Part 24

Hutch lay sprawled out on Doctor Maybrouk's examination couch, and stripped to the waist there could no longer be any disguising his slightly protruding ribs, nor the way his stomach sank, in a tell-tale fashion, a little below his breast bone – the unmistakable effect of a sustained and prolonged starvation.

"You've lost weight since we last saw you Detective Hutchinson." The doctor observed, evidently concerned, as he palpated Hutch's sunken stomach. The young Detective flinched slightly at intervals, failing to disguise the true extent of the discomfort he'd been trying to hide, and the doctor took a step back and sighed, a meek smile upon his face.

The examination had been thorough, and Hutch had already had a whole battery of tests that morning including a full blood work up and blood pressure – but Doctor Maybrouk had insisted that his examination be as comprehensive as possible. He was well aware that Hutch, like most of his patients, didn't want to be there, and so wanted to get all of the tests over and done with as soon as possible in order to avoid taking up any more of the Detective's valuable time. Hutch had seemed uneasy when he'd first entered the doctor's office, and he hadn't wanted to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he already did.

Even so the doctor, having now completed his examination, took a step towards his desk as Hutch sat up, a little shakily, and began to put his shirt back on. He regarded him gravely – he couldn't deny the evidence of his own observations.

"You've been doing a very good job of keeping the truth from us until now Detective." He explained. "But there can be no denying the results of the physical tests."

Hutch slipped his shoes back on, and took his seat opposite the doctor on the other side of his desk.

"We'll have to wait a few days for the results of the blood tests to come back." The older man explained. "But judging by the pallor of your complexion I would say that you are almost certainly anaemic, and your blood pressure is rather on the low side which is why you passed out the other day. Tell me, how have you been feeling lately?" He asked.

Hutch didn't speak. He'd spent so long trying to stay strong for Starsky, trying to hide his own pain so as not to worry his friend. Even if he'd wanted to tell the doctor everything that had been going on in the weeks since Starsky's shooting – and he wasn't even sure that he did – he didn't even know where to start.

Instead he averted Doctor Maybrouk's gaze, starring past him at the wall behind, and down at his hands tightly clasped in his lap.

"Your partner tells me that you're not sleeping properly," The doctor persisted, clearly not so easily swayed from his pursuit for answers however, "and I can quite clearly see that you haven't been eating either. He's worried about you Detective, and to be honest after what I've observed today so am I. You know no one can help you unless you talk about it, and you're not doing your partner any favours by making yourself any worse than you already are. This isn't something which is just going to go away, and I think you know that." He explained as gently as he could.

Hutch sighed. He knew in his heart that what the doctor said was true but he didn't know what he was supposed to do about the situation. He was supposed to be the one taking care of Starsky, but since the day of the shooting he'd felt as though he'd been falling. His best friend had now been returned to him perhaps, but even now he continued to feel as though he was still falling, twisting and turning through empty air with nothing and no one for him to grab onto. His life as he'd once known it was falling apart all around him, and it seemed as though there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Gunther's bullets may have spared him, but he felt as though it may as well have been him who'd been shot that day.

But perhaps, just maybe, this was a turning point. Doctor Maybrouk seemed to genuinely care about the two Detectives, but it was true that he couldn't do anything to help either of them unless he opened up to him.

Hutch knew what he had to do.

"I... I..." He hesitated, a little uncertain at first. He didn't know what to say.

"It's the flashbacks that get me the most." He finally explained, looking to the ground awkwardly. "I mean, if I could just get some sleep of a night time then perhaps things wouldn't seem so bad, but... but then the nightmares come.

I still relive that day every night in my dreams. I see the car coming towards us, hear the sound of the gunshot... I see the blood, and Starsky's broken body as it crumples to the floor." He choked. "I shout for him to get down, over and over again... but always too late to save him... I try so hard to save him... but I can't... I can't... there's nothing I can do...

I... I don't know." He sighed, struggling to compose himself. "I mean, I just don't seem to know anything anymore, except that I'm so tired of fighting. Sometimes I wonder at what point did life cease to be worth it and suddenly become so hard, or has it always been this way and I've only just noticed?"

Doctor Maybrouk listened patiently to what Hutch had to say, and when he'd finished talking he nodded.

"It sounds to me Detective," He spoke softly and sympathetically, "as though you've been suffering silently for a very long time. I cannot even begin to imagine what the past few weeks have been like for both you and your partner, but what I do know is that you can't carry on like this."

He sighed.

"It's my belief that you've been suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress." He explained, as he removed a prescription book from the top draw of the mahogany desk, and began to scribble something down onto the first page of the small notebook.

"I'm going to prescribe you some medication, and I want you to take it." He stressed. "We need to start putting some weight back on you so I want you to take an anti-emetic four times a day, and I am going to prescribe you some stronger sleeping tablets. I also want you to take an iron supplement, and I'm going to recommend that you speak to someone, a specialist in post-traumatic stress."

"A therapist?" Hutch asked.

"A doctor." Doctor Maybrouk explained. "But yes, of sorts if that's what you want to call it, but we are all therapists of a kind are we not Detective?" He asked. "I take care of the body, whilst others take care of the mind, and we cannot treat one without taking care of the other.

I was going to suggest the same course for your partner, Detective Starsky, eventually anyway, but I feel you would probably benefit from it too."

Hutch looked back at him, holding his gaze sceptically for a moment, before he finally nodded – what did he have to lose?

"Are you in any pain?" The doctor asked.

"Every day." Hutch muttered softly to himself – he hadn't intended for the other man to hear this, but it evidently reached him as he nodded in silent understanding.

"It's not uncommon for people in your situation to experience physical pain and discomfort after a psychological trauma." He explained as he scribbled another note down on the small page before him. "I'm going to prescribe you a very mild painkiller for you to use as and when you need to, but don't feel as though you have to take it – the other medications are far more important at the moment." He stressed, and as he spoke he tore the page from the small notepad and handed it to Hutch, who accepted it hesitantly and cast his eye down the full list of sleeping pills, nutritional supplements, painkillers, and other medication he's been instructed to take. At the bottom was a note for him to make a follow up appointment, and a number for him to call to get the results of his blood-tests back and a date with the therapist.

"Do you have someone to look out for you and your partner at home?" The doctor asked as Hutch got to his feet slowly – the older man doing the same, before following him to the door. "You'll need someone to assist you with Detective Starsky's care and rehabilitation. I'm afraid you're going to have to take things easy yourself for the time being."

Hutch smiled, and nodded. He was thinking of Huggy and Captain Dobey, and of all the others who'd been there for the two Detectives since the day of the shooting.

"Yeah." He responded simply, as he opened the door to leave, before turning back to face the physician. "Don't worry doc, we'll be alright. We look out for each other, and we have good friends."

The doctor held his patient's gaze for a moment, and then he nodded.

He'd done everything he could for the young Detective for now, the rest was down to Hutch and only time would tell whether he'd be strong enough to defeat the demons which were now slowly destroying him.

But, the doctor thought to himself as he showed the young man from his office and closed the door quietly behind him, with good friends and a strong support network behind him Detective Hutchinson was in a much better position than many of his far less fortunate patients, who had no one in their lives who cared. Theirs was a powerful, and these days rarely seen, bond of friendship.