And If You Wrong Us Do We Not Revenge?

Chapter 1


Less than ten minutes in and he knew Hutch had been right.

Hutch was so often right - about so many things. If Hutch had been here at this moment, beside him, he would happily concede to him on this point. Happily concede and reach out for a steadying hand because any moment now Starsky knew with utmost certainty that he was going to find the ground coming up to meet his face.

A hot shaft of pain brought his flagging pace to a complete standstill and he doubled over clutching desperately at his side. He squeezed his eyes shut against his tunneling vision as blood thundered in his head and nausea roiled in his gut.

Oh fuck – not now – not here in the middle of some public place…stay with it…stay with it. You can't go down here. Hutch will know straight away what you were doing...

But he was losing the battle with consciousness and he knew he was going to pass out if he didn't get his body down and fast.

Two more steps and a side-sways stagger brought him alongside a grassy embankment and he fell ungracefully into a heap, the hard fall barely registering through the clenching grip of agony.

"T'riffic, just t'riffic." He managed a moan as his graying vision restored just enough to show him a perfectly clear sky, his head flat on the cool grass. The blazing fire in his side continued to flare and he lay still trying to breathe through the cramping hold of its spasm.

OK – so obviously he was as Hutch had so knowingly predicted, not yet ready to put his recuperating body through the paces of a run. He cursed again to the blue sky above – filled with self-disgust and disappointment that his treacherous body had yet again failed him. Two weeks! Two full weeks since they'd arrived here, more than two weeks since he'd been discharged from hospital and still he was a total crock! He and Hutch had been holed up here in this gingerbread town and he had done nothing more physically taxing than tag along with Hutch on some of his nature exploring forays into the local forest near the house. These gentle walks could hardly be termed "hikes" because whenever Hutch knew Starsky was accompanying him he kept the pace to less than a crawl and the inclines zero. The fact that he knew that Hutch would have wanted nothing more than to set off of a physically challenging cross- country hike and instead opted for a geriatric stroll, irked Starsky even more.

God he hated being weak.

Hated how his physical and mental fabric had worn thinner and thinner over the past weeks, the very substance of him wearing away to gossamer thin fragility.

His body and mind were going stir crazy with cabin fever and when he'd announced last night that he was going to take his sorry body out for its first run in God knew how long, he was ready for the sermon that he knew would be forthcoming from his zealous partner. Hutch didn't hold back. He had put up his usual heavy blockade whenever Starsky talked about what he perceived as trying to "punish" himself.

Not that Starsky could see how the mere mention of a simple run could be termed as self punishment - but Hutch would find a way to turn it into something akin to Starsky's need to flagellate himself psychologically.

In fact it was the same reaction Hutch let forth whenever Starsky talked about anything that involved radical measures to break free of the suffocating hold that Ryan Lancaster had taken on his life. In these first two weeks since they had been forced to take refuge in this quaint semi-rural "safe house", Starsky had explored and examined quite a few ways to shake the demon that was Ryan from his mind and body. Most of them had been simply talk, and as he and Hutch both probably knew represented coping mechanisms - albeit drastic ones. Christ help him, he needed something to cope with the memories and the images that flooded his brain and terrorized his sleep. Despite his better judgement and despite the damaging effect it had on his Hutch's own emotional well-being , he'd used sick humor and bitter self recrimination in massive doses, alluding to what he wanted to do with or to himself to purge his inner torment. None of it was pretty and all of it terrified Hutch. But like so many things "since Ryan", Starsky felt powerless to stop lashing out at himself and others - particularly his partner. So he went on, finding almost perverse satisfaction in suggesting new scenarios that might end his self-hatred or at least dull it into submission.

Starsky knew it was killing Hutch bit by bit.

The momentary release he received to see first the open-eyed horror on Hutch's face, blurring into sadness and grief gave him only a brief respite. He felt better once the sadness turned to anger and Hutch lashed back at him in furious retaliation.

"Don't you say that shit Starky! Don't you let me hear you say that fucking bullshit about yourself – I never want to hear it you understand! You take that fucking shit back right now! You take that back or I swear I will knock you down for even thinking that way."

There it was. Exactly what he had wanted from Hutch. Incessant rage. That is how he felt every time their arguments reached this fever point. This was what he had been striving for, even if unconsciously. To bring that anger out in his stalwart, dedicated, loyal partner. At least he had achieved that. In those words and in that tone of Hutch's fury, Starsky found some small measure of relief. Fleeting and cruel to both himself and to Hutch. To push and push until his own pain could be eviscerated, turned inside out, and reflected in his partner's tortured features. Relief for just a short while. Hutch's eventual anger, disgust even.

It was so much better than having to look at light blue eyes filled with pity.

But in the end Starsky didn't have the strength or resolve left in him to keep punishing Hutch for his own self loathing. His hot headed impetuosity and callous threats of self harm or self destruction cut Hutch down to the quick, dragging his best friend lower and lower into his own dark waters of despair. It was just like watching Hutch drown.

In the end that was worse for Starsky, far worse than his own sense of drowning.

With the crisp morning air cooling his heated body he continue to lay still, tracking the blueness of the sky above. The clarity of the blue made him think of Hutch's sky blue eyes which in turn of course had him thinking back over yet another one of their relentless arguments. It seems that since Ryan had re-entered their lives their arguments were plentiful and the sky blue of Hutch's eyes seemed only ever to be troubled and pain filled.

Had he done that – put that look into his partner's eyes? Had he done that to Hutch? Maybe it had started with Ryan, but Starsky knew that his own troubled behavior kept the trouble in Hutch's eyes.

This morning when he'd driven off down the laneway he knew that Hutch would awaken, hear the car and immediately start to worry – if in fact he'd stopped worrying at all since their raised voices last night. And although he had known what Hutch would be thinking and feeling - he had driven on regardless. Last night's argument had still been sitting leaden and heavy in his gut as he had dressed quickly in the early morning light, pushing his constant fatigue aside as he psyched himself up for the task ahead. Their heated words dogged him all the ways down the stairs and out the front door.

"Hutch don't start with me again. Not tonight. Just don't. I'm so tired of this same crap and I'm damn sure you are too."

"I haven't started anything Starsky. I'm merely saying to you that you know full well your body is nowhere near ready to begin strenuous exercise."

"Since when the hell does a light run qualify as strenuous? I need to get back in shape or I'm going to vegetate here. "

"OK I – I'm not getting into this again. You're right Starsky. Let's leave it. I don't want to start up again with the same broken record we've had playing between us almost every night since we've been here."

"Well you brought me to this Godforsaken place and forced me into this Godforsaken exile, so you should damn well be prepared to listen to the crap I have to say!"

"You just got through saying you didn't want to cover this again. And for the record - the same broken record partner - I have listened. I have listened to you threaten and berate yourself for over two weeks now. I – I – I'm trying my best to stay with you on all of this, but until you finally agree to start those sessions with the counsellor, I don't – well – I just don't know. I damn well don't know anything - anymore!"

"Oh Shit, here we go again. So just because you have started sitting on a couch somewhere talking to some psychobabbling stranger about what happened to your partner with some freakin' mad colleague called Ryan – you think I have to as well. No - worse than that! You think I SHOULD DO IT. You think that I MUST do it - or what? What? Otherwise I will burst into flames? Fade away? Crumble into a pile of ash?"

"No - none of those things Starsky. Just perhaps - perhaps find a modicum of peace inside yourself...and then - well then go from there to get back to where you were in your life. Where we both were. I've lost that place Starsky. That place where we were before Ryan came and ripped our world to pieces. I'm just trying to find ways to get back there - to get back to the everyday that we used to share. It wasn't fantastic, I know that. We had stress and we had worries and risks and dangers. But we were better than this. Better than this shattered pile of rubble."

"Shattered pile of rubble? Jesus Hutch - you've been reading too much poetry or whatever bullshit it is you read every night after dinner. This IS life - this IS where we're at now. Ryan has fucked me up sure, but I'm still here and still alive. Don't sure as hell need some prissy spectacled Jane Doe - because that is sure is how she seemed to me - like some corpse sitting upright with a pad and pencil...don't need her to tell me how I should be feelin' or livin'. "

"You said you would do it Starsk. You made me think you'd do this with me - that we'd be in this together. Using our time here to work ourselves out..."

Starsky tried not to look at the forlorn and lost picture Hutch presented right at that moment.

"What the hell do you need to work out anyway Hutch? This didn't happen to you. Last time I looked it sure wasn't you strapped down on that fuckin' bed gettin' his ass ripped open!"

He knew then he's gone too far.

"You - you - bastard. You bastard Starsky..."

But even Hutch's strangled words couldn't stop him.

"Fine! You wanna play the tortured emotional wreck - then go for it. You go do it. Sit all day every day with some stupid nerd pretendin' to be interested in what you have to say about the shit you hold in your head. But I can tell you – I went once and once was enough for me. Total and utter fucking crap. I don't know what you could have to say to her, because I had nothing I wanted to share about my "traumatic experiences." "

He sneered out the last words, parodying the expression.

"No? No Starsky? Nothing to say? Nothing to share? Well then why is it that for the past two weeks you've done nothing BUT share your fear, pain and self hate about everything EXCEPTabout what happened to you with Ryan? You say you want to hurt yourself, drive your car into a pole, cut yourself with a knife, put a gun to your head? But you won't begin to share any of that pain with someone who might be able to help you? Simple fact is that you have had "traumatic experiences" Starsk – that is the sad truth. You need to start to deal with them, because I can't help you the way you need to be helped – and – and - Starsky its killing me. You agreed to do this when we first came here – you said you'd try. Now – I don't know what to do with all of your pain."

"Shut up Hutch. Please just shut up. Fact is you know all that shit I say about eating my own gun – which I don't even fucking have anyway… or driving off a mountain – you know its just all shit. I'm just getting the pressure off my chest. You know that."

"Do I? How? How can you expect me to know anything about what you won't even begin to try to share with me on the levels you need to? You talked to me about it all – when we were still back in the city, that night after the IA suits came – you shared some of it with me then. But since then, since we've arrive here, you've closed off. You've done nothing but play with me and taunt me about your real feelings and you've left me….you've left me feeling scared and useless."

"Oh for God Sake Hutch. We're getting no where fast here. Let's drop this. This whole thing started with me saying I felt like I needed to go for a damn run. Just a run Hutch. I'm not threatening to kill myself. I know I've been a first class asshole with all the crap about hurting myself. It's all a joke – nothing more than hot air. Hey don't you think it's healthier to go for a run to clear my head rather than seeing some shrink? Seein' a shrink! Like I'm a complete basket - case or somethin'. "

"What do you want me to say to that Starsky? I'm seeing a shrink. Does that make me a complete basket-case? Maybe I am. Christ knows I feel like it…"

They could go on and on in this vein and they both knew there was no short answer to their battlefield of emotions. One of them showing his heartfelt fears openly, the other hiding and deflecting every real shred of pain and angst beneath layers of protective denial.

In the end, Hutch had simply turned away with a weary dry face rub and a heavy sigh. As if momentarily lost he had walked away from the dining table where they had just finished their evening meal before disconcertingly walking back to begin clearing the dishes. Starsky thought he looked numb, empty, desolate. Starsky thought he looked nothing like the man and the friend he knew and loved for so many years.

His vibrant, smart, caring partner was a candle burning away to nothing but a small puddle of molten wax.

The combined impact of witnessing Hutch perform such a simple domestic act while fighting through emotional overload was too much for Starsky to hold onto his resistance any longer.

He was as frustrated as Hutch was about warring over the same issues, and too tired of seeing his partner worn down to abject despair.

Capitulation and surrender seemed a quick easy solution to a complex web of conflict.

"Hey. OK. I got you. I heard you. No running yet because I'm not ready to put my body through the paces. Alright. I'll wait. Forget it Hutch. I won't do it. I won't run and I won't drive off a cliff either – there. Feel better? Forget I even brought it up. Let's clean up this mess and watch a movie OK? How about it?"

So they had. Cleaned up their mess – the dishes and the debris of their meal.

But the real mess – the thick, solid stinking mess that lay behind them, between them and in front of them – the mess created by Ryan Lancaster – couldn't even begin to be tidied up. They both knew it. Since being here Starsky had managed to make not a single inroad into confronting the spectre that this man had brought into his his life.

So here he was now. Acting out his deceit, and adding another layer to his betrayal of trust. He'd woken early this morning, taken the keys to the car and crept out of the house like some damn slinking teenager on a mission. It wasn't until he was driving away that he felt the full extent of the anger. Why should he be made to feel like this – like he had to be accountable for every action and decision he made, like his life was nolonger his own – like he needed someone to guide his way? Why the hell should be feeling guilty about carrying out a simple activity like going for a run for Christ's sake? Just because some bastard psycho fellow cop had raped him, why did that automatically make him incapable of independence and personal responsibility? Did being raped strip him of autonomy?

With grim-faced determination he floored the accelerator and kept it suppressed until he felt that the speed had dissipated the worst of the burning resentment. He drove out toward the township until he came across the first sizeable park. Squealing the car to a stop he slammed out the door with ferocity and began mentally mapping out the track his run would take. Without even bothering to attempt a warm up, he flexed his legs just a few times and then with his blood pumping and his muscles pent-up with a need for release, he set off at a lightning pace.

And within minutes his pig headed bravado had ended up like this. From a screaming pace to a complete stand still his body had shuddered to a violent stop.

Soft grass still damp enough from the late morning dew cushioned his dizzy head and throbbing body until the worst of the pain began to abate. His tender side was still throbbing and he lay a shaking hand over the wound site to splint and support the tender flesh beneath his damp t-shirt. His finger tips brushed over the highly sensitive skin surface and traced out the still raw and puckered suture line of the surgically repaired knife wound. The smell of damp earth and open sky above did little to blank out the memory of the filthy alleyway and the cloying sweet smell of male aftershave. For terrifying moments he fought against the clash of the present and the past.

What was now a healing wound was then the thrust of a keen and glinting knife and brutal probing hand.

The dizziness that had just begun to settle, threatened again as the harrowing mental images pushed forcefully at the barriers he had erected in his mind.

He couldn't let them in – couldn't go there, be there, feel it or remember it. It had to stay deep and hidden or it would rise up to overpower him completely.

His anxiety levels were mounting and his side still throbbed with sickening ferocity. He deeply regretted his decision to put himself in this invidious situation. Lying on his back, overwhelmed with debilitating exhaustion and cramps in the middle of some park, flattened by pain he feared for the worst. Why the hell had he done this? He needed to get back to the car but the fear was crippling whatever was left of his stamina and he felt paralyzed and overwhelmed.

Humiliation and self loathing, his constant companions the past weeks, rose up in him.

Rolling to the side he attempted to pull himself into a half sit and groaned at the effort.

He saw the shadow fall across his face and chest before he heard the voice.

"Are you OK? Can I help you in some way?"

A female voice and a scent of light fragrance wafted down to him but the glare of the light in his eyes and his chaotic senses made it hard to focus on a face.

Then a moist snuffling around his neck had him jerking in surprise before he felt the unmistakable sloppy lick of a tongue – and the tickling rasp of whiskers and coarse hair. A dog? A damn dog was slobbering all over him – but the rhythmic long licks against his sweat slaked neck was almost comforting and he felt the black force of anxiety pull back just a little.

He turned his head to come eye to eye with a shaggy mutt face with a wet nose and an industrious tongue.

"Oh God I'm so sorry. Max – get back! Get back boy now. I'm sorry – he likes people too much - what can I say? He probably thinks he's helping you – Oh Max please."

"No – isss – isss – alright. He's ok. It's ok. I don't mind really."

"Here do you want me to help you to sit up? You looked like you were trying to before but that you couldn't manage it. You're in pain aren't you? Oh goodness – look should I go and get help? Ring someone – an ambulance?"

"An ambu – NO! I'm fine. Really. Just got dizzy. Needed to sit - lie down for a moment. Not as – fit – as I thought."

He was trying to see her now – put a person to the voice and he realized that she was now kneeling on the grass beside him, holding firm to her wriggling dog and staring hard at him with worry and a frightened look on her pretty face. She was suddenly familiar but he couldn't place her and his mind gave up too quickly on any effort to think beyond getting himself together.

"Could – could you just brace me a bit so I can sit up? My side – oh shitttt –"

He let out another deep groan as she managed to lever him up while he held his arm and hand tight over his mid section and tender side."

"Sorry – sorry for the language. I'm – it just –"

"Oh don't worry about that for a second. Say what you need to say if it helps. Are you sure you don't need some medical help?"

"Positive. Really. See I'm up now and the world has stopped spinning and – yep – the pain is starting to back off."

"You've had an injury or you've been unwell. I remember your friend saying so – "

Starsky was again confused. She knew Hutch? She knew he'd been sick? He should know her but he knew no-one around these parts. He and Hutch, had kept to themselves and the house the last two weeks. He in particular really hadn't ventured out into the little community at all.

She could see his confusion and hurried on.

"I met you the day you both arrived in town. To pick up provisions – at the store. You and your friend – Ken. You're Dave aren't you? Your friend told me your names. I'm Katy – Katy Reynolds and I work in the main store in the town. This is my dog – my very badly behaved dog – Max."

"Katy. Nice to meet you again Katy. Yeah – I remember now. Sorry, my mind is a bit fuddled up – I was probably still on some pain medication then – memory gets messed up with that stuff. Yeah – well – I had been sick like you said. I'd been in hospital – an operation. That's why – now - well I thought that I was ready to get back to exercise. Obviously not by the looks of me."

"I saw you fall down when I was way back behind you. I always come out in the mornings to give Max his early walk and I thought you looked like you were going to pass out. I wasn't sure whether to come up to you but – well you look pretty bad Dave."

"No – I'm OK now. Seriously – I'm fine. Perhaps Max cured me with those sloppy licks."

"Your friend is not with you running?"

Starsky wanted to laugh at that one.

"Err – no. He'd probably think it was a very bad idea, which it seems to have been after all. I'll feel better after a hot shower and a few asprin. I just need to get back to the car –"

"Dave I don't think you can drive like that."

"Hey – I've driven in a lot worse states than this Honey."

Had he not been trying to work through another burning spasm of cramp he might have caught the quick blossom of a blush on her porcelain skin at his easy use of the simple endearment.

"Perhaps – but it won't be safe. You'll be at risk of having an accident doubled over like that. Please let me help you. I can bring your car closer to you here and then drive you to your place. I can walk back into town with Max – we haven't had our walk yet anyway."

Starsky thought about how far away the car was and he thought about how he felt and then he thought about how he hated the fact that everyone but him seemed to be right about things at the moment. He thought it might be best not to even try to think with the way his head was swimming right now.

"Well – can you drive Katy?"

She laughed at the question.

"Of course I can! Everyone in these parts drives from a very young age and we can drive just about any vehicle. That's life in the country for you. Now gives me your keys and I'll go and bring the car up. I saw you arrive before so I know where it's parked. It's a good distance back, I'll be a little while. You just sit and relax."

He wanted so much to lie back down again but couldn't let her see how astute she was about his condition. It would be easier to agree with her and go with her suggestion. The sooner he was back at the house the better.

"If you're sure – then thanks. It's really nice of you to offer. I'll wait here then."

As if he could wait anywhere else he thought. He was incapable of moving more than a few feet at most. God how bad could it get? Falling down and being rescued by some light weight girl who happened by?

SHSHSHSH

Fifteen minutes later when she pulled the Ford up to the picturesque house that he and Hutch called home for the foreseeable future, Starsky was feeling even worse than he had when the pain had started. He guessed that he had pulled a muscle or something damn vital that supported his wound site because the fire in his side was scorching his insides and making breathing nearly impossible. An attempt at even the most basic conversation with the young woman called Katy was proving impossible and he knew by the sidelong glances she was throwing him that he must be looking even worse than he felt.

With his face pinched with pain and still bent low over his middle he winced out directions to the house and thought longingly of a bed and his bottle of pain pills that he had stubbornly weened himself off over the past five days.

Starsky made a valient attempt to climb out of the car without aid but was failing miserably at the task. He managed to get his legs out and under him but as soon as he took his own weight and tried to move forward he stumbled precariously. Katy was trying to help him while at the same time keep the gleeful dog from pouncing over both of them when suddenly the front door of the house swung open and Hutch came running down the steps.

"Starsky! What the hell?" What's happened here? What's happened to him?"

Hutch pushed hard at the dog and grabbed Starsky's flailing body up into a firm hold while he glared at the girl.

"You – you're the girl from the shop in town. Why are you with him? What's happened here? What's happened to him?"

Starsky was caught three ways - between being impressed with Hutch's ability to recall faces, needing to explain to him that Katy was the good guy in this little fiasco and succumbing entirely to the support of his partner's strong supporting hold.

"Hutch – Hutch – not her fault. Mine – oh – hell - really need to lie down now."

Katy pulled away at the harsh reprimand from the tall blond man whom she thought was called Ken and trailed uncertainly behind as he half carried his friend into the house.

She was again confused by the nomenclature that the two men used with each other – referring to each other as the names she had heard them use the first day in the store.

Unsure what to do with herself and feeling locked out by Dave's friend who had been so friendly to her when she had first met them – she followed slowly through the front door.

Hutch or Ken or whatever he might be called had gently eased his friend down to a lying position on one of the big wide couches. He was hastily removing his shoes, loosening the tie on his running track pants and running his hands tentatively over his body all the while talking softly to him.

"Where does it hurt Starsk? The wound? Or someplace else? Can you tell me? Take it easy and just tell me what happened."

Her discomfort grew and now in this lovely big light filled room there didn't seem enough space for her and the two men. She was an intruder, an interloper that no-one was noticing. She had secured her dog outside quickly before coming in, knowing that the last thing the blond would want would be for the dog to jump on top of his sick friend.

Hutch peeled off the damp and sweaty t-shirt and grimaced at what he saw.

"Yeah I can see – its your wound site isn't it. It's inflamed and hot. How bad is the pain?"

"Not as bad - as it was – nope that's a lie – shit – need some pills Hutch. Rippin' me up inside."

Hutch whipped around and flung at her – and she hadn't even thought he'd known she'd been there – "Watch him will you? Just support him so he doesn't roll off the couch. I need to get his medication and some water."

She did as he asked but he was back in moments with the tablets, water and an icepack wrapped in a towel. She was once more pushed to the side of the proceedings. Quietly she made her way over to sit mutely on the edge of one of the armchairs wondering all the time if she would be better to just slip out the door again.

After he had helped him sit up enough to swallow the tablets, and cajoled him into drinking the whole glass of water, she watched as he pulled cushions under the curly head and around the side of his body to support his tender side. He picked up a light blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over the bare chest before gently laying the cool compress over the tender area of his side.

"Hold on Starsk – the pills should kick in soon. Let me hold this pack here for a few minutes until they do – it should numb the area a bit. Is it hurting anywhere else or just there?"

"Just the damn side Hutch – damn side. Christ when is it gonna heal? Thought I was over - the worst of it – but….Hey Hutch?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"You were - right - again. Always damn right Hutch. How do you do it?"

"Oh, just my natural awesomeness I guess." He smiled such a beautiful smile that it reminded Katy of how he was in the store - so kind and caring. It made her want to smile too but she still felt too intimidated by him.

"What was I right about this time Gordo?"

"Can't tell you Blintz – if I tell you you'll kill me and I'm in too much pain to fight you off. Wait till I feel a better than you can try it…"

She was starting to feel like she was in some sort of charade – they were changing their names for each other with ridiculous frequency.

"Starsk? What did you do? I need to know – I need to know how you've ended up like this when the last time I saw you-"

Katy felt the light blue eyes turn once more toward her and she baulked a little at the probing intensity.

"So? Katy – isn't it?"

She noticed that Dave or "Starsky" or "Gordon" is that what she had heard him call him? "Gordon"... or whatever his name, was starting to look more than a little glazed in the eyes.

"Hutch is always better at names than me – see – he remembered your name straight away. Katy – he's – I think – yep I think that Hutch is about to ask you - some questions. About me - and why I look like this. Now - if you need to wait for a lawyer – "

She thought Dave was trying to make a joke with her but she couldn't be sure. This whole interaction was making her feel out of her depth.

"Shut up Starsk and just rest."

"Oh – Oh no Katy – I think he's gonna be playin' bad cop today – don't let him scare ya' – he's all bluff – not a bad cop at all – big blond softie…Don't tell him nothin' ok? Protect me here please...Hutch is not gonna be very happy with me. "

But although he cast a whimsical smile to his friend who was rapidly succumbing to the drugs the man she now thought of as "Hutch" did not offer her the remotest congeniality.

She wondered who these guys were when she first met them and she wondered even more now. But before she could think much further Hutch fixed her with a grim determination all the while remaining seated on the edge of the expansive couch next to the semi-coherent Dave.

"Perhaps you start at the beginning. How is it that you wound up at our front door this early in the morning, driving our car with my partner as passenger and with him looking like he is ready for hospital again?"

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH