Hutch waited in the darkened bedroom until Starsky's breathing assumed the quiet regularity of sleep. The sleeping tablet was a powerful narcotic and would probably block any dreams the brunet might have had too. This way at least Starsky would get some restful sleep and it would give Hutch time to do some digging of his own and also maybe to get his own feelings in order.

The blond checked one last time on his sleeping partner and then closed and locked the front door, got into his car and headed downtown. Sure, he would go to the Metro, but it wouldn't be Zeb Lake that Hutch was investigating. The blond had a completely different target to look into. He drove mechanically, his mind hardly taking in the familiar route and by the time he got to his destination it almost came as a surprise to him – the sort of journey that left the blond wondering did he stop at that red light? Did he really come to a halt at that intersection? Mentally shrugging, and knowing that he had arrived in one piece, Hutch parked up and scrubbed at his face with his hands.

It was about 11:00 by the time the blond pushed open the swing door to the squad room. Luckily at that time of day, the place was deserted and even Dobey was out of his office. Thankfully, Hutch walked over to his desk, picked up the phone and jabbed at the buttons purposefully. 'Records? Hi this is Hutchinson. Is there a microfiche free down there? Yeah? Ok I'm on my way down.' Hutch replaced the phone and stood quietly for a moment. He looked over at the place where Starsky usually sat, resting on the back of his chair with his feet on the seat, drinking coffee. Again the upwelling of emotion threatened to drown the blond and he rubbed at his temples tiredly. What was it all about? What did it mean? Although Hutch had always felt protective of his partner, especially during and after the Gunther incident, he'd never felt quite this way. It was as though…..as though…. Hutch refused to put his feelings into words although "coward" and "bastard" were at the forefront of his mind.

Get a grip Hutchinson. Do your job and nail that son-of-a-bitch!

Yeah, but you lied to Starsky.

Did not!

Did too. You lied to him.

I avoided the truth!

Same thing.

Shudup Ken.

What are you hiding?

Hiding? Me? I said SHUDUP!

Angrily, Hutch kicked out at his chair, got his foot caught in the rungs and tripped, turned around and ploughed his fist into the desk making the pot pig in the corner wobble precariously. The blond achieved nothing but skinned knuckles and he sucked on them reflectively. It's the stress, that's all it is. You need time. You need to cool it and give yourself some space. You were forced to do that. It didn't mean anythin', it was something you were made to do at gunpoint. You're exhausted. Now get to work, get your ass in gear and dig the dirt on Nigel.

For the next few hours Hutch bent himself over the shimmering screen of the microfiche in the small, airless room off the main records office. He scanned police records from the past ten years in his own precinct, the neighboring precincts and then even as far away as central LA. Apart from a parking violation, a speeding ticket and a planning application to extend the use of the gym into a martial arts centre, Nigel was as clean as the driven snow.

The blond cursed, massaging his now aching head. If truth would out, Hutch was as traumatized by the events of the previous night as Starsky had been. How could he have done that? How could he have been forced? Was there something in it? Was he…..Oh My God! Nigel thought he was gay…..was there something in that? Is that why he was able to do it…..physically?

He gave you a pill, moron!

Yeah, but still…. You did it Kenny.

Uh huh, to save Starsky's life.

Was that all? Did it mean anything more?

Sweet Jesus will you shut it!

Hutch stood up from the table so suddenly that the chair overbalanced and the resulting clatter broke the silence of the room. A young, freshfaced officer poked his head around the corner of the door.

'Sergeant? Are you alright Sir?'

'Fine….I'm done here. Um…..thanks' the blond muttered and walked out back into the bright neon lights of the corridor. It was getting dark outside and Hutch's back muscles told him that he needed rest. He'd not slept in over 24 hours (unless he counted the time he'd been knocked out) and his body was craving a soft bed and a massage. Without going back up to the squad room to tidy away his things, Hutch made his way outside to his car. He'd parked in Starsky's usual spot right outside the entrance to the building and as he got to the car he saw an envelope wedged under the windshield wiper.

Grunting about bill posters in general, the blond took it and was about to throw it into the back of the car with all the other trash when he caught sight of his name written on the envelope. A feeling of dread clutched at him as he recognized the writing and fearfully, Hutch inserted his thumb nail under the seal and sliced along the edge. Reaching inside Hutch took out a small note wrapped around another photograph. It showed the same sort of picture as before – Hutch stood behind Starsky who was bound to the wall bars. This time, the brunet's face showed pain whilst Hutch's eyes were closed. The note was short and to the point.

Don't dig around, Ken, you never know what you might uncover. Remember, I have all the negatives.

The world spun crazily around the flaxen haired cop and he braced his arm against the side of his car. Bending over, Hutch coughed and deposited the remains of his last meal on the ground by the side of his car. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood up and looked around self consciously. There was a woman across the street looking at him, but he ignored her and got into the car breathlessly, his hands shaking as he clutched the steering wheel to maintain his balance.

Nigel had followed him. The fuckin' faggot had been watching him the whole time and now…. Another spasm of fear lanced through Hutch's head. If Nigel had been watching Hutch, what about Starsky? The brunet was once more drugged and defenseless and alone in his apartment.

Slamming the mars light onto the top of his car, Hutch started the sirens wailing as he gunned the engine to the rusty car, floored the gas and shot off through the streets, arriving at Ridgeway a mere 10 minutes later. Silencing the two tone but without waiting to cancel the light, Hutch leapt from the car, bounded up the steps to Starsky's house and tested the door. It was still locked, but it meant nothing and with a hand that refused to stop shaking, Hutch managed to insert the key and pushed open the door, walking straight through to the bedroom.

Carefully, he opened the bedroom door and looked in. the brunet was still sleeping and it seemed he had not moved since Hutch had left him those hours ago. The blond looked around carefully. There was no sign of a forced entry, no disturbances in the bedroom and thankfully, no note or photograph laying on the table, or elsewhere. The relief was so great that Hutch went weak at the knees. He staggered forward and perched on the edge of the mattress by the side of his partner and without thinking he reached out and pushed back that one errant curl that always fell over Starsky's left eye. It was an action he'd done a thousand times before. It steadied him, grounded him in the here and now and marked the relationship he'd always enjoyed with the brunet, and yet now, Hutch started to wonder.

Was it just a touch? Was it merely an affirmation of their friendship? Martinez and Reagan in the squad room weren't so close, neither were Gouch and Hill. Nesbitt and Rushton came close, but Starsky and Hutch's relationship had always caused comment. They ate off each others plates, drank each others coffee, finished each others sentences……and saved each others lives. They were more than partners, more than friends and yet, despite everything that had just gone on, as he looked down at the sleeping man, Hutch could not think of them as lovers. It was wrong. It didn't describe the relationship they enjoyed. If anything they were closer than lovers if that were possible. They enjoyed an almost transcendental partnership to the extent that they could almost feel what the other felt but as for feelings of a sexual nature? Looking at the sleeping man Hutch felt reassured. He loved Starsky but not in that sense.

No, not lovers, but the feeling of discomfort refused to leave the blond. He'd done that to his partner. He'd done that most vile of things without ever trying to think of an alternative.

C'mon Kenny, there was no alternative!

There's always an alternative.

Uh huh, Like watching Nigel blow Starsky's brains out?

Well yeah….no….Jeez, just go home and sleep huh?

Carefully, Hutch got up from the bed although by the boneless way Starsky was lying, it seemed that a nuclear explosion would not have woken the brunet. Almost silently, Hutch closed the door, locked it and wearily climbed back into his car. He cancelled the mars light, stowed it away and turned in the direction of home and Cassy. Maybe some TLC from his girl would help him overcome the trauma of the previous hours.