Disclaimers still the same!
Enjoy!
TWO EIGHT ZERO
Part 4
He was under water. Thick, murky, heavy water; its weight unbearable. He couldn't see the surface, couldn't get up, the pressure kept him pinned down, yet there was no ground. He struggled or he thought he struggled, his fists lashing out, his feet kicking.
He gasped for air, but found dry heat filling his throat, burning his nostrils. He coughed, retched--and woke up.
Brownish light blurred in front of his eyes, small spots of brightness sparkling through it like sunlight through a roof of leaves.
He groaned, his head responding to the light with equally sparkling pain, and rolled onto his side, burying his face into the mattress underneath him.
'What the... ?!'
Where was he? Blinking against the sheets, he tried to remember, drew in air and found it sticky, choking.
Frustrated, he kicked out at the weight on him, and suddenly fresh, thin air filled his mouth. He just lay there, enjoying the sensation of unhindered oxygen filling his aching lungs for a few moments, before his mind had cleared enough to torture him with information he didn't want to have.
He was lying in his bed, fully clothed and had been covered with his blanket. Completely covered.
'Starsky?'
He didn't register he'd only thought the name until he licked his parched lips. He coughed slightly and rolled unto his back.
"S-Starsk?"
He coughed again. His throat hurt. His head throbbed. He moaned.
"Starsky?"
No answer.
Blinking against the fading fog in front of his eyes, he forced his mind to keep spilling the memories of the last hours, his crying, his begging... Then nothing.
'No, not nothing. Starsk.... Starsk tied to... They... Uh, must've dreamed. Starsky? Where's... ?!'
"Starsk?" he asked, his voice steadier this time, and blinked his eyes open, only now noticing they'd fallen closed again. Oh God, his head hurt. At the bright light meeting him, he squeezed his eyes shut again, then very slowly rolled onto his side again, then up to a sitting position.
The air around him seemed to explode. He groaned again, lifted aching arms, rubbed his face.
He felt his body shiver violently, but he wasn't cold. Hot, he was too hot, his hands icy cold against the burning skin of his face.
"Starsky?"
Finally, he let his hands fall into his lap and looked around his bedroom. He was alone. The door was closed. No Starsky.
Without thinking, he pushed himself up to a standing position--and crashed down instantly, hitting his nose on the floor.
At least that brought him around fully.
"Fuck!"
Sniffling through a few drops of blood that threatened to emerge from his nose, he scrambled to his hands and knees, shook his head that hung between his arms, only to find out that was an unwise thing to do.
The fierce pain that pierced his skull made him stop instantly.
"Double-fuck," he breathed, closed his eyes one more until he felt the room spinning around him slow down, and carefully came to his feet again.
When he stood at last, he breathed in and out deeply for a few seconds, to be sure he'd really make it, and opened the bedroom door.
"Starsky?"
The living room was empty. He reached out for the wall to steady him and looked around the place from where he stood. The sun was setting outside the window in the kitchen corner. Bright golden and orange colors flooded the sky, thin, long streaks of rain seemingly parted it into small stripes. The air that came through the half opened window smelled like rain, fresh, grassy.
"Starsk?!" he yelled, but stopped as he had to squint his eyes due to the pain that inflamed inside his head. "Starsky?" A whisper this time.
He knew it wouldn't be answered, though. He could sense he was alone. His friend had left.
'Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. That's great, Hutchinson, just great! Terrific! Hopefully he took the CAR or somethin'!'
"Starsky!" he called out, his panic beating the throbbing behind his forehead. "Starsk, where are you?!"
Of course, there was no answer.
Ignoring his body's protests, he threw the front door open and raced down the stairs.
Outside, thick, warm drops of rain greeted him, plastered his hair to his forehead after a second.
"Star-"
He didn't have to move his head twice.
There he was. His partner. Soaked to the bone. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, looking upwards, his eyes closed, his arms hanging still next to his body, his hands clenched to fists.
'Like he's savoring the rain,' Hutch thought. 'Welcoming it.'
"Starsk?" he asked carefully, in a low voice, as he stepped closer, but when his friend didn't react, he spoke up louder to carry the concerned question over the sound of the rain.
"Buddy, what're you doing out here?"
Starsky opened his eyes, blinked once, twice, then moved his head, turned it ever so slightly to let his gaze meet his friend's, the midnight blue shrinking a little as he narrowed his eyes against the liquid falling in them.
"Hutch."
"Yeah," Hutch said and stepped closer until he could touch the other man's arm. "What're you doing out here? It's raining."
Starsky smiled, delighted. "Large drops," he said, gesturing towards the sky.
"Yeah," Hutch agreed again, running a soaked hand over his dripping face. "Pretty large. And... wet," he added, only now looking down to see he was wearing just socks, no shoes.
Starsky, who'd neglected to follow his gaze, was looking skywards again. "They made them large again. Punishment's over. Did something right. Or maybe you did," he said, glancing at Hutch.
The blond smiled tiredly. "Hey, you're welcome."
His hand still intertwined in the material of Starsky's sleeve protectively, he looked down the road in each direction. They were alone, though, the rain kept everybody inside.
"Starsk, don't you think you could look at the rain from inside?" he finally asked his friend who was absorbed in savoring getting soaked again. "Don't know 'bout you, but I'm freezing here."
Starsky turned his head to look at Hutch again. His forehead was covered by dark ringlets that were partly glued over his eyes too. Yet, he didn't make a single gesture to brush them out of the way. "Standing in the rain's allowed, Hutch," he informed his partner. "I like standing in the rain."
"Uh," Hutch said, rubbing his arms as a violent shudder grabbed him. "I'm glad you like it. B-but it's not good for ya, you know? Why don't we go back inside and-"
"You dreamed," Starsky cut him off, his voice low as if they shared information concerning a conspiracy. He even bent closer to the shivering blond. "It's not allowed to dream."
"Really?" Hutch asked and bit his lower lip as if thinking. "Well, as you see, nothing happened. Can we go inside now? Please?"
Starsky blinked, disappointed. "Don't you like the rain?"
"It's... uh... Starsk, I'm cold! Aren't you?"
"Yes," Starsky grinned and spread his arms. Now, Hutch could see he was shivering almost as badly as he was himself.
Without thinking, he crossed the short distance that kept him from his partner and laid a dripping arm around him. "You're shaking," he stated, brushing the wet curls off his friend's forehead. "I thought you don't like it when you're cold."
"But this is rain," Starsky answered as if he couldn't understand Hutch's confusion.
"What's the difference between being cold and rain?" Hutch asked.
Starsky looked directly into his eyes for a moment, then bowed his head. "Wh-when I ... When I hit the wall, I was punished."
Hutch frowned, trying to follow his friend. "What?"
Starsky didn't answer. He was studying the pavement. "Darkness. Darkness long time. 'Snot allowed to hit walls."
Wiping a cold hand over the damp skin of his face, Hutch drew in a deep breath. He could feel his feet going numb. "You hit a wall?"
Starsky nodded, ashamed.
Watching him, Hutch gently grabbed his left hand to study it. "Why?" he whispered.
Starsky looked up at him and swallowed before answering, "I obey, Hutch."
The rain was running down his face like tears. Hutch froze, his fingers over Starsky's.
"I-I... I lost mysel... I... Gotta hit something," the smaller man finally said with a nervous laugh, but bowed his head again.
Hutch felt like time suddenly stood still. The rain stood still. Everything stood still but Starsky, stammering, sniffing.
"D-don't want to... Hate to obey. B-but I do it. A-and I-I..." A deep sigh, almost a sob. "If I can't hit something, then what? What to do? What am I to..." A glance at Hutch, quick, desperate, seeking understanding. "Wh-when not that then... The rain hurts a little, Hutch. At least," he whispered, his head dropping again, "it hurts a little."
Hutch stared at the dripping mob of ringlets, as appalled as he'd been the second he'd saw him on that road.
After an eternity, he finally reached out to tip his finger under Starsky's chin, gently pushing it up so he could look into violet eyes.
"You want to hit something, babe?" His voice was merely a whisper, yet Starsky understood.
He shook his head. "W-want to... want to..." His gaze dropped. "Want to hit myself."
Hutch let out his deep breath, sobbing himself. Without thinking, he grabbed Starsky's arms and drew him in a bear hug, crushing him against his chest, his face buried in the soaked material of Hutch's t-shirt.
"Haven't you been hurt enough, buddy? You really think you need yourself kicking you too?"
He felt Starsky breathe in, then heard a tiny voice near his ear. "I obey. I shouldn't obey. I'm weak."
Hugging him even tighter, Hutch let his hand wander up to press Starsky's head down against his chest again.
He didn't say anything. Didn't know what.
****
The sun had completely set outside the kitchen window. Hutch stood, steam of the hot coffee in the cup he held dancing gracefully around his nose, and studied his reflection on the murky glass.
'Gee, when did I last clean my windows? I could write my shopping list in this dust!'
He smiled wryly at the trivial thought, watching the corners of his mouth twist, arch and fall again. It looked nice, somewhat smooth, though he thought his face felt eerily numb, cold. But then window glass always improved your looks, smoothed your features. You couldn't see if you were too pale or too tired or too worn out. All you could see were the outlines of your face--every crack in the surface, every emotion written on them seemed to have been filtered out.
Window glass was a true friend.
Hutch shivered, lifted the steaming cup closer to his face and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth circling his nose and forehead. His hands ached from the heat, but he felt as though once he'd put down the cup, he'd get too cold to endure.
God, he was tired. So tired, and his head throbbed dully, almost in a soothing rhythm, almost comfortingly.
Behind him he could still hear the water running in the shower. How long since he'd sent Starsky in there? Not that long, huh?
With a long shaky sigh, he looked up again, his gaze once more wandering over the advantageous blueprint of his face that was surrounded by damp blond strays sticking out in every direction. Making a face, he peeled one hand off the cup to run it through his hair, but left it only more tousled than before. The hand wandered down over his face, its warmth being seemingly absorbed by the cold it was met with there.
The water stopped. Hutch heard the curtain being drawn open and quiet dripping on the bathroom floor. His gaze wandered automatically from his reflection's face over its shoulder to the closed door.
They hadn't talked much after slowly making their way up and into the apartment again, both soaked through, dripping all the way. Hutch hadn't let go off Starsky but had kept a protective arm around his shoulder as if to steady him on the way.
The truth was he didn't know who he'd tried to comfort with that. Or who'd needed the support.
Once inside, he'd more or less ordered Starsky to get a warm shower and put on some dry clothes, while he himself had made some coffee and just toweled his wet hair.
He'd been so tired he hadn't even noticed Starsky had mumbled "okay" instead of "yes, Hutch". He'd just nodded and settled for leaning against the breakfast bar, warming his hands on the hot coffee cup. Up until now he hadn't drunk one sip.
Hutch couldn't remember ever having felt so exhausted, so wrapped up in hopeless melancholy. It was a strange feeling, frightening yet somewhat so ridiculous he could have laughed if he'd found the energy. He felt as if he'd instantly fall apart if Starsky didn't step out of the bathroom and be his old Starsk again. As if he'd break down if he didn't hear a real Starsky-wise-crack within the next forty seconds.
As if he'd just die if he didn't feel the comfort of his friend's presence soon. Not his physical presence, but the existence of the unconscious bond that held them together. More than anything else, he wanted to let himself fall and know he'd be caught. Wanted to sense Starsky--his Starsky--and not just see his body or hear his voice without any proof of the man he knew still being there.
'God, has it really been going on for only two days now? Two days? I feel like... Well, shouldn't forget the months before. 70 days... plus two. 72 days without you, buddy. You can drop in any time now, y'know?'
Straining to listen to the sounds Starsky made in the bathroom--fabric brushing against fabric, the curtain again, water dripping then being pulled off--Hutch stared into the eerily colorless eyes of the window-Hutch and made a face.
'How very dramatic, Hutchie. You're exaggerating, and you know it. Starsk is here, you're just too... selfish to deal with what happened. You thought he'd come back and be there for you, because you were... Yeah, what? So damn lonely?' he mocked himself, his own voice so sarcastic, so bitter in his head he actually felt the injury sink in. 'Aw, poor baby. Poor Kenny. Lonely you were? Well, of course that's really horrible. Terrible. I mean, hey, what's being tortured out of your mind and locked up in God-knows-what-'darkness'-means and starved and robbed of every single bit of dignity you have compared to feeling LONELY?! Piece of cake! I bet if you just turn around and tell him he'll understand! Or well... hmmmmmaybe not right away, for... I could be wrong, but it seems to me like he has slight let's say difficulty understanding anything at all!'
The thoughts stopped all of a sudden, when he registered the look on the face he'd stared at had changed. Pain had sunken in, in window-Hutch's smooth features, his eyes suddenly held moisture, there were wrinkles around his mouth, on his forehead. Cracks in the surface.
Hutch stared, held his breath--finally dropped his gaze. 'Two days. It's been just two days. Two days and I'm ready to fall apart! I'm never gonna make it. I miss you, buddy. Miss you so much. Oh God, Starsk, I don't know if I can make it. I don't know what to do.'
His thoughts sped up, his own voice getting louder inside his head, faster. Panicked.
'I don't know what to do! I need help! I need... I need you! I need you so we'll figure it out. I'm... I'm so tired a-and confused and... I don't know if I do things right. I don't know if I do them wrong. I don't know how I should treat you. What if they're right? What if it's not enough? Me. What if I'm not enough to... to make it this time? Every other time before I had you, I had ... yeah, well you, something to cling to, someone to make it for, b-but this... I'm... Gee, I'm rambling in my mind! What the hell's the matter with me?! I should be fighting, should be working, should be there for you! But instead I'm just whining like...'
At the sound of the bathroom door being opened, he let his frantic thoughts trail off, turned around.
His partner stepped into the room, unruly half dried curls forcefully pushed back from his forehead but obviously ready to reclaim the area any time soon. He wore a shirt Hutch recognized to once have belonged to him, and a pair of his tight, faded blue jeans.
At the blond's surprised look, he smiled slightly, his gaze following Hutch's. "I wanted to... I..." The smile faded as he saw his hands starting to tremble, but when he looked up at Hutch again, it re-appeared, even wider. "My clothes," he finally stated happily. "I like my clothes."
Hutch laughed slightly, despite the sudden violent rush of fright that had grabbed his heart like a cold claw when seeing his friend's face fall in fear. "I know, buddy. Mine too, huh?"
For a second it looked like Starsky would actually shoot back a reply, claim the shirt to be his. Hutch felt his heart stop in anticipation--but the curly haired detective just lowered his head in the end, his hands clenching to fists unconsciously.
Hutch sighed. "Hey buddy, want some coffee? To warm you up?"
Peeking up slightly, Starsky remained silent, but nodded after a while and approached the blond at the breakfast bar.
"'Kay." Hutch turned, poured his friend a cup of coffee and watched him nurse it for a few moments.
"Starsk?"
Starsky looked up questioningly. Not afraid.
"What was the darkness?"
The cup Starsky had held crashed down, coffee splashed onto both their pants.
Though Hutch had flinched, he gathered his wits quickly, and without thinking reached out to draw his friend in an embrace, holding him still against himself.
"It's okay, Starsk. Don't get scared. Nothing happened," he soothed, feeling his partner shaking, rubbing a hand over his back in large circles. "It's okay."
"Two-"
"Don't say it," Hutch cut off the shocked voice, not letting go off his friend. "Nothing to be sorry for. 'Sjust a cup. Starsk--what was the darkness?"
Starsky tensed up so much Hutch instinctively tightened his hold on him.
"You're not going to go there ever again, buddy. I won't allow it. I'll protect you. No darkness, never again. D'you trust me?"
"Yes," a tiny whisper reached Hutch's ears.
"Good. D'you believe me?"
Silence.
Silence that started to unnerve the blond. "Starsky, d'you believe me?"
"Y-yes." A short pause. "No."
Hutch thought his heart had stopped. Blown out like a candle-light by his partner's whisper. For a moment, he couldn't seem to breathe.
Yet he didn't let go, stood perfectly still, stared ahead at their reflection in the window glass. A tall blond man--legs shaking, weary as if he'd fall down any second--holding a smaller one, a large hand resting on a curly dark head, the other one on tensed shoulders.
In the window, the smaller man looked limp, lifeless, held up only by the blond who was ready to drag them both down, let them both fall.
"You don't believe me?" he asked, his own voice seemingly coming from the far, far distance.
"I... Two Eight Zero is sorry."
Hutch focused at the blurry picture on the window. He didn't move, didn't let go. Couldn't. He feared he'd crash down if he would. "You don't believe I'll protect you?" he asked softly, not hurt, not accusingly. Just sad.
"I don't..." Starsky started, but hushed himself. Hutch felt him tremble against himself.
"Shhh," he soothed out of reflex. "Shhh, don't be scared. It's okay. I won't get mad, I won't hurt you. Just tell me, buddy. Tell me why you don't believe you're safe now."
"Tricked."
The word was breathed more than whispered, yet Hutch heard it near his ear. Still, he didn't loose the hold on his friend, feeling close to answers he hadn't known the questions to, but feared the special moment might break once the contact did.
"What?" he finally asked softly, the fingers that were intertwined in Starsky's hair slowly starting to move in calming, gentle circles. "What d'you say?"
Hesitant, but willing, Starsky repeated, "Tricked. Get tricked sometimes. Believe..." A shaky sigh seemingly cut off his words.
Hutch waited. When Starsky spoke again, his hand found the back of Hutch's cold, damp shirt, slowly clawing it in a weak grip. "I believed too many things. Believing's not good."
"Believing will be punished?" Hutch asked.
"No. Yes." Starsky's forehead dropped against Hutch's collar bone. The blond watched, continuing his stroking motion, feeling his partner sag a little in his hold as if savoring the relaxing effects of the comfort he experienced.
"Everything's punished," he suddenly said, tired, resigned. Beat. "Everything's punished."
Dismayed, Hutch shifted the smaller form in his arms, looking like he was trying to encourage a worn out child, and whispered, "No, babe, you're wrong. Nothing's punished. Here, no one will punish you for anything. I won't allow it."
A moment passed, leaving Hutch holding his breath with hope, then Starsky carefully freed himself of his partner's caressing hands, stepped back to look up at him.
Hutch blinked questioningly, reached out gently, but when the other one backed away--not violently, just so to keep his distance--lowered his hand again, waiting.
Starsky looked at him quietly for a few more seconds, tilted his head to his site like a child studying a large object, then gazed around the room and back at the expectant light blue eyes.
"I saw you. In the darkness."
Raising his brows, Hutch smiled ever so slightly in surprise. Though now he seemed to strangely miss the warmth of the embrace and started to get increasingly cold, he was more than delighted to be able to look into the face of his best friend across from him--like in a real conversation. Like normal.
"Me?" he asked softly. "What'd I do?"
Starsky responded to the smile, his gaze dropping for a moment as if embarrassed. "Sang for me."
Mouth open to reply something, ask another question, Hutch froze, when he watched a sudden change dig into his partner's expression. It was followed by hands being lifted to perform feeble gestures that looked almost clumsy, as if their owner wasn't used to gesturing anymore.
"B-but you weren't real."
Listening, Hutch pressed his lips together to restrain himself from commenting on that whimpered realization. He followed Starsky's tentative pacing slowly as if afraid that even the movement of his pupils could scare his friend. As if it could make the shy thoughts that kept creeping out jump and rush back into their hiding places like young rabbits.
"Things aren't real in the darkness. Saw a lot of things," Starsky added with a frown, seemingly talking to himself now, "but they weren't... weren't real." From where he stood, he shot Hutch a brief, frightened look. "Got tricked a lot. Being tricked's punished. Hurts."
The whimpered addition tore at the blond's heart. He remembered the first night Starsky had been home--'was that just yesterday?!'--what he'd said before falling asleep. 'Oh my... He doesn't believe... He thinks he's still...'
"I'm so tired," Starsky sighed, running a hand over his features. It was the first absolutely normal gesture Hutch had seen him make in a long, long time. "Tired of hurting," Starsky continued. "Hurts to think," he informed Hutch with a miserable look. "And hurting's going to be punished."
"Starsk-"
Starsky didn't listen. He was talking into his hands, cradling his face. His shoulders had slumped, tired, worn out, beat. Done.
"Everything's punished. Everything hurts. How the hell am I supposed to know all that's wrong? I don't know. I..." As his voice trailed off, he looked up at his partner, and Hutch could see clearly, unhindered Starsky-thoughts running behind exhausted eyes. "God, I wish this was real, Hutch. I wish..." Carefully, he reached out to brush his fingers against Hutch's shirt, but drew them back before the contact appeared, almost instinctively. "I wish they'd stop hurting me. I wish you'd come a-and take me home." He swallowed against rising tears. "I wish there was a home."
Hutch watched, too shocked to move and also not wanting to break the litany he witnessed. The explanations. The answers. He wanted to listen, wanted to know--and then make it all go away, all okay again.
"I want it all to be true," his partner whimpered, rubbing a quick hand over his face, managing to keep his self-control. "I want it all to be real! I want home. I want to go home and have... have my life back. I want my job, I want my apartment, I want my family, I want my friends, I want my memories, I want..." A glance, over trembling hands. "I want you to bug me with whatever--food, cars, whatever! I want you to..." A pause. Long. Then, a whisper. So strained with fear Hutch could barely endure it. "I want to have you and not be afraid it might be a trick, th-that you'll vanish any second, and then I'm back in the darkness a-and failed at a test and failing's gonna be punished, a-and... and..."
He was getting agitated, fright speeding his words. Instinctively, Hutch took a tentative step forward, still quiet though.
"And I won't fight back, because I never do, but that's wrong. I should fight back, I should... I should try harder, but it's so... It hurts," he said apologetically, peeking up at Hutch, who silently gasped at the pain he saw reflected on his friend's face. Pure agony it was, a despair Hutch had never seen before.
"I'm so sorry I don't fight harder," Starsky stated, dropping his gaze. He'd reached his position in front of Hutch again, his head bowed, his hands clenched to fists. "But I... I can't. Nothing I do is enough. Nothing I do is... right. I want this to be real," he added, and this time actually touched Hutch, who caught the hand resting on his chest, holding it in his own. "I want you to be real. But if you're not... If... It hurts so much less this way." A small bitter smile, then, whispered, "Don't want to... lose you anymore. I've lost you so often. I try to... to not forget you, b-but when you're there, they take you away, and-"
Hutch couldn't endure it any longer. As if by its own will, his free hand flew out to stroke his friend's cheek soothingly. "Shh. Shh, Starsk, it's okay. It's alright. I won't go anywhere. No one will take me away."
Starsky let his gaze drop, standing perfectly still. As if his outburst had never happened.
But it had. It had happened, had allowed Hutch to take a peek inside a severely tortured, insane mind.
'There, Ken. The answers you wanted. There they are. Satisfied?'
"Buddy, this is real. Everything here's real. They let you go. You're not going into the darkness ever again. You're home now."
He was rambling. Futile attempts at convincing deaf ears.
What else could he do?
"I got you now. No tricks. No tests. I'm really here."
Starsky looked up at him blankly, until his stomach growled loudly, and he flinched, stumbling a step backwards. "Uh... sorry. Two Eight Zero is sorry."
Somewhat fascinated, Hutch watched every bit of Starsky-like expression being drained from the darker man's features, only fear remaining.
'Stomach growls aren't allowed,' the blond thought grimly, while forcing a reassuring smile on his lips. 'Nothing's allowed. Everything's punished.'
Drawing his hands away, he cast his miserable, scared friend a long glance and turned for the breakfast bar, feeling the exhaustion press his shoulders down once more. At the crunching sounds that accompanied his steps, he glanced down at the coffee cup mess still spread on the floor.
Rolling his eyes as if at the poor cup that'd been stupid enough to fall down, he shoved the largest pieces away with one foot, not looking, and headed for the refrigerator.
"Think your stomach settled down enough for a light snack?" he asked over his shoulder.
Starsky stood, silent, trembling, scared.
Hutch felt himself sigh, heard himself say, "Starsk, hey, why don't you sit down on the couch for a sec, hm? It's, uh, well, sorta dark outside," he said, noticing he didn't wear his watch. "Don't they always show those plastic creatures conquering New York or so after sunset?"
At that, his partner actually looked up, shooting him a doubtful, very Starsky-like glance.
Hutch chuckled. "Creature Feature, buddy. Don't they always show that when normal people sleep?"
Tilting his head to one side, Starsky briefly twisted one corner of his mouth as if a reply nudged at the inside, but wasn't allowed to slip out. Instead, he turned to stroll over to the couch and huddle in one corner.
His head hidden somewhere in the deep insides of his fridge, busy trying to figure out what he'd make, Hutch strained to listen for a few seconds, and at the remaining silence, peeked over the door at the couch. "Come on, buddy, try. I'm in creature mood, aren't you?"
No reply.
Hutch sighed. "Turn on the TV, bu-"
"Yes, Hutch."
Instantly, loud growls filled the place, as a 30 foot mixture of a dinosaur and a rabbit planted its feet onto a fleeing bus on the screen.
Closing his eyes in frustration, Hutch sank down and inside his fridge again. "Yes, Hutch," he muttered. "Here I am with all this power in my hands--and what'd I do?! Order him to watch crap. Great, Hutchie, just great."
****
Stifling a loud yawn, Hutch lifted his right arm to wipe over his exhausted features, careful as to not stir his sleeping partner who lay nestled up on his left side. They'd both slid down to a full-length slouch with Starsky's head resting half on Hutch's shoulder, Hutch's cheek on Starsky's curls and the blond's arm seemingly functioning as a 'comfort arm', as the sleeping man held it hugged to his chest. With that gesture he so much gave the perfect picture of a worn out little boy who'd fallen asleep during the late night movie he'd been allowed to watch just this one time, that Hutch couldn't help smiling affectionately at him, but when his partner stirred even at the slightest movement, he quickly settled himself again, snuggling the side of his face up at Starsky's head again.
The response was a happy low mew, and Starsky shifted a little, melting into the contact even more, relaxing fully, not aware that his friend struggled to sit very still, to not disturb his slumber.
His gaze falling upon the blanket he'd covered Starsky with some time ago, Hutch ever so carefully let his right hand wander over to place it onto the soft edges as if wanting to pin it down to the couch.
It wasn't necessary, though. Starsky had succumbed to sleep so fast he hadn't even had the chance to drag it up over his head.
On the screen, some ludicrous creature that to Hutch looked like a large version of the cartoon squirrel he'd been forced to join on its numerous adventures earlier that day, was fighting an equally big dinosaur in the Central Park. Starsky had missed the introduction of the second monster, and for a brief moment Hutch sarcastically wondered if he should wake his partner so he could watch the one movie of what felt like a hundred they'd seen that night that had two ridiculous things in it.
'And if I live to be a hundred years old, I'll never understand how peop...Gee, Hutchinson, that's the second time in 24 hours you had that thought. You starting to turn into your father, watch it!'
Smiling slightly at that thought--'Snowball's chance in hell!'--he widened his eyes for a moment as another yawn broke free, and shook his head as if to clear it. He was so tired his vision started to blur from time to time, yet he forced himself to keep on concentrating on the non-existent story of the movie in order to stay awake. His back would probably kill him the next day, half-lying on that couch for hours, and it sure wasn't going to do Starsky's neck any good either to sleep like this, but as far as Hutch was concerned, it was better than 'sleeping position'. It was normal.
Besides, his actual plan was to stay awake the whole night and coax his friend back to sleep when he'd wake up after the permitted four hours.
Somewhere deep down inside his somewhat knotted thoughts, Hutch knew that meant losing much needed energy, but then he avoided listening to whatever voices came from deep down. They'd also urgently informed him about the necessity of food earlier, and he hadn't listened to that either. He'd just watched over Starsky's eating, relieved by the other's obvious appetite and lack of pain or distress afterwards, but hadn't eaten anything himself. Hadn't been hungry. Just tired. Tired all the time.
"Everything's punished," he heard the echo of his partner's words inside his head, the pure exhaustion that'd been evident in them; the despair, the helpless acceptance.
He couldn't help thinking that THAT was exactly how he felt. Not like the words, but like their sound.
The dinosaur was dying, its cries muffled through its own fake green blood, its eyes half closing, the robot's mechanism responsible for that having obvious problems.
Hutch watched, his forehead wrinkled in an interested, concentrated frown, then suddenly jerked his head up as if snapping awake. 'God, Hutchinson, stop it, will ya?! You just compared yourself to a goddamned dino-bot!'
At his side, he felt Starsky whimper slightly and slide down a little more, his head falling from Hutch's shoulder onto his chest. He didn't wake up, but dragged Hutch's arm with him in the process, yanking the blond to his left painfully.
"Ow! Damn," Hutch hissed, but quickly bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut briefly until the immediate pain had subsided and been replaced by a constant throbbing as Starsky didn't let go, but snuggled up on him.
Gazing down at him for a moment, Hutch grimaced, lifting his free hand from where it still lay on the blanket and ruffled Starsky's hair, not wanting to wake him, but shift again.
Yet the darker man had obviously found the perfect sleeping position. He didn't move an inch.
Hutch's hand hovered over the steadily rising and falling shoulder, but he just couldn't bring himself to rattle the man awake. The image of the panicked, frantic look that'd flicker through confused cobalt blue eyes the second Starsky would jerk awake and then would be replaced by increasing fear was enough for Hutch to draw his hand away again with a pained, resigned sigh. Spotting his half-empty beer bottle on the coffee table, he contemplated for a second, then tried to reach out for it but quickly realized he couldn't get to it without moving Starsky.
Frustrated, he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
"There," an actor's voice exclaimed on the TV screen, "we've got it right where we want it. It's trapped. It can't move."
Underneath closed lids, Hutch rolled his eyes. 'Oh shut up!'
A sudden violent shudder grabbed him, and his eyes snapped open again. Fighting the urge to nestle up on the sleeping figure next to him for comfort, he scrambled the fingers of his right hand inside his sleeve as if that would warm him up.
Now that he didn't look at the screen anymore, but up at the ceiling, he found that the dull throbbing inside his head that'd been constantly there for the whole evening, had intensified. His throat felt raw, a layer of phlegm thickening in it. Coming to think about it, he had to admit he felt a little feverish too. Moving his head had left him slightly nauseous.
Sighing, he closed his eyes again. 'Great, just great. Terri-fic. Now you get sick again. Great. Must be all this running around in the rain on your socks, Kenny. Didn't your mother tell you to always wear shoes?!'
A dramatic inward sigh mocked his mother's way of saying things like that, but was quickly replaced by his own earnest voice again as he chided himself, You know, 'Starks's right, you can't be for real! There he is, needing you like never before and what'd you do?! Break down at a case of the sniffles. Pathetic, Kenny, you're pathetic!'
Those were his father's favorite words, and they, too, were displayed in the old man's gruff, cold voice. Using his parents' voices to talk himself down was something Hutch subconsciously tended to do. Why, he didn't want to ask.
'You want him to come back so badly, but when he tells you the problem, I mean actually verbalizes the fucking problem, you still don't know what to do! "Hey, Hutch, I'm afraid to believe you're real, cause if I do I might get the living hell tortured out of me again." - "Oh really? How 'bout watching Godzilla vs. The World's Largest Rodent?"'
As if he'd heard his partner's inward fight against himself, Starsky shifted, releasing Hutch's aching arm in the process and turned so that his back was now huddled against Hutch's side, while he curled up on himself, his head lolling to meet the couch's headrest. A small squealing sound escaped him when he dragged his legs up, much like a rodent's, Hutch thought with an inward chuckle.
He stretched his freed left arm out with a relieved sigh, then slid away a little so that Starsky's body, robbed of its support, followed. The sleeping detective gave another low sound, but still didn't wake up.
Looking down on the curly head now pillowed on his thigh, Hutch decided that that was a satisfying sleeping position for his friend and leaned his head back again, closing his eyes. Almost instinctively, his fingers found Starsky's head and he started softly driving them through the thick curls in a soothing rhythm.
Gotta stop doing that. Hanging myself out to dry won't help at all. He needs me to be there for him, to be real. Not to fall apart. But how do you convince someone that the reality's real? How do you convince someone of your own reality?
Remembering a class in philosophy he'd particularly despised during his time at college, he muttered in a mock version of his former professor's high voice, "Reality is relative. Whatever a person thinks to be real is..." But as the words sank in, he hushed himself, his hand stopping briefly on Starsky's head.
"Oh buddy," he sighed deeply, and continued his stroking, feeling himself slip away, succumbing to his own exhaustion. What can I do to make you feel safe? he wondered. How could he free his friend of the darkness, when it felt as if he himself was trapped in one too? All alone, scared, hurting and lost.
"Me personally," he heard a very, very young Kenneth Hutchinson's words, "I think reality's gravely over-rated."
Already half-dozing, he grunted a low hateful comment--"smart-ass kid, me"--and fell asleep.
****
He coughed himself awake, his head jerking forward, his eyes still closed. His throat felt like he hadn't drawn in breath for hours. Something heavy, choking was lifted from his face, and all of a sudden fresh air filled his aching lungs.
"Two Eight Zero is sorry," he heard a faint voice in the far distance, in his momentary confused state unable to grasp the meaning of the words.
The only thing his body allowed him to focus on was to greedily gulp in air through the painful coughing.
"Sorry... Hutch?" The voice again, concern blinking through audible fear.
Instinctively, he reached out wearily, not sure in which direction, and croaked out some intelligible words, that were meant to sound reassuringly, but even to his own ears bore more resemblance to retching than actual talking.
"`K-kay... *cough* `K... *cough* don't be *cough* scar... *cough*"
Once he'd leant forward, his head hanging between his shoulders, though, he found it a lot easier to breathe, and the coughing subsided, giving his mind a chance to clear itself off the engulfing fog too. Blinking his eyes open, the moisture the effort of the painful coughing had built in their corners escaping in the form of a few small tears; he stared at the floor of his living room for a second, struggling to figure out where he was and what had happened.
"Two Eight Zero is sorry."
Alarmed by the miserable tone as much as by the apology, he carefully lifted his head to look at the trembling figure of his partner, who sat next to him, blanket spread in his hands, sheer terror flickering through his eyes, as if he tried to hold it down, but couldn't quite manage.
"Starsk, wha..." Hutch started, dismayed, but when his gaze wandered down to the afghan held in shaking hands, suddenly understood and forced a warm smile on his lips. "Did I dream again?"
Starsky stared at him for a second, then nodded, his head moving slightly to his side as if he wanted to look over his shoulder, but restrained himself from doing it.
"Well, uh," Hutch croaked as another cough broke free, and patted Starsky's shoulder, "thanks for *cough* waking me."
"It's not allowed to dream," Starsky said in a strained voice, obviously concerned by Hutch's lack of care about the rules.
His head starting to throb mercilessly again and Hutch failed to notice his partner's increasing distress as he still tried to get his throat to stop tormenting him with what felt like fire every time he drew in a breath. Grabbing the blanket Starsky still held, he tossed it aside as if it was a weapon, and squeezed his eyes shut briefly.
"Yea, well *cough* next time, don't *cough* cover me, `kay? I'd rather *cough* take the punishment. *cough*"
A small groan escaped him as he rubbed cold hands over his face to get more alert, so he didn't see the shock working into his friend's eyes.
It wasn't until a unusually stern voice reached his ears, that he looked up at Starsky again.
"No. I won't allow that."
Snapping alert within a second, Hutch looked up, a confused gaze finding his partner. "Huh?"
"Don't want..." Starsky started, but his voice broke, and this time he turned fully to look over his shoulder.
"Starsk?" Hutch asked softly, watching in dismay, cursing himself. 'Uh uh. What'd I do now?'
His partner gave a relieved sigh and turned back to face him. "They didn't hear," he whispered, and smiled slightly. "Good thing you woke up in time."
"Uh... Yeah, yeah, good thing I..." Hutch muttered, but as soon as he actually stopped to listen to his own words raised his voice a little. "Starsk... They're not here. We're alone."
"Yeah," Starsky nodded happily, "yeah, they didn't hear." He sighed again, then cast Hutch an apologetic look. "I'm sorry you woke up before time. You didn't have to wake up, I had you covered. You want to go back to sleep?"
Hutch felt his brows arch in pure hopelessness. "Starsky-"
"I'll keep watch," Starsky promised. "If you dream again." He thought about that for a split second, then added in a careful tone as to not hurt Hutch's feelings, "You shouldn't dream, though, you know? Dreaming's punished. Don't want you to be punished."
"Starsk," Hutch said softly, trying to reach his friend, but without success. Starsky was lost in thoughts.
"You never dreamed before. But if you do now, maybe they hear you and then they take you away again." A sudden thought hit him, and he cast Hutch an appalled glance. "They didn't hurt you last time, did they?"
"Uh... N-no," Hutch assured helplessly, a slightly hysterical smile rushing over his lips. "Starsk, you know I wasn't really there, don't you?"
His partner looked at him blankly, the wheels visibly turning inside his head.
"I wasn't really there with you, Starsky. You just saw me, because they hurt you so much you went, uh, a little crazy there. You told me so yourself, remember? You know they didn't take me away, right? They took you."
Hutch could almost see his words falling into place, until Starsky gave a curt nod, as confusion flickered through his eyes, but was replaced by something else quickly. "Right. Right," he said, frowning. "Right. Not real."
Hutch's eyes closed as if out of a frustration of their own. Oh fuck! I hate this!!! "No, buddy," he said, his voice strained with the effort of keeping it patient, "I'm real. This is real. But I wasn't real in..." A frustrated sigh cut off his words. Oh, this is going well!
"I'm real," he stated clearly. "Okay? You're really home, and I'm real."
After a moment, Starsky blinked and reached out to ever so slightly nudge Hutch's cheek. "I won't let them hear when you dream again."
Feeling as if every bit of energy was drained out of him again just by his partner's words, Hutch nodded, resigned. "Thanks, buddy." With that, he stood, stretching his aching muscles and strolled over to the fridge, not really sure what he was doing.
All of a sudden, he felt funny again. Dizzy, exhausted. "Hey, was that really four hours?" Glancing outside, he found it to be still dark outside. "The sun isn't up, yet, Starsk, you don't have to stay awake. Don't you want to get some more shut-eye?" It was more rambling than an actual question, and even if Starsky had wanted to answer it, he wouldn't have made it before Hutch stated with a surprised smile, "Hey, you turned off the TV."
Starsky flinched. "Two Eight Ze-"
"No, it's great you... Oh man," the blond sighed, driving a hand through his tousled hair. "Never mind. Want a beer too?" he heard himself ask as he produced a can from the fridge, then shook his head. "I-I mean d'you want anything? You hungry? I still got this candy here somewhere..." Rummaging through his fridge once more, he suddenly stopped, frowned and looked over his shoulder out of the window again, then back at the can he still held.
'Man, Hutch, you're out of it. What's going on with you?!'
Glancing at his partner sitting on the couch, he responded to the increasingly confused and worried look he found himself the target of with a wry smile. "Just tired, never mind," he winked, let the fridge fall close and slowly walked back to the couch. "Aren't you tired too? Bet you are."
Starsky watched Hutch, and it started to unnerve him. "What?"
"You look sick," the curly haired man stated, concerned.
Oh really? That might explain why I feel like shit. "Nah," Hutch winked casually, but had to reach out for the couch's headrest for support suddenly. "Told you, just tired. Don't get scared."
Listening to himself, he briefly wondered why he kept saying that. As if it was understood that everything would scare his partner.
"It's not allowed to be sick," Starsky informed him with concern.
"I'm not sick, Starsky, don't worry. And now come on, you're going to bed." He swayed slightly when he broke the steadying hold he'd had on the headrest to gently reach for Starsky's arm, but forced himself to ignore it.
Starsky stood immediately, his head bowed. "Yes, Hutch."
"Uhm, yeah, good boy," Hutch muttered, having to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment as his vision suddenly blurred. When he opened them again, he found himself still holding on to Starsky's arm, more for his own support than to guide his friend. Pretending it to be the other way around, though, he didn't let go when they slowly staggered over to the bedroom.
'Maybe getting some real rest too wouldn't be such a bad idea after all, Hutchie-boy. Feel kinda woozy here, huh?' Hutch thought, once more shaking his head, while grabbing the sweats Starsky had placed neatly folded onto the bed with his free hand and handing them to his silent partner.
"There you go."
Starsky studied him for a second, something Hutch thought he'd recognized flickering through his eyes, but it vanished before he could figure out what it was, and the smaller man bowed his head as he took the sweats. "You..." he started in a tentative whisper.
"Hm?" Hutch encouraged softly when his friend's voice trailed off. "I what? Starsk?"
"You're not going to sleep?"
Hutch frowned as he thought whatever he'd seen in his partner's eyes appeared in his voice also. Smiling, he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Have to clean up the coffee mess."
"Oh. Uh-"
"Don't," Hutch hurried to say, almost snapping, "apologize. It was not your fault. Don't get sca... Never mind. Just try to get some rest, buddy, okay?"
When he got no answer, he bent down a little, searching for Starsky's eyes. "Okay?"
To his surprise, Starsky reached out wearily, his fingers flapping against Hutch's chest, then fell limp at his side again.
"Starsk?"
But Starsky didn't reply. Instead, he just turned to change into the sweats, and after a confused second, Hutch left for the kitchen, where he stopped to stare down at the crusty coffee spot. Feeling as if he'd faint the moment he'd try to bent down to rub it away, he stretched back his head, closing his eyes.
The dizziness passed, but a sudden thought hit him, and he turned on his heels, heading for the bedroom again. The jerking movement sent his room spinning wildly, he almost lost his balance.
Standing very, very still for a few seconds, he finally cracked his eyes open to see if his own private earthquake had stopped. He was cold, yet hot at the same time, could feel perspiration on his forehead. 'Starks's right, should lay down.'
Deciding he'd do that, he remembered what had crossed his mind a moment ago, and hurried back into the bedroom, where Starsky was just very tentatively drawing back the covers to get into bed.
At Hutch's entrance, he flinched violently, let the edge of the blanket he'd held fall, and straightened to face Hutch with his head bowed.
The blond sighed, his right hand leaving the door frame he'd grabbed for support, and stepped next to his startled friend.
"C'mon, buddy, get in."
"Yes, Hutch," Starsky muttered, crawled into bed, immediately rolled onto his back, and reached out for the blanket, grabbing only air, when Hutch snatched it away.
"Uh uh," the blond shook his head, feeling strangely like a father tucking in a child. "No sleeping position, buddy."
His partner looked up at him, confused, scared. His gaze wandered to his side as if he was contemplating about changing his position. When Hutch playfully tugged at his sleeve, though, his gaze found the blond's again, the fear vanishing. A tiny, but happy smile spread on his lips, and he slowly complied, following his friend's gentle dragging, until he lay curled up on his left side, facing Hutch.
"Comfy?" Hutch asked, spreading the blanket in his hands.
The curly headed man smiled a bit wider, but remained silent.
"Okay," Hutch nodded and covered his partner, making a point out of smoothing the blanket over Starsky's neck, underneath his chin. When he straightened again, he swayed slightly, but quickly rested his flat hand against the wall next to him, steadying himself. Ignoring Starsky's questioning glance, he lifted the Hutchinson Warning Finger.
"No sleeping position and no hiding maneuvers, buddy. Got that? I find your head under this blanket tomorrow, I'll nail it down next time."
As a sudden, very brief grin rushed over Starsky's face, he gave a curt nod to underline his words and turned, switching off the light. "Sleep well, buddy. I'll leave the door open."
With that, he left, dragging the door almost closed behind him.
He felt a little better, he thought, as he walked back into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes that were burning slightly as if from lack of rest, despite his short nap.
'Probably just a cold after all,' he assured himself, though deep down he found it hard to believe himself. 'Should stay away from rain for a while. Aw shit.' His gaze fell upon the broken cup and the coffee again, and he sighed over-dramatically. 'I hate cleaning up. Couldn't I just plant something in this? Coffee?' Grinning at the silly thought, he bent down to gather together the larger pieces of pottery, he froze in his tracks, his vision fading quickly.
"Uh uh..."
Staggering back to an upright position, he closed his eyes, reaching out to grab empty air, trying to keep his balance. Oookay, laying down it is, he decided, wise-cracking against raising discomfort and panic as the dizziness only increased. 'Why clean it up, anyway, when I can order Gordo to do it tomo... Uh...'
Blinking his eyes open, he stared into a sparkled blackness, but was suddenly very aware of having just dropped to his hands and knees. He shook his head, scared when he didn't feel the movement, his whole body seemingly numb.
"Uh... S-Starsk... ?"
The blood roared in his ears, blocking every other sound, but still he thought he'd said his partner's name. Trying to shake his head once more, he realized he was now at eye-to-eye contact with the kitchen floor. He could smell coffee. He was cold. He blinked, but he couldn't see.
'Darkness,' he thought, 'so that's darkness,' and passed out.
****
There was a ray of light breaking through the darkness of the room, and he was glad for that.
He was on his side, curled up, a warm blanket wrapped around him, his nose brushing against its edge. He sniffed it slightly and felt himself relax at the familiar smell. His eyes fluttered closed, yet the darkness didn't seem so scary anymore. Hutch's words echoed in his head--"I find your head under this blanket tomorrow, I'll nail it down the next time!"--and a smile tugged at his lips as he slid down even more, letting himself be engulfed by the smell of home, safeness, while his eyes still half peeked out, focused on the crack of warm brightness coming from the living room.
He liked the light. It wasn't like the one he had sometimes seen in the darkness. He winced at the memory. That had hurt. Everything had hurt, the darkness as well as the light, its brightness piercing right through his desperately closed lids.
But this light, it was warm, golden instead of white. Comforting.
He sniffed again, briefly wondering if it'd be allowed to uncurl. Many things were suddenly allowed now. He'd thought about that for quite some time now. Hutch allowed him to sleep a lot, to show pain, to eat, to cry. But then, he thought with sudden confusion, of course Hutch would allow him anything. Or better--Hutch would never forbid anything. Like he'd never punish him.
He'd figured that one out right away. Hutch was Hutch. Sure, at times he scared him, but then, Starsky thought, many things scared him. That'd pass.
If he was back home, being scared would pass. If not...
He sighed, frustrated. Things were so damned difficult. And he couldn't help but think that they hadn't been before Hutch had suddenly showed up again. Before that Starsky had known what to do to not be hurt. To not be punished. It'd been an awful lot of rules, and at times he grew desperate, sure, but he'd tried, and eventually they had at least stopped putting him in the darkness. He'd gotten food again, he'd been allowed to sleep, and he hadn't been hurt that often anymore.
He'd had his rain, and when he'd thought of Hutch it had always been comforting. He'd tried to hear his friend's soothing velvety voice, and it'd been there, inside his head, where they couldn't take it from him.
But now--now everything had changed. Now he could see Hutch for real, hear him, feel him, smell him. He nestled his nose deeper into the blanket as he continued to inwardly crawl his way through the huge knot of thoughts.
He wasn't being hurt anymore. And he was called by his name. And there was Hutch. And there was food and warmth, and no pills that made his mind all foggy. Thinking didn't hurt any longer, it was just so very confusing. Frightening.
He could sense Hutch's exhaustion, his despair, and as much as he longed for comfort himself, he wanted to smooth his friend's strained features, wanted to tell him it'd be okay. Hutch had told him once how long he'd been gone, but he'd forgotten. Quite some time, though, he thought.
Time enough for him to start to doubt if anything of his life really had ever existed. He'd started to doubt if there'd ever been a home, a Hutch, a Dave Starsky.
That was over. He knew who he was. He knew who Hutch was. He knew where home was. But along with that realization had come the one that if he was tricked into believing all of this, if he'd one day wake up in the darkness again--he'd give up.
Just like that. No more David Starsky.
No more Hutch.
He wouldn't be able to do it.
So he had to be careful whether to let himself fall. Whether to believe. If it was a test, it'd be over the second they knew he believed. The second he started behaving like David Starsky again.
Under the blanket, his hands clenched to fists. He was David Starsky, not only the name--the man. He wasn't a number. He wasn't a number! How much he hated them for turning him into one. How much he hated them for humiliating him like they had. How much he hated them for everything!
But he couldn't say so. Couldn't even think it, irrational fear they might be able to read his mind kept him from it.
How much he hated them for making him see Hutch like this. He closed his eyes, the picture of his partner's tired smile appearing before his inner eye. Hutch looked so lost. So alone.
If it was a trick, it was a good one. Good tactics. If not...
'I don't know what to do, Hutch. I don't know what to do! I don't want to lose you. If I lose you it's all over. But if this is real... God, I don't even know if I want this to be real. I don't want him to suffer like this. Watching cartoons...' A small grin broke free. God, it felt so great to be ironic again. To be him again. Confused, careful, but him nevertheless.
Sometimes, anyway.
"S-Starsk... ?"
His eyes snapped open, the grin gone.
He listened. Nothing.
Staring at the ray of light, he ever so slightly lifted his head from the pillow.
Nothing.
He opened his mouth, closed it. Listened. Then, finally, "Hutch?"
Nothing.
He waited, fighting down rising agitation. Something was wrong. Something was so wrong that he could sense it.
He hadn't sensed things in a long time.
"Hutch?" He was sitting up, still straining to hear a reply. But there was none.
"Hutch!" he called out, flinching at his own voice. He quickly bowed his head, sat very still. But nothing happened. When he looked up again, the door was still almost closed, the room still dark. No Hutch.
Something was wrong.
Driven by instinct, he pushed himself up and left the room, carefully, quietly, his heart beating in his throat.
"Hutch?"
Outside, he saw him. Crumbled. On the ground. Eyes closed. Pale, so pale.
He swallowed dryly, glancing around. They hadn't come. He was still alone with Hutch.
"Hutch?" he whispered, taking another tentative step forward.
The blond didn't answer. Starsky stood still for a moment, waiting, looked over his shoulder then back at Hutch. He didn't look good, Starsky thought with growing concern. His face had lost all color, and he was trembling as if cold, even in unconsciousness.
Suppressing the immediate urge to rush to his partner's side, he forced himself to approach him slowly, step by step, constantly checking, constantly ready to obey any order that might come from somewhere.
When he finally reached his fallen friend, the blond still hadn't regained consciousness, and Starsky was scared. He didn't know what to do. His instinct told him to act, try to wake Hutch up, get him off the cold kitchen floor, do something, but the another part of him, a frightened one, urged him to not believe it.
It wasn't allowed to be sick. It wasn't allowed to care. He'd be punished. Hurt. Put into the darkness. No Hutch anymore. No warmth. No home.
Desperate, he sank to his knees next to Hutch and carefully brushed back damp strays of blond hair, contemplating what to do.
Hutch gave a tiny moan, and Starsky drew his hand back as if he'd been burnt. He looked over his shoulder in frantic fright--they didn't come. They hadn't heard.
Hutch moaned again, his head slightly moving.
"No, no, no," Starsky whispered, fear widening his eyes. "No, Hutch, d-don't let them hear you're sick."
Hutch didn't wake up, but whimpered as a violent shudder grabbed him.
Starsky was off like a shot, yanking the blanket off the couch. Kneeling down next to his partner again, he neatly covered Hutch completely with it, then slid away a little, so that he sat in front of Hutch, hugging his bent legs as he rocked slightly, waiting.
Every now and then, he looked over his shoulder, but they never came.
After almost an hour, Hutch moaned louder under his cover, and Starsky, who'd kept hushing him all the time, couldn't endure it any longer. Peeling the blanket off the blond's face, Starsky gently touched his forehead as to soothe him, but frowned suddenly, when he found the alarming heat there.
'Being sick's not allowed,' he thought, but at the same time didn't feel like he cared. 'Sick. Hutch is sick.'
Hutch whimpered, a cough rattling in his chest. Starsky's hand wandered down to the side of his face, his thumb rubbing away a tear that threatened to escape the closed lids.
"Shh," he soothed, and after a moment added, "I... I'm..." He swallowed, looked over his shoulder.
They hadn't come. They weren't there.
"I-I'm... here. I'm here, Hutch." Once he'd said it, he couldn't seem to stop. "I'm here. It's okay. I'm here now. I'm here."
He didn't notice he'd started crying until he felt wetness on his hand. Sniffing, he couldn't contain a small laugh. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm really here. I'm..." As the laughing as well as the crying increased, he finally reached out to fully lift his partner into his arms, hugging him tightly. "God... I'm here, Hutch. I'm here, babe. It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay now."
Hutch stirred ever so slightly, coughed again. "S-Stars... *cough*"
"Yeah," Starsky replied instantly, letting go off him just so he could cup his face to look at still closed eyes. "Yeah, Hutch, 'sokay. Okay. I'm here."
Hutch's head sagged again, his forehead meeting Starsky's chest, and the curly haired detective quickly tightened his hold again to keep him upright. "Okay," he assured more himself than Hutch, who was out cold again. "Okay."
Going into partner-mode, he decided to first get his feverish partner off the floor. Looking down at the lifeless form in his arms, he sighed. "Hutch?" he asked hopefully, but like he'd expected, received no answer. "Never mind," he muttered ironically and started to prepare the standing-up-act by gently dragging the blanket off his partner.
Hutch instantly started to shiver. Starsky frowned, but decided they'd deal with that later. First of all, he had to somehow get his partner on his feet. There was no way he could carry the blond, and he didn't particularly liked the thought of dragging him by his feet, either. "Hm. Hutch?" Rising his voice, he gently slapped a clammy cheek. "Hutch. C'mon, I need your help here. You can't sleep on the floor. Sleeping on the floor's not allow..."
He froze with his mouth open, and tore his head to his side, throwing a frantic glance over his shoulder.
Nothing. They weren't there.
He let his head hang for a moment, sighing deeply in relief. When he looked back at Hutch again, light blue eyes had cracked open. "St-Starsk?"
The voice was so weary Starsky winced, but he smiled brightly, grabbing Hutch's cold hand. "Yeah, babe. 'M here."
God, how he loved to say that!
"Hutch, we've to get you up and into there." He pointed at the open bedroom door with his chin. "Think you can make it? I'll help you."
Hutch blinked, confused, but didn't reply. After a second, Starsky gently pushed him onto his back, reaching under Hutch's arms. "Can you... help?" he asked, not really sure what his plan was. Whenever he had to lift a weak Hutch off some ground, he had the same problems at figuring out how to do it. He yet had to discover the perfect tactic.
Without a word, Hutch weakly reached up and laid both arms around Starsky's neck. Looking down at him, Starsky crooked his lips to a lopsided smile. "That's not gonna work, Hutch. You're just gonna drag me d-"
"Miss you," his words were cut off by the blond's strained whisper. Closing his eyes again, Hutch drew in a shaky breath. "Miss you so much."
His heart breaking, Starsky let his head fall forward until his forehead touched Hutch's. "Missed you too, Blintz." He kept the contact for a few moments, before gently reaching up to lower one of Hutch's arms, holding the hand to the front of his sweatshirt.
"Grab that, Hutch."
Hutch obeyed, and together they managed to get on their feet, Starsky almost losing his balance once they were up and he had to support most of Hutch's weight. Constantly coaxing his friend, he staggered them both into the bedroom, where he couldn't help let his burden fall down on the bed with a low thud, crashing to the ground next to it himself, panting heavily.
After a moment, he dragged himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the bed, his head falling backwards until it met Hutch's legs. Closing his eyes, Starsky tried to catch his breath.
'Come on, get up. Resting's not allowed, you know that. You're going to be-'
His eyes snapped open, fear shooting through him like adrenalin, but at the sight of the ceiling, he felt it subside, sudden relief pressing the air out of his lungs. Like waking up from a nightmare it felt. Like jerking awake after having fallen from a cliff in your dreams.
"Home," he said out loud and waited, listened to the echo. "I'm home."
Unconsciously, he reached behind himself and grabbed one of Hutch's foot. "I'm here, Hutch. Still here. Everything's under control."
Almost by its own will, his gaze found the entrance--but they didn't come.
They weren't there.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Starsky finally pushed himself to his feet. Carefully, he rolled Hutch onto his back and quickly peeled the damp shirt off of him. It took a few minutes to get his unresponsive partner into his academy sweats and covered. He was appalled when he saw how much weight his partner had lost, the condition he was in, his face sweaty, pale, clammy, while his forehead gave grim evidence of fever. Dark smudges lay under his sunken eyes, like bruises, and a strained feature was visible around his mouth, as if he struggled to get back to taking care, to regain control even after he'd been beaten by his exhaustion.
Taking a moment to just absorb the overwhelming feeling of reality, Starsky stroked the blond hair, sniffing back a few more tears as he studied the evidence of his friend's ordeal. "I'm so sorry, Hutch," he muttered. "But I'm here now, you hear? I know you're real. I... I won't let you down again. Promise."
He watched when Hutch mewed lowly and shifted slightly so that he lay on his side, the side of his face resting on Starsky's hand. "Hutch?"
But the blond was deeply asleep, his breathing even, undisturbed by coughs.
Smiling affectionately, Starsky carefully drew his hand back, while patting the blond head with his other one. "You just rest, Hutch, okay? Starks's back in charge now."
He couldn't help but grin at the words, almost overwhelmed by their meaning. A part of him felt guilty, because he was so damn... glad he could take care of Hutch, because it'd taken Hutch to break down to drag him out of his own insanity--but then maybe that was just what it'd had to take. And if he liked it or not--it had been and was exactly what he needed. Being there for Hutch. Getting them both through this.
Brushing the back of his curled fingers over Hutch's forehead, he stood to get a wet cloth from the bathroom, and stopped in the door, looking down at his partner. "We're gonna make it, Hutch. I'll take care of it."
That he'd needed.
TBC...
.
Enjoy!
TWO EIGHT ZERO
Part 4
He was under water. Thick, murky, heavy water; its weight unbearable. He couldn't see the surface, couldn't get up, the pressure kept him pinned down, yet there was no ground. He struggled or he thought he struggled, his fists lashing out, his feet kicking.
He gasped for air, but found dry heat filling his throat, burning his nostrils. He coughed, retched--and woke up.
Brownish light blurred in front of his eyes, small spots of brightness sparkling through it like sunlight through a roof of leaves.
He groaned, his head responding to the light with equally sparkling pain, and rolled onto his side, burying his face into the mattress underneath him.
'What the... ?!'
Where was he? Blinking against the sheets, he tried to remember, drew in air and found it sticky, choking.
Frustrated, he kicked out at the weight on him, and suddenly fresh, thin air filled his mouth. He just lay there, enjoying the sensation of unhindered oxygen filling his aching lungs for a few moments, before his mind had cleared enough to torture him with information he didn't want to have.
He was lying in his bed, fully clothed and had been covered with his blanket. Completely covered.
'Starsky?'
He didn't register he'd only thought the name until he licked his parched lips. He coughed slightly and rolled unto his back.
"S-Starsk?"
He coughed again. His throat hurt. His head throbbed. He moaned.
"Starsky?"
No answer.
Blinking against the fading fog in front of his eyes, he forced his mind to keep spilling the memories of the last hours, his crying, his begging... Then nothing.
'No, not nothing. Starsk.... Starsk tied to... They... Uh, must've dreamed. Starsky? Where's... ?!'
"Starsk?" he asked, his voice steadier this time, and blinked his eyes open, only now noticing they'd fallen closed again. Oh God, his head hurt. At the bright light meeting him, he squeezed his eyes shut again, then very slowly rolled onto his side again, then up to a sitting position.
The air around him seemed to explode. He groaned again, lifted aching arms, rubbed his face.
He felt his body shiver violently, but he wasn't cold. Hot, he was too hot, his hands icy cold against the burning skin of his face.
"Starsky?"
Finally, he let his hands fall into his lap and looked around his bedroom. He was alone. The door was closed. No Starsky.
Without thinking, he pushed himself up to a standing position--and crashed down instantly, hitting his nose on the floor.
At least that brought him around fully.
"Fuck!"
Sniffling through a few drops of blood that threatened to emerge from his nose, he scrambled to his hands and knees, shook his head that hung between his arms, only to find out that was an unwise thing to do.
The fierce pain that pierced his skull made him stop instantly.
"Double-fuck," he breathed, closed his eyes one more until he felt the room spinning around him slow down, and carefully came to his feet again.
When he stood at last, he breathed in and out deeply for a few seconds, to be sure he'd really make it, and opened the bedroom door.
"Starsky?"
The living room was empty. He reached out for the wall to steady him and looked around the place from where he stood. The sun was setting outside the window in the kitchen corner. Bright golden and orange colors flooded the sky, thin, long streaks of rain seemingly parted it into small stripes. The air that came through the half opened window smelled like rain, fresh, grassy.
"Starsk?!" he yelled, but stopped as he had to squint his eyes due to the pain that inflamed inside his head. "Starsky?" A whisper this time.
He knew it wouldn't be answered, though. He could sense he was alone. His friend had left.
'Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. That's great, Hutchinson, just great! Terrific! Hopefully he took the CAR or somethin'!'
"Starsky!" he called out, his panic beating the throbbing behind his forehead. "Starsk, where are you?!"
Of course, there was no answer.
Ignoring his body's protests, he threw the front door open and raced down the stairs.
Outside, thick, warm drops of rain greeted him, plastered his hair to his forehead after a second.
"Star-"
He didn't have to move his head twice.
There he was. His partner. Soaked to the bone. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, looking upwards, his eyes closed, his arms hanging still next to his body, his hands clenched to fists.
'Like he's savoring the rain,' Hutch thought. 'Welcoming it.'
"Starsk?" he asked carefully, in a low voice, as he stepped closer, but when his friend didn't react, he spoke up louder to carry the concerned question over the sound of the rain.
"Buddy, what're you doing out here?"
Starsky opened his eyes, blinked once, twice, then moved his head, turned it ever so slightly to let his gaze meet his friend's, the midnight blue shrinking a little as he narrowed his eyes against the liquid falling in them.
"Hutch."
"Yeah," Hutch said and stepped closer until he could touch the other man's arm. "What're you doing out here? It's raining."
Starsky smiled, delighted. "Large drops," he said, gesturing towards the sky.
"Yeah," Hutch agreed again, running a soaked hand over his dripping face. "Pretty large. And... wet," he added, only now looking down to see he was wearing just socks, no shoes.
Starsky, who'd neglected to follow his gaze, was looking skywards again. "They made them large again. Punishment's over. Did something right. Or maybe you did," he said, glancing at Hutch.
The blond smiled tiredly. "Hey, you're welcome."
His hand still intertwined in the material of Starsky's sleeve protectively, he looked down the road in each direction. They were alone, though, the rain kept everybody inside.
"Starsk, don't you think you could look at the rain from inside?" he finally asked his friend who was absorbed in savoring getting soaked again. "Don't know 'bout you, but I'm freezing here."
Starsky turned his head to look at Hutch again. His forehead was covered by dark ringlets that were partly glued over his eyes too. Yet, he didn't make a single gesture to brush them out of the way. "Standing in the rain's allowed, Hutch," he informed his partner. "I like standing in the rain."
"Uh," Hutch said, rubbing his arms as a violent shudder grabbed him. "I'm glad you like it. B-but it's not good for ya, you know? Why don't we go back inside and-"
"You dreamed," Starsky cut him off, his voice low as if they shared information concerning a conspiracy. He even bent closer to the shivering blond. "It's not allowed to dream."
"Really?" Hutch asked and bit his lower lip as if thinking. "Well, as you see, nothing happened. Can we go inside now? Please?"
Starsky blinked, disappointed. "Don't you like the rain?"
"It's... uh... Starsk, I'm cold! Aren't you?"
"Yes," Starsky grinned and spread his arms. Now, Hutch could see he was shivering almost as badly as he was himself.
Without thinking, he crossed the short distance that kept him from his partner and laid a dripping arm around him. "You're shaking," he stated, brushing the wet curls off his friend's forehead. "I thought you don't like it when you're cold."
"But this is rain," Starsky answered as if he couldn't understand Hutch's confusion.
"What's the difference between being cold and rain?" Hutch asked.
Starsky looked directly into his eyes for a moment, then bowed his head. "Wh-when I ... When I hit the wall, I was punished."
Hutch frowned, trying to follow his friend. "What?"
Starsky didn't answer. He was studying the pavement. "Darkness. Darkness long time. 'Snot allowed to hit walls."
Wiping a cold hand over the damp skin of his face, Hutch drew in a deep breath. He could feel his feet going numb. "You hit a wall?"
Starsky nodded, ashamed.
Watching him, Hutch gently grabbed his left hand to study it. "Why?" he whispered.
Starsky looked up at him and swallowed before answering, "I obey, Hutch."
The rain was running down his face like tears. Hutch froze, his fingers over Starsky's.
"I-I... I lost mysel... I... Gotta hit something," the smaller man finally said with a nervous laugh, but bowed his head again.
Hutch felt like time suddenly stood still. The rain stood still. Everything stood still but Starsky, stammering, sniffing.
"D-don't want to... Hate to obey. B-but I do it. A-and I-I..." A deep sigh, almost a sob. "If I can't hit something, then what? What to do? What am I to..." A glance at Hutch, quick, desperate, seeking understanding. "Wh-when not that then... The rain hurts a little, Hutch. At least," he whispered, his head dropping again, "it hurts a little."
Hutch stared at the dripping mob of ringlets, as appalled as he'd been the second he'd saw him on that road.
After an eternity, he finally reached out to tip his finger under Starsky's chin, gently pushing it up so he could look into violet eyes.
"You want to hit something, babe?" His voice was merely a whisper, yet Starsky understood.
He shook his head. "W-want to... want to..." His gaze dropped. "Want to hit myself."
Hutch let out his deep breath, sobbing himself. Without thinking, he grabbed Starsky's arms and drew him in a bear hug, crushing him against his chest, his face buried in the soaked material of Hutch's t-shirt.
"Haven't you been hurt enough, buddy? You really think you need yourself kicking you too?"
He felt Starsky breathe in, then heard a tiny voice near his ear. "I obey. I shouldn't obey. I'm weak."
Hugging him even tighter, Hutch let his hand wander up to press Starsky's head down against his chest again.
He didn't say anything. Didn't know what.
****
The sun had completely set outside the kitchen window. Hutch stood, steam of the hot coffee in the cup he held dancing gracefully around his nose, and studied his reflection on the murky glass.
'Gee, when did I last clean my windows? I could write my shopping list in this dust!'
He smiled wryly at the trivial thought, watching the corners of his mouth twist, arch and fall again. It looked nice, somewhat smooth, though he thought his face felt eerily numb, cold. But then window glass always improved your looks, smoothed your features. You couldn't see if you were too pale or too tired or too worn out. All you could see were the outlines of your face--every crack in the surface, every emotion written on them seemed to have been filtered out.
Window glass was a true friend.
Hutch shivered, lifted the steaming cup closer to his face and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth circling his nose and forehead. His hands ached from the heat, but he felt as though once he'd put down the cup, he'd get too cold to endure.
God, he was tired. So tired, and his head throbbed dully, almost in a soothing rhythm, almost comfortingly.
Behind him he could still hear the water running in the shower. How long since he'd sent Starsky in there? Not that long, huh?
With a long shaky sigh, he looked up again, his gaze once more wandering over the advantageous blueprint of his face that was surrounded by damp blond strays sticking out in every direction. Making a face, he peeled one hand off the cup to run it through his hair, but left it only more tousled than before. The hand wandered down over his face, its warmth being seemingly absorbed by the cold it was met with there.
The water stopped. Hutch heard the curtain being drawn open and quiet dripping on the bathroom floor. His gaze wandered automatically from his reflection's face over its shoulder to the closed door.
They hadn't talked much after slowly making their way up and into the apartment again, both soaked through, dripping all the way. Hutch hadn't let go off Starsky but had kept a protective arm around his shoulder as if to steady him on the way.
The truth was he didn't know who he'd tried to comfort with that. Or who'd needed the support.
Once inside, he'd more or less ordered Starsky to get a warm shower and put on some dry clothes, while he himself had made some coffee and just toweled his wet hair.
He'd been so tired he hadn't even noticed Starsky had mumbled "okay" instead of "yes, Hutch". He'd just nodded and settled for leaning against the breakfast bar, warming his hands on the hot coffee cup. Up until now he hadn't drunk one sip.
Hutch couldn't remember ever having felt so exhausted, so wrapped up in hopeless melancholy. It was a strange feeling, frightening yet somewhat so ridiculous he could have laughed if he'd found the energy. He felt as if he'd instantly fall apart if Starsky didn't step out of the bathroom and be his old Starsk again. As if he'd break down if he didn't hear a real Starsky-wise-crack within the next forty seconds.
As if he'd just die if he didn't feel the comfort of his friend's presence soon. Not his physical presence, but the existence of the unconscious bond that held them together. More than anything else, he wanted to let himself fall and know he'd be caught. Wanted to sense Starsky--his Starsky--and not just see his body or hear his voice without any proof of the man he knew still being there.
'God, has it really been going on for only two days now? Two days? I feel like... Well, shouldn't forget the months before. 70 days... plus two. 72 days without you, buddy. You can drop in any time now, y'know?'
Straining to listen to the sounds Starsky made in the bathroom--fabric brushing against fabric, the curtain again, water dripping then being pulled off--Hutch stared into the eerily colorless eyes of the window-Hutch and made a face.
'How very dramatic, Hutchie. You're exaggerating, and you know it. Starsk is here, you're just too... selfish to deal with what happened. You thought he'd come back and be there for you, because you were... Yeah, what? So damn lonely?' he mocked himself, his own voice so sarcastic, so bitter in his head he actually felt the injury sink in. 'Aw, poor baby. Poor Kenny. Lonely you were? Well, of course that's really horrible. Terrible. I mean, hey, what's being tortured out of your mind and locked up in God-knows-what-'darkness'-means and starved and robbed of every single bit of dignity you have compared to feeling LONELY?! Piece of cake! I bet if you just turn around and tell him he'll understand! Or well... hmmmmmaybe not right away, for... I could be wrong, but it seems to me like he has slight let's say difficulty understanding anything at all!'
The thoughts stopped all of a sudden, when he registered the look on the face he'd stared at had changed. Pain had sunken in, in window-Hutch's smooth features, his eyes suddenly held moisture, there were wrinkles around his mouth, on his forehead. Cracks in the surface.
Hutch stared, held his breath--finally dropped his gaze. 'Two days. It's been just two days. Two days and I'm ready to fall apart! I'm never gonna make it. I miss you, buddy. Miss you so much. Oh God, Starsk, I don't know if I can make it. I don't know what to do.'
His thoughts sped up, his own voice getting louder inside his head, faster. Panicked.
'I don't know what to do! I need help! I need... I need you! I need you so we'll figure it out. I'm... I'm so tired a-and confused and... I don't know if I do things right. I don't know if I do them wrong. I don't know how I should treat you. What if they're right? What if it's not enough? Me. What if I'm not enough to... to make it this time? Every other time before I had you, I had ... yeah, well you, something to cling to, someone to make it for, b-but this... I'm... Gee, I'm rambling in my mind! What the hell's the matter with me?! I should be fighting, should be working, should be there for you! But instead I'm just whining like...'
At the sound of the bathroom door being opened, he let his frantic thoughts trail off, turned around.
His partner stepped into the room, unruly half dried curls forcefully pushed back from his forehead but obviously ready to reclaim the area any time soon. He wore a shirt Hutch recognized to once have belonged to him, and a pair of his tight, faded blue jeans.
At the blond's surprised look, he smiled slightly, his gaze following Hutch's. "I wanted to... I..." The smile faded as he saw his hands starting to tremble, but when he looked up at Hutch again, it re-appeared, even wider. "My clothes," he finally stated happily. "I like my clothes."
Hutch laughed slightly, despite the sudden violent rush of fright that had grabbed his heart like a cold claw when seeing his friend's face fall in fear. "I know, buddy. Mine too, huh?"
For a second it looked like Starsky would actually shoot back a reply, claim the shirt to be his. Hutch felt his heart stop in anticipation--but the curly haired detective just lowered his head in the end, his hands clenching to fists unconsciously.
Hutch sighed. "Hey buddy, want some coffee? To warm you up?"
Peeking up slightly, Starsky remained silent, but nodded after a while and approached the blond at the breakfast bar.
"'Kay." Hutch turned, poured his friend a cup of coffee and watched him nurse it for a few moments.
"Starsk?"
Starsky looked up questioningly. Not afraid.
"What was the darkness?"
The cup Starsky had held crashed down, coffee splashed onto both their pants.
Though Hutch had flinched, he gathered his wits quickly, and without thinking reached out to draw his friend in an embrace, holding him still against himself.
"It's okay, Starsk. Don't get scared. Nothing happened," he soothed, feeling his partner shaking, rubbing a hand over his back in large circles. "It's okay."
"Two-"
"Don't say it," Hutch cut off the shocked voice, not letting go off his friend. "Nothing to be sorry for. 'Sjust a cup. Starsk--what was the darkness?"
Starsky tensed up so much Hutch instinctively tightened his hold on him.
"You're not going to go there ever again, buddy. I won't allow it. I'll protect you. No darkness, never again. D'you trust me?"
"Yes," a tiny whisper reached Hutch's ears.
"Good. D'you believe me?"
Silence.
Silence that started to unnerve the blond. "Starsky, d'you believe me?"
"Y-yes." A short pause. "No."
Hutch thought his heart had stopped. Blown out like a candle-light by his partner's whisper. For a moment, he couldn't seem to breathe.
Yet he didn't let go, stood perfectly still, stared ahead at their reflection in the window glass. A tall blond man--legs shaking, weary as if he'd fall down any second--holding a smaller one, a large hand resting on a curly dark head, the other one on tensed shoulders.
In the window, the smaller man looked limp, lifeless, held up only by the blond who was ready to drag them both down, let them both fall.
"You don't believe me?" he asked, his own voice seemingly coming from the far, far distance.
"I... Two Eight Zero is sorry."
Hutch focused at the blurry picture on the window. He didn't move, didn't let go. Couldn't. He feared he'd crash down if he would. "You don't believe I'll protect you?" he asked softly, not hurt, not accusingly. Just sad.
"I don't..." Starsky started, but hushed himself. Hutch felt him tremble against himself.
"Shhh," he soothed out of reflex. "Shhh, don't be scared. It's okay. I won't get mad, I won't hurt you. Just tell me, buddy. Tell me why you don't believe you're safe now."
"Tricked."
The word was breathed more than whispered, yet Hutch heard it near his ear. Still, he didn't loose the hold on his friend, feeling close to answers he hadn't known the questions to, but feared the special moment might break once the contact did.
"What?" he finally asked softly, the fingers that were intertwined in Starsky's hair slowly starting to move in calming, gentle circles. "What d'you say?"
Hesitant, but willing, Starsky repeated, "Tricked. Get tricked sometimes. Believe..." A shaky sigh seemingly cut off his words.
Hutch waited. When Starsky spoke again, his hand found the back of Hutch's cold, damp shirt, slowly clawing it in a weak grip. "I believed too many things. Believing's not good."
"Believing will be punished?" Hutch asked.
"No. Yes." Starsky's forehead dropped against Hutch's collar bone. The blond watched, continuing his stroking motion, feeling his partner sag a little in his hold as if savoring the relaxing effects of the comfort he experienced.
"Everything's punished," he suddenly said, tired, resigned. Beat. "Everything's punished."
Dismayed, Hutch shifted the smaller form in his arms, looking like he was trying to encourage a worn out child, and whispered, "No, babe, you're wrong. Nothing's punished. Here, no one will punish you for anything. I won't allow it."
A moment passed, leaving Hutch holding his breath with hope, then Starsky carefully freed himself of his partner's caressing hands, stepped back to look up at him.
Hutch blinked questioningly, reached out gently, but when the other one backed away--not violently, just so to keep his distance--lowered his hand again, waiting.
Starsky looked at him quietly for a few more seconds, tilted his head to his site like a child studying a large object, then gazed around the room and back at the expectant light blue eyes.
"I saw you. In the darkness."
Raising his brows, Hutch smiled ever so slightly in surprise. Though now he seemed to strangely miss the warmth of the embrace and started to get increasingly cold, he was more than delighted to be able to look into the face of his best friend across from him--like in a real conversation. Like normal.
"Me?" he asked softly. "What'd I do?"
Starsky responded to the smile, his gaze dropping for a moment as if embarrassed. "Sang for me."
Mouth open to reply something, ask another question, Hutch froze, when he watched a sudden change dig into his partner's expression. It was followed by hands being lifted to perform feeble gestures that looked almost clumsy, as if their owner wasn't used to gesturing anymore.
"B-but you weren't real."
Listening, Hutch pressed his lips together to restrain himself from commenting on that whimpered realization. He followed Starsky's tentative pacing slowly as if afraid that even the movement of his pupils could scare his friend. As if it could make the shy thoughts that kept creeping out jump and rush back into their hiding places like young rabbits.
"Things aren't real in the darkness. Saw a lot of things," Starsky added with a frown, seemingly talking to himself now, "but they weren't... weren't real." From where he stood, he shot Hutch a brief, frightened look. "Got tricked a lot. Being tricked's punished. Hurts."
The whimpered addition tore at the blond's heart. He remembered the first night Starsky had been home--'was that just yesterday?!'--what he'd said before falling asleep. 'Oh my... He doesn't believe... He thinks he's still...'
"I'm so tired," Starsky sighed, running a hand over his features. It was the first absolutely normal gesture Hutch had seen him make in a long, long time. "Tired of hurting," Starsky continued. "Hurts to think," he informed Hutch with a miserable look. "And hurting's going to be punished."
"Starsk-"
Starsky didn't listen. He was talking into his hands, cradling his face. His shoulders had slumped, tired, worn out, beat. Done.
"Everything's punished. Everything hurts. How the hell am I supposed to know all that's wrong? I don't know. I..." As his voice trailed off, he looked up at his partner, and Hutch could see clearly, unhindered Starsky-thoughts running behind exhausted eyes. "God, I wish this was real, Hutch. I wish..." Carefully, he reached out to brush his fingers against Hutch's shirt, but drew them back before the contact appeared, almost instinctively. "I wish they'd stop hurting me. I wish you'd come a-and take me home." He swallowed against rising tears. "I wish there was a home."
Hutch watched, too shocked to move and also not wanting to break the litany he witnessed. The explanations. The answers. He wanted to listen, wanted to know--and then make it all go away, all okay again.
"I want it all to be true," his partner whimpered, rubbing a quick hand over his face, managing to keep his self-control. "I want it all to be real! I want home. I want to go home and have... have my life back. I want my job, I want my apartment, I want my family, I want my friends, I want my memories, I want..." A glance, over trembling hands. "I want you to bug me with whatever--food, cars, whatever! I want you to..." A pause. Long. Then, a whisper. So strained with fear Hutch could barely endure it. "I want to have you and not be afraid it might be a trick, th-that you'll vanish any second, and then I'm back in the darkness a-and failed at a test and failing's gonna be punished, a-and... and..."
He was getting agitated, fright speeding his words. Instinctively, Hutch took a tentative step forward, still quiet though.
"And I won't fight back, because I never do, but that's wrong. I should fight back, I should... I should try harder, but it's so... It hurts," he said apologetically, peeking up at Hutch, who silently gasped at the pain he saw reflected on his friend's face. Pure agony it was, a despair Hutch had never seen before.
"I'm so sorry I don't fight harder," Starsky stated, dropping his gaze. He'd reached his position in front of Hutch again, his head bowed, his hands clenched to fists. "But I... I can't. Nothing I do is enough. Nothing I do is... right. I want this to be real," he added, and this time actually touched Hutch, who caught the hand resting on his chest, holding it in his own. "I want you to be real. But if you're not... If... It hurts so much less this way." A small bitter smile, then, whispered, "Don't want to... lose you anymore. I've lost you so often. I try to... to not forget you, b-but when you're there, they take you away, and-"
Hutch couldn't endure it any longer. As if by its own will, his free hand flew out to stroke his friend's cheek soothingly. "Shh. Shh, Starsk, it's okay. It's alright. I won't go anywhere. No one will take me away."
Starsky let his gaze drop, standing perfectly still. As if his outburst had never happened.
But it had. It had happened, had allowed Hutch to take a peek inside a severely tortured, insane mind.
'There, Ken. The answers you wanted. There they are. Satisfied?'
"Buddy, this is real. Everything here's real. They let you go. You're not going into the darkness ever again. You're home now."
He was rambling. Futile attempts at convincing deaf ears.
What else could he do?
"I got you now. No tricks. No tests. I'm really here."
Starsky looked up at him blankly, until his stomach growled loudly, and he flinched, stumbling a step backwards. "Uh... sorry. Two Eight Zero is sorry."
Somewhat fascinated, Hutch watched every bit of Starsky-like expression being drained from the darker man's features, only fear remaining.
'Stomach growls aren't allowed,' the blond thought grimly, while forcing a reassuring smile on his lips. 'Nothing's allowed. Everything's punished.'
Drawing his hands away, he cast his miserable, scared friend a long glance and turned for the breakfast bar, feeling the exhaustion press his shoulders down once more. At the crunching sounds that accompanied his steps, he glanced down at the coffee cup mess still spread on the floor.
Rolling his eyes as if at the poor cup that'd been stupid enough to fall down, he shoved the largest pieces away with one foot, not looking, and headed for the refrigerator.
"Think your stomach settled down enough for a light snack?" he asked over his shoulder.
Starsky stood, silent, trembling, scared.
Hutch felt himself sigh, heard himself say, "Starsk, hey, why don't you sit down on the couch for a sec, hm? It's, uh, well, sorta dark outside," he said, noticing he didn't wear his watch. "Don't they always show those plastic creatures conquering New York or so after sunset?"
At that, his partner actually looked up, shooting him a doubtful, very Starsky-like glance.
Hutch chuckled. "Creature Feature, buddy. Don't they always show that when normal people sleep?"
Tilting his head to one side, Starsky briefly twisted one corner of his mouth as if a reply nudged at the inside, but wasn't allowed to slip out. Instead, he turned to stroll over to the couch and huddle in one corner.
His head hidden somewhere in the deep insides of his fridge, busy trying to figure out what he'd make, Hutch strained to listen for a few seconds, and at the remaining silence, peeked over the door at the couch. "Come on, buddy, try. I'm in creature mood, aren't you?"
No reply.
Hutch sighed. "Turn on the TV, bu-"
"Yes, Hutch."
Instantly, loud growls filled the place, as a 30 foot mixture of a dinosaur and a rabbit planted its feet onto a fleeing bus on the screen.
Closing his eyes in frustration, Hutch sank down and inside his fridge again. "Yes, Hutch," he muttered. "Here I am with all this power in my hands--and what'd I do?! Order him to watch crap. Great, Hutchie, just great."
****
Stifling a loud yawn, Hutch lifted his right arm to wipe over his exhausted features, careful as to not stir his sleeping partner who lay nestled up on his left side. They'd both slid down to a full-length slouch with Starsky's head resting half on Hutch's shoulder, Hutch's cheek on Starsky's curls and the blond's arm seemingly functioning as a 'comfort arm', as the sleeping man held it hugged to his chest. With that gesture he so much gave the perfect picture of a worn out little boy who'd fallen asleep during the late night movie he'd been allowed to watch just this one time, that Hutch couldn't help smiling affectionately at him, but when his partner stirred even at the slightest movement, he quickly settled himself again, snuggling the side of his face up at Starsky's head again.
The response was a happy low mew, and Starsky shifted a little, melting into the contact even more, relaxing fully, not aware that his friend struggled to sit very still, to not disturb his slumber.
His gaze falling upon the blanket he'd covered Starsky with some time ago, Hutch ever so carefully let his right hand wander over to place it onto the soft edges as if wanting to pin it down to the couch.
It wasn't necessary, though. Starsky had succumbed to sleep so fast he hadn't even had the chance to drag it up over his head.
On the screen, some ludicrous creature that to Hutch looked like a large version of the cartoon squirrel he'd been forced to join on its numerous adventures earlier that day, was fighting an equally big dinosaur in the Central Park. Starsky had missed the introduction of the second monster, and for a brief moment Hutch sarcastically wondered if he should wake his partner so he could watch the one movie of what felt like a hundred they'd seen that night that had two ridiculous things in it.
'And if I live to be a hundred years old, I'll never understand how peop...Gee, Hutchinson, that's the second time in 24 hours you had that thought. You starting to turn into your father, watch it!'
Smiling slightly at that thought--'Snowball's chance in hell!'--he widened his eyes for a moment as another yawn broke free, and shook his head as if to clear it. He was so tired his vision started to blur from time to time, yet he forced himself to keep on concentrating on the non-existent story of the movie in order to stay awake. His back would probably kill him the next day, half-lying on that couch for hours, and it sure wasn't going to do Starsky's neck any good either to sleep like this, but as far as Hutch was concerned, it was better than 'sleeping position'. It was normal.
Besides, his actual plan was to stay awake the whole night and coax his friend back to sleep when he'd wake up after the permitted four hours.
Somewhere deep down inside his somewhat knotted thoughts, Hutch knew that meant losing much needed energy, but then he avoided listening to whatever voices came from deep down. They'd also urgently informed him about the necessity of food earlier, and he hadn't listened to that either. He'd just watched over Starsky's eating, relieved by the other's obvious appetite and lack of pain or distress afterwards, but hadn't eaten anything himself. Hadn't been hungry. Just tired. Tired all the time.
"Everything's punished," he heard the echo of his partner's words inside his head, the pure exhaustion that'd been evident in them; the despair, the helpless acceptance.
He couldn't help thinking that THAT was exactly how he felt. Not like the words, but like their sound.
The dinosaur was dying, its cries muffled through its own fake green blood, its eyes half closing, the robot's mechanism responsible for that having obvious problems.
Hutch watched, his forehead wrinkled in an interested, concentrated frown, then suddenly jerked his head up as if snapping awake. 'God, Hutchinson, stop it, will ya?! You just compared yourself to a goddamned dino-bot!'
At his side, he felt Starsky whimper slightly and slide down a little more, his head falling from Hutch's shoulder onto his chest. He didn't wake up, but dragged Hutch's arm with him in the process, yanking the blond to his left painfully.
"Ow! Damn," Hutch hissed, but quickly bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut briefly until the immediate pain had subsided and been replaced by a constant throbbing as Starsky didn't let go, but snuggled up on him.
Gazing down at him for a moment, Hutch grimaced, lifting his free hand from where it still lay on the blanket and ruffled Starsky's hair, not wanting to wake him, but shift again.
Yet the darker man had obviously found the perfect sleeping position. He didn't move an inch.
Hutch's hand hovered over the steadily rising and falling shoulder, but he just couldn't bring himself to rattle the man awake. The image of the panicked, frantic look that'd flicker through confused cobalt blue eyes the second Starsky would jerk awake and then would be replaced by increasing fear was enough for Hutch to draw his hand away again with a pained, resigned sigh. Spotting his half-empty beer bottle on the coffee table, he contemplated for a second, then tried to reach out for it but quickly realized he couldn't get to it without moving Starsky.
Frustrated, he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
"There," an actor's voice exclaimed on the TV screen, "we've got it right where we want it. It's trapped. It can't move."
Underneath closed lids, Hutch rolled his eyes. 'Oh shut up!'
A sudden violent shudder grabbed him, and his eyes snapped open again. Fighting the urge to nestle up on the sleeping figure next to him for comfort, he scrambled the fingers of his right hand inside his sleeve as if that would warm him up.
Now that he didn't look at the screen anymore, but up at the ceiling, he found that the dull throbbing inside his head that'd been constantly there for the whole evening, had intensified. His throat felt raw, a layer of phlegm thickening in it. Coming to think about it, he had to admit he felt a little feverish too. Moving his head had left him slightly nauseous.
Sighing, he closed his eyes again. 'Great, just great. Terri-fic. Now you get sick again. Great. Must be all this running around in the rain on your socks, Kenny. Didn't your mother tell you to always wear shoes?!'
A dramatic inward sigh mocked his mother's way of saying things like that, but was quickly replaced by his own earnest voice again as he chided himself, You know, 'Starks's right, you can't be for real! There he is, needing you like never before and what'd you do?! Break down at a case of the sniffles. Pathetic, Kenny, you're pathetic!'
Those were his father's favorite words, and they, too, were displayed in the old man's gruff, cold voice. Using his parents' voices to talk himself down was something Hutch subconsciously tended to do. Why, he didn't want to ask.
'You want him to come back so badly, but when he tells you the problem, I mean actually verbalizes the fucking problem, you still don't know what to do! "Hey, Hutch, I'm afraid to believe you're real, cause if I do I might get the living hell tortured out of me again." - "Oh really? How 'bout watching Godzilla vs. The World's Largest Rodent?"'
As if he'd heard his partner's inward fight against himself, Starsky shifted, releasing Hutch's aching arm in the process and turned so that his back was now huddled against Hutch's side, while he curled up on himself, his head lolling to meet the couch's headrest. A small squealing sound escaped him when he dragged his legs up, much like a rodent's, Hutch thought with an inward chuckle.
He stretched his freed left arm out with a relieved sigh, then slid away a little so that Starsky's body, robbed of its support, followed. The sleeping detective gave another low sound, but still didn't wake up.
Looking down on the curly head now pillowed on his thigh, Hutch decided that that was a satisfying sleeping position for his friend and leaned his head back again, closing his eyes. Almost instinctively, his fingers found Starsky's head and he started softly driving them through the thick curls in a soothing rhythm.
Gotta stop doing that. Hanging myself out to dry won't help at all. He needs me to be there for him, to be real. Not to fall apart. But how do you convince someone that the reality's real? How do you convince someone of your own reality?
Remembering a class in philosophy he'd particularly despised during his time at college, he muttered in a mock version of his former professor's high voice, "Reality is relative. Whatever a person thinks to be real is..." But as the words sank in, he hushed himself, his hand stopping briefly on Starsky's head.
"Oh buddy," he sighed deeply, and continued his stroking, feeling himself slip away, succumbing to his own exhaustion. What can I do to make you feel safe? he wondered. How could he free his friend of the darkness, when it felt as if he himself was trapped in one too? All alone, scared, hurting and lost.
"Me personally," he heard a very, very young Kenneth Hutchinson's words, "I think reality's gravely over-rated."
Already half-dozing, he grunted a low hateful comment--"smart-ass kid, me"--and fell asleep.
****
He coughed himself awake, his head jerking forward, his eyes still closed. His throat felt like he hadn't drawn in breath for hours. Something heavy, choking was lifted from his face, and all of a sudden fresh air filled his aching lungs.
"Two Eight Zero is sorry," he heard a faint voice in the far distance, in his momentary confused state unable to grasp the meaning of the words.
The only thing his body allowed him to focus on was to greedily gulp in air through the painful coughing.
"Sorry... Hutch?" The voice again, concern blinking through audible fear.
Instinctively, he reached out wearily, not sure in which direction, and croaked out some intelligible words, that were meant to sound reassuringly, but even to his own ears bore more resemblance to retching than actual talking.
"`K-kay... *cough* `K... *cough* don't be *cough* scar... *cough*"
Once he'd leant forward, his head hanging between his shoulders, though, he found it a lot easier to breathe, and the coughing subsided, giving his mind a chance to clear itself off the engulfing fog too. Blinking his eyes open, the moisture the effort of the painful coughing had built in their corners escaping in the form of a few small tears; he stared at the floor of his living room for a second, struggling to figure out where he was and what had happened.
"Two Eight Zero is sorry."
Alarmed by the miserable tone as much as by the apology, he carefully lifted his head to look at the trembling figure of his partner, who sat next to him, blanket spread in his hands, sheer terror flickering through his eyes, as if he tried to hold it down, but couldn't quite manage.
"Starsk, wha..." Hutch started, dismayed, but when his gaze wandered down to the afghan held in shaking hands, suddenly understood and forced a warm smile on his lips. "Did I dream again?"
Starsky stared at him for a second, then nodded, his head moving slightly to his side as if he wanted to look over his shoulder, but restrained himself from doing it.
"Well, uh," Hutch croaked as another cough broke free, and patted Starsky's shoulder, "thanks for *cough* waking me."
"It's not allowed to dream," Starsky said in a strained voice, obviously concerned by Hutch's lack of care about the rules.
His head starting to throb mercilessly again and Hutch failed to notice his partner's increasing distress as he still tried to get his throat to stop tormenting him with what felt like fire every time he drew in a breath. Grabbing the blanket Starsky still held, he tossed it aside as if it was a weapon, and squeezed his eyes shut briefly.
"Yea, well *cough* next time, don't *cough* cover me, `kay? I'd rather *cough* take the punishment. *cough*"
A small groan escaped him as he rubbed cold hands over his face to get more alert, so he didn't see the shock working into his friend's eyes.
It wasn't until a unusually stern voice reached his ears, that he looked up at Starsky again.
"No. I won't allow that."
Snapping alert within a second, Hutch looked up, a confused gaze finding his partner. "Huh?"
"Don't want..." Starsky started, but his voice broke, and this time he turned fully to look over his shoulder.
"Starsk?" Hutch asked softly, watching in dismay, cursing himself. 'Uh uh. What'd I do now?'
His partner gave a relieved sigh and turned back to face him. "They didn't hear," he whispered, and smiled slightly. "Good thing you woke up in time."
"Uh... Yeah, yeah, good thing I..." Hutch muttered, but as soon as he actually stopped to listen to his own words raised his voice a little. "Starsk... They're not here. We're alone."
"Yeah," Starsky nodded happily, "yeah, they didn't hear." He sighed again, then cast Hutch an apologetic look. "I'm sorry you woke up before time. You didn't have to wake up, I had you covered. You want to go back to sleep?"
Hutch felt his brows arch in pure hopelessness. "Starsky-"
"I'll keep watch," Starsky promised. "If you dream again." He thought about that for a split second, then added in a careful tone as to not hurt Hutch's feelings, "You shouldn't dream, though, you know? Dreaming's punished. Don't want you to be punished."
"Starsk," Hutch said softly, trying to reach his friend, but without success. Starsky was lost in thoughts.
"You never dreamed before. But if you do now, maybe they hear you and then they take you away again." A sudden thought hit him, and he cast Hutch an appalled glance. "They didn't hurt you last time, did they?"
"Uh... N-no," Hutch assured helplessly, a slightly hysterical smile rushing over his lips. "Starsk, you know I wasn't really there, don't you?"
His partner looked at him blankly, the wheels visibly turning inside his head.
"I wasn't really there with you, Starsky. You just saw me, because they hurt you so much you went, uh, a little crazy there. You told me so yourself, remember? You know they didn't take me away, right? They took you."
Hutch could almost see his words falling into place, until Starsky gave a curt nod, as confusion flickered through his eyes, but was replaced by something else quickly. "Right. Right," he said, frowning. "Right. Not real."
Hutch's eyes closed as if out of a frustration of their own. Oh fuck! I hate this!!! "No, buddy," he said, his voice strained with the effort of keeping it patient, "I'm real. This is real. But I wasn't real in..." A frustrated sigh cut off his words. Oh, this is going well!
"I'm real," he stated clearly. "Okay? You're really home, and I'm real."
After a moment, Starsky blinked and reached out to ever so slightly nudge Hutch's cheek. "I won't let them hear when you dream again."
Feeling as if every bit of energy was drained out of him again just by his partner's words, Hutch nodded, resigned. "Thanks, buddy." With that, he stood, stretching his aching muscles and strolled over to the fridge, not really sure what he was doing.
All of a sudden, he felt funny again. Dizzy, exhausted. "Hey, was that really four hours?" Glancing outside, he found it to be still dark outside. "The sun isn't up, yet, Starsk, you don't have to stay awake. Don't you want to get some more shut-eye?" It was more rambling than an actual question, and even if Starsky had wanted to answer it, he wouldn't have made it before Hutch stated with a surprised smile, "Hey, you turned off the TV."
Starsky flinched. "Two Eight Ze-"
"No, it's great you... Oh man," the blond sighed, driving a hand through his tousled hair. "Never mind. Want a beer too?" he heard himself ask as he produced a can from the fridge, then shook his head. "I-I mean d'you want anything? You hungry? I still got this candy here somewhere..." Rummaging through his fridge once more, he suddenly stopped, frowned and looked over his shoulder out of the window again, then back at the can he still held.
'Man, Hutch, you're out of it. What's going on with you?!'
Glancing at his partner sitting on the couch, he responded to the increasingly confused and worried look he found himself the target of with a wry smile. "Just tired, never mind," he winked, let the fridge fall close and slowly walked back to the couch. "Aren't you tired too? Bet you are."
Starsky watched Hutch, and it started to unnerve him. "What?"
"You look sick," the curly haired man stated, concerned.
Oh really? That might explain why I feel like shit. "Nah," Hutch winked casually, but had to reach out for the couch's headrest for support suddenly. "Told you, just tired. Don't get scared."
Listening to himself, he briefly wondered why he kept saying that. As if it was understood that everything would scare his partner.
"It's not allowed to be sick," Starsky informed him with concern.
"I'm not sick, Starsky, don't worry. And now come on, you're going to bed." He swayed slightly when he broke the steadying hold he'd had on the headrest to gently reach for Starsky's arm, but forced himself to ignore it.
Starsky stood immediately, his head bowed. "Yes, Hutch."
"Uhm, yeah, good boy," Hutch muttered, having to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment as his vision suddenly blurred. When he opened them again, he found himself still holding on to Starsky's arm, more for his own support than to guide his friend. Pretending it to be the other way around, though, he didn't let go when they slowly staggered over to the bedroom.
'Maybe getting some real rest too wouldn't be such a bad idea after all, Hutchie-boy. Feel kinda woozy here, huh?' Hutch thought, once more shaking his head, while grabbing the sweats Starsky had placed neatly folded onto the bed with his free hand and handing them to his silent partner.
"There you go."
Starsky studied him for a second, something Hutch thought he'd recognized flickering through his eyes, but it vanished before he could figure out what it was, and the smaller man bowed his head as he took the sweats. "You..." he started in a tentative whisper.
"Hm?" Hutch encouraged softly when his friend's voice trailed off. "I what? Starsk?"
"You're not going to sleep?"
Hutch frowned as he thought whatever he'd seen in his partner's eyes appeared in his voice also. Smiling, he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Have to clean up the coffee mess."
"Oh. Uh-"
"Don't," Hutch hurried to say, almost snapping, "apologize. It was not your fault. Don't get sca... Never mind. Just try to get some rest, buddy, okay?"
When he got no answer, he bent down a little, searching for Starsky's eyes. "Okay?"
To his surprise, Starsky reached out wearily, his fingers flapping against Hutch's chest, then fell limp at his side again.
"Starsk?"
But Starsky didn't reply. Instead, he just turned to change into the sweats, and after a confused second, Hutch left for the kitchen, where he stopped to stare down at the crusty coffee spot. Feeling as if he'd faint the moment he'd try to bent down to rub it away, he stretched back his head, closing his eyes.
The dizziness passed, but a sudden thought hit him, and he turned on his heels, heading for the bedroom again. The jerking movement sent his room spinning wildly, he almost lost his balance.
Standing very, very still for a few seconds, he finally cracked his eyes open to see if his own private earthquake had stopped. He was cold, yet hot at the same time, could feel perspiration on his forehead. 'Starks's right, should lay down.'
Deciding he'd do that, he remembered what had crossed his mind a moment ago, and hurried back into the bedroom, where Starsky was just very tentatively drawing back the covers to get into bed.
At Hutch's entrance, he flinched violently, let the edge of the blanket he'd held fall, and straightened to face Hutch with his head bowed.
The blond sighed, his right hand leaving the door frame he'd grabbed for support, and stepped next to his startled friend.
"C'mon, buddy, get in."
"Yes, Hutch," Starsky muttered, crawled into bed, immediately rolled onto his back, and reached out for the blanket, grabbing only air, when Hutch snatched it away.
"Uh uh," the blond shook his head, feeling strangely like a father tucking in a child. "No sleeping position, buddy."
His partner looked up at him, confused, scared. His gaze wandered to his side as if he was contemplating about changing his position. When Hutch playfully tugged at his sleeve, though, his gaze found the blond's again, the fear vanishing. A tiny, but happy smile spread on his lips, and he slowly complied, following his friend's gentle dragging, until he lay curled up on his left side, facing Hutch.
"Comfy?" Hutch asked, spreading the blanket in his hands.
The curly headed man smiled a bit wider, but remained silent.
"Okay," Hutch nodded and covered his partner, making a point out of smoothing the blanket over Starsky's neck, underneath his chin. When he straightened again, he swayed slightly, but quickly rested his flat hand against the wall next to him, steadying himself. Ignoring Starsky's questioning glance, he lifted the Hutchinson Warning Finger.
"No sleeping position and no hiding maneuvers, buddy. Got that? I find your head under this blanket tomorrow, I'll nail it down next time."
As a sudden, very brief grin rushed over Starsky's face, he gave a curt nod to underline his words and turned, switching off the light. "Sleep well, buddy. I'll leave the door open."
With that, he left, dragging the door almost closed behind him.
He felt a little better, he thought, as he walked back into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes that were burning slightly as if from lack of rest, despite his short nap.
'Probably just a cold after all,' he assured himself, though deep down he found it hard to believe himself. 'Should stay away from rain for a while. Aw shit.' His gaze fell upon the broken cup and the coffee again, and he sighed over-dramatically. 'I hate cleaning up. Couldn't I just plant something in this? Coffee?' Grinning at the silly thought, he bent down to gather together the larger pieces of pottery, he froze in his tracks, his vision fading quickly.
"Uh uh..."
Staggering back to an upright position, he closed his eyes, reaching out to grab empty air, trying to keep his balance. Oookay, laying down it is, he decided, wise-cracking against raising discomfort and panic as the dizziness only increased. 'Why clean it up, anyway, when I can order Gordo to do it tomo... Uh...'
Blinking his eyes open, he stared into a sparkled blackness, but was suddenly very aware of having just dropped to his hands and knees. He shook his head, scared when he didn't feel the movement, his whole body seemingly numb.
"Uh... S-Starsk... ?"
The blood roared in his ears, blocking every other sound, but still he thought he'd said his partner's name. Trying to shake his head once more, he realized he was now at eye-to-eye contact with the kitchen floor. He could smell coffee. He was cold. He blinked, but he couldn't see.
'Darkness,' he thought, 'so that's darkness,' and passed out.
****
There was a ray of light breaking through the darkness of the room, and he was glad for that.
He was on his side, curled up, a warm blanket wrapped around him, his nose brushing against its edge. He sniffed it slightly and felt himself relax at the familiar smell. His eyes fluttered closed, yet the darkness didn't seem so scary anymore. Hutch's words echoed in his head--"I find your head under this blanket tomorrow, I'll nail it down the next time!"--and a smile tugged at his lips as he slid down even more, letting himself be engulfed by the smell of home, safeness, while his eyes still half peeked out, focused on the crack of warm brightness coming from the living room.
He liked the light. It wasn't like the one he had sometimes seen in the darkness. He winced at the memory. That had hurt. Everything had hurt, the darkness as well as the light, its brightness piercing right through his desperately closed lids.
But this light, it was warm, golden instead of white. Comforting.
He sniffed again, briefly wondering if it'd be allowed to uncurl. Many things were suddenly allowed now. He'd thought about that for quite some time now. Hutch allowed him to sleep a lot, to show pain, to eat, to cry. But then, he thought with sudden confusion, of course Hutch would allow him anything. Or better--Hutch would never forbid anything. Like he'd never punish him.
He'd figured that one out right away. Hutch was Hutch. Sure, at times he scared him, but then, Starsky thought, many things scared him. That'd pass.
If he was back home, being scared would pass. If not...
He sighed, frustrated. Things were so damned difficult. And he couldn't help but think that they hadn't been before Hutch had suddenly showed up again. Before that Starsky had known what to do to not be hurt. To not be punished. It'd been an awful lot of rules, and at times he grew desperate, sure, but he'd tried, and eventually they had at least stopped putting him in the darkness. He'd gotten food again, he'd been allowed to sleep, and he hadn't been hurt that often anymore.
He'd had his rain, and when he'd thought of Hutch it had always been comforting. He'd tried to hear his friend's soothing velvety voice, and it'd been there, inside his head, where they couldn't take it from him.
But now--now everything had changed. Now he could see Hutch for real, hear him, feel him, smell him. He nestled his nose deeper into the blanket as he continued to inwardly crawl his way through the huge knot of thoughts.
He wasn't being hurt anymore. And he was called by his name. And there was Hutch. And there was food and warmth, and no pills that made his mind all foggy. Thinking didn't hurt any longer, it was just so very confusing. Frightening.
He could sense Hutch's exhaustion, his despair, and as much as he longed for comfort himself, he wanted to smooth his friend's strained features, wanted to tell him it'd be okay. Hutch had told him once how long he'd been gone, but he'd forgotten. Quite some time, though, he thought.
Time enough for him to start to doubt if anything of his life really had ever existed. He'd started to doubt if there'd ever been a home, a Hutch, a Dave Starsky.
That was over. He knew who he was. He knew who Hutch was. He knew where home was. But along with that realization had come the one that if he was tricked into believing all of this, if he'd one day wake up in the darkness again--he'd give up.
Just like that. No more David Starsky.
No more Hutch.
He wouldn't be able to do it.
So he had to be careful whether to let himself fall. Whether to believe. If it was a test, it'd be over the second they knew he believed. The second he started behaving like David Starsky again.
Under the blanket, his hands clenched to fists. He was David Starsky, not only the name--the man. He wasn't a number. He wasn't a number! How much he hated them for turning him into one. How much he hated them for humiliating him like they had. How much he hated them for everything!
But he couldn't say so. Couldn't even think it, irrational fear they might be able to read his mind kept him from it.
How much he hated them for making him see Hutch like this. He closed his eyes, the picture of his partner's tired smile appearing before his inner eye. Hutch looked so lost. So alone.
If it was a trick, it was a good one. Good tactics. If not...
'I don't know what to do, Hutch. I don't know what to do! I don't want to lose you. If I lose you it's all over. But if this is real... God, I don't even know if I want this to be real. I don't want him to suffer like this. Watching cartoons...' A small grin broke free. God, it felt so great to be ironic again. To be him again. Confused, careful, but him nevertheless.
Sometimes, anyway.
"S-Starsk... ?"
His eyes snapped open, the grin gone.
He listened. Nothing.
Staring at the ray of light, he ever so slightly lifted his head from the pillow.
Nothing.
He opened his mouth, closed it. Listened. Then, finally, "Hutch?"
Nothing.
He waited, fighting down rising agitation. Something was wrong. Something was so wrong that he could sense it.
He hadn't sensed things in a long time.
"Hutch?" He was sitting up, still straining to hear a reply. But there was none.
"Hutch!" he called out, flinching at his own voice. He quickly bowed his head, sat very still. But nothing happened. When he looked up again, the door was still almost closed, the room still dark. No Hutch.
Something was wrong.
Driven by instinct, he pushed himself up and left the room, carefully, quietly, his heart beating in his throat.
"Hutch?"
Outside, he saw him. Crumbled. On the ground. Eyes closed. Pale, so pale.
He swallowed dryly, glancing around. They hadn't come. He was still alone with Hutch.
"Hutch?" he whispered, taking another tentative step forward.
The blond didn't answer. Starsky stood still for a moment, waiting, looked over his shoulder then back at Hutch. He didn't look good, Starsky thought with growing concern. His face had lost all color, and he was trembling as if cold, even in unconsciousness.
Suppressing the immediate urge to rush to his partner's side, he forced himself to approach him slowly, step by step, constantly checking, constantly ready to obey any order that might come from somewhere.
When he finally reached his fallen friend, the blond still hadn't regained consciousness, and Starsky was scared. He didn't know what to do. His instinct told him to act, try to wake Hutch up, get him off the cold kitchen floor, do something, but the another part of him, a frightened one, urged him to not believe it.
It wasn't allowed to be sick. It wasn't allowed to care. He'd be punished. Hurt. Put into the darkness. No Hutch anymore. No warmth. No home.
Desperate, he sank to his knees next to Hutch and carefully brushed back damp strays of blond hair, contemplating what to do.
Hutch gave a tiny moan, and Starsky drew his hand back as if he'd been burnt. He looked over his shoulder in frantic fright--they didn't come. They hadn't heard.
Hutch moaned again, his head slightly moving.
"No, no, no," Starsky whispered, fear widening his eyes. "No, Hutch, d-don't let them hear you're sick."
Hutch didn't wake up, but whimpered as a violent shudder grabbed him.
Starsky was off like a shot, yanking the blanket off the couch. Kneeling down next to his partner again, he neatly covered Hutch completely with it, then slid away a little, so that he sat in front of Hutch, hugging his bent legs as he rocked slightly, waiting.
Every now and then, he looked over his shoulder, but they never came.
After almost an hour, Hutch moaned louder under his cover, and Starsky, who'd kept hushing him all the time, couldn't endure it any longer. Peeling the blanket off the blond's face, Starsky gently touched his forehead as to soothe him, but frowned suddenly, when he found the alarming heat there.
'Being sick's not allowed,' he thought, but at the same time didn't feel like he cared. 'Sick. Hutch is sick.'
Hutch whimpered, a cough rattling in his chest. Starsky's hand wandered down to the side of his face, his thumb rubbing away a tear that threatened to escape the closed lids.
"Shh," he soothed, and after a moment added, "I... I'm..." He swallowed, looked over his shoulder.
They hadn't come. They weren't there.
"I-I'm... here. I'm here, Hutch." Once he'd said it, he couldn't seem to stop. "I'm here. It's okay. I'm here now. I'm here."
He didn't notice he'd started crying until he felt wetness on his hand. Sniffing, he couldn't contain a small laugh. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm really here. I'm..." As the laughing as well as the crying increased, he finally reached out to fully lift his partner into his arms, hugging him tightly. "God... I'm here, Hutch. I'm here, babe. It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay now."
Hutch stirred ever so slightly, coughed again. "S-Stars... *cough*"
"Yeah," Starsky replied instantly, letting go off him just so he could cup his face to look at still closed eyes. "Yeah, Hutch, 'sokay. Okay. I'm here."
Hutch's head sagged again, his forehead meeting Starsky's chest, and the curly haired detective quickly tightened his hold again to keep him upright. "Okay," he assured more himself than Hutch, who was out cold again. "Okay."
Going into partner-mode, he decided to first get his feverish partner off the floor. Looking down at the lifeless form in his arms, he sighed. "Hutch?" he asked hopefully, but like he'd expected, received no answer. "Never mind," he muttered ironically and started to prepare the standing-up-act by gently dragging the blanket off his partner.
Hutch instantly started to shiver. Starsky frowned, but decided they'd deal with that later. First of all, he had to somehow get his partner on his feet. There was no way he could carry the blond, and he didn't particularly liked the thought of dragging him by his feet, either. "Hm. Hutch?" Rising his voice, he gently slapped a clammy cheek. "Hutch. C'mon, I need your help here. You can't sleep on the floor. Sleeping on the floor's not allow..."
He froze with his mouth open, and tore his head to his side, throwing a frantic glance over his shoulder.
Nothing. They weren't there.
He let his head hang for a moment, sighing deeply in relief. When he looked back at Hutch again, light blue eyes had cracked open. "St-Starsk?"
The voice was so weary Starsky winced, but he smiled brightly, grabbing Hutch's cold hand. "Yeah, babe. 'M here."
God, how he loved to say that!
"Hutch, we've to get you up and into there." He pointed at the open bedroom door with his chin. "Think you can make it? I'll help you."
Hutch blinked, confused, but didn't reply. After a second, Starsky gently pushed him onto his back, reaching under Hutch's arms. "Can you... help?" he asked, not really sure what his plan was. Whenever he had to lift a weak Hutch off some ground, he had the same problems at figuring out how to do it. He yet had to discover the perfect tactic.
Without a word, Hutch weakly reached up and laid both arms around Starsky's neck. Looking down at him, Starsky crooked his lips to a lopsided smile. "That's not gonna work, Hutch. You're just gonna drag me d-"
"Miss you," his words were cut off by the blond's strained whisper. Closing his eyes again, Hutch drew in a shaky breath. "Miss you so much."
His heart breaking, Starsky let his head fall forward until his forehead touched Hutch's. "Missed you too, Blintz." He kept the contact for a few moments, before gently reaching up to lower one of Hutch's arms, holding the hand to the front of his sweatshirt.
"Grab that, Hutch."
Hutch obeyed, and together they managed to get on their feet, Starsky almost losing his balance once they were up and he had to support most of Hutch's weight. Constantly coaxing his friend, he staggered them both into the bedroom, where he couldn't help let his burden fall down on the bed with a low thud, crashing to the ground next to it himself, panting heavily.
After a moment, he dragged himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the bed, his head falling backwards until it met Hutch's legs. Closing his eyes, Starsky tried to catch his breath.
'Come on, get up. Resting's not allowed, you know that. You're going to be-'
His eyes snapped open, fear shooting through him like adrenalin, but at the sight of the ceiling, he felt it subside, sudden relief pressing the air out of his lungs. Like waking up from a nightmare it felt. Like jerking awake after having fallen from a cliff in your dreams.
"Home," he said out loud and waited, listened to the echo. "I'm home."
Unconsciously, he reached behind himself and grabbed one of Hutch's foot. "I'm here, Hutch. Still here. Everything's under control."
Almost by its own will, his gaze found the entrance--but they didn't come.
They weren't there.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Starsky finally pushed himself to his feet. Carefully, he rolled Hutch onto his back and quickly peeled the damp shirt off of him. It took a few minutes to get his unresponsive partner into his academy sweats and covered. He was appalled when he saw how much weight his partner had lost, the condition he was in, his face sweaty, pale, clammy, while his forehead gave grim evidence of fever. Dark smudges lay under his sunken eyes, like bruises, and a strained feature was visible around his mouth, as if he struggled to get back to taking care, to regain control even after he'd been beaten by his exhaustion.
Taking a moment to just absorb the overwhelming feeling of reality, Starsky stroked the blond hair, sniffing back a few more tears as he studied the evidence of his friend's ordeal. "I'm so sorry, Hutch," he muttered. "But I'm here now, you hear? I know you're real. I... I won't let you down again. Promise."
He watched when Hutch mewed lowly and shifted slightly so that he lay on his side, the side of his face resting on Starsky's hand. "Hutch?"
But the blond was deeply asleep, his breathing even, undisturbed by coughs.
Smiling affectionately, Starsky carefully drew his hand back, while patting the blond head with his other one. "You just rest, Hutch, okay? Starks's back in charge now."
He couldn't help but grin at the words, almost overwhelmed by their meaning. A part of him felt guilty, because he was so damn... glad he could take care of Hutch, because it'd taken Hutch to break down to drag him out of his own insanity--but then maybe that was just what it'd had to take. And if he liked it or not--it had been and was exactly what he needed. Being there for Hutch. Getting them both through this.
Brushing the back of his curled fingers over Hutch's forehead, he stood to get a wet cloth from the bathroom, and stopped in the door, looking down at his partner. "We're gonna make it, Hutch. I'll take care of it."
That he'd needed.
TBC...
.