Disclaimers still the same.

Enjoy!

TWO EIGHT ZERO

Part 2

Hutch had been 'officially'--meaning by himself--exclaimed healthy for two days, when Victor Clayton called.

The detective had just hung up on Dobey who'd shared his emotions about Hutch's planned return to work the next day in very colorful words, when the phone rang again.

Raising his brows in utter surprise, Hutch picked up. His hand still been on the receiver. "How'd you do that, Ca-"

"Hutchinson?"

Hutch frowned, confused, then recognized the thin voice. "Dr. Clayton?"

"Yes, it's me. I think I-"

"How d'you know I was here?" He still stayed at Starsky's place. He'd only been home a couple of times to water his plants ever since his return from San Diego.

"Call it a feeling," Clayton replied quietly. "I've found your friend."

Suddenly dizzy, Hutch leaned back on the couch, his knuckles becoming white from the pressure of his grip on the phone. "Wh-where?"

Clayton hesitated. "He's alive," he finally said.

Hutch swallowed dryly. It unnerved him to think Clayton felt it to be necessary to point that fact out.

"We agree to send him back," the doctor continued. That he included himself in the 'to secret, higher than heaven' party wasn't missed on Hutch. He was sure Clayton had been given explicit orders as to how handle this affair, though.

"Why does that sound like there's a 'but' to follow?" Hutch asked, surprised at how calm his voice was.

"We want it to be clear, that Detective Starsky will never--never--talk to any official administrations whatsoever about what he's seen, heard or experienced. Neither here nor in... Where he came from." Clayton gave a short pause, waiting for Hutch's reply. "D'you understand, detective?"

"Yes," Hutch said.

"We want you to understand that indeed a mistake has been made. We informed ourselves about Detective Starsky and we learned that he's considered one of the best police officers in his city."

Hutch thought Clayton sounded like he read from a paper. He forced his anger aside, though.

'Mistake! You heartless, snobby motherf-'

"We are very sorry for what has happened to him, and we will see to the person responsible being-"

"Look, Doc, I'm sure the executive floor is crying a river over this, but frankly I don't give a damn. I told you before, all I want is my partner. I guarantee you he won't ta-"

"If Detective Starsky will ever break with this arrangement," Clayton cut him off, still seemingly reading, "he will have to be eliminated. We want it to be clear that there will be no possible way he may ever avoid us knowing about plans of that sort. We'd hate to be forced into such actions, though."

"I bet," Hutch muttered dryly. "So what now, d'you want me to sign a treaty?!"

Clayton smiled audibly, then cleared his voice. The reading session was over. "I have the information you want here, detective. Now it's your turn. I want you to get here with proof of everything you're going to tell me."

"Okay," Hutch answered. As soon as his fever had broken, he'd started to collect Starsky's and his assignment files. He'd let Sean Frasier out of it, though. They just needed to know which hospital Starsky had originally stayed at on his undercover mission.

"Okay," Clayton said quietly. It was obvious he wanted to add something else, but instead, he hung up.

Hutch was off like a shot.

****

Whoever they were, they sure thought they were funny.

Hutch stepped down on the gas even more, dust whirling like a storm around the Torino.

He'd driven Starsky's baby to Nevada again, feeling the car somehow had a right to accompany him through this until the end, and had learned that his partner would wait for him at a meeting point that was only an hour away from Bay City.

He wondered if Starsky had been that close all the time, but he'd kept his silence, just accepted the directions Clayton had given him with a sharp nod and had handed over his files.

Now, on his way through the desert, he had time to think. To fear.

Two and a half months. That was the time Starsky had spent at... 'Hell,' Hutch thought. The question was, was that a long enough time to...?

'It was an eternity for me, but for him... Oh God, Starsk, please be... Not okay, I won't ask for okay, that would be too demanding, I know. Just be Starsk. Shaken, hurt, confused, scratched... I can deal with it. I know I can. But please be Starsk. Two and a half months is not enough to lose yourself, is it? Two and a half months is nothing!'

He started thinking about the time spam in different ways. 'Two clean-up-days. Not even three. Just two. Three times of watering the orchid. Only three. One phone call to parents. Maybe not even that. See, not so long! Normally I wouldn't even have talked to the old ones in all that time that has passed, since-'

He had to switch on the windshield wiper for a second because of the dust, and froze in thoughts.

'35 days of getting to drive my car at work. Thirty-five.'

He stared at the switch, appalled, but forced a weary shrug in. Minus week-ends and days off. Not that much then. Ten Sundays at least.

Again, a thought hit him like a kick from an unprotected side. 'Ten Sundays. Ten weekends. Ten 'You've got plans for the weekend?'-questions.

35 days of being forced in the tomato. But only five of this stupid magazine he and Huggy... How many nights at Huggy's? Two and a half months that'd be...

Seventy days. 1680 hours. 100800 minutes. 6048000 seconds.

What the hell you're doing here, Hutchinson?

Losing it.'

Seventy days had been enough to run himself sick with worry, recover, make a deal, switch the sides of the law. Seventy days had been enough to leave him feeling that if not Starsky, he at least had changed. Subtly, but definitely.

For the rest of the drive, he thought about what he and Starsky would do the next few days. Where they'd go, how it'd be to sit at Huggy's again. To work the streets again.

Like a disturbed child, he sought relief in comforting thoughts, while all the time he could see the door he'd locked on his fears and dreads standing slightly open as if the latch was broken.

****

There had once been a factory. A small production hall that had long ago been torn down. The plan had been to use the wide, forlorn area for movie sets, but no crew had ever used it. A big production firm had bought it, and then had probably forgotten about it.

Only the sign of the former factory gave it away that there hadn't always been flat ground of an ugly nothing. High up in the air, so that you could read it when approaching, the rotted sign showed a few letters of the factory's original name.

Hutch thought he'd never noticed a sign there before. It read "ERE" with some dusty spaces between the letters where there had been others.

''ERE. Oh yes, they're a bunch of real comedians...'

Next to the sign stood Starsky.

Hutch sped up considerably without even being aware of it. His eyes were fixed on the seemingly small dark form next that stood absolutely motionless next to the sign.

The Torino came to a halt with squeaking brakes, and Hutch rushed out of the car, slowing down, though, when he saw Starsky had not looked up at him. It seemed he hadn't even blinked.

The blond took a few more tentative steps forward and bent his head to look into his friend's eyes.

Starsky had his head bowed, but otherwise stood perfectly straight, like a statue. His curly dark hair was a little shorter than he usually wore it, and he seemed to have lost weight, though not enough to raise real concern. It just occurred to Hutch because the grey sweater Starsky wore looked much too big for him. His hands almost disappeared under the long sleeves, but still Hutch could see his partner had them clenched to fists.

The blond swallowed dryly past the raising unease. Out of instinct, he checked out their surroundings from out of the corners of his eyes, but there was nothing to see.

They were alone. A small frown crawled over his forehead. The road was straight and there were no hills to block the view. If there had been someone here with Starsky and driven off when they saw him approaching, he'd know. The only logical conclusion was that Starsky had been by himself until Hutch's arrival. Yet he had not moved, had not even looked up when the Torino had stopped right in front of him.

He'd remained frozen.

"Starsky," Hutch whispered, surprised at the lack of strength evident in his voice and cleared his throat.

Starsky tensed a little, but not out of fear. It was more like surprise, Hutch thought.

"Starsk," he repeated, louder this time. He reached out, wanting to touch his friend, but thought differently, when Starsky still didn't look up at him.

"Hey buddy, i-it's me. Hutch. It's okay now. I got you."

Hutch thought he saw Starsky unclench his hands, but the material of the sweater made it hard to tell.

He finally laid his hand on a slightly trembling shoulder gently. "Starsk, look at me, c'mo-"

The dark head came up in a shot. Hutch almost flinched with surprise. He drew his hand away quickly. He thought he'd heard Starsky mutter something, and took a step away as if to give a man who'd just waken from a trance some distance.

A brief silence passed, Starsky didn't say anything, just looked at Hutch with tired, yet relieved, grateful eyes.

It was confusing, Hutch thought. Though the expression on the thin face was so much like Starsky's, the actions weren't. The lack of smart-ass remarks was starting to seriously unnerve the blond. As well as the fact that his friend still hadn't moved at all apart from lifting his head. At least he didn't seem to be injured. There were no wounds visible on his face, and there was no pain evident in his eyes.

"Don't you want to know what took me so long?" Hutch joked, and frowned, confused, when the corner of Starsky's mouth twisted in an appreciating smile.

"Uhm, Starsk, d'you know who I am?"

The ghost of a smile was replaced by what looked like a mixture of fear and helplessness.

Cold fingers of dread clawed their way down Hutch's spine. He fought the urge to grab his partner's shoulders and rattle him. "It's me, Starsk. Hutch. You recognize me, don't you?"

There was a long pause, that made Hutch fear the worst, and then suddenly, Starsky gave the briefest of nods.

Hutch let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and stepped forward, finally dragging his friend in a bear hug. Starsky flinched violently when he saw the blond approaching him, but relaxed quickly when he felt himself being wrapped in an embrace.

Hutch made a mental note about that, but felt too drained to deal with the incident right now. Everything he had had to fight down since the nightmare had begun, rushed through him, and he held onto his friend tighter.

"It's all gonna be okay, buddy, you'll see. We'll make it, huh? We always do."

Starsky remained silent, but Hutch thought he'd felt a slight touch on his shoulder.

When he finally let go again, he felt like his old self again. He could handle everything to help his friend, and they both would make it through this. Of course they would. They always did. A part of him knew that his new found confidence and strength was merely the overwhelming relief of having Starsky back, something like a rush of adrenalin that would pass and once again leave him drained and exhausted, but he forced his rational part to shut the hell up.

This wasn't a futile search or waiting. This was taking care of his partner, something he was particularly good at. Besides, now he wouldn't be alone anymore.

"Okay, buddy, how 'bout we get going now, hm?" Hutch asked in a light tone and smiled softly. "Let's get you home."

Starsky looked at him blankly. He'd positioned himself on the same spot and in the same way he'd stood before the embrace. Hutch thought that it looked as if even his feet stood with the same space between them as before.

He sighed. "Buddy, wha... Okay, you know what, we'll deal with all of this later. First of all let's get outta here." He gently touched Starsky's shoulder again. "Come on, Starsk, get in the car."

He was about to add something, when Starsky's voice kept him from it.

"Yes, sir," he said absolutely serious and walked swiftly passed Hutch to the Torino. He entered the passenger side without looking back at his partner, who stared after him with his mouth open.

"Uhm, Hutch," he muttered to the closed passenger door and quickly got inside the car too.

He was about to start the engine, when a sudden thought hit him, and he turned slightly on the seat to glance at Starsky, who was looking ahead.

"Buddy, can you look at me?" he asked gently.

Starsky didn't move, but Hutch was sure he saw some change in his expression.

He let a moment pass, then said in exactly the same tone of voice, "Starsk, look at me."

Instantly, the dark man turned his head, his motion accompanied by yet another "yes, sir".

Hutch's eyes grew wide again, even though it was what he'd anticipated. "Oh 'triffic," he mumbled and started the engine.

Half a minute later he found Starsky's direct stare increasingly unnerving. "'Sokay now, Starsk, you can look away again."

When nothing happened, he sighed, frustrated. "Don't stare at me, Starsk."

"Yes, sir." Starsky turned his head again.

Hutch briefly closed his eyes against raising anger. "Hutch," he said calmly.

Starsky frowned, then smiled ever so slightly. "Yes," he said, "Hutch."

His partner shot him a glance, not sure whether Starsky had only now realized he was with his friend again, safe and secure and free, or had just adjusted his reply to orders.

"Starsk, are you alright? I mean are you in any pain or something?"

He was met by silence and sighed again. "Okay. Tell me how you feel."

But again Starsky didn't speak, and when Hutch glanced at him, he saw an expression of utter despair on his face.

"Uhm..." The dark man obviously thought about the order, but couldn't figure out what it meant. "I-I..."

"Okay," Hutch quickly said, placing a calming hand on Starsky's arm. His friend flinched at the touch.

"T-two eigh-" he muttered frantically, but was interrupted by his friend's soothing.

"It's okay, buddy. Don't worry. You can tell me everything later. It's alright."

It looked as if Starsky was going to say some more, but at Hutch's reassuring squeezing of his arm, he closed his mouth and bowed his head again.

"It's gonna be okay, Starsk," Hutch continued softly. "I promise. It's all gonna be alright. You just rest for a while now, 'kay, buddy?" he added, rubbing Starsky's arm as if to warm him. "Rest, Starsk."

"Yes, s... Hutch," Starsky muttered and closed his eyes.

Hutch froze with his hand on his partner's arm, then grabbed the wheel a little harder. "Yep."

****

"Listen lady, I know you're all very busy here, okay? I have eyes, but-"

"Well, as long as you aren't about to lose one in the next thirty seconds, please sit down again, mister," the ER nurse cut Hutch off sharply, pushing past him in a hurry.

Hutch looked after her in disbelief. As if her touch had switched on his anger supply, his annoyance turned into fury from one second to the other, and he marched over to the reception desk, but turned after half of the way to see Starsky still standing in the corner they'd waited at for the past few minutes.

"Starsk, come with me," he ordered, and Starsky was behind him in an instant. "Yes, sir. Hutch," he corrected himself quickly, fear coloring his voice.

Hutch shot him a glance, then grabbed his arm and shoved him towards the desk, while fumbling with the other hand to get his badge out of his pocket.

"Hey, you," he said to a young man who stood leaned over the desk and scribbled on a chart.

When the man looked up, Hutch bent over to read the name badge on the man's coat. "Dr. Wyler. Hi, I'm Detective Hutchinson, and-"

"Shot wound?" the young doctor asked immediately and tried to look over the blond's shoulder.

Hutch lost some of his wind. "Uhm... Not exactly. More like..." He looked at Starsky who stood next to him with his head bowed. "Actually I'm not sure. It's complica-"

"Oookay," Dr. Wyler interrupted him with a friendly smile. "Let's go look for a free room and then you can tell me the whole story. Okay?"

Hutch nodded. He and Starsky followed Dr. Wyler inside a small examination room.

"I'm sorry if you had to wait long," Wyler said while closing the door. "There was a street fest nearby this morning and apparently some of the food served there was bad, bu-"

A loud swear could be heard outside.

"But you weren't there, right?"

Hutch shook his head no.

Wyler sighed with a relieved smile. "You're beautiful, man. Okay," he said, getting serious, "what's the story? Oh, sorry. Have a seat, please."

"Thanks," Hutch said and sat down on a chair across from a small desk. behind which Wyler had sat down. He turned when realizing Starsky still stood behind him.

"Uhm, Starsk, sit down over there, okay?" Hutch pointed at the examination table on the other wall.

His partner glanced at the table briefly and made a tentative move in the direction, but stopped, confused.

Hutch sighed. "Sit down, Starsk."

Starsky raised his gaze, frowning at Hutch, but when his friend seemed to be about to repeat the order, quickly said "yes, Hutch" and sat down were he stood, drawing his knees up to his nose.

Hutch and Wyler stared down at him in wide-eyed silence, both their chins traveling southwards.

The young doctor was the first to regain his speech. "I think I better call a psychiatrist to come down here," he said as if to himself, then stood.

Hutch followed him quickly. "Wai-"

"Detective... Hutchinson, right?"

Hutch nodded.

"I'd like to talk to you outside for a second."

Hutch nodded again.

"Uhm, his name is Starsk?"

"Starsky. David."

"Okay. David," Wyler turned to Starsky, who tensed at the word, just like he had when he'd first heard Hutch talk to him earlier that day. Again he didn't seem scared, but surprised, even pleased, happy.

The doctor didn't notice, though, and continued, "I want you to sit down on the table. D'you-"

"Yes, sir," Starsky said quickly and pushed himself off the ground to sit down on the table, his hands resting flat on his sides, his head bowed.

Wyler closed his mouth, surprised. "Well, uh, looks like you understand perfectly. 'Kay then, your buddy and I will be right outside, alright, Dave?"

"He, uhm, he doesn't react to questions," Hutch said in a low voice, hating it to speak of his friend in the third person with him being present. "I-I don't think he can."

"I see," Wyler nodded. "Hm. Let's go outside, detective." He opened the door for Hutch and turned once more before leaving the room. "Don't go anywhere, David."

He was about to close the door, when Starsky's toneless "yes, sir" reached his ears. "Fine," he mumbled nervously and let the door fall shut.

Once outside, he led Hutch to what looked like a supply room. "No one will hear what we say in here," he said clearly. "So - can you tell me what happened to him?"

"No," Hutch replied. "I mean, I don't know really. I know he's been drugged a couple of month ago, but I don't know what it was, and he's been... shocked back then, but-"

"Whoa, slow down. Shocked? You mean electroshock treatment?"

Hutch nodded.

"In a hospital?"

"Yes, but he wasn't admitted, it was an undercover assign..." he trailed off, suddenly grabbed by an urgent wave of paranoia. He didn't know which hospitals were into this. This one could be one of them too.

He eyed Wyler with narrowed eyes. He could be one of them.

"It was more of an accident," he continued after a pause.

"Job risk, huh?" Wyler joked sympathetically.

Hutch nodded. "Sort of."

"And what happened then?"

"I don't know. He was... kidnapped. And held for two and a half months. I don't know what happened to him wherever he was."

Wyler studied him closely. He had an open face, and to his surprise Hutch could see suspicion in the light green eyes.

'This kid isn't into anything. He thinks I am.'

"Do you think that maybe Detective Starsky experienced psychological torture?" Wyler asked after a short while.

Hutch wondered if the doctor had just thought of a trap. He felt himself getting unnerved at the thought. His usually long patience span had shortened considerably over the past weeks.

"Yes, I think that's pretty possible," he answered the question. "But as I said I don't kn-"

"What about physical injuries?"

"I don't know, he seems okay, but..." Hutch cut himself off sharply when he noticed he was getting agitated and angry. "Listen, doctor, I don't know what happened to him. He hasn't told me yet. I don't think he can. I'd highly appreciate it if you would stop this interrogation now and call this psychiatrist and help my partner!"

Wyler actually backed away a step, but his expression warmed at the detective's outburst. Obviously Hutch had just passed a secret test.

"Okay, detective, calm down. Here's what we're going to do, I'll have a nurse check your friend's vitals, while I call upstairs to get someone down here."

"Can I stay with him?"

"Of course. Well, that is, I don't know what the psychiatrist's opinion will be, but as long as we're checking our sides, you can stay."

Hutch nodded his thanks and walked past the doctor, his steps heavy with irrational anger.

"You seem pretty close, detec-" Wyler added, but was cut off by the door falling shut. "-ive?"

****

When Hutch re-entered the examination room, Starsky still sat on the table with his head bowed. He didn't look up.

Hutch closed the door, then leaned against it for a brief moment, bracing himself.

"Starsky, look at me," he finally said while crossing the room to sit down on the table next to his partner.

"Yes, Hutch," Starsky said, lifted his head and followed Hutch until he sat.

The blond looked into the midnight blue eyes he knew so well, that he could read like a book, that could speak to him, and found himself at a lack of words.

"Buddy..." he started, then stopped. He tried again, but only a small sigh came out. At last he cupped Starsky's chin like he had what seemed to have been in another lifetime at 'Mercy's' in San Diego.

"You've got to snap out of this, Starsk. Please. At least try."

He was met by clear, sad eyes, but no reply, not even in there.

"I need you to come back now. Tell me what happened. You can do that. You know I won't hurt you. You're safe now. It's over."

Starsky's gaze dropped.

"It is," Hutch assured and let go off the darker man's chin, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. He was surprised when Starsky flinched back in clear fear.

Only then did Hutch realize it had been the first time since he'd found Starsky, that his partner had done something by his own means. He'd looked away.

"Buddy-"

"Two eight ze-" Starsky started to whimper, when the opening of the door startled him enough to shrink back on the table, almost falling over the other end. Hutch caught him by his arm, shooting the nurse an apologetic look.

"It's okay, Starsk. Come on up here. 'Sokay, just the nurse to check your vitals. No one's gonna hurt you."

"T-two Eight-" Starsky stammered, scared, but Hutch's soothing words swallowed the rest of it.

"Shhh, it's okay. Don't be scared. Hi," he finally turned to the nurse who'd closed the door discretely and waited a little distanced from the table. Though she looked rather young, she seemed experienced with difficult situations and patients. "I'm sorry. I think you startled him and-"

"It's okay," she winked. "My fault. Dr. Wyler told me to be careful. I'm sorry. You must be Detective Hutchinson?"

"Ken," he nodded and was about to add something, when he heard Starsky once more mutter something and stopped to listen.

The nurse frowned as she stepped closer, tilting her head to one side as if straining to hear the words.

"What did he say?" she asked.

Hutch shrugged an 'I don't know'. He had slid from the table at the nurse's entrance and now stood with one hand resting on it.

"Sounded like numbers?"

The blond nodded, and carefully lifted his hand to let it hover over Starsky's knee, but not touching him. "Starsk, repeat what you just said," he said softly.

"Yes, Hutch," Starsky said instantly, not looking up. "Two Eight Zero is sorry."

A heart-freezing silence followed. Hutch glanced at the nurse who had covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes focused on Starsky.

Hutch felt as if he was going to be sick. He swallowed dryly and tried to say something, but found he couldn't. He turned away, rubbing his eyes with his index finger and thumb.

'Is that what they did, buddy? Turn you into a number?'

"It's okay," he suddenly heard the woman's casual voice behind him and turned slightly to see her laying her instruments on the table next to her patient. "You've done nothing wrong. I'm Keisha. Can you tell me your name, detective?"

Starsky didn't react. Hutch waited, instinctively waiting for her to handle the situation.

"Look at me," she said sternly after a second, and Starsky obeyed. "Yes s-" he started, but cut himself off suddenly, tilting his head to one side as if thinking. "Keisha," he concluded.

Hutch turned fully at this, surprised. She shot him a quick glance, then spoke to her patient again. "Tell me your name."

"Yes, Keisha," Starsky replied quickly, but hesitated. "Uhm, D-David," he said.

Hutch noted with dismay that his friend couldn't stand Keisha's look. His gaze dropped once more. "Two Eight Zero is sorry." He looked up again, terror flickering through the midnight blues.

Hutch understood what he saw reflected in there. Starsky had apologized twice in a few minutes. It was bad having to apologize. It meant... something. Maybe pain or maybe something else. Whatever it was, it scared the hell out of his friend.

Despite the horrific discoveries he constantly made, it felt good being able to read Starsky again. It gave Hutch the assurance he needed to get through this himself.

"It's okay, Starsk," he said softly from where he stood. "Don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong. If you don't want to look up, that's fine. See," he added with a confident smile as he approached him and gently touched his arm, "no one's going to hurt you."

Starsky looked at him, and Hutch thought he'd seen moisture in his eyes. "It's okay, buddy," he repeated, and lifted one thumb to smooth it over the soft skin under Starsky's right eye. "You're okay."

"Hutch."

It had been more a thought than a whisper, but Hutch heard it. A wide grin broke free on his face as he nodded fiercely. "Yes. I'm here, buddy. I'm here and I won't go."

At the shy tugging at his sleeve, the blond jumped up on the table again, next to his partner. "See? I won't leave. I'm right here. So how 'bout you let Keisha do her job now, hm?"

Starsky glanced at Keisha ever so briefly, then back at Hutch, searching the blond's expression.

"She won't hurt you," Hutch assured. "She just wants to check your pulse and stuff. No big deal."

The smaller man arched his brows in despair, tensed and looked down again, his gaze darting about frantically.

"Hey, shh, it's okay," Hutch soothed, glancing at Keisha helplessly.

She too reached out to gently brush Starsky's cheek, saying, "Listen to your friend, David. No one's going to do anything you don't want. I promise. So is it okay if I check your vitals now? Hm. Tell me if it's okay? David?"

The confusion that had Starsky in a tight hold was almost palpable. Clearly visible on his face. He shrank back again, the fingers of his left hand interlaced with the material of Hutch's sleeve, though, as if he was holding onto something precious he'd just found and didn't want to lose it in the current that threatened to drag him away.

"Buddy, calm down. Starsky. No more questions. You hear. No more questions. You don't have to answer anything. Calm down, Starsk, please."

"Two Eight Zero is sorry," Starsky whimpered, then ducked as if anticipating... something.

Above his head, Keisha's and Hutch's eyes met. "It's okay, buddy," Hutch said, surprised at how steady his voice was, and placed a hand on Starsky's back as if to stop him from backing away further. "Keisha's going to start the examination now. I'll be here the entire time. Nothing bad will happen."

"T-Two Eigh Z-Ze-"

"Stop apologizing," Hutch nearly begged. "No one's going to punish you."

Starsky froze. He peeked up at his friend with pleading eyes, his fingers crawled forward to close over Hutch's arm.

"That's true," Hutch said hopefully and covered the hand that hold his arm with his own. "No punishment. Not ever again. I won't let them."

A tiny smile appeared on Starsky's lips, and his eyes wandered over to Keisha, who nodded earnestly.

Slowly, Starsky drew his hand away from Hutch's arm and shoved one of his sleeves upwards to expose his arm.

Next to him, Hutch sighed in relief as Keisha smiled friendly and carefully started her examination.

****

One thing Hutch had to admit was that he'd never before seen his partner so...co-operative during an examination. He never so much as winced when needles entered his veins or cold hands touched his body.

Actually the only thing that had at least some Starsky-esque tinge to it was his constant glance at his partner. Not once did he look at what was being done to him, but kept staring at Hutch as if the blond was his only link to reality.

It reminded Hutch of a horror movie Starsky had once described to him, where a guy was lost in an evil dimension and only some sort of pet--Hutch had forgotten what it'd been, a cat maybe--was the link to the real world, so the poor man kept searching for it all the time in order to endure the evilness of the horrific place.

At least now he knew how that cat felt, Hutch thought dryly as he looked back at Starsky again after having followed Keisha's movements briefly and found the bright cobalt eyes a little wider than before. The moment he smiled warmly at his friend, though, the panic that'd been evident in there flickered off like a flashlight.

"I'm right here, Starsk," Hutch said clearly like he had before. Though he had to stand back a little in order to not get in Keisha's way, his voice and sight was apparently enough for Starsky to remain calm.

Not that Hutch assumed the confused man would actually have struggled against examining hands or touches. He'd probably have endured everything.

Closing his eyes briefly at the thought, Hutch let out a curt breath. 'Hold yourself together, Ken, you hear? We're gonna fix this. It's gonna be okay.'

A slight touch to his shoulder snapped his eyes open again, and he was met by Keisha's warm sympathetic smile. Their gazes locked for a moment, until he nodded gratefully, and looked back at Starsky.

'We're gonna fix this, babe, I promise. It's gonna be okay. I'll take care of it.'

Pushing edging weariness away, he smiled again. "You're holding on great, buddy."

"Yeah, David," Keisha agreed, brushing gentle fingers through Starsky's hair. "You're doing fine. And we're almost finished here. I've just to check you for injuries now. Or--can you tell me if you're injured? Any pain? Hm?" She rose her voice soothingly like one would talk to a child, but still Starsky's eyes glazed over with fear at her questions.

Recognizing the signs at once, she put soothing hands onto his chest. "Shhh, okay. It's okay. You don't have to tell me nothing, okay, Davey? I'll look for myself. Just let me get you out of this, okay?" she continued, tugging at the wide grey sweater Starsky still wore. Up until now she had more or less worked around it, doing the starters, taken blood, checked his pulse, as she'd sensed by pure instinct that taking off every cover he had would probably rise his distress further.

At her patient's weary glance at his blond friend, she bent her head to look into his eyes, waggling her brows. "You probably hear that a lot, huh?"

Hutch laughed, and after a checking glance on him, Starsky presented them both with a shy smile that seemed to brighten the whole room.

"Heyyy," Keisha went on, grinning. "I think you have beautiful smile."

As his friend's glance once more wandered over to catch his, Hutch rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "And all that without a single line..."

"Aw, don't listen to him," Keisha played along. "He's just jealous. So, Dave, can you take this off by yourself?"

The smile vanished, nervousness taking its place.

Exchanging a quick glance with Hutch, Keisha took a small step away, studying Starsky's face. "It doesn't hurt you to lift your arms, does it?"

Starsky's glance wandered aside, away from her, then back. The sweater started to stretch over his shoulders as nervous fingers began clawing at the insides of the too big sleeves.

Keisha sighed a little, again casting Hutch a look. "It's okay, Dave, don't get agitated. I didn't mean to confuse you. Just--take off th-"

"No, wait," Hutch interrupted softly, approaching the table a little.

"What?"

Looking at her pleadingly, Hutch asked, "Don't... order him to do something. Please."

Her face fell in shared heartache. "Oh... Ken, I don't intend to-"

A gentle gesture with his hand let her voice trail off, and she frowned questioningly when he crouched down in front of the table so that he was now looking up into Starsky's face.

His partner was scared. Hutch wondered if he really knew what he was doing here. It obviously scared Starsky a hell of a lot less to simply obey.

Yet--that was his point exactly. He didn't WANT Starsky to obey.

"Buddy," he started softly, "Keisha here needs to take a look at you. Therefore you've to take off that sweater."

Starsky lifted his head, waiting for the order to come. The expecting expression in otherwise blank blue eyes was almost more than Hutch could take, yet he forced himself to keep looking straight into them.

"Is that okay?" he asked, completely serious. "Can you do that?"

A pained frown spread on the darker man's face. Hutch thought he could almost see the wheels working behind his forehead.

"I don't think that's wise, Ken," Keisha whispered, but Hutch ignored her.

"Starsky. We need you to take off the sweater. Will you do that? Is that okay?"

Starsky's chin started quivering slightly as he obviously worked on an answer.

"Ken, you're scaring him."

Hutch shot her a glance, but turned back to Starsky instantly. If he'd stop now, who knew what more damage he'd inflict? Starsky had recognized him, so what would it do to him to have HUTCH giving him orders?

"Buddy, no one will hurt you if you refuse to take it off," he said, a sudden idea forming in his mind. "But--we won't be able to finish here then. You understand? It's your decision, but..." Frowning at his own words, he trailed off.

'It's your decision, BUT?! Oh, that 's smart, Hutchie!'

"I-I mean..." he stammered, trying to make up for his mistake, but his partner already scrambled his way out of too much material and held out the sweater for Hutch a split second later. His expression reminded Hutch of that of a child in school, looking up at the teacher to see if he'd given the right answer.

In this case--a particularly strict, feared teacher.

Despite the urge to sigh unnerved, Hutch forced himself to smile approvingly. "Uh...yeah. Thanks, buddy."

Confused or not, Starsky being Starsky, he could sense Hutch's frustration and started to chew on his lower lip, looking utterly miserable.

Catching the glance, Hutch felt himself making a face at his own stupidity. God, this was complicated!

"That's good, buddy, really," he said helplessly and took the sweater as if to underline his praise of the other's action.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't convince his friend of something he didn't think himself.

"Two Eight Zero... sorry?" Starsky asked, unsure, arching his brows.

Hutch felt like crying. "No. No, not sorry. A-and NOT... Two Eight Zero," he added, thinking he must sound like an idiot. "You've nothing to be sorry for, buddy."

Starsky looked at him blankly, the situation to much for him to take. His gaze wandering to the bundle in Hutch's hands and back up into pained light blue eyes, he finally settled for a clear, "Two Eight Zero is sorry." After a moment's thought he added a soft, "Hutch."

Before his friend could reply anything, a soft gasp coming from Keisha drew his attention towards her.

Sensing she had no business interrupting the scene, the nurse had quietly walked over to a cupboard behind the examination table to get a pair of gloves.

Now she looked at Hutch appalled, then let her gaze fall upon her patient's back again.

"Ken."

Dread at what she might have discovered there gnawing at his stomach, Hutch quickly moved to stand behind her, softly restraining his friend from following him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh my god," he whispered at the sight that met him. "Wh-what´s... what's that?" he asked without looking at Keisha, but stepping closer to place a warm hand above one of the many horrific marks on his partner's back.

They were rather small, faded, circle-shaped spots, looking like blackish bruises.

Burns, he thought. They looked like burns, only that they all seemed... equal. And there were so many. Some faded to mere scars, newer ones on top of them.

"What...?"

"Wires," Keisha answered softly. "I think they're wire burns. Oh god," she sighed and briefly rubbed her face, before turning around to make a note on Starsky's chart.

Hutch didn't look, but slowly as to not startle his friend, slid down next to him on the table, so that they sat shoulder to shoulder.

He opened his mouth to say something, but found he couldn't.

'I'm sorry, Starsk. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I trusted Frasier. I'm sorry I didn't keep track of you like I should have. I'm sorry I lost you. I'm sorry I got sick. I'm sorry I didn't try sooner. I'm sorry I-'

"Hutch."

The whisper was so soft Hutch almost missed it. His head snapping up, he found himself at the receiving end of a clear glance. Starsky.

He was so surprised he couldn't even reply, just stare.

"Doesn't..." Starsky started, bit his lip, and after a moment smiled slightly, before continuing, "doesn't hurt that much."

The blond's chin dropped, and in exactly that moment Dr. Wyler returned with the psychiatrist.

****

Two hours. He'd waited in that goddamned waiting room for two hours now. What the hell was taking the guy so long? And why wasn't he allowed to stay?! Who was that Dr. Birnbaum to tell what sort of answer or reaction or whatever was normal for Starsky?! He didn't know Starsky, Hutch did!

Lifting his fifth plastic cup of coffee, Hutch found it empty and crumbled it, frustrated. For the hundredth time in twenty minutes he checked his watch.

'Come on, Kenny, calm down, okay? Those things probably need that much time. You ever seen a victim of... such a place? No. So what d'you know? Nothing.'

He sighed as if for an answer to himself.

'Damn it, but I know Starsky! I should be in there. He recognized me, didn't he?! What good is it going to be to have Dr. "You being in the room might distract him" asking him a bunch of questions he can't answer?! What if he freaks out and they sedate him? Or... restrain him...'

His gaze wandered to the exit and in the direction the examination room was.

'They wouldn't do that, would they?'

Slowly, as if his body acted independent from his mind, he rose from the chair and walked over to the exit, out, down the hallway.

'They wouldn't... do anything without asking me first, would they?' The fear wasn't gnawing any longer, but starting to claw. He could feel his throat closing. 'They wouldn't... Wh-what if this guy is another one of... THEM?! What if THEY changed their mind? What if I left him alone with one of THEM?!'

He was running by now, almost stumbling over his own feet. 'I'm coming, Starsky! Everything's gonna be okay, I'm here. I'm coming!'

His mind racing with panic, he almost crashed into the door Dr. Birnbaum opened the second Hutch turned the last corner. The blond stopped in his tracks, swaying as he tried to catch his footing, panting, eyes wide.

Dr. Birnbaum jumped, startled, and let the door fall shut with a bang, holding his chest. "God, Detective, you..." he breathed, closed his eyes briefly to gather his wits.

Hutch ignored him, trying to reach around the older and smaller man to open the door. "Get out of the way!" he ordered sharply, his voice even strained by his lack of breath.

Stepping aside, Birnbaum frowned at the younger man and placed a heavy hand on his arm. "Detective, calm down. I told you it'd take a wh-"

"I want to see him. Let me go."

"Hey, hey, easy," the psychiatrist soothed, surprised at the strong reaction. "Your friend is fine, detective. Why don't we-"

"I want to see Starsky! Get out of the way!" Hutch cut him off, his voice high-pitched by fear, and Birnbaum raised his hands slowly in a calming manner.

Not missing a beat, Hutch opened the door and crossed the space between the door and the examination table, where Starsky lay curled up on his side, a thick hospital blanket covering him, his head resting on a pillow. His breathing was even and calm, his eyes closed.

"Starsk?" Hutch asked in near panic, gently stroking his friend's hair.

"Detective," Birnbaum started from where he stood in the doorway, "I really think you should-"

"Why isn't he answering? What d'you do to him?!" Hutch cut him off, wheeling around to shoot the older man a furious look.

Again, Birnbaum rose his hands defensively. "Detective, calm down. He's just asleep."

After a moment, Hutch turned again, his hands once more finding his friend's still form. Gently, he caressed Starsky's cheek, while with the other hand adjusted the blanket carefully. "Y-you didn't give him anything, did you?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Birnbaum sighed. "No. He just fell asleep, detective. He's exhausted, and I really think you and me should leave him to get some rest now."

"Y-yeah," Hutch nodded, his eyes never leaving Starsky, his fingers still busy smoothing the blanket, brushing soft curls, too cold skin. "Yeah, you're right."

"You can come back right after we've talked." It was said with a sympathetic smile coloring the older man's voice as he stepped back slightly to hold open the door for Hutch.

Ignoring the man's attempt at kindness, the blond just nodded again. "Be right back, babe," he whispered into Starsky's ear and left, not without turning once more at the door, before Birnbaum gently, but firmly shoved him out and mindfully closed the door behind them.

"Let's go to my office and-"

"Can't you tell me here?" Hutch asked pleadingly, before he could restrain himself.

Birnbaum smiled and once more took the younger man's arm gently. "Your partner's perfectly safe here, detective. I have a nurse look after him while we're talking, and when he wakes up, she will inform us instantly, so you can sit with him again. Okay?"

Searching the man's grey eyes, Hutch finally nodded, not really convinced, though, and let himself be guided down the hallway towards Dr. Birnbaum's office. There, he obediently sat down in a chair and watched the psychiatrist re-arrange the piles of paper on his desk and then sit down himself behind a large, wooden desk.

A moment of silence passed. Hutch couldn't help glancing at the door nervously from time to time. Despite himself, he started fumbling with the sleeves of his shirt.

"Detective... uh," Birnbaum started, smiling apologetically. "I think I forgot your name. I'm sorry."

"Huh?" Hutch muttered and looked back from over his shoulder. He knew it was silly, yet the thought of Starsky being without him again unnerved him immensely. It felt as if not being able to see, hear, touch Starsky was turning everything that had happened into a dream. He'd wished, hoped, longed so much for this day to come, now that he had his partner back, being elsewhere seemed so utterly and completely wrong it left him feeling almost guilty.

As if he was letting Starsky down again.

"Your name," Birnbaum's deep calm voice seemed to reach him from a far distance.

"Hutch," Hutch mumbled, and at the doctor's loud sigh finally turned back to face him, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Uhm, I-I-"

"Detective Hutchinson," Birnbaum interrupted him, smiling wryly to underline now he recalled the blond's name again, "you need to calm down. Maybe you'd like something... glass of water? Or coffee? You look rather exhausted yourself. Maybe you should consider getti-"

"No," Hutch shook his head. "No, I-I'm sorry, doctor. I'm just..." He tiredly wiped his eyes with his thumb and index finger, then looked up again as if he'd now sufficiently had locked away whatever had him distracted. "It's been a long day," he excused himself and didn't wait for further statements about his own appearance. "So what d'you think? I-I mean wh-what..." He trailed off, not knowing what exactly it was he wanted to ask.

Dr. Birnbaum leaned back in his chair, a gesture underlining his following business tone. It was like he sought distance from the blond. He'd been in familiar situations too often to assume that there was an easy way to say what he had to say. Sort of silly to think facts would hurt less from the distance, yet like most doctors, it was what his instinct told him.

"Well, physically," he started, "I think you've been told that your partner is not in particularly bad shape." He gave a short pause as if wanting to give Hutch a chance to comment on that. The blond remained silent, though. "That is--considering his... psychological state."

Hutch frowned. "Wh-what d'you mean, considering his... I-I don't think I understand. I... Dr. Wyler said he was okay except for..." His voice trailed off, his right hand feeble wandering over his shoulder to his back. When he noticed it, he quickly drew it back and rested his fist against the right side of his mouth, studying the psychiatrist expectantly.

Birnbaum let out a bracing breath, before nodding slightly. "That's right, there's nothing physical that leads to greater worry. Meaning Detective Starsky wasn't injured in a life-threateningly manner during his, uh, captivity. There is, however, some evidence of... torture," he chose the word very carefully, as Hutch noticed, "as you saw on his back and from what the psychological examination showed, we can assume that most of his injuries have already healed."

Hutch's eyes widened, appalled. "H-heal... A-are you saying that what w-we saw on his back was done to him over the entire time?"

"No," Birnbaum answered after a moment's thought. "I think it stopped some time ago. See, detective, you've to understand Detective Starsky's physical injuries as, shall we say, links to the psychological damage done."

Hutch visibly flinched. 'Damage. Oh god.'

The doctor didn't notice, though. He was busy figuring how to explain his theory to the younger man who seemed so keen on not wanting to understand what he was saying. "What I mean, detective, is that everything that has been inflicted on your friend's body was meant to have some effect on his mind. As you have noticed, he's a little underweight. Not much, but from what we've learned about his state of mind, it's obvious that he has been... starved as a punishment. He probably was a lot thinner let's say a month ago. But from one point on he submitted to his torturers and was given food again."

"S-submi... D'you really think that happened?" The question was whispered as if the blond couldn't find the strength to speak up. "Isn't it possible h-he could've just..." Feeble hands searched for a gesture. "Like... Maybe they didn't give him enough to eat. That's possible too, isn't it? Why d'you assume he was-"

"Detective, I know this is very hard to accept," Birnbaum interrupted his rambling gently, "but there is no way denying your partner was severely tortured in order to... well, I'd say brainwash him, as hard a word as this is."

Hutch's head dropped. "So," he mumbled, defeated, "these... burns on his back... You think they..." He drew in a deep breath and looked up again. "They punished him, didn't they? A lot. They hurt him. Starved him. Until he... gave up and started to obey. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes." A short pause followed. "Yes, I think that's what happened. Yet I wouldn't say he gave up--entirely."

Hutch arched his brows questioningly.

"You see, there are some things that don't fit in the picture as a whole. Like he constantly clenches his hands to fists." To emphasize his words, Birnbaum lifted his hands for Hutch to see them clenched to fists. "That is a rather aggressive gesture, as you will agree. Then, as I said, there is the extent of his injuries. I know it sounds harsh, but from what I think about your partner there should be a lot more."

Hutch frowned slightly, then tilted his head as understanding sank in. "You mean he didn't give up, but... like, played along or something?"

"Sort of," Birnbaum said, waving his hand slightly. "Let me ask you, detective, would you describe your partner as stubborn? Hot-tempered?"

"Uh... well, yeah. Sometimes," Hutch answered, and again understood what the doctor was aiming at a second later. "A person like him would have been hurt more severely if acting by nature, that's what you're saying, right?"

"Yes. I think your partner is a very clever man. A survivor."

Hutch didn't listen. "He gave up," he muttered, "AS a fight." Letting the sentence hang between them for a second, he finally looked up at the psychiatrist again. "Yeah? In order to survive and NOT lose himself he... submitted."

"Partly," Birnbaum nodded, and raised his index finger at the emotions he saw rushing through the light blue eyes. "But you mustn't assume that he knows that, detective. We're talking about a very complicated phenomenon here. There was damage done, you saw it. Your partner has been trained to obey, and that is what he does. It's just there are some parts of him left."

"What d'you mean, some parts?" Hutch asked dreadfully.

Birnbaum looked right into the younger man's pleading eyes and slowly, not aware of it, leaned back some more. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Detective Hutchinson, but I don't think you will get your friend back."

Hutch sat frozen, his mind revealing a very familiar situation. '"I'm sorry, but I don't think your friend's gonna make it."' It seemed a lifetime ago. A life. And just like back then, he heard himself answer, "What d'you mean, of course I'll get him back. Hell, I've GOT him back!"

The older man sighed, having anticipated that reaction. "No. He's too far gone. But there is hope that he may be able to live a normal life one d-"

"He recognized me," Hutch interrupted him sharply. "He knows who I am. He tried to COMFORT me! Me!"

"You have to understand that everything he does at the moment is initialized by fear. Face the truth, detective, that man out there is not your partner any longer, he's-"

"I beg your pardon, Dr. Birnbaum, but that man out there will always be my partner, and obviously contrary to you I can tell the difference between fear and recognition. Starsky knows exactly who I am, and yes, so he may be confused right now, and scared, but he's not LOST!" His gaze settling on the doctor again after having drifted off at his search for the right words, Hutch suddenly frowned.

"Hey, wait a second." Slowly, he rose from his chair and steadied himself on the desk, looking directly into older eyes. "What exactly is your... advice, doctor?" The word 'advice' was spat out hatefully. "You want to admit him, don't you? Lock him away again."

Birnbaum looked up at him absolutely calm, unimpressed. "Fact is your friend is a very sick man, Detective Hutchinson. He needs treatme-"

"So what're you gonna do, shock him again?!" Hutch called out in anger. "Tie him to a bed for the rest of his life?! Shoot him full of whatever and every once in a while let some overworked shrink go trying to explain to him that he's not a number but a human being?!"

"Electroshock treatment isn't known to work in cases like this," Birnbaum informed the blond quietly. "Besides, knowing Detective Starsky's medical history, it wouldn't be wise to, let's say try his luck more than once, for he's extremely lucky to have lived through the treatment you told me about without any noticeable aftereffects. As far as the rest of his life goes--I don't think I have to explain to a cop the dangers of triggers."

Hutch could feel the color draining from his face, yet he forced himself to remain standing. He couldn't let go, not now. Something inside him pushed him to not lose his confidence now. This was the final fight for Starsky, and he knew it. "He's not been..." He bit off the rest of the sentence, breathed in deeply, and said quietly, "There's no trigger in Starsky's head. He's no danger to anyone."

"How do you know that?"

"I know him."

A soft laugh underlined the doctor's next words. "That's not good enough, detective."

"Yes, it is. You're a psychiatrist. You know that not every person can be used as a trigger. Starsky can't. And you have no way to prove he's a danger. Everyone who looks at him can see he's just scared and nothing but. Actually you told me just a minute ago that he's still himself, partly."

"I said-"

"Well, go and order him to shoot someone. Or kill himself. He won't do it. He'd take the punishment. And I can't shake the feeling you know that," the blond added after a moment's thought. "Because something keeps telling me you are interested in my partner getting admitted HERE because of something else."

A tensed silence passed, the air as thick as fog.

"You won't get him back," Birnbaum finally said. "At least not by taking him with you and trying to train him to think for himself. It won't work. I know your kind, detective. I know what you're going to do. You're going to be nice and caring, but all you'll succeed in will be training him to obey you because he'll want to please you."

Hutch blinked, visibly restraining himself from losing control, and slowly pushed himself up to his full height. "I'd highly appreciate it," he said calmly, "if you'd stop talking about Starsk like he's some sort of dog. Nobody has trained or will train him to do anything."

Slowly but steadily, anger worked its way into the older man's eyes. He slid closer to the desk a few inches, his gaze focused on the blond detective. "And just by what academic knowledge do you reach this conclusion?"

Hutch frowned, taken aback, and opened his mouth to reply, but the doctor had obviously just reached the very edge of his patience. "Who are you to doubt my diagnosis, Detective Hutchinson?"

"I-"

"I've worked with people like your partner for a long time now, actually I'm working on a study right now about triggered..." The moment the sentence had slipped out, Birnbaum knew he'd made a mistake. Actually pressing his lips shut, he quickly leaned back again, breaking the eye-contact.

Hutch, though, turned his head slightly as if listening to the echo. "Study?" he asked, waited and finally nodded. "I see."

"That doesn't mean-"

"Yes, it does," the blond interrupted and took one more step away, preparing to leave. "It means I'm going to get my partner away from here, from you, right now."

"Detective-"

"I don't believe you people!" Hutch snapped, turning on his way to the door. "You saw him," he added in a much softer, sad voice. "Didn't you? You looked into his eyes, and he apologized for flinching when you touched him." He swallowed dryly at the lump that started to throb in his throat at the memories. When he spoke again, his voice wasn't as steady as before, but then he didn't care. He didn't feel weak showing his feelings to the man. In fact, that he had them made him feel a whole lot stronger than the doctor.

"He apologized to you, calling himself a number. A NUMBER, Dr. Birnbaum. And all you thought was what a great addition to your study he'd be? Is that it?"

At the soft, almost whispered question, the psychiatrist's gaze dropped, silence answered it.

"Well, he's not gonna be one," Hutch continued, determined. "I'm Starsky's next of kin, and I won't give my agreement to any of your advises. In fact if you ever get near him again, I'm..." He forced himself to not finish the sentence, but opened the door. "You know something, doctor? You're no better than they are. And that conclusion I reached by my knowledge of human nature."

With that, he closed the door and turned without looking back.

****

People called him by his name. That was the first thing he'd found out to last. People called him by his name, and he liked it. A lot.

He'd tried to not forget his name. Most of the time he'd succeeded. Of course, he'd sometimes thought. Thought he didn't know why it'd occurred to him that forgetting your name was a rather stupid thing to do. Not normal. Why, though, he couldn't tell.

But then--now that he'd come, maybe Hutch could.

Hutch had been the other thing he'd tried to not forget. Hutch and his name. He'd come to forgetting why exactly it was so important to remember what Hutch looked like, to try to imagine the smooth features and blond hair of his friend, but he'd never forgotten to do it whenever he had the chance to let his thoughts drift off.

The forgetting of the why had started when the pain had begun to vanish, and he'd been so afraid of it returning that he'd not dared to ask further. Why wasn't important. What was important was to not forget Hutch. Not his looks, nor his voice. Not him. At times, when they'd put him into the darkness again, he'd been able to hear him talking to him or singing, and he'd been less afraid.

Maybe that'd been the why all along? But then--he didn't dare asking why.

Anyway, people called him by his name. That was what had suddenly changed. That and that Hutch seemed to be there all of a sudden. Not in daydreams, but really there. He'd touched him, hadn't he? And talked to him.

But then--he didn't dare think that. It could be a trick. Or worse, it could be a punishment. It could be they'd lured him into believing Hutch had come only to have him find out it'd all been an act. A drug-induced dream.

Or what if there'd never been a Hutch at all? He'd thought about that back in the darkness a lot. What if he'd always lived in darkness and had dreamed what he thought he remembered of David Starsky's life? Sure he'd have invented a caring, loving person like Hutch, wouldn't he? It was only logical he'd have longed for someone to care.

But why would he think of bad memories too? He recalled Hutch crying, Hutch hurt, himself hurt... He hurt... Hurt to think... Thinking hurt...

Hurting would be punished. 'Oh please, no... Sorry... I'm... No, Two Eight Zero's sorry! Sorrysorrysorry...'

****

When Hutch arrived at Starsky's room, he saw Keisha approaching it swiftly, and sped up to meet her at the door, arching his brows, concerned.

"Hey," he greeted her, "what-"

"I think he's crying," she said and gestured for him to take a moment and listen.

Indeed, after a split second he too could hear soft whimpers coming from inside the room, faint sobs, stifled, desperate.

Before Hutch had even opened his mouth, Keisha patted his arm lightly, warm eyes searching for his. "You better go check. I'll make sure no one comes in."

"Thanks," Hutch muttered gratefully and carefully entered the examination room, the door being closed quietly behind him.

"Starsky?" he asked softly, his gaze instantly finding the figure of his best friend lying on the table in exactly the same position Hutch had last seen him.

It seemed he hadn't moved an inch in his sleep. The only movement that could be seen was the fast rising and falling of his chest under the blanket as he sobbed with the right side of his face buried in the pillow. He didn't even raise his hands to wipe away the tears that constantly spilled. It was an almost absurd picture, and Hutch found himself staring in dismay for a moment, before he'd gathered his wits again.

"Buddy, hey," he then soothed and rushed over the table. Out of pure reflex he lifted his friend so that he could sit down next to him and hold him with the curly head resting against his chest. "It's okay, Starsk, I'm here. Shhh, it's okay."

The moment he touched Starsky, though, the smaller man seemed to stop his crying as if switching it off and tensed up so much his shoulders were trembling. "Two Eight Zero is sorry," he said clearly from down in Hutch's arms.

The blond closed his eyes and hugged him tighter. He thought for a while without saying anything, but kept on gently rocking his friend in his arms like a child.

"Starsk," he finally said softly, "can you tell me your name?"

His partner's shoulders tensed even more, the scared silence that came for an answer disturbed by an occasional sniffle.

"It's okay," Hutch said, "I'm right here. I got you." To underline his words, he gently nudged Starsky's cheek. "There, felt that? I've got you right here, and I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you again."

Starsky sniffed.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"D-Da..." Starsky started, but flinched suddenly and stopped.

Hutch's heart took an excited leap. "Yes," he encouraged, "right, it starts like that. And I know you know it, buddy, you told Keisha," he added with a warm smile, ruffling Starsky's hair. "I'd just like to hear it again. But only if you want to. D'you want to tell me your name, babe?"

A long silence passed, and Hutch was almost about to work on another tactic, when he suddenly heard a faint whisper. "David."

He was so surprised, he almost let go off his friend, but caught his wits in time and briefly hugged him a little tighter. "Right. Good. How do I call you?"

"Starsky." This time, the answer came faster, not immediately, still hesitantly, but faster nevertheless.

A smile settled on Hutch's face. "Always?" he asked playfully.

"Uhm..."

"Never mind," the blond winked quickly, warning himself to be more careful. "What's my name?"

"Hutch." This time, Starsky answered within a second.

"What's my full name?"

"Kenneth Hutchinson."

"What d'we do for a living?"

"Cops."

"Where were you born?"

"New York."

"Where d'you live?"

"Bay City."

"What's your favorite board game?"

"Monopoly."

"Me and...?"

"Thee."

"Why d'you cry?" Hutch held his breath, hoping Starsky wouldn't feel it.

"Hurt. Gonna be punished." There was a slight hint of fear in Starsky's voice, but then maybe it was just in his mind, Hutch thought. Maybe it was because he assumed the answer to be scaring.

He swallowed, forcing himself to keep up the rocking motion, though every nerve in him screamed for a following question. 'Punished for hurting?!?!' "Why d'you hurt?"

"Hurts to thi..." Starsky started, but didn't finish the sentence. Instead he flinched again, tensing up even more in his friend's hold. "T-two Eight-"

"No, babe, please," Hutch interrupted him softly, his voice dropping a little, though he tried his best to keep his despair out of it. He gently shifted their position so that he could lift Starsky's head and look at him. "You're no number, Starsk. You're David Starsky. You just told me yourself."

A small frown crawled over Starsky's forehead as he tried to take in the information. He opened his mouth, thought differently, closed it again, looked at Hutch questioningly, checked their surroundings, and finally asked in a voice so tiny Hutch had to strain to hear it, "Hutch, why is it important to not forget my name?"

The pure joy that rushed through him at hearing his friend utter a whole question was somewhat darkened by its content. Yet Hutch smiled, thinking about an answer. "Because you need to know you're David Starsky," he finally said, convinced. "It'll make you hurt less."

That seemed to make sense to the confused man, as the frown wandered in deeper, and was then replaced by a shy smile. "I didn't forget you either."

Hutch hadn't seen that sentence coming, and it acted almost like a physical slap, sending a tear falling from his lids where he hadn't felt moisture before. Feebly, he wiped it away, but couldn't stop yet another one from falling.

"Oh, buddy, I..." A small sob cut him off, and at the lack of words, Hutch simply hugged his friend close again, for once burying his own face in the smaller man's shoulder.

A disappointed voice made him laugh through the tears a split second later.

"I forgot why that was important too."

"Don't worry," Hutch said through a sniffle. "You'll remember. I'll help you."

"Yeah." The word was said with little conviction.

Pushing himself away from his partner and wiping his eyes, Hutch fought for control again. "Well, buddy, ready to go home now?"

Starsky looked up at that, his lips moving without a sound. "Home," he mouthed and let his gaze drift off.

Hutch sniffed one last time, sliding from the table. "Yeah, Starsk, home. We'll just have to sign you out and..." A thought hit him, and he took a few steps away from the table, before turning to his friend again. "D'you want to go home, buddy?"

Starsky's cobalt blue eyes followed him, a hint of despair rushing through them as he saw the blond leaving him. He swallowed dryly and bit his lower lip like a little boy.

Once more, Hutch fought for steadiness in his actions as he repeated, "D'you want to go home, Starsky? Hm? For, you see, if you don't want to, we won't go."

"B-but..." Starsky started, his eyes darting around the room as if trying to trace his thoughts. "You want to go home," he finally stated, looking back at Hutch.

The blond frowned, tilted his head to one side. Suddenly he felt trapped. Like he'd just lost a game or something. "Yes," he finally said. "That's right. But do you?"

"Uhm... y..." Starsky's head turned bit by bit as if he was trying to avoid giving his answer directly to Hutch. "Yes."

"Can you say it?" Hutch asked.

Starsky smiled slightly as he slid from the table with a suppressed wince at the pain still radiating from his back. "I-I want t... w-want to..." he started, but hushed himself when he found his knees trembling suddenly. Actually his whole body started to shake as if protesting against his statement. "I..." He swallowed back tears, and grabbed behind him to steady himself at the table.

Hutch was next to him in an instant, gently grabbing his arm. "Hey, babe, it's okay, you don't need to say it. It's okay. I know. I know."

Starsky interlaced trembling finger's with the blond's sleeve and let himself be led away from the table towards the door, before he looked up at his friend shyly. "Two Eigh..." he began his apology, thought about it and settled for, "Starsky's sorry?"

Hutch had to stop in their way and close his eyes as if he'd just received a physical blow. Recently a lot of his partner's sentences seemed to have that effect on him. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself looking into waiting blue seas and smiled warmly.

"We'll work on that, partner, okay? Let's just work on getting you home for now."

"Yes, Hutch."

"Shut up, Starsk," Hutch muttered softly, as they emerged from the room and found Keisha waiting for them. She'd already prepared the papers, so that they were quickly through with the formalities.

"I'm sorry I can't give you anything for the pain," she told Starsky, who avoided looking at her, but clung to Hutch's arm. "But your system's still working on all those sedatives. Uhm, Ken, can I..." She urged, gesturing for him to talk to her in private.

"Yeah, sure. Hey, buddy, I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," Hutch told his friend, who of course obeyed the former order to not talk, and left him at the reception to talk to Keisha a few steps away.

"Those sedatives," she informed him in a low voice. "He's been given quite a lot over the time, according to his screening."

Hutch closed his eyes. Fatigue was working against him like a silent enemy. "Please don't tell me he'll go through detox or something. Please."

Gently touching his arm, she shook her head. "No, not really. It's not gonna be... bad. it's just that he'll probably have some aftereffects. Slight ones. You know, like a hang-over, harmless."

"But?" Hutch asked dreadfully.

"But I don't think he'll be able to understand why."

He stopped in his tired wiping of his face and peeked at her over his fingers, then looked over at his waiting friend and back. "Oh no."

"Yep."

"Oh please no," he pleaded with no one in particular. "You think he'll believe he's being punished? By me?"

She shrugged slightly. "I don't know, Ken. But you need to be warned. In his condition, he won't be able to understand what hits him."

"Yeah, well, thanks," Hutch sighed, forcing a smile on his face. "I'll do what I can."

"I know you will. Ken," her voice held him back once more.

"Yeah?"

"Take care."

"I will."

"Not only of him," she added and turned before he could reply something.

"`Kay, buddy," he smiled at his friend when he returned to the reception and placed a protecting arm around Starsky's shoulders. "Let's get you home, c'mon."

"Yes, Hutch."

Hutch shot him a glance, suppressing a sigh. "Yes, Hutch," he muttered under his breath and led his partner out of the hospital.

TBC...