Two Eight Zero

by wuemsel

An undercover assignment goes terribly wrong for Starsky. NEW CHAPPIES UP

3. twoeightzero 3

Disclaimers still the same.

Thanks for the reviews, guys! Hope you´ll like the rest!

Enjoy!!!

TWO EIGHT ZERO

Part 3

Two and a half months. After two and a half months, he finally drove to his place with Starsky sitting next to him in expecting silence, and it suddenly hit Hutch that he had absolutely no idea what to do next.

Glancing at his partner, he had to fight a sudden overwhelming panic. The curly haired man didn't look sick. Exhausted, but then not much more than Hutch himself, the blond thought as he caught his own expression in the rearview mirror. They both looked like they just needed a decent meal and a good night's sleep.

'Oh Starsk, what're we doing here? What am I doing here? What if...' He forced himself to not go that road, closed his eyes briefly against the gnawing doubts.

No 'what if's! He'd made a decision--the right decision--and he'd go with it. No backing out now.

'You don't want him in another looney bin, do you, Kenny? - No, of course not! - Then stop thinking like this! It'll turn out okay, you'll see. Just... be there. - What if that's not good enough? What if I'm not good enough?'

"Hey buddy," he said, more to hear his own voice over his thoughts than to actually talk to his friend, "feels good to be out of there, doesn't it?"

Starsky blinked as if waking from a daydream, turned his head to look at Hutch and flinched. "Uh... Two Eight Zero is sorry."

Hutch sighed, exasperated, and reached out to squeeze the smaller man's shoulder. "It's okay. Sorry I startled you."

Starsky had turned to focus ahead again, but his eyes kept darting about nervously. His partner frowned.

"Hey, you okay? Y-you... you know where you are, right?"

No answer. A slight trembling increased visibly.

"Starsky. Buddy, it's okay. 'Sokay. Just me."

When again there came no reply, the blond pulled over at the side of the street and stopped, then turned fully in the driver's seat to look at his confused friend. "Starsky, it's okay. You're still with me. We just left the hospital. D'you remember the hospital?"

Memory seemed to claw its way through a thick fog inside the curly head as Starsky frowned deep and blinked rapidly. "Y-yeah," he finally whispered. "Yeah. Right. I... Hutch?"

Smiling in relief, the blond nodded and placed a warm hand on the trembling shoulder. To his utter joy Starsky didn't flinch, but feebly reached for the hand to brush against it.

"Right here, babe. Still here. I think you had a flashback or something. But you remember now, right?"

A shy glance, a slight smile. "Yeah, remember. Sorry." The gaze drifted off, thinking, then back again. "Starsky. Starsky's sorry."

Hutch stared at him with a pained expression, but as his friend's eyes searched for him, forced an approving smile on his lips. "We're almost home, buddy. There we'll..." His voice trailed off. There we'll what?! Fix it?! "... talk," he finally concluded, not convinced. "It's all gonna be okay, you'll see."

Starsky looked at him blankly. After an eternity, he gave a tiny nod. "Yes, Hutch."

Hutch returned the nod, turned and started the engine again. "Yes, Hutch," he echoed.

****

Once he'd sorted out what the panic that kept clawing at his insides was about, Hutch found it at least easier to deal with it.

He'd seated Starsky at the table in the kitchen, wanting his friend to be close, and was busy preparing something to eat. That always had a calming effect on him, and he used the distraction to contemplate the situation; coming to the conclusion that was really had him scared was his lack of a plan. A routine. Something he could hold onto while trying to get them both through this.

Normally he knew exactly what to do to make Starsky feel better. He knew the other man by heart, knew his needs and how to comfort him. But normally a sick or hurt Starsky wouldn't sit completely still at the kitchen table, watching Hutch in silence, seemingly without blinking.

Normally a sick Starsky would either whine or pretend to be okay, depending on the nature of his injury.

The silence, though, scared Hutch. It distressed him to not know what his friend needed, or even worse what he could do that would not scare him to death. There wasn't a routine to cling onto, no pattern to follow. What did Starsky need? Food and rest, yes, that was what Hutch could supply him with like any other time when his partner was sick, but--what then? More food, more rest? How did you fight a thing like this? How did you treat it?

Would it really suffice to just have him back? Hutch asked himself. For, if he had to be completely honest, that was the only idea he had. Starsky would get back to being Starsky if he was around Hutch. That was the plan.

'And a pathetic one it is, Kenny. D'you really think it will all go away like that? - Yes. At least I... want to think that. Please just let me stick to that a little longer. I'm tired. So tired. I miss him...'

That was the other thing, the one he didn't think about, didn't dare to. He was tired. He was beat. He was alone.

What he really needed was Starsky to be there for him. To tell him it'll all be okay again soon. To comfort him. To let him sleep.

But Starsky wasn't there. Hutch was alone.

Shaking his head slightly, he forced the horrific thoughts back to their hiding place, and turned to place a plate in front of his friend, smiling at him.

'We'll fix this, babe. We will. No doubts on my side, I promise.'

"There you go. Uhm... you are hungry, right?"

Eyeing the food happily, Starsky nodded with a grateful smile. "Yes. Always," he added after a moment's thought.

Hutch laughed warmly at that, but then caught the pained expression rushing through the cobalt blue eyes.

'Always, huh? Aw buddy, it's gonna be okay, I got you now. You'll get all the food you want, I promise. Tomorrow I'm going to get you the largest burrito I can find! '

Sighing a little, he squeezed Starsky's shoulder, before sitting back across from him as if to watch over his partner's eating.

"Hutch?"

The tiny question was enough for the blond's eyes snap up in excitement. Every little step towards normal behavior Starsky made seemed to cause Hutch overwhelming relief, and he felt slightly silly at the wide grin he replied with.

"Yeah?"

Starsky bit his lower lip as if trying to figure out if it'd be wise to ask what he wanted to. His gaze wandered from Hutch to the untouched plate and back.

Not wanting to urge his friend, since he was so delighted to have Starsky talking to him by his own means, Hutch watched questioningly.

"Did I do something... right?" the curly haired man finally asked in genuine wonder and at Hutch's confused look added, "If so... Will you tell me what? I want to do things right."

Hutch frowned, trying to understand. Out of pure reflex, he placed one hand on Starsky's arm almost protectively. "I don't understand, buddy," he finally admitted. "What d'you mean, 'right'? Y-you don't need to do things righ..." And then, suddenly, he understood. "Oh."

A deep sigh escaped him as he rubbed his eyes briefly while tightening his hold onto Starsky's arm reassuringly. "Aw, buddy, you don't need to do anything to get something to eat. You don't have to EARN that."

Starsky looked down again, confused, until Hutch picked up the fork he'd laid next to the plate and gently pressed it in Starsky's hand. "Here. Eat, buddy. And when you're still hungry after that, you can get more. There's nothing you have to earn," he added in a whisper, his voice a little unsteady as the whole impact of the situation hit him. "You deserve everything, babe. Everything."

As he felt moisture suddenly stinging in his eyes, Hutch rose from the table, leaving Starsky to eat and headed for the phone on the coffee table.

"Dobey," the captain's gruff voice answered after the first ring.

"Cap'n, it's m-"

"Hutch! Where the hell've you been?! I've been trying to call you all day! I thought you're sick."

"Uhm, no, I'm better. Cap'n, I... I found Starsk."

The sudden silence on the other phone sounded like a yelp, a scream, something unbearably loud, anyway, that was broken by a near whisper. "Where?"

"I can't tell you," Hutch replied and sighed. "I can't tell you anything, actually. Just that he's with me now and that he's safe. No one will come after him. It's over, that's all I can tell you."

Again, silence seemingly screamed questions at him, but all that was spoken was, "Is he okay?"

"No," Hutch answered without hesitation, suddenly feeling so shaky he had to sit down on the couch. "No, he's not okay."

"But you have him at home with you?" Dobey asked, his voice a mixture of exasperated concern and the trained gentleness of a father. "Did you go to a hospital?"

"Yes. We were there. He's not injured. Not much," he corrected himself off with a bitter laugh. "It's going to be okay. But he's... confused. It's hard to explain."

"Hutch, tell me what happened to him," Dobey said so softly, as Hutch had never heard him before.

He felt a tear slide down his cheek and brushed it away, annoyed. When he spoke again, he knew his voice quivered, but he couldn't help it. How much he longed for some... comfort. Someone to give him at least a little strength. Someone to make the exhaustion and pain and loneliness go away.

He breathed in deeply, efficiently calming himself. There was no use in breaking down now. The person he needed wouldn't help him this time.

"From what it looks like," he explained quietly, "they tried to train him for trigger-experiments."

"You're kidding," Dobey replied humorlessly, appalled.

"No. It's what they did. Guess you could call it brain-washing, but that's not really it. He remembers me and his life. He just doesn't know how to react to people. He's..." Searching for a right description, he snorted, disgusted. "Obedient. And scared. They hurt him a lot, but once he started obeying, they stopped, so he's relatively okay. At least that's what I think happened."

"Obedie..." Dobey muttered as if to himself. "Starsky."

"Yeah, I know," Hutch smiled slightly and sniffed at once more threatening tears. "It's eerie, believe me."

It was amazing how that man could talk in silence, Hutch thought, as he found Dobey's lack of a reply actually comforting.

"Anyway," the blond started again after a moment, "he knows who I am, and he's already trying to understand the changes. That is--I think he's trying. He's answering questions now and just a minute ago he asked me something by his own means. I-I mean, sure, he's scared, but he's getting th-"

"Hutch," Dobey cut his rambling off softly, "I know you waited for this all the time, but-d'you really know what you're doing?"

Hutch thought, his gaze wandering to Starsky still sitting at the kitchen table. He'd finished his meal and was now staring ahead blankly, waiting. Waiting for someone to tell him what to do.

So near and yet so far. How poetic.

"Yes," the blond finally answered quietly. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

A gruff sigh, then, "Okay, listen, I'll drop by today after work to-"

"No," Hutch interrupted him quickly. "No, Cap'n, please, I think that's... too early. I don't think he's up to..." ...facing you. The real world. "... that already. A-and I-I... I really don't think he'd want you to see him like... this," he finished lamely.

This time, there was no silence. "Hutch, I haven't seen him for almost three months too."

It weren't a superior's words, but a friend's, and a sudden wave of guilt caught the detective as he grimaced apologetically, even though Dobey couldn't see it. I'm sorry, Cap'n. You missed him too, I know. Just give me a little more time. Just a little more.

"I know, Cap'n. I know, but... Not today. Please?"

Silence again, then, "I'll see if I can make it tomorrow."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Yes, alright. And Hutch--call me if... Call me."

"I will. Promise."

"Okay." A short pause followed. "Take care, Hutch."

"I will," Hutch mumbled, but the captain had already hung up.

****

After having coaxed Starsky to eat a bit more, Hutch had suggested getting some rest and after an exhausting attempt at getting Starsky to utter his own wants and needs, had settled for more or less sending his partner to bed.

He'd then driven to Starsky's apartment to collect some clothes and dropped by at Huggy's to keep him updated.

"Hutch, man, no offence, but... d'you really know what you're do-"

"Why does everyone ask me that?! I'm there, what else can I do?! What d'you all want from me?!"

Taken aback at the blond's outburst, Huggy looked at him quietly for some time, before stating, "We want you to not fall apart, Blondie."

His mouth already open to snap, Hutch caught the concern in his friend's eyes and dropped his gaze. "I'm not falling apart."

"Oh? 'Ve you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Huggy, please, don't start." Hutch practically begged.

"Hutch-"

"No," the blond interrupted softly, not looking up from where he tiredly rubbed his eyes, his elbows on the bar. "I mean it. I know you're just concerned, and I know I look like hell, but if I break down now, Starsky's going to be admitted." To emphasize his words he looked up into appalled brown eyes. "D'you understand? They'd take him again, just like," he snapped his fingers, "that. I'd lose him."

Huggy couldn't shake the feeling that his blond friend didn't look well at all, but actually a bit--out of it himself. Paranoid. Not entirely sane. He couldn't help thinking that the last time he'd seen an expression like that in the light blue eyes had been when nursing Hutch through a fevered dream.

Yet he loved the man enough to let him say his say, sensing how important it was for Hutch to share his inner turmoil with someone. Anyone. As much as it pained Huggy, he had to admit that in a way Hutch was all alone. No matter how hard he himself would try to be there for the detective, without Starsky, Hutch would always be alone.

"He is there," Hutch continued, unaware of his friend's inner argument, "but he's sort of... locked inside all this... this crap! This number! It's like he's in there, but can't communicate or... or look out, b-because th-there's this fucking number they'd placed in his m-mind and... Oh, man," he laughed nervously, rubbing his face, "I'm rambling, I'm rambling. Won't you tell me to shut up?"

"It's okay, Hutch," Huggy muttered quietly.

Hutch glanced at him again, the humorless laughter fading, until there was only despair left on his strained features. Huggy found it hard to even look at him.

"It's not okay, Hug," he said, his voice breaking badly, though his eyes were dry, bright. "Nothing's okay. I miss him. Oh god, I miss him."

"I know. Me too."

Hutch didn't listen. He talked over his friend's words. "If they'd take him again a-and lock him away, he... he'd lose everything. I'm sure. If they put him in... in a place like that again, he'll lose himself completely. I..." His gaze dropped as if he was ashamed. "I don't think I could take it, Hug." His voice faded into a whisper, so faint Huggy almost missed it. In a way he wished he had.

"I think I'd die."

Huggy swallowed dryly, studying the bowed blond head. 'I don't doubt it, Blondie.'

"You oughta go back, bro. Curly's gonna feel lonely."

As if snapping out of a trance, Hutch slowly lifted his head, not looking at Huggy. "Yeah," he nodded and sniffed. "Yeah, right. See ya, Hug."

"You take care, Hutch," Huggy called after him and inwardly winced at the words. They sounded like a lie.

****

Hutch looked around in his living-room, his arms full of clothes, shrugged, and let everything fall onto the couch, deciding he'd deal with finding a place for it later. He then quietly sneaked over to his bedroom to check on Starsky and froze dead on the spot at the sight that met him in there.

Starsky sat on the bed, his hands lying clenched to fists next to his sides, his feet not touching the floor. He was staring ahead, blinking in a seemingly exactly timed rhythm.

He wore only what Hutch had given him to sleep in, boxers and a t-shirt, and was visibly chilled through by now, slight tremors running through his body.

"Starsky?" Hutch whispered carefully from where he stood and waited until his friend's glance wandered to meet his, before he pushed himself away from the door.

The man on the bed didn't move except for his eyes, his confused gaze following Hutch, who crossed the short distance swiftly and crouched down in front of the bed.

"Hutch," Starsky said after a moment's thought, blinking, surprised.

"Yeah," Hutch smiled warmly, keeping his tone soft, assuring. "It's me. I thought you were asleep." He more saw then felt his hand reaching out in order to touch his friend's knee, and forced it down again, keeping the space between them.

"Two Eight Zero is sorry."

For once the blond managed to not let the apology act on him and let it slip by unnoticed. "Don't you want to sleep? Get some rest?"

Starsky thought about the question. He still hadn't moved, his feet hovering above the ground by mere inches, his back arched straight. Hutch thought that it was the most uncomfortable sitting position he could imagine. And somehow it reminded him of military movies.

"Did I do something wrong?" Starsky asked in a voice strained by fear.

"No," Hutch replied quietly, gently, not at all with the dismayed force that had colored his actions the whole day long. "No, you didn't do something wrong. I just thought you were exhausted and wanted to sleep. Next time you don't want to do something I suggest, you tell me, okay?"

Starsky looked at him with a frown deepening on his forehead as if trying to figure out a complicated thought. "It's not allowed to sleep during daytime," he then informed Hutch, sounding like it surprised him that his partner didn't know that. "It's being punished."

Hutch's smile twisted a little as the words sank in, but he still kept his calm, steady outfit. "I see. Do you trust me, Starsk?"

"Yes," came the immediate answer. The lack of some "what kinda question is that?!"-glances reduced Hutch's joy at that a bit, though.

"Okay. I tell you what, if you want to sleep now, you can do that. And no one will punish you for it. I'll make sure of that."

Starsky thought about that for a second, then smiled slightly, almost giddy, like a child that'd been offered to stay up late without his parents having to know about it by a close adult. "Really?"

The blond's smile widened as he nodded softly. "Really. Are you tired, buddy?"

"Always tired," Starsky replied, subdued, a shadow rushing over his features.

'Sleep withdrawal,' Hutch thought while coming to his feet slowly to gather up the crumbled blanket next to Starsky's trembling body. 'Great for punishment, I bet.'

He stopped in his tracks to wrap the blanket around his friend and looked down at him. "May I?" he asked softly, gesturing with the cover.

Starsky looked at him blankly.

"You're cold, buddy. You're shaking."

"Yeah," Starsky nodded sadly. "I know."

Confused at what that reply meant, Hutch sat down next to him, but again stopped before laying the blanket over his friend's shoulders. "Is it okay if I touch you? You don't have to be afraid, I won't hurt you."

A quick glance, then Starsky nodded slightly, and Hutch gently wrapped the blanket around him, easing him back on the bed so that he leaned against the headrest with Hutch sitting next to him.

"Better?" Hutch asked softly, brushing a tender hand over the side of the curly head that moved almost involuntarily, seemingly seeking the offered comfort, so that Hutch kept on the stroking motion.

"Yeah," Starsky answered, "better."

"Good."

"Hutch?"

The quivery whimper sent the blond head bending a bit to catch the confused look in his friend's midnight blue eyes. "What, buddy? What is it?" As he felt a change in the trembling of the shoulders he held, he squeezed Starsky tighter, reassuringly. "What's the matter, babe? You scared? You don't have to be, it's just me. Just Hutch."

"I don't understand," Starsky muttered, and Hutch saw a tear drop onto the blanket.

Gently, he lifted his free hand to brush over the wetness on his partner's cheek. "What, Starsky? You don't understand what?"

Starsky sniffed. It was the most pathetic sound Hutch had heard him utter in a long time.

"It's okay, buddy," he urged. "You can tell me."

"I don't know what I did right," Starsky whispered, flinching at his own words, at the prospect they obviously held for him. "I want to understand, so I can do it again, but I can't figure it out."

Hutch's heart didn't give him the relief of breaking, the stabbing, clawing pain in it so much he had to gasp. "Buddy-"

"Cold," Starsky continued absolutely earnest, really trying to understand what was going on, once more reminding his partner of a confused child, "is punishment. I know that. A-and..." Feebly, he rubbed his stomach, wincing slightly. Hutch followed the movement with shocked eyes, but before he could mention it, Starsky dropped his gaze, tensing up in Hutch's hold.

"Sleeping during the daytime is punished, a-and I knew that, but-"

"Buddy, I told you..." Hutch started helplessly, but at Starsky's sad glance hushed himself.

"You changed the rules," the curly haired man stated, and sniffed again. "I understand that. But I don't get... this," he concluded, brushing his hand over the blanket in a tiny gesture. "I don't know what I did right. I'm sorry. Two Eight Zero is sorry." He let his head drop, a picture of utter misery.

Hutch stared at him for a long time, not sure he would be able to get the words out that burned in his throat. After an eternity, he drew in a deep, bracing breath, and asked quietly, "Starsky, can I... Can I hug you? Is it okay if I hold you?"

Surprised eyes snapped up briefly to meet his, and Starsky nodded, but his muscles tensed sensitively, the moment Hutch drew him nearer. "Shhh," the blond soothed, "it's okay. I got you, babe, it's alright. Starsk, uhm, I'll try to explain it to you. So you'll understand. Okay?"

"*sniff* Yes."

"Okay," Hutch breathed and shifted their position a little, so that he could rest his chin on top of the curly head. "Close your eyes and listen. Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Good. I know it's hard to understand, but you have to try. I didn't change the rules. The rules are gone. Do you understand that?"

A short silence, then, "No."

Hutch sighed. "You were told that some things are wrong and that you'll be punished if you do them, but that's not true any longer. No one is ever going to punish you again for sleeping during the daytime or anything of that kind. No one. You're here with me now and I'll protect you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"You said you didn't forget me."

"I didn't," Starsky hurried to say and to Hutch's overwhelming delight snuggled up on his friend. "Never forgot you. Just... why it was important," he added in a little-boy voice that made Hutch smile in affection.

"It was important," he said, laying his cheek against Starsky's curls, "so that now you know I'm telling the truth."

Starsky didn't respond to that, but Hutch heard long, even breaths and felt the steady rising and falling of his friend's chest against his own. "Hey, buddy," he muttered softly into Starsky's ear, shifting him a little, "d'you want to lay back so you can sleep?"

Not opening his eyes, the curled up man shook his head against Hutch's broad chest, one hand crawling up to interlace now relaxed fingers with the material of the blond's collar. Hutch reached out to gently unclench them and take them in his own hand, when an exhausted whisper stopped him.

"Please don't leave again."

His heart breaking at the miserable whimper, Hutch hugged his friend's form closer, leaning them both back again. "Don't worry, babe, I'm here. Not going anywhere." Looking around for a second he finally made a decision and scrambled his way back down onto the mattress, dragging Starsky with him, so that he lay flat on his back on the bed with his partner nestled up on his side, his head resting in the crook of Hutch's arm.

A glad, relieved little sigh escaped the drowsy detective, and when Hutch dragged the blanket over them both, he lifted a weak hand as if he wanted to draw it over his head, but was stopped by Hutch.

"Just sleep, Starsky. I'm right here."

"Yeah," Starsky sighed, not opening his eyes. "This is nice."

Hutch couldn't help smiling at that and smoothed a stray curl from his friend's forehead. "Yeah?"

"Hm-mm. Wish it was real." With what looked like a half shrug, Starsky slid a little down until he managed to disappear under the blanket with only his nose peeking out and fell asleep before Hutch's heart started beating again.

The blond had actually felt all color draining from his skin, his partner's words acting like a physical blow, a shot or a bucket of ice cold water someone had emptied over him. Despite the warmth of the body he held he felt cold shudders working their way down his spine, and for a moment he thought he couldn't breathe.

'Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod...'

He couldn't seem to gather a clear thought, panic edging its way into rising fear. A pure animalistic feeling it was, with no reason to back it up like he didn't actually know what it was that scared him to death.

Instinctively, he tightening his grip on Starsky, nestled his face into the soft curls and blinked against the aching sensation of his eyes widening in shock against his will.

'Oh God, Starsky. Oh God.'

As a faint sound, the tiniest of moans, reached his ears, he shook his head curtly as if snapping out of a trance and, looking down, quickly released his hold onto his partner, irrational fear of maybe hurting, crushing him, flashing through his mind.

Starsky whimpered slightly when he unconsciously felt the reassuring presence of his friend being withdrawn, but even in sleep, he flinched at his own sound, bit his lip, and turned to lay flat on his back, completely still.

Hutch was out of the room like a shot, not seeing where he ran to, not stopping, until he found himself kneeling in the middle of the greenhouse, panting, retching, fighting dry heaves, crying without noticing it until he saw his own tears drop onto the floor.

Feeling as though his whole body was torn apart by panic, by something so hot and yet so cold, so very strong tearing at his insides, his mind, his thoughts, he himself curled up to a tight ball, stifling his desperate cries in the quickly soaking material of his jeans, his shirt.

When he was totally and utterly spent, near breaking down from the physical effort alone, he scrambled to his feet unsteadily, shook his aching head and slowly, quietly walked back into the bedroom.

Starsky was still asleep. He hadn't moved an inch.

Comfortingly numb, Hutch eased himself into chair in a far corner of the room and watched his partner sleep.

****

It was hours later when Hutch woke up, the first thing he felt being his head and his back having a competition in pain-waving.

"Owwwwwshi..." he muttered, lifting his hand to wipe his face, but found even that small movement increasing his back's winning chances.

'Your own fault, Hutchie, he chided himself as he slowly moved his tensed shoulders and rubbed his eyes to become more alert. You know it's a bad idea to sleep in chairs. - Yeah, right... Chairs... Why am I sleeping in a chair?'

Sitting up, he drew his hands away from his eyes and blinked against the first rays of sunlight twinkling in the room. A quiet birds' concert filtered through the slightly opened window, and the smell of morning air revived him enough to get his memory working again.

'Starsky.' Practically jumping to his feet, he ignored his body's protest. The bed was empty. Made, and empty.

"Starsk?"

Fighting rising frantic, he hurried out of the room with unsteady steps, almost stumbling over his own feet.

"Starsky! Where are you? Sta..."

As he suddenly realized the steady background noise of the shower, he froze and slowly turned to face the closed bathroom door.

"St-Starsk?" he asked tentatively, giving his voice no chance to be heard over the roaring water. "You in there?"

'He stands up on his own?! Aw, Hutchinson! Listen to yourself! Of course he gets up on his own! D'you think he'd wait for you to order him to...'

But then if he was honest, yes, that was exactly what he'd have expected. The true nature of his utter surprise unnerving him immensely, Hutch decided to be grateful for small favors and play "normal day" for the time being.

So he turned with a parting glance over his shoulder and shuffled over to the kitchen to make some coffee.

Checking the kitchen watch he found it to be five in the morning. 'God, I really don't wanna know what it took to train you to get up this early, buddy,' he thought bitterly, while leaning against the breakfast bar to once more rub his eyes. He felt as if he hadn't slept at all, exhausted, beat, and his head started to win the contest. Though, of course, his back wasn't going to go easy.

Scrambling through his cupboard with eyes squeezed shut, he produced a bottle of aspirin he always kept in the kitchen and was just about to swallow one, when he heard the bathroom door open.

"Starsk."

The curly haired man jumped at Hutch's voice behind him, and wheeled around to see him, his eyes wide with surprise for a second, before he quickly dropped his gaze.

Hutch studied him with a mixture of fear and gnawing, irrational disappointment. As if deep inside he'd expected Starsky to come out of the shower as himself again.

Sighing a little, he let his gaze wander back to the pill in his hand and swallowed it with water before slowly approaching his friend who hadn't move, but was silently dripping on the floor from his wet curls.

Hutch came to a halt in front of him and forced a light tone in his voice. "Good morning. D'you sleep alright?"

Starsky didn't answer. From where he stood, Hutch could see he'd once more clenched his hands to fists, a bit of the too long sleeves caught in the grip.

"Hey, I brought you some of your clothes yesterday," the blond said after a short pause, tugging gently at the grey sweater Starsky once more wore. "Maybe you'd like to wear your own stuff for a change, hm?"

When Starsky again failed to answer, Hutch took a small step back. "Starsky, d'you remember yesterday?" Bending his head down a little, he watched with growing relief when the curly head lifted a little. "Yeah? You remember that you're home now, don't you? I brought you back."

"Yes," Starsky nodded after a moment's thought and let his gaze drift about just a bit. "Yes, home. Remember. Hutch," he added, looking back at his partner with a smile.

Hutch returned it, stepping closer again. "Right here, buddy. You with me now, huh?"

"Home," Starsky said as if to himself, his eyes finding the untidy heap on the couch Hutch had left there the night before. "My clothes."

"Uh, yeah, I wanted to do something `bout that, honest," Hutch muttered, while quickly rushing over to the couch and starting to fold whatever he got a grip on, unorganized.

His partner's mumbles drew his attention away from the more or less mocking task, though.

"Long in the darkness this time. Wonder why."

Hutch frowned. "Starsk?"

Starsky blinked, seemingly looking back at Hutch from somewhere inside his mind.

"You okay?"

Tilting his head sideways and up, the curly haired detective thought about the question. "Fit for work," he finally stated and since Hutch was too stunned to reply anything, glanced outside the window at the morning sky. "Too late."

The words were said in such a miserable, tiny voice they made Hutch arch his brows in affectionate sympathy. "Too late, buddy? You kidding? It's practically in the middle of the night."

"Sun," Starsky said, shaking his head. "Couldn't see the sun at first in your bedroom. Sorry. Two Eigh-"

"You woke up before sunrise?" Hutch interrupted him quickly, more to cut off the apology than anything else.

The glance he received was once more surprised, scared. "Yes. Didn't oversleep."

"Well, that's a new one," Hutch chuckled, but at his partner's look grew serious fast. "You had to get up at sunrise every day?"

Nodding, Starsky made a face as he said, "Yeah, but yesterday was wrong. Everything was wrong. Went to bed too early, so it wasn't sunrise after four hours." His voice became agitated as he explained his distress, and out of reflex, Hutch briefly touched his arm to calm him down. "'Snot allowed to sleep longer than four hours."

Looking into pained cobalt blues, Hutch swallowed dryly. "You slept only four hours every night?"

"Slept more in the darkness," Starsky said and to Hutch's shock giggled a little at that. "I hope I did."

'Do I really want to know what this 'darkness' was? He keeps mentioning it. God, I hope it's not something like 'isolation'... I'm gonna ask when my head stops pounding, I promise.'

A sudden thought seemed to hit Starsky with distressing effects, as he asked dreadfully, "I didn't wake you, did I? I tried to be quiet."

"No, don't worry," Hutch muttered dryly, massaging his stiff neck, "slept like a ba... Uh, wait a second, buddy, y-you're not telling me you... wake up after four hours by yourself, do you? I-I mean you didn't..." His gaze wandering to his bedroom, Hutch closed his eyes shortly. "Starsky, did you woke up four hours after you fell asleep last night and waited for sunrise all the time?"

"Yes. But it's okay, waited in waiting position."

"Waiting posi-"

"Can't be punished for that. Did it right." Starsky was visibly happy about his accomplishment.

Hutch, on the other hand, felt his headache increase at every word his partner uttered. 'Oh, this is so how I want ALL my days to start... A line from "Alice in Wonderland" popped up in his mind. "Too many difficult things before breakfast" or what was that? Yeah, right, too many horrific discoveries before coffee.'

"Yeah, buddy, it's okay, no one will punish you," he said tiredly, and wiped his eyes with his thumb and index finger, deciding he needed his coffee now. "So, you wanna get into your own clothes and then maybe have some breakfast?"

Starsky looked at him blankly.

'Okay, one more time.' Hutch sighed deeply. 'I need more aspirin, I really do. My head's killin' me!' "Starsk, d'you like this thing?" He tugged at the sweater again.

Starsky looked down on himself. After what felt like an eternity to Hutch, he shrugged.

"I bet you hate it," the blond said. "Right? It's grey and it's too large. They obviously got your taste in sizes all wrong."

The teasing went by unnoticed.

Hutch more heard himself than actually acted when he let out a frustrated breath at the silence and started, "Starsk, c'mon, go cha..."

'Hey! '

Biting the rest of the sentence of, Hutch pressed his lips together as if physically restraining himself from completing the order. Watching Starsky over his fingertips that rested against his nose, he finally tried again. "Do you want to change into something you like, buddy?"

Silence.

"It's perfectly okay if you want to. And, hey, don't let the fact that I drove all the way to your apartment to collect your stuff influence you in any way."

The dry comment more or less slipped out of his tired mind, yet the effect it had was unexpected.

Slowly, a grin spread on Starsky's face, and after a short while he marched over to the couch to pick up a few things and head for the bedroom.

Following him surprised, Hutch shrugged, let the relief wash over him as some comfort to his tiredness, and turned for his coffee.

When Starsky returned to the kitchen, he wore his own sweat pants and one of his beloved striped shirts. Hutch couldn't help grinning at him, the sensation of having his friend here with him almost overwhelming.

"There," he nodded, pointing up his thumb. "Much better."

Normally the comment would have earned him at least a doubtful look, but this time Starsky smiled shyly, and brushed a hand over the striped material. "Feels nice," he agreed happily.

"Hm-mm," Hutch smiled and leaned against the breakfast bar, nursing his coffee. "What d'you want for breakfast?"

Looking up from studying his shirt, Starsky frowned. "Breakfast?"

"Uhm..." Hutch started a little helplessness, unsure what the question meant.

Starsky, though, answered it quickly. "Before work?" he added, truly astonished.

"Work?" Hutch asked, recalling his friend mentioning being fit for work before. It suddenly dawned on him that up until then he hadn't thought about what exactly Starsky had been doing all day long at that secret place. "What sort of work, buddy?"

Despite his rational self, Hutch couldn't help images from old MGM jail movies flicker through his mind, prisoners working on fields, chained up, exhausted...

"I don't know," his partner's voice drew him back to the present. "What day is it?"

"Wednesday."

For a second, there was the same look in Starsky's eyes that had been there the day before when Hutch had said his name for the first time. Surprise. Happiness. As if he was enjoying the sound of the word.

"Starsk? What work is on Wednesday?" Hutch asked softly, pushing away the dread he felt creeping up inside him. 'Do I really want to know that?'

"Wednesday," Starsky whispered, savoring the word. "I like it," he added, looking at his partner with a crooked smile, "when days have names. Don't you? It sorta helps you to keep in track of time."

Thinking that that was something Starsky could have said at any time--meaning when his mind hadn't been turned upside down--Hutch smiled affectionately. "Yeah, I guess it does. Didn't the days have names in..." His voice trailed off, he didn't know the place.

But Starsky didn't notice his distress, he just shook his head. "No. Were just days. I kept trying to count. You know, box-days and pen-days, but they switched them. Couldn't keep it up. A-and after... after the darkness... I, uh, I don't think I know how...you know, how long I've been... away," he finished sadly, sounding so much like his old Starsky Hutch could have hugged him.

Swallowing past rising tears, Hutch pushed away from the breakfast bar to approach him and lay a warm hand on his shoulder. "Two and a half months, buddy. That's how long you were gone."

"Oh," Starsky said, and thought about the fact. "Hm. Seemed longer." A wry smile accompanied the statement and Hutch nodded, the stinging in his eyes intensifying.

"Same here," he croaked, but at Starsky's distressed gaze quickly wiped his eyes. "What does box-days and pen-days mean?"

Starsky shrugged slightly. "Folding boxes and putting together pens. Work." As he talked, Hutch could actually see him lose the weary grip to reality again he'd just had a second ago. "Don't know what it is today. I hope it's pens."

"Yeah?" Hutch asked softly, slipping in his adult-to-child-tone out of reflex. "Why?"

The curly head bowed a little, until Hutch couldn't see the midnight blues anymore. "Talk to myself when folding boxes. Can't help it, it's so boring!"

Smiling at the high-pitched comment, Hutch said, "I can imagine. And," he added quietly, "they don't allow you to talk to yourself?"

"It's punished," Starsky whispered and drew in a shaky breath. "Hurts. And one day," he suddenly said, his tone dropping even more until Hutch had to strain to catch the frightened words, "they made the rain too thin. How did they do that?"

Staring at him, appalled, Hutch opened his mouth to reply something, but found himself at a lack of words, and since Starsky's gaze had already drifted off again, decided to leave the question answered for now.

"Well, you know what, buddy?" he said lightly, placing a steaming cup of coffee on the table for Starsky. "No pens today and no boxes, either. We'll have breakfast now, and you can think about what you'd like to do today. Maybe get a little more sleep," he suggested with a grin, looking at Starsky expectantly.

Hesitating at first, the smaller man finally sat down where the cup stood.

****

Despite his once more openly displayed happiness over getting food for "nothing", Starsky seemed to get distressed when it came to the actual eating part. Hutch found that whenever his partner assumed he wasn't looking, he started just shoving around what was on his plate. In addition to that, Hutch thought he could make out an increasing strained look on the dark features.

"Starsk, you alright?" he finally asked, and flinched himself when Starsky flinched at the question, but didn't answer.

"You don't have to eat if you don't want to," Hutch offered. "Maybe it's too early," he contemplated. If a person could be programmed to wake up every day after exactly four hours, there sure was also a way to time his hunger.

But something about Starsky's behavior didn't quite fit in that theory, and he hadn't mentioned it to be not allowed, either.

Studying his friend closer, Hutch frowned. "Are you feeling okay, buddy?"

"Uhm," Starsky started, glancing at Hutch pleadingly, then back down again, his hand briefly brushing over his stomach, but was instantly restrained from further movements away from the table.

Hutch followed the gesture with concern. "Are you in pain?"

A deep wince answered that, and the curly head was bowed even deeper. "Two Eight Zero is sorry." The apology was more or less breathed through increasing agony.

Detox. Aw shit, shoulda thought of that! And now he thinks he's being punished for not eating. I hate this shit, did I mention that? I definitely hate this shit!

"It's okay," Hutch muttered absentmindedly, and cursed himself for the words afterwards. Gotta stop saying that. It always sounds like he really has to apologize for something!

"Starsky, hey, can you look at me, I want to explain something to you."

Hesitantly, the smaller man obeyed. Faster than Hutch had anticipated it.

"Okay, you remember taking something back, uh, where you were? Pills maybe? Or... I don't know, injections? Something?"

"Yeah," Starsky replied blankly, like a child wanting to understand what was explained to him.

"What, pills?"

"Yeah."

That brought at least little relief to Hutch's aching head. He'd have hated the thought of his needle-fearing friend having been injected that often against his will. "Every day? I-I mean can you recall how often you were given those?"

Starsky thought, shrugged. "Before work. Not in the darkness," he added with a shudder.

'That's the first positive thing I hear about that darkness... Why then does he look as thought it'd have been better to be drugged there? Oh man, I'm going to ask about that--soon. I promise. But not now, now we have a task at our hands, don't we, Kenny? Yeah, we do.'

"So, I guess it was every day," Hutch nodded. "See, those pills were sedatives. To, uh, calm you down, so you wouldn't stop and think about what was going on."

Starsky stared at him, then down at his stomach, his expression changing into one so Starsky-like, Hutch had to smile. It looked as though the curly headed man expected some sort of alien to pop out of his insides every second. "Uh, Hutch, I'm going through detox?!" he asked, his words high-pitched, yet matching his gaze Starsky-wise.

Overwhelmed by the sudden improvement in his friend's behavior, Hutch winked, going into long-longed for banter-modus by instinct. "Piece of cake, buddy. You're gonna feel a little queasy today, but that's oughta be it."

As if for an answer, Starsky jerked from one particularly stabbing sensation in his stomach and shot Hutch a glance.

The blond arched his brows apologetically. "Uh, well, definitely queasy, it seems. D'you want to lay down?"

Starsky didn't listen, he was inspecting his belly again. "Rather have this than the stuff," he muttered.

Hutch beamed. "That's my partner. And now c'mon, we get you back to bed for another four hours. How does that sound?"

****

Hutch watched Starsky curl up on his side in bed, dragging the blanket up over the very top of his curly head, and fall asleep instantly.

The blond waited a few minutes until he was sure his friend was truly asleep, and carefully peeled the blanket back down so that it rested under Starsky's chin, trying to push away every wondering about why his partner tended to do that.

'Like he wants to hide or something. Or maybe get warmer? How cold was the 'darkness'? Or maybe that's the darkn... Aw, Hutch, c'mon, you're losing it! Just make sure he won't suffocate himself and get going!'

He'd found they were practically out of everything earlier, since he'd been sick almost up until the day before when he'd brought Starsky home, and his main focus hadn't really been on keeping up his supplies. Deciding he'd make a quick stop-by at the shop around the corner while Starsky slept, Hutch had guided his friend back into the bedroom and gotten him settled.

Now, he was about to carefully close the door behind him, when he heard sheets brushing, and turning around, he watched in dismay how Starsky unconsciously uncurled his aching body to lay on his back, his hands clenching to fists at his sides.

It was obvious that this sleeping position didn't help him fight the urgent pain in his abdomen, but only increased it, yet he stifled a whimper that threatened to escape and lay still.

Hutch stared, appalled, contemplating whether or not he should wake his friend. But then--Starsky would probably think he'd done something wrong. Hutch closed his eyes, feeling--knowing--he couldn't go through that again. Not this--prepared. It was different when Starsky's fear-filled questions caught him off-guard, but knowing what'd happen if he was to wake his friend now was even worse. He could feel his knees going wobbly at the mere thought, his hands becoming damp with fear.

'You're such a coward, Ken! Look at him. Think sleeping like this is doing him any good? - No, but... I-I can't...'

His eyes snapped closed in frustration. 'Now I'm stuttering in my mind! Gawd!' Without looking back, he turned, grabbed his jacket and left. 'I need a break, I really do. I need some sleep. I need more aspirin. I need...'

He physically stopped himself, almost bumping into someone walking his way on the sidewalk.

Starsky. He needed Starsky. He needed his friend to tell him that it all would turn out okay. That they would make it--together.

It seemed that now that he got him back, he missed his partner even more. Missed him to help him talk to this frightened, increasingly disturbed, strange man he had in his apartment with no idea how to help him.

'Starsky would know, wouldn't he? Starsky's good at this. He would just sit down and watch cartoons with the guy or something, and we'd figure it all out together.'

Wiping a quick hand over his eyes, he continued on his way, determined, pushing all doubtful thoughts aside into a dark, hidden corner of his mind where the light of acknowledgement couldn't reach them.

****

He felt that something was wrong the moment, he closed his front door behind him softly. A sudden shudder grabbed him, as if silence was cold.

Oh please, no. He begged over and over in his head, while he put down the brown paper bag of groceries, just there where he stood, next to the door, and swiftly made his way to the bedroom, his steps sped up by dread.

'Please, please no.'

Without permitting himself to stop and brace himself at the door, for he feared he wouldn't open it then, he entered his bed-room his head already dropping before the rest of his body had come to a full stop.

"Starsk."

His partner sat on the bed. Eyes open, feet over the edge, hands resting at his sides. This time, though, he was not only shivering from the cold that had crept up his bare arms and legs, but also the visible discomfort his stomach and head confronted him with. There was a slight sheen of perspiration on his face, and though he tried, he couldn't fight the tiny spasms that every so often contorted his pale features.

Hutch was devastated. For an irrational second the idea of simply turning around, throwing the door shut and leaving crossed his mind. Instead, he sighed deeply, let the hand that'd held the doorknob fall limply at his side and looked at his miserable partner pleadingly.

"Starsk... Wh-what..." Cutting off his own words, he crossed the space between them, but kept himself from sitting down next to his friend.

"Hutch," Starsky's happy whisper drew his gaze from where he'd scrambled the crumbled blanket off the mattress.

"Right here, babe," he said tiredly, but forced a tiny smile on his lips. "Right here. I'm sorry I left. I shouldn't have left. Uhm, you want this blanket?"

Starsky didn't look, his eyes were focused on Hutch, the joy over his presence so evident in them Hutch felt a sudden wave of protectiveness rush through him, strong enough--for the moment--to keep him going.

'Oookay, Kenny, here we go again.' "Hey, buddy, you cold?"

When no answer came, he nodded matter-of-factly. "Yep, you're cold. Is it okay if I cover you with this?" He lifted the blanked a bit, arching his brows inquiringly. "Touch you? We did this yesterday and it didn't hurt, right? So--okay?"

At his soft, exhausted tone, the content expression on Starsky's face visibly faded. "You're mad at me?"

"No," Hutch replied quickly, guilt hitting him bright and hot like a lightening. "No, babe, I'm not mad at you. Why would I be mad, hm?"

Starsky didn't answer, but his head dropped.

"Starsk. Buddy..." Hutch continued, dismayed. "Hey, I'm sorry if I'm sorta... cranky here. But I'm not mad at you. I'm just... It hurts me when you hurt. And you're in pain. Starsk? C'mon, buddy, look at m..." Before Starsky could obey the order, he quickly lifted his hand as if to stroke the curly hair, asking, "Can you look at me? Please?"

Slowly, Starsky complied, moisture glittering in his eyes.

"Hey," Hutch asked so softly it was almost a whisper. "Hey, babe, what is it? What... Uhm..." He looked at his hand, then back at Starsky. "Can I touch you? Is it okay?"

Starsky sniffed, blinking fast. Yet, he couldn't restrain a single tear to make it through the paling of his lids and down his cheek.

Hutch brushed it away without thinking. "Starsk," he begged. "What is it? What? Please tell me. Did I hurt you? What? Did I do something? Wh-why didn't you sleep? Was it because I was gone? I just went shopping. I meant to came back. I didn't LEAVE."

He didn't know he was crying himself, when he felt a tear drop onto his hand. Ignoring it, he looked into his friend's watery blue seas, searching for the answer. "Buddy, tell me. Why did you... wait for me like this? Huh? I didn't tell you to do that, did I?"

To his utter surprise, Starsky answered. "No, but... Y-you..." He trailed off and sniffed.

"What?" Hutch urged, one hand finding the back of his friend's neck to caress it.

"L-last time you left, I... I stayed in waiting position and..." He cut himself off, casting Hutch a pleading look. "I didn't know it was wrong. I'm confused. Confu... Two Eight Zero is sor-"

"No," Hutch interrupted him with more force than he'd intended. "No, you don't need to be sorry. I just want to understand what I did that made you think you have to wait for me like this. I won't punish you for it," he added, stroking back through Starsky's curls.

His partner followed the gesture with his head, searchingly.

"Last time," Hutch started softly, "when I found you like this I told you it wasn't necess..." As the images displayed themselves, it clicked. "I hugged you," he remembered. "I hug... That it?" he asked what he could see of Starsky's curly head. "You thought when you wait for me again, I'd hug you?"

"I..." Starsky started, scared to the verge of trembling. "I... Two Eight Zero is sorry."

Hutch couldn't help the tears falling in earnest now as he sat back on the bed, more or less scooping his partner up until he had him cradled against his chest like a child, his own face buried in the thick curls.

"Buddy, you don't need to... to earn a cuddle. You don't need to earn anything from me. I'm..." He stopped, when he felt his friend flinch in his arms and curl up more. "You're in pain, aren't you?"

A tiny nod brushed against his chest.

"Aw, Starsk," Hutch sighed, hugging him tighter. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not having thought of it earlier. It was SO Starsky to seek physical comfort when he was hurting like this, and it was also pretty logical he wouldn't be able to initialize it in his condition.

"Shhh," the blond soothed, letting himself fall in his own, comforting routine of taking care. "I'm here, babe. I'm right here. It's okay. I got you."

Like the evening before, Hutch eased them both back against the headrest, never letting go off his partner's steadily relaxing form, listening to him finally falling asleep.

This time, though, he didn't leave, but kept his head resting against the headrest, staring up at the ceiling. He wept silently, careful as to not wake his partner.

"I'm here," he whispered. "I-I'm... I'll try, Starsk," he cried into the soft curls underneath his chin, "I'll try to make it. I promise. But it's so hard." Unconsciously, he tightened his hold on Starsky, snuggled up on him. "So hard. Wish you were here. I miss you, buddy. God, I miss you. I miss you."

He kept on repeating the soft whisper until a merciful slumber caught him like a disturbed stray cat to give him some rest after all.

****

The pain in his back woke Hutch up, and checking his watch he found that he hadn't even slept an hour. Not enough time to give his aching body any rest, but obviously whatever tiny enemies had settled inside his head found it more than enough time to build up an army that was having constant field exercises behind his forehead.

So the very first thing he heard upon his entering the conscious world was his own low groan, followed by a startled whimper when he tried to lift one hand to rub his eyes and accidentally pushed Starsky head, that had begun to rouse at the sound, back against his chest.

"Uh, sorry, buddy," he muttered, ruffling his friend's hair apologetically. He found it strangely hard to focus, even after he'd wiped the sleep out of his eyes.

"Hutch?"

The tiny question drew his attention to where his partner had carefully scrambled his way out of the embrace and sat across from him on the bed, scrutinizing the blond's appearance. It was an expression Hutch had seen on Starsky's face so often that the familiar instinct it rose alone had a somewhat calming effect on him. Going into 'hiding-things-from-Starsk'-modus, he briefly bent his neck and forced the evidence of pain to vanish from his features.

"Yeah, right here. You want to go back to sleep?"

The smaller man tilted his head to his right, narrowing his eyes a little, yet Hutch could see he didn't dare to verbalize the concern that twinkled in his eyes. Instead, he wiped the traces of sleep from his own face, and shook his head slightly.

Hutch sighed. If he had to describe that gesture, he'd settled for a Starsky-one on low force. "How d'you feel?"

Bowing his head as if to forward the question to his stomach, Starsky shrugged.

Deciding with a smile that that had to make do as an answer, Hutch patted his arm lightly and started to jump out of bed, only to find himself more or less crawling onto his feet, leaning one hand against the wall for support.

'Come on, pull yourself together, Kenny. That's just sleeping upside twice in a row, no big deal.'

He had to admit, though, that the bright stars disturbing his vision unnerved him. Shaking his head to clear it, he pushed himself off the wall, willing his knees to keep him upright.

When he looked up again, he found Starsky's inquiring look upon him, and managed a crooked smile. "Oookay, buddy, what d'you wanna do? Hm? Maybe..." He looked around as it thinking. Man, he felt woozy. He really ought to sit down, he decided. "You hungry? You know, you should eat someth..."

As his friend's gaze changed into a silent plea, he lifted his index finger, nodding. "Aw, right. Stomach. Sorry. Forgot. Hmmm... Hey, how 'bout some TV? Hm? It's, uh, afternoon," he stated after having checked his watch. "I bet there're some cartoons on. You like cartoons, remember?"

Though the doubtful expression never left his midnight blues, Starsky nodded, opened his mouth, but closed it, studying the sheets as if scared.

"Starsk?" Hutch asked softly, taking a tentative step forward. To his relief, the sudden dizziness seemed to have gone. "What's the matter, buddy? You okay?"

"Y-you gonna watch... with me?"

Smiling affectionately, Hutch crouched down in front of him and tugged at his arm playfully. "Sure I will."

"But you don't like..." Starsky started, but trailed off, apparently sad about the stated fact.

"Aw, c'mon, partner, you know I only keep saying that to keep my image. Who doesn't like cartoons?! Now, come on, get on the couch, I-"

"Yes, Hutch," Starsky replied curtly and was off the bed in an instant, heading straight for the couch, where he plopped down and sat still, waiting.

Hutch's head fell forward onto the bed in frustration. 'Aw shit, Ken, that's just great! You know, maybe you could stop this "Can I, may I, is it okay"-thing right away if it's too damn difficult for you!'

Once more lost in an inner fight, he slowly pushed himself away from the bed and up to his feet, to again be greeted by a short wave of dizziness.

'I'm sorry, okay?! I'm tired, my head hurts and- - Excuses! All you have are excuses! You're pathetic, Hutchinson! Pathetic! - Yeah, yeah, yeah...'

In the living room, he gathered a folded blanket from the couch to hand it to his partner, who blinked once, then twice, then understood and accepted it with a shy grin, wrapped himself in it and curled up in a sitting position so that there was enough space left for Hutch next to him. Waiting until he could see the blond smile his thanks, he then dragged the blanket up more until he was completely hidden underneath it.

Hutch sighed quietly. "Buddy..." Feeling eerily reminded of an unnerved father facing his silly child in the evening hours, he tugged at the ends of the afghan until it loosened a little and fell down over his friend's nose.

"There. This way you can see the TV," Hutch explained patiently. "Isn't that better?"

"Sorry," Starsky mumbled, smoothing the blanket with a few fingers, but didn't drag it back up.

Hutch smiled reassuringly and turned, only then realizing his friend had failed to include his number in his apology. Casting him an almost proud look, Hutch grinned, but decided not to mention it out of fear Starsky might believe it to be a mistake.

'Be glad for small favors, huh, Hutchie?'

"Be there in a minute, buddy, I've to get this into the kitchen first, 'kay." He pointed at the forgotten grocery bag by the door and on his way switched on the TV. A noisy, squeaky, colorful cartoon involving two ridiculous looking dogs appeared on the screen as if on cue.

Glancing at them for a second over his shoulder, Hutch sighed and picked up the bag.

'Gee, I hate cartoons. Why do they always have to be this... dumb?! And-loud! he added, briefly holding his aching head with a free hand. Did I bring beer? God, I hope I did. Cartoons without beer--now that'd be a real punishment...'

"Hey, buddy," he announced from the kitchen, where he put away the few groceries he'd brought (among them--to his utter relief--a six pack), "brought you some candy for, uh, maybe later, when you're stomach's through troubling you. You know," he added in a lower, almost bitter voice, only for himself to hear, "all sick kids get candy."

Shrugging off the memory, he grabbed a beer and strolled back to the couch, plopping down next to his partner heavily.

"So, what'd I miss? What's that, a bird?" he inquired, pointing at a blue reddish dog. It was a habit that usually drove Starsky nuts and had led to the curly headed detective avoiding watching cartoons with his partner around.

It wasn't that he'd expected Starsky to answer his teasing, yet the complete lack of any reaction made him turn his gaze questioningly, and at the look he was faced with, he lowered his beer, concerned.

"Starsk?"

Starsky blinked, his forehead wrinkled in a deep frown. "Candy," he muttered.

Hutch widened his eyes, surprised. "You want candy? Now?"

But his partner didn't hear him. He was lost in a place he hadn't seen in a while. His memory. "You... You brought me candy in..."

"In San Diego," Hutch finished the whispered stammering, almost dropping his beer. Excited, he turned to fully face Starsky. "Yes, Starsky, yes I brought you candy in... You remember San Diego?"

The smaller man blinked again, a slight hint of accusation flickering on in his eyes. "Not enough," he said like a sulking little boy.

Hutch laughed. "Right, it wasn't enough. Sorry, pal, had to get it past the guard."

"Isolation," Starsky muttered, suddenly subdued, staring ahead at a frightening picture inside his head. Hutch could feel him start to shiver.

Dragging the blanket tighter around the drawn shoulders, Hutch kept his hands resting on his friend's neck, caressing it soothingly.

"Isolation... hurts," the confused detective whimpered and curled up more, his nose buried in the blanket covering his knees. "D-don't let them..." he stammered. "Hu-Hutch?"

"Shhh, shhh, I'm right here, buddy. Right here. I won't let them get you again. I promise, Starsk. No isolation. Never again."

"Hurt," Starsky moaned, catching a tiny sob in his throat. "Hutch, it hurt so much."

"Oh, I know," Hutch soothed. "I know it hurt. I know. But it's not gonna happen again, you hear me? It's not gonna happen again."

"'M scared."

"I know you are, babe, but it's okay. Shhh, Starsky, it's okay."

He could feel that Starsky wasn't crying, but growing increasingly distressed, his hands releasing their grip onto the blanket and scrambling at Hutch's shirt to seek comfort from the only person that could provide him with it.

Letting Starsky cling to him, Hutch slid nearer on the couch so that he could hold his shaking partner in a reassuring embrace, all the while keeping up his quiet soothing.

"Hutch?" Starsky finally interrupted him softly, his face hidden in some small cave made out of the couch, the blanket and Hutch himself.

"Yeah?"

"What... I mean, what..." He drew in a shaky breath. "What was it?"

"Isolation?"

"Hm-mm," Starsky nodded against Hutch's side. The blond could feel him tense up in anticipation of the answer.

He closed his eyes. "Electro shock treatment."

"Oh." A pause, stretching into silence, until Hutch could no longer bear it.

"Starsk?"

"I-is that wh-why I'm... why I'm being so... weird?"

Hutch's eyes snapped open, out of reflex, he hugged his friend closer. "Oh, Starsk, babe, you're not weird! You're confused a-and scared and... I don't know how you feel right now, but we'll fix it, okay? Huh?" he added, pushing away just a bit so he could look right into Starsky's face. "Won't we, partner?"

But whatever had been there that had sounded so much like Starsky, it was fading in front of Hutch's eyes, leaving only a number behind.

"Starsky?"

The smaller man didn't respond. The trembling subsided.

A tiny, lonely tear cascaded down Hutch's face when he reached out and nudged his friend's cheek. "Hey, y-you'll miss your c-cartoons," he croaked, and nudged again, until Starsky turned to the TV again, snuggling up on Hutch's side to watch the rest of the show.

****

'And if I live to a hundred years, I'll never ever understand what it is that drives parents to allow their children to watch this crap. I mean, what's this supposed to teach you--go get yourself thrown off a cliff by an obviously sky-high squirrel?! And why the hell is this thing winning all the time, anyway? It's not even clever! It just gets lucky! Gawd, if that fucking dog doesn't get the squirrel right now I think I'll jump off a cli-'

A loud knock on his front door interrupted Hutch's inner rambling that had been going on for two hours by now--the time Starsky and he'd been playing couch potato with his curly haired friend visibly relaxing until he was almost settled in his usual TV-sprawl.

There were some things you just couldn't train away, weren't there?

"Hutch? It's me, Captain Dobey," the second knock was accompanied with, and Hutch, who'd slowly started to crawl off the couch, froze in his tracks, his gaze wandering to meet Starsky's.

"Just a sec, Cap'n," he called out and sat back on the armrest, studying his partner. "Starsk, you remember Dobey, don't you?"

"Uh... Yes. I... I think," Starsky muttered, bowing his head.

"Okay, uhm, he really wants to see you. You know, check on you. To make sure you're okay. But if you don't feel like visitors, that's okay. You don't have to see him if you don't want to."

Starsky opened his mouth as if to respond, but thought differently, huddling back in the corner of the couch, nervous, afraid.

Hutch sighed. "Listen, buddy, if you don't want to, that's fi-"

"No," Starsky whispered, seemingly swallowed his fear and looked up. "No, I... I'd like to... see... him," he finished with an unsure smile that to Hutch looked as though he was about to cry every second.

"Uh, you sure?"

"Y-yes," the smaller man answered. "Yeah, sure." Clumsily, he clawed his way out of his blanket made cave to stand next to the couch.

Hutch watched him with discomfort, but at the expectant glance he found himself the target of, shrugged and turned to open the door.

"Hey, Cap'n. Sorry `bout the waiting, we... uh, come in," he gestured, holding the door open for his superior.

"Hutchinson," Dobey greeted him. Hutch could hear the nervous quiver in the older man's booming voice.

On entering the living room, his steps slowed to a stop as his gaze found Starsky, who stood behind the couch, fingers clenched in the material of the headrest.

"Starsky," the captain greeted him in a voice so normal Hutch had to give him credit.

"So," Dobey said after a short, uncomfortable pause, "you boys are watching cartoons, huh? Tough life."

"You have no idea," Hutch commented, rolling his eyes.

Grateful for the offered bantering, Dobey cast him a quick glance. "You tellin' me, I have two kids."

Hutch grinned slightly, prepared to shoot back a reply, but at the sight of Starsky visibly paling and holding a hand to his stomach, he swiftly crossed the distance to him and reached out to gently grab his arm.

"Hey, buddy, d'you wanna sit do-"

He bit his lip, startled, when his partner flinched, scared.

'Uh uh.'

"H-hey Starsk, buddy it's okay," he stuttered, shooting Dobey a helpless look. "Everything's fine. Just me, you remember? Just me and Captain Dobey. Remember? Starsk?"

'No, no, no, Starsky, don't do this, c'mon, pleeeeaaaaase don't!'

But he couldn't ignore the fast increasing distress on his partner's face as he backed away a step, then froze in shock at what he'd just done and bowed his head, visibly shaking like a leaf by now.

"Two Eight Zero is sorr-"

"No, Starsk! No, c'mon, don't... d-don't apologize, please. Please, just... Hey, look at me," Hutch pleaded, bending to look into midnight blue eyes, Dobey all but forgotten.

To his utter frustration, Starsky obeyed instantly. "Yes, Hutch."

Snapping his eyes shut curtly, Hutch cursed inwardly, and drew in a deep, calming breath. "Just-"

"Dave."

Surprised, the blond turned to look at Dobey. He'd totally forgotten about his superior's presence and was somewhat shocked at the pained expression he saw on the other man's features.

'Look, Ken. That's how you look all the time. Helpless.'

Just in that moment a sudden stabbing ache in his stomach sent Starsky almost doubling over, and he jerked away from Hutch's steadying hand violently enough to stumble back and against a nearby wall.

'Oh God, Starsk, please,' Hutch begged constantly in his mind, raising his hands in front of himself as if he was approaching a wild animal he'd cornered.

"Starsky, calm down, it's okay, it's-"

"T-two Eight Z-zero is sorry. Two Eight Zero is sorry," Starsky muttered pleadingly. He slid down a little, but caught himself against the wall and pushed himself up again, his head bowed. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he whined, seemingly delirious with fear.

"Oh God, Dave."

Ignoring his captain's appalled whisper, Hutch took a tentative step forward, but stopped when Starsky flinched.

"Buddy, please, calm down. Hear me, Starsk, it's me, Hutch. It's okay, it's-"

"Sorry. Two Eight Zero is sorry. Two Eight Ze-"

"Starsk!" Hutch almost yelled.

Starsky instantly shut up, his eyes meeting Hutch's.

"I w-want you to g-go in the bedroom and wait for me. Now."

The smaller man obeyed without a thought. "Yes, Hutch." Not looking at Dobey again, he walked swiftly to the bedroom.

"Close the door," Hutch called after him. "And lay down, no waiting position."

"Yes, Hutch."

The door fell shut.

A silence that could have smashed a grown up cow settled over the scenery, Hutch's weak panting the only sound audible. After what felt like an eternity, the blond turned and leaned against the wall Starsky had occupied before, casting Dobey a weary glance.

"Did you just hear that?" he asked sadly. "I ordered him to do something. Fuck, I never order him to do something! That's two days of work just poof," he threw his hands in the air, exasperated, "vanished in the air. That's... Aw, Cap'n, listen to me! 'Two days of work'! I bet I sound like them!"

Dobey watched him for a second longer, then swiftly walked passed him into the kitchen. "You got something harder than beer? I need a shot. And you too," he added, glancing at the exhausted detective.

Hutch merely nodded. He felt like he'd just run a marathon. "Yeah, just sit down, I get it."

Nodding curtly, Dobey turned for the couch.

"And, Cap'n, could you turn off that goddamned stuff? It's giving me a headache."

A minute later they were sitting across from each other, both nursing their empty glasses.

"Cap'n," Hutch finally started, without looking at Dobey, "th-that's not how he usually... I-I mean... I..." He drew in a deep breath before continuing. "He has some aftereffects from the sedatives they gave him. It's been bothering him all day. I guess he thought he was being punished for something when he suddenly hurt, a-and you're new... I mean, you're... Hell, you know what I mean! What I wanted to say is he's usually not this... excited," he finished lamely.

Dobey studied him for a short while. "What does Two Eight Zero mean?" he finally asked quietly.

Hutch glanced up, shrugged. "Oh, it's, uh, it's his number," he said with a humorless smile that rushed over his lips. "It's what they called him. He told me he tried to not forget his name. Not his name and not me," he added, his throat suddenly painfully dry. "H-he... He forgot why it was important, though."

"Important?"

"Yeah, not to forget, you know."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Silence. Hutch gnawed at his lower lip nervously, his gaze fixed on the glass in his hands. "Cap'n, don't..." He couldn't finish.

Dobey sighed. "Hutch, you look like hell."

The blond shrugged. "I'm fine."

"When was the last time you ate anything?"

"I told you, he's having-"

"I'm not talking about him," Dobey cut him off. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

Again, Hutch shrugged, seemingly careless. "I don't need to eat," he stated absolutely serious.

Dobey laughed, a curt, hard sound that held no humor, and bent a bit closer. "You're beat. Are you listening to yoursel-"

"Cap'n," it was a whisper, but desperate enough to make it audible over Dobey's words.

The captain raised his brows questioningly.

"Don't take him away. Please. Don't... admit him." He waited for a second, and when no answer came, lifted his head tentatively, scared of what the reaction to his request would be. "Please."

Dobey watched the young man he'd known for so long, took in the exhaustion on the handsome features, the too bright light blue eyes, widened by pain, the seemingly chiseled deep frown on the forehead.

He sighed. "Don't worry, I won't. But," he added over the blond's relieved breath, "I think you should."

A quick glance hit him, before sparkling blue eyes found the empty whiskey glass again.

"I know what you think, Cap'n, and with all due respect, I don't care."

"I know you don't," Dobey replied quietly. "But--you should. Look at you. How long you think you can go on like this? You're worn out, Hutch. You're weak. You're-"

"I'm all he's got," Hutch said sternly. "He responds to me. He knew me right away, and he... he responds to me!"

"Of course he responds to you. No one doubts that. But that doesn't mean he's sane."

There. He'd said it. No backing out now.

"Oh, is that what you think?" Hutch snapped. "That Starsky's some sort of-"

"No," Dobey interrupted him sharply. "No, I think he's sick." He waited to let the words sink in, and continued, "I think he's very sick. So sick nothing you can do will be enough to help him."

He knew he'd make a mistake even before Hutch's icy glance hit him. "Hutch-"

"I think you better go now."

"Hutchinson-"

"I can't admit him!" Hutch suddenly yelled, loud enough to send Dobey flinching in surprise, but got his control back instantly, a tired hand fiercely rubbing his face. "He can't go to any place like that ever again, don't you understand that? It happened there! What if it happens again? What if they succeed a-and... No. Over my dead body Starsky's going anywhere like that ever again!"

Dobey watched the despair breaking through on the blond's face, his heart breaking. "You need to do something, Hutch. You can't go on like this, watching over him every day. You're not well yourself."

"I'm fine," Hutch said wearily. Suddenly he felt tired. So tired.

"You need help," Dobey insisted.

Hutch looked at him, and stood, putting the glass on his coffee table. "I have everything I need right here. And now if you'll excuse me, Cap'n, I've to look after my partner."

With that, he opened his front door in an unmistakable gesture.

Slowly, Dobey followed him, watching him sadly.

"It was nice of you to drop by," Hutch said, but bit back against the sarcasm, knowing he only took out his own frustrations on a completely innocent person, a friend. "I'll call you."

"Yes, you do that. Uh, Ken," Dobey said, before Hutch could close the door behind him, "if you want help..." He trailed off, unable to get the words out, but Hutch understood and smiled warmly.

"Thanks, Cap'n. I might come back to that."

"Hmnyeah," Dobey muffled and left.

Hutch stood in front of the closed door for a long time, his head hanging, his eyes staring ahead unseeing.

He couldn't seem to bring himself to move.

'Gotta go talk to Starsky. '

He took a step forward, his head meeting the door with a soft thud. He remained leaned against it, his eyes closing.

'Gotta talk to Starsky.'

After a few seconds, he wearily lifted his hands as if to push himself off the door, but like his head they remained on the wooden material, glued to it.

'Gotta talk to Starsky.'

Finally, he pushed--and stumbled backwards, lost his balance. Landing on his butt, he let himself sink further down until he lay on his back with his feet still on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.

'This is nice. Think I'll stay here.'

His vision swayed for an instant, the lines seemingly shifting slightly, then returning to their former places. He blinked.

'Get up, Hutchinson!'

Drawing in a deep breath, he jumped to his feet when letting go of it, grabbing empty air for support. A wave of nausea hit him, and he placed his hands on his knees, bending forward for a moment to keep his balance. When he was sure he'd make it to a standing position, he slowly straightened up again, breathing in and out deeply, calmingly.

'Oookay, Kenny, good boy. Now go in there and talk to Starsk.'

He didn't move. Stood staring at the closed bedroom door.

'What's the matter with you?! Go talk to him! Come on!'

Again, like before, he breathed in deeply and started to walk when breathing out, his steps quick, but not rushed. He opened the door in one swift motion--and froze.

Starsky lay on his stomach, facing the window. He'd taken off his t-shirt, so that Hutch could clearly see the horrific, fading marks on his back. Seemingly ever cold, the curly haired man was shaking, goose bums visible on his bare arms that were stretched above his head.

He didn't turn his head to look at Hutch, who quickly lifted one hand to wipe his eyes as if fearing he'd simply run away if he had to look for a second longer.

For the third time, he used the 'moved by breathing' trick, approaching the bed with his breathing out and sat down on the edge, next to Starsky's back. Studying the back of the curly head for a second, he finally reached out and started to softly stroke the thick, smooth hair.

Starsky flinched once, but seemed to recognize the touch and relaxed quickly.

Hutch kept on caressing his partner's head silently for a few more moments, then carefully dragged the blanket from the bottom of the bed up to cover Starsky's body, smoothing it on his friend's neck with a soothing hand.

Again, Starsky flinched, tensed, but calmed when feeling Hutch's tender gesture. As if instinctively, his hands scrambled back behind his head. Trembling fingers grabbed the edge of the blanket and began to drag it upwards.

Without making a sound, Hutch stopped them gently, unclenched them, drew the blanket a bit down again. When the now empty hands didn't move from where they rested on Starsky's head, Hutch picked them up to lay them on the mattress again, his own fingers resting on one of them, his thumb brushing the cold flesh for a while.

Starsky mewed, his head sliding closer to Hutch's hand, just a little, but enough for the blond to understand. His hand wandered down into the curls again, and he started his stroking motion again.

They sat like this for what felt like an eternity, silent. Starsky's shivering subsided until he lay perfectly still, his even breathing evident in the slight steady falling and rising of the blanket.

Hutch watched him quietly, never breaking the rhythm of his stroking. He felt incredibly tired, numb, his fingers not registering the sensation of Starsky's hair underneath them. He felt as though he would never be able to move again.

"Hutch?"

The whispered question broke through the silence like a scream, yet Hutch didn't flinch, wasn't startled. Tired. He was nothing but tired.

"Yes?" he whispered back, not stopping in his task of caressing his partner's head, not moving at all.

A pause stretched itself until Hutch thought Starsky had just wanted to make sure he was still there.

"No darkness, please?"

Starsky, too, didn't move, but Hutch sensed him tensing just a little as he waited for the blond's answer.

"No darkness," he said softly, his voice breaking at the attempt to carry it over the border of a low whisper.

This time, Starsky's reaction came immediately, and he shifted, sliding away from Hutch, his head turning so that his forehead rested on the mattress.

Reluctant, Hutch drew his hand away, looked at it briefly as if unsure what to do with it now, then placed it next to Starsky's face, his index finger caressing Starsky's cheek in the same rhythm he'd stroke his hair before.

Starsky opened his eyes, but didn't lift his head. His eyelashes brushed against the mattress when he blinked. "I can take everything else," he said, his voice muffled.

Hutch paused with his finger on Starsky's cheek.

The other man drew in a tiny, shaky breath and closed his eyes again. "Just... no darkness," he whispered into the mattress. "I-I promise I won't... scream."

A tear slipped out from under his closed lids and dropped onto the soft material directly under his eye. "Just no darkness," he begged, his voice almost not audible anymore.

Shocked despite his exhaustion, Hutch watched his friend's shoulders tense up under the blanket, his whole body going stiff, his head bending until his chin touched his chest, the curls brushing against the mattress.

Seconds passed. Starsky lay on the bed, tensed, awaiting his punishment.

Hutch stared, his hand now lying flat next to his friend's face. When he lifted it slowly, Starsky flinched violently. Just once, before he fought for control, his fingers clawing at the sheet above his head.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Hutch breathed in and out slowly, deeply, then looked at his partner again. Carefully, he grabbed the edge of the blanket and drew it down, exposing Starsky's back.

If possible, the smaller man tensed up more, a tiny, heartbreaking whimper reaching Hutch's ears.

The blond sat bent over his friend, studying the dark spots on his back. They were fading, some of them had already healed, but still the damage was visible. The images they filled Hutch's mind with were unbearable.

Starsky lying on his stomach on some table, shaking with fear, stifling panicked whimpers while waiting for some huge, dark figure to torture him with wires, to cover his back with burns.

Hutch looked away, breathing through his open mouth with a wheezing sound like a sob. His eyes were so dry it hurt. As if they ached for tears.

"I-I promise I won't... scream," Starsky's voice echoed in his mind. 'Screaming's not allowed. Screaming will be punished. With darkness. They did this to you and you weren't allowed to scream?!'

Hot fury broke through the surface of control and he had to close his eyes to banish it. 'No one will ever pay for this! No one will ever pay for what they did to him! "We are very sorry for what has happened to him." Sorry! You're sorry, you bastards! You fucking bastards are sorry?! I should kill you! I should burn down your goddamned torture hall with everyone inside! I should... I...'

Finally, a tear slid down his face, so hot it seemed to scald his skin. He sniffed, wiped it away, and looked at the injured back before him again.

Maybe it was the relieving sensation of being able to cry or maybe just the realization of the futility of his hateful wishes, anyway, Hutch snapped out of the trance-like state he'd been in, sniffed and gently dragged the blanket back over his friend again, stopping at the neck, where he let his hands linger for a moment.

Starsky's head slowly moved, hesitantly, his eyes opening to cast Hutch a fearful, confused look. At the blond's quivery smile, he turned his head fully, looking at him for the first time since he'd entered the bedroom.

Hutch sniffed back more tears and brushed a stray curl away from Starsky's eyes, relieved nearly to the point of laughing when his friend neglected to flinch.

Instead, Starsky rolled onto his side slowly, facing Hutch. "You're not going to punish me?" he asked incredulously.

A mixture of a sob and a laugh, a sound of pure desperation, escaped Hutch as he softly shook his head. "No."

Starsky frowned. "Later?"

"No," Hutch answered, weeping in earnest now. "Not later, Starsk. Never. I won't ever punish you."

Starsky looked at him quietly for a few moments, then pushed himself up to a sitting position, one hand carefully reaching out to hesitantly touch Hutch's cheek. "Don't cry," he pleaded, his brows arched in shared pain.

Some things you couldn't train away.

Again, Hutch was caught between a sad laugh and a sob. He didn't capture the hand, but allowed himself to enjoy its brief, soothing contact, before Starsky drew it away again, scared the gesture might have been a mistake. The blond head followed it a little, searchingly, but was restrained from his inquiring motion quickly.

Starsky grew increasingly distressed as Hutch wiped at his eyes without much effect.

"I'm sorry," the blond mumbled, fighting against the shuddering sobs that shook him, sensing his partner's frantic confusion. It was obvious Starsky ached for him, just like he always did. He wanted to help Hutch, wanted to comfort him--but was too scared to do it. Hutch hated himself for putting the other man in such an unfair situation.

"I'm sorry, buddy," he repeated, drawing in deep breaths to calm himself. "I'm so sorry, Starsk." But his litany of apologies only increased his feeling of guilt, and he cried even harder. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He bowed his head, covered his face, his shoulders shaking violently.

Starsky watched in horror, near tears himself by now. From time to time he'd open his mouth, but no words come out. Then, he'd reach out for the man he couldn't stand to watch in such agony, the man he wanted to comfort now more than anything else in the world. But as soon as his fingers would touch the blond, fear would stop him, and he would draw his hands away, suddenly scared.

"Don't cry, Hutch," he begged again after a while. Hutch had still not been able to calm down. "Please. Don't cry. Wh-why're you... Y-you hurt?"

The blond head lifted at that, watery eyes blinking to send more tears running down the damp cheeks. "Yeah," he nodded, his voice breaking, hoarse, "yeah, buddy, I hurt." Grasping Starsky's hand that lay limp on the mattress, he let his head fall down again. "Yes, I hurt."

Starsky frowned, looked at the hand holding his and back at the mop of blond hair in front of him. "Two Eigh... Starsky is sorry," he said. "Starsky's sorry you hurt, Hutch."

Hutch sniffed, too spent to cry more at this. "It's okay," he said without looking up. "It's not your fault. It's okay."

A yawn broke off the next words. Without being aware of it, Hutch tilted to his side, his head seeking the support of the mattress, his body aching for sleep.

Starsky slid away to give him room, his hand squeezing Hutch's. But the blond didn't notice, he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. A few tears were still able to escape his closing lids, but after them there came no more.

Studying Hutch for a few seconds to make sure he was deeply asleep, Starsky brushed the last damp streaks off his friend's face tenderly.

Hutch whimpered softly when the contact was broken again, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead.

Hesitantly, Starsky touched Hutch's head again, his fingertips smoothing the frown away, then wandered to lightly stroke through the tousled blond hair. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, when Hutch gave a happy sigh in his sleep, the strained expression on his face being replaced by one of relaxation, peace.

For a moment, he couldn't understand how he ever could have been scared of the blond. This was Hutch. Hutch, who loved him, cared for him. Hutch, who'd never hurt him, who'd do everything to keep him safe. Hutch, who'd brought him home.

Home.

Starsky stopped, his hand resting on Hutch's forehead.

Home?

Carefully, he looked over his shoulder. The bedroom door was open. He knew this place. Hutch's place. He looked down at Hutch, who was starting to squirm a little, his head seemingly nudging Starsky's hand, pleading to continue the comforting motions.

Hutch meant home, right? Right.

But Hutch had been there before, hadn't he? Hutch had always been there.

Starsky swallowed against the fear in his throat. He continued to stroke the blond hair, but kept looking over his shoulder, tensing.

Hutch had been away for a while. Maybe because of the darkness. Things like that kept happening in the darkness, Starsky knew that. What had been there before would vanish in the darkness. He could remember once having seen Hutch in the darkness. He'd sung for him.

That'd been nice.

'No, no, no, don't dream now, think, think.' Hutch had been there before, but then he'd been gone. Until now. What did that mean?

Home, Hutch had brought him home. But--he'd been here before. Some things weren't real. Was home real?

Was Hutch?

'Think, think, think! Don't get scared! Don't get scared! Think! Before... What was before? Before was home. Home was real. Home was real, David Starsky was real. Real name. Me. Starsky. Real. Hutch was real. Hutch was... But in the darkness he wasn't real. No, no, no, don't get scared! Think! Hutch has always been real! Hutch was real before, work was real before. Work... Box-folding. Box-folding was real bef...'

He stopped. Box-folding had been real. Punishment had been real. Home had been real.

'Think, think, think!'

He was so close. He could feel it. He was so close to understanding what had happened. There was this thought he wanted to grasp, but it kept squirming away like a small animal, too fast for him.

Hutch had been gone, and now he's back again. Back.

He flinched. Back... where?

'Think, think, think! Don't let yourself get tricked again! Where are you? Where-'

A sudden whimpering sound made him snap out of his frantic thoughts. Looking down, he saw that Hutch was dreaming, his head slowly lolling from side to side. His features were strained again, and he was mumbling something in his sleep. His fingers twitched next to his body.

"S-Starsk... No..."

Starsky looked over his shoulder. No, they hadn't heard it yet. "Shh," he soothed nervously when he turned to Hutch again. "Shhh, Hutch, don't dream. It's not allowed to dream."

But Hutch didn't hear him. He was squirming under Starsky's restraining hands on his arms, the pupils behind his closed lids moving rapidly as he watched some inner horror movie he couldn't switch off. "No. G-get away from him."

Scared beyond listening to his friend's words, Starsky checked the door again, all the while trying to calm Hutch down. "Hutch, don't dream. Calm down. Don't dream. Th-they're going to punish you. Don't want you to be punished."

He swallowed dryly, his nervous hands stroking the blond head once more. "Don't dream. I-if they hear you, they're gonna take you away again. I'm sure they will. They took you away before."

"Starsk!" Hutch cried out softly, but didn't wake up, not even, when Starsky covered his mouth with his hand, glancing at the door again in fear.

No one came. They hadn't heard yet.

Looking at his partner again, Starsky found him to have quieted down a little. Though his head was still moving, his mumbles were lower now, less distressed.

Making a decision, the smaller man jumped off the bed, checked the living room with a quick glance through the door and carefully covered Hutch with the blanket, dragging it up over his head to stifle the sounds of his nightmare.

"Don't worry," he whispered, "when they come, I'm gonna do something wrong. They're not gonna punish you, I promise."

With that, he turned and left the room, closed the door and sat down in front of it, hugging his knees to his nose.

He'd protect Hutch. They wouldn't take him again, no they wouldn't. Resting his forehead on his arms, he waited.

TBC...