded absent-mindedly, his gaze wandering over to the bedroom door.



"Starsky."



"Huh?" His head snapped around, facing Huggy again. "'M sorry, what?"



Huggy studied him for a moment. "Hey, I won't... ask anything, you know that, but if you two need..." He hushed himself as if listening to his own words and then rolled his eyes. "I'm here, okay? Just wanted to say that. The bear's there, and don't hang up on me again."



Chuckling, grateful, Starsky patted his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't. Thanks, Hug."



"Don't thank me, just remember it," Huggy replied, hesitated a moment and then turned for the door. "I better not keep you from fussing over your patient any longer."



"Hey! He's the fusser. I'm just..."



At Huggy's expectant look, he trailed off.



"Uh huh. See you, Starsk."



"Hmpf," Starsky grumbled mockingly.



"You take care," Huggy called over his shoulder, but in the open door, turned once more, suddenly serious again. "Starsky, uhm..."



"What?"



"I'm sorry."



Once more, their eyes met.



"Yeah. See you soon."



With that, the door fell closed. Starsky stood in the living room. After a moment, his gaze fell upon his bandaged hands, and absently, he rubbed his knuckles, smiling to himself.



'See, Davey, not so scary. Everything's okay. Just keep on trying.'



Humming again, he returned to the kitchen to dry the rest of the dishes. Picking up the picture still lying on the ground, he studied it for a second, then grinned. Rummaging through one of Hutch's drawers, he found a small magnet and pinned his masterpiece onto the fridge. Pursing his lips, he thought again, and grinned even wider.



After looking for a pen in another drawer, he scribbled--with his right--"For Hutch" over the red car. Chuckling, he then turned to the waiting dishes.



Normal nonsense. Normal bugging.



He loved normal.





****





Hutch wasn't sure what'd woken him. Blinking against the sleep still seemingly gluing his eyelashes to his skin, he raised his head off the pillow, confused. It was dark outside the window, almost dawn, a few birds were already up.



But it hadn't been the birds. He'd heard something else, hadn't he?



Rubbing his face, he sat up, yawned--and froze when he heard it again.



A whimper. So soft it seemed he'd imagined it.



'Starsk.'



Scrambling his way out of the tangled blankets and sheets, he rushed out into the living room. It was dark, the dim mixture of moonlight and the first rays of sunshine illuminating the outlines of the apartment, the furniture.



And a huddled figure in a far corner next to the green house entrance.



"Starsky?" Hutch asked, cringing when his whisper seemed like a scream in the silence.



Slowly, the curly head came up, eyes squinted to make out Hutch's approaching form in the darkness. "Hey Hutch." A sniff followed like the ones Hutch had heard too often recently. Starsky wasn't crying, but on the verge of it. His voice quivered with fear, and he himself trembled as if cold, though he still wore the clothes Hutch had last seen him in. He obviously hadn't gone to sleep, the blond thought, glancing at the couch in confusion. A neatly folded blanket lay on the armrest.



With a sudden shudder, he wondered just how long his friend had sat there already, huddled in the dark, scared.



Crouching down in front of Starsky, Hutch could now see that the smaller man had his knees drawn up to his nose, his head resting against the wall beside him. What shocked Hutch mostly, though, was the awkward position Starsky had his arms in. His shoulders painfully drawn back, he'd folded his hands behind his back, as if...



'Oh my god.'



"S-Starsk?" Hutch asked again, swallowing dryly, fighting rising panic. "Y-you know where you are?"



"I'm glad you came back," Starsky whispered instead of an answer, but the following words were answer enough, anyway. "Get so lonely when they don't let me sleep." He sighed slightly, exhausted. "You keep me 'wake, 'kay?"



His heart breaking, Hutch reached out to cup Starsky's cheek, gently forcing him to look at him. "Starsky. You're home. Remember? You're safe."



Starsky stared, sniffed. "You think they'll make that sound again?" he asked fearfully, cringing at the mere thought. "I-I hope not. Hurts. But... doesn't hurt you, does it?"



Looking directly into his partner's wide, staring eyes, Hutch realized there was nothing he could do at the moment but wait for the flashback to pass. All he could do, was to ease his partner's pain.



'Kenneth Hutchinson, welcome to the darkness.'



"No," he whispered, amazed that his voice didn't break, "it doesn't. Don't worry `bout me."



"Good," Starsky sighed. "Wouldn't want you here if it did. Hurts pretty bad, y'know," he added sadly.



"Yeah, I know," Hutch replied, wondering what kind of sound hurt. Probably some high frequency designed for... well, torture.



"You cold?" he asked softly, rubbing his hands over Starsky's arms, trying to get the hands up front, but was met by a strong, though unconscious resistance.



Starsky shrugged. To Hutch it looked like he shivered even worse. "No, 'sokay. Not as bad as last time."



"Hm. Still, you're cold," Hutch insisted and carefully stood up. "Be right back." With that, he turned for the couch, hurrying, when Starsky's startled cry followed him.



"Hutch! Please, don't go! Don't-"



"Shh, 'sokay," Hutch soothed, when he returned to his position before his friend, stroking his head. "'Sokay. Just went to get a blanket. Everything's fine. I'm here. I'm here. Okay?"



Letting out a shaky breath, Starsky nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Don't go again, huh? Please? Don't wanna be alone. Please? Hutch?"



"Okay," Hutch whispered, unfolding the blanket, his gaze wandering over Starsky's form. He still hadn't released his hands from their probably painful hold. "I won't go, promise. Starsk..." he started, biting his lip, not sure if he was doing the right thing. "Hey, buddy, uhm, can you..." His hands reaching forward again, a sudden thought hit him. "Hey, I'm gonna untie you, okay? Starsky?"



Starsky frowned. "D'you think it's allowed?"



"Yeah," he nodded. "It's okay. Trust me."



"Uh... Okay."



Sighing inwardly with relief, Hutch reached around his friend, let his hands linger on his wrists for a moment and then slowly drew his hands up front. Instinctively, he started softly massaging them as if Starsky had really been tied. "There. Better, isn't it?"



"Yeah," the smaller man smiled shyly. "Thanks."



"You're welcome," Hutch replied and was about to suggest the blanket again when Starsky lifted one of his hands out of the blond's grasp and lightly scratched at his throat.



Only then did Hutch realize his friend's head still rested against the wall, even if it made it difficult for him to look at Hutch.



"Uh... Buddy, y-you, uhm, you... There something else you want me to do?" Underlining his words, he brushed the back of his curled fingers over Starsky's throat, causing a violent flinch.



"Shhh, `sokay. I won't hurt you. There something else?"



He felt Starsky swallow under his hand, felt him tense up.



"Starsk? What's here? I-I can't see it, cause it's too dark."



Hutch had almost stopped hoping for an answer, when Starsky finally whispered, "Chain. Hurts."



Squeezing his eyes briefly, Hutch fought for control. 'I knew why I didn't wanna know `bout the darkness, didn't I?!'



"I see. Want me to take it off?"



"You'd do that?"



"Sure, buddy," Hutch smiled, once more reaching around Starsky and gently stroke the back of his neck. "There. It's off. Can you feel it?"



Stretching his neck a bit, Starsky nodded and presented him with a grateful smile. "Thanks."



"Don't mention it. And now c'mere, you're shaking." With that, Hutch scrambled over to sit beside his huddled friend, wrapped one arm around him and spread the blanket over them both.



With a happy sigh, Starsky's head lolled against the blond's shoulder, seemingly bathing in the comforting warmth.



Thinking that maybe just some rest would drag his confused friend out of this, Hutch settled them both back against the wall, his free hand softly stroking through the curly hair. "Just sleep, Starsk, okay? When you wake up, it's gonna be alright again."



"Hutch?"



"Yes, babe?"



"I didn't mean to hit the wall."



His heart leaping in expectant excitement, Hutch swallowed dryly. "'Sokay, you-"



"I didn't know it'd be punished like this," Starsky continued, much to his friend's dismay. "I'll never do it again. I told them. But--looks like they didn't believe me, huh?"



"It's okay, Starsk. Why don't you just sleep a little, hm? I'm right here. I won't go."



But in the safeness of his partner's presence, Starsky's fears seemed to release themselves, and Hutch felt him tremble against him, not because of the cold this time. "Hey, buddy, shh, don't think of it. Close your eyes and sleep, huh? Starsk?"



"L-last time they sent in rats," Starsky whispered, snuggling up closer, as if wanting to hide in Hutch's arms. "Think they'll do that again?"



'Rats?! What the hell is this?! Medieval Times?!' "No, buddy, they won't. Don't worry. I'm here and I won't let them send in anything, got that? Trust me and go to sleep now."



"No use in that," Starsky replied, sounding almost disappointed, like a sulking little boy. "They won't let me sleep, anyway."



"I'll let you," Hutch promised, gently brushing his hand over his partner's eyes to close them. "I'll stay with you, and I'll make sure nothing will happen to you."



Silence followed, and Hutch was almost convinced that Starsky had really fallen asleep, when a tiny, heartbreakingly sad voice reached his ears. "You won't be here when I wake up."



"Babe, of course I'll be here," Hutch replied in dismay, shifting Starsky in his arms to fully hug him, his own face suddenly wet. "I am here. Right here."



Lifting his head, Starsky looked at the blond, suddenly very still, then glanced around, then back at Hutch. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "I..."



"Starsk?" Hutch asked hopefully. "Y-you with me?"



Starsky swallowed, scrambled away from Hutch, just a bit, but so that the blanket still covered him. His gaze dropped. "Told you it'd never go away."



"Oh, c'mon, you know that's not true," Hutch replied softly, tipping his finger under Starsky's chin to lift it. "You just had a flashback."



"That's pretty much what I meant."



"Starsk... Buddy, look at me."



Hesitantly, Starsky obeyed.



"What you experienced would have been enough to break anyone. I know it would have destroyed me. But you survived."



Starsky sniffed.



"You survived, because you're stronger than this. You were smart enough to know what you had to do to not get killed or..." A half shrug was accompanied by an ironic smile as Hutch stated, "In a way YOU tricked THEM, you know? You didn't forget, but you submitted enough to not let them know. No one else would have managed to do what you did." Reaching over, he brushed away a tear glittering on Starsky's cheek. "These flashbacks, they'll pass."



"`Nam didn't pass," the smaller man mumbled.



"No," Hutch said calmly, wiping away another tear, "but you live with it, don't you? You know how to deal with it, you know when you're getting in trouble and you know what to do then. Like you do with Marcus and Bellamy and-"



"Forest?"



"Yeah," Hutch smiled, understanding, "all of them. We'll get through this too. Like always."



"Yeah." A pause, then, ashamed, whispered, "I hate them, Hutch. I want to... All those other times, we... we did something, you know?"



Since yes, he knew, Hutch looked away. "Buddy-"



"We arrested them or, I don't know, but we did something. How can I ever watch someone being sent to... one of those places ever again?"



"Starsk-"



"What if we come across a lunatic again, a-and... I wouldn't know if he wasn't going to..." Agitation took over, a haunted gaze tried to catch Hutch's. "We don't know how many we've already sent just there! Think about it, Hutch. Diana," he added, grasping a name that popped to his mind. "Diana might be in there just now. And we sent her there."



"Starsky, stop," Hutch cut him off softly, grabbing his arms. "It's no use, buddy."



Panting from his outburst, Starsky frowned at him. "What're you talking about?"



"Y-you..." Hutch started, swallowed, braced himself. "You can't tell anyone."



"Wha-"



"I made a deal. To get you out of there."



Starsky's eyes grew wide as the full impact of the words sank in. "You made... What? I don't under... What the hell d'you do?"



Still holding onto his friend as if for support, Hutch briefly closed his eyes. "I turned over the leak inside the... firm. In return, they let you go."



Starsky's chin traveled south. "Th-the leak?"



"San Diego," Hutch replied. "I guess they're gonna... fire the management there. But I-I had to guarantee you'd never... talk about it." He looked away again. "You can't do anything, Starsk. You wouldn't make it to any trial. Y-you probably wouldn't even make it to utter an... accusation."



He could almost hear the wheels behind Starsky's forehead start to move, could sense the tension growing. "I can't... I don't know where I was, anyway! I wouldn't... But... Wh-what'd you tell the doctor at the hospital? What d'you tell Dobey?!"



"I'm a cop, Starsk, I don't have to explain anything to doctors. Dobey... knows as much as he should. Huggy too. You and me, we know. And it will stay that way."



"No," Starsky shook his head, anger replacing confusion. Furiously, he kicked the blanket away and came to his feet. Hutch remained where he was, looking up, ready to take it. "You know! You know at least some who are involved! You have to, you made a deal with them!"



Panting from rage, he stared down at the blond, who wouldn't meet his gaze.



"I don't believe it! D'you realize what you did?! That leak might have destroyed them one day! And you... Oh, you're a cop alright, but the kind that immobilizes the only witness he's go..." He stopped in the frantic pacing he'd started, mouth open. His gaze flew back upon Hutch. "They're gonna kill me if I talk, aren't they?"



After a moment, Hutch gave a small nod.



"And..." As the thoughts rolled on, he frowned, still hovering over the blond on the ground. "You don't think they'll let you get away with it then, do you? You know they'll kill us both."



"I guess so," Hutch muttered.



"You gue... That's so unfair, Hutch!"



"I know." A whisper.



"Even if I would want to take the risk, I couldn't, because it'd mean endangering you too!" Starsky almost yelled, exasperated. "What d'you think?!"



"I thought," Hutch muttered to the ground he looked at, "that I don't want you to take the risk."



"You had no right to do that!" Starsky was furious by now, gesturing wildly, while at the same time knowing exactly that he didn't want to scream at Hutch. Didn't really think about what he said. He just wanted to scream.



Hutch didn't watch, but took it, silent, accepting, huddling on the floor, like his partner had before.



"You've no idea what it was like! How can I ever be a cop again knowing that I let them off the hook?! Knowing that I didn't do anything against them doing... this?! There're humans in there, Hutch! And they use them like... like animals! Like guinea-pigs! That's all I've been! They didn't enjoy sending me into their little chamber of darkness, they didn't care! D'you have any idea what they tested me for?!"



The question acted almost like a kick, and Hutch flinched, hugging his knees tighter. "N-no. I don't."



"You wanna know what the darkness was?!"



'I've seen it,' Hutch thought, but remained quiet. He'd let Starsky yell at him all he liked. And if he wanted to blame him, that was okay. And if he'd never ever talk to him, if he'd leave him. It'd be unbearable, but he'd know he was safe. That was all he wanted. He'd know he was somewhere, alive. That'd be enough. Enough to not feel so alone again.



"It was the severest punishment you could possibly get. It was hell. Th-they tested..." Starsky clenched one hand to a fist, fighting for control at the memories. "They'd not let you sleep, eat, anything. Just keep you like some... some sort of animal and sent all kinda things in there. Rats, gas, they could make it cold or hot, dark or bright, loud..." Briefly, he squeezed his eyes shut and curtly shook his head.



Hutch peeled up, concerned, but stayed on the floor. His heart beat in his throat. 'Don't leave, Starsk. Please. Please, don't leave again. - Now, you're begging, Ken! Make up your mind.'



"They're doing this, Hutch," Starsky continued. "To people. If we are cops, we have to fight them."



Silence.



"Aren't you going to say anything, damn it?!"



"I'm not a cop first."



At the quiet whisper, Starsky stopped in his tracks, looking down at his partner. "What?"



Hutch swallowed passed his fear, his gaze focused on his knees. "If I have to choose between fighting against windmills and saving you from them..." Finally, though it seemingly took him over-human strength to do so, he glanced up, his eyes meeting Starsky's. "I understand it if you hate me for what I did, but I'm not sorry."



All anger vanished from the standing man's face, as if an invisible hand had wiped it away. "I don't hate you," he said, surprised.



Hutch looked down again.



"I could never hate you," Starsky continued, truly shocked by the words. "I just..." But he didn't know what to say. His own words seemingly echoed in his head, and he arched his brows, appalled. "God, Hutch, I'm-"



"When I first found out," Hutch interrupted him in a low voice, sounding strangely as if he thought he'd never get the chance to talk to his friend again, "where you were, what... wh-what they're doing to... people," he finished, using Starsky's words, "I never..." Once more, he broke off, but closed his eyes as if he could only then say it. "I never cared about them. I never stopped to think about them."



Starsky felt his heart wrench looking at his friend who suddenly seemed so small, broken. Images of Hutch lying on the kitchen floor flashed through his mind. The exhaustion on his face, the despair in his eyes.



He couldn't believe what he'd just yelled at the man. Couldn't believe his own blindness. What if it'd been him? What then, oh brave, selfless rescuer of the suppressed? What then?



"Hutch-"



"I-I know I'm selfish, but... I..." A tiny, chocked sob broke free, as Hutch tensed up even more. "I didn't mean to... I just wanted you back," he finally said and looked up again, moisture shimmering in his eyes. "I hate myself for it, but I don't care what they do to the others, Starsk. I just want you to be out of there. I want you to be safe. A-and," he continued, not able to keep back the tears that threatened to spill any longer, "if that means you'll go, I-I mean, if you can't forgive me, than that's okay. As long as you're... safe," he finished and sniffed. Before the other one could cut in, he added, in a voice so empty, so desperate it tore at Starsky's soul, "You're right, I don't know what it was like. I wish I would. I wish it would've been me."



It was the truth. Not just a phrase. And Starsky knew. Even after witnessing the aftermath, the flashback, everything--Hutch would change places gladly.



Hutch would do everything. Put his life in Starsky's hands. Link them.



Slowly, carefully, Starsky approached his partner, who wept silently, his face buried in the blanket over his knees. Gently, he lowered himself next to him, wrapped an arm around him and drew him close. Like Hutch had cradled him so often the last days.



His hand finding the blond head, Starsky softly stroked him, rocking them both as Hutch cried.



"Don't say that, Hutch," he said in a soothing voice. "Please don't say that. I couldn't stand thinking you..." Realizing just then what he was saying, Starsky hugged him even closer. "Oh god, babe, I'm so sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry. I didn't think."



"B-but y-you're right," Hutch whimpered.



"No," Starsky replied softly. "I was just taking everything out on you. I'm sorry. I didn't think what it... Look at you," he said in a mixture of a chuckle and a sob, nudging Hutch's cheek, "look at what it did to you."



"I'm just too weak," Hutch muttered sadly, clinging to Starsky's shirt as if he wanted to make sure the other one wouldn't nod and leave.



"Weak? Blintz, if you ever were to vanish for two months, I'd ... Maybe I was better off after all," he added with a pure Starsky-chuckle. "At least I saw you."



A sigh that sounded like a quivery chuckle escaped the blond, and they sat in silence for a moment, both savoring the presence of the other one.



"Hutch?"



"Yeah?"



"I'm sorry you had to collapse to bring me back."



Hutch smiled. "I'm glad I did."



"Yeah. Me too."



"Starsk, I'm..." But Hutch's voice trailed off. It wasn't necessary to apologize anymore. It wasn't necessary to say anything.



"You know what?" Starsky broke the silence again after a few more moments.



"What?"



"At least we didn't lose."



"What?"



"If we can't win," Starsky explained, "then... at least we didn't lose."



Hutch grinned, and closed his eyes. "Did I ever tell you I think you're a genius, buddy?"



Starsky laughed slightly as he lifted his head to again stroke his friend's hair. "Oh yeah? Funny, I thought your fever drop..."



But at Hutch's even breathing, he hushed himself. Adjusting the blanket around them both, he leaned his head back and also closed his eyes. "No way I'm carrying you again."



'I'm here, Hutch. I'm here. Here with you. Normal.'



Already half-asleep, he smiled as he drifted off.



'I love normal.'

THE END