Chapter 10

Hutch watched in horror as the man he knew as David Starsky drifted away on a cushion of the anti psychotic drugs, to be replaced by a shell; an empty vessel leaning against the wall and staring with cloudy eyes into middle distance. Gently he put his arm around the unresponsive shoulders and waited, cursing the medical profession in general and McGrail in particular.

'Starsk? ya with me?' he asked softly.

Hesitantly the head turned and the vacant eyes looked at him and then through him.

'Oh buddy, c'mon. Starsk, it's me Hutch. Can ya hear me?'

The smaller man heaved a deep breath and seemed to concentrate hard.

'Utch?' he slurred. 'Ffffffeel weird. Armsssss won't mmmmmove'.

'I know pal, I know. We'll deal with those bands round your wrists later. I know ya feel weird, it's the drug, Just try to relax huh? I'm here. Ain't goin anywhere'. He watched as Starsky closed his eyes and sagged back against the wall, lost in his own medication induced world and Hutch bit back his anger. He rested his own blond head back against the padded wall and closed his eyes, waiting.

Within three quarters of an hour, the door opened again and Traff's familiar, tall figure stood, blocking the light from the hallway. He put his hands on his lean hips and looked from Hutch to Starsky and back to Hutch.

'Well you look like shit' he declared to the blond. With two days growth of beard and dark circles under his eyes matching the blossoming bruise on his chin, Hutch had definitely seen better days. He looked back at the tall tanned soldier and smiled wanly.

'You say the nicest things' he muttered, levering himself to his feet. 'Guaranteed ta make a guy feel his best. Thing is I think I feel worse than I look. You ready to get out of this hell hole 'coz if I spend another minute here, so help me I'm gonna strangle someone'.

Traff nodded and crossed the padded floor to kneel by his old army friend. He examined the semi conscious Starsky using his field medic training, raising the eyelids and examining the eyes with their massive black pupils. He took the handsome face in his hands and turned it towards him, staring at his friend then looked up at Hutch. 'They drugged him again, didn't they?'

'Yeah. Part of the good doctor's deal before they'd let me take him home'. Hutch admitted bitterly. 'There was no way I could stop 'em, otherwise they wouldn't have let him go and there was no way I'd let him stay here another night'. He watched as Traff pulled the limp figure on the floor forward from the wall.

'And what the hell is this?' the soldier tugged at the restraints on Starsky's wrists. 'Bastards' he spat out. 'God, he can hardly stand let alone hurt himself or anyone else'. He got to his feet. 'Ya signed the release papers?'

Hutch nodded.

'Ok, well, lets get out of here'.

With Hutch on one side and Traff on the other, they pulled the limp form to its feet. Starsky stood swaying, his head hanging down as he leaned heavily against his friends. With an effort he straightened and looked at Traff.

'Home?' he whispered

'Yep Curly. Goin' home now. Can ya walk?' Traff held onto his friend's arm as the brunette walked shakily to the door. As they got outside McGrail was there with a paper sack. It rattled ominously and the medic held up his hand as he saw Hutch winding up for another yelling match.

'They're Thorazine tablets. You must understand that his psychosis won't just go away because he's back home. It will be frightening and confusing for him to have the compulsion to count and it could once again take over his conscious thoughts. These are low dosage and you should get him to take them every six hours…….I know you don't like the idea of drugs, but without them, I'm afraid everything will be too much for him and you'll loose him for ever'.

Hutch took the bag reluctantly from McGrail's hand. 'OK, fine' he sighed, just anxious to get out of the hospital. 'Now, can we please leave?'

The doctor stood to one side and Traff and Hutch set off down the corridor. They'd gone no more then three steps when Hutch realised Starsky wasn't following. He looked back at the brunette who was standing in the middle of the corridor, hands still pinned behind his back. He was looking at his friends, but he hadn't moved.

'Starsk?'

There was no response and Traff took hold of the bound arm. 'Walk forward Curly' he said and falteringly, Starsky did as he was told. Traff explained to the startled Hutch.

'It's the drugs. He has no inclination to do anything at the moment. The drug takes away any free will. If ya want him to do somethin' you'll have to explain it to him, like you would a kid'.

Hutch cursed and took his partner's other arm, almost marching the man towards freedom. As they got to the large front door, the small party stopped and angrily Hutch reached around Starsky's back unfastening the restraints and dumping them on the ground as though they were poisonous. Starsky's arms fell limply to his sides although he made no attempt to rub his wrists and nor did he thank his partner, he merely stood, waiting for the next command.

With hands shaking in anger Hutch took a hold of the brunette's arm again and guided him outside to his waiting car. He opened the door and waited, but nothing happened. Oh God Gordo, what've they done to ya?….what did I let 'em do to ya?

'Starsky, get in the car buddy' he said softly, putting his hand on the curly head so that it didn't bang on the doorframe. Starsky got slowly into the passenger seat, and for one of the first times ever, Hutch used the seat belt to strap his friend into the chair, partly so that Starsky didn't hurt himself and partly, he admitted to himself with anger in case the brunette tried to do something stupid.

With Traff following in his own car, Hutch turned his battered LTD towards Venice Place and drove quickly home, occasionally glancing sideways at the drugged cop. Starsky hadn't moved since he'd gotten into the car. His head still hung down as though it was too heavy to hold upright. Hutch could see that the eyes were half closed and the brunette held his hands limply at his sides. Although Hutch knew the drug's effects were only temporary, he hated to see the normally exuberant detective so cowed and…….obedient.

At his apartment he got out as Traff drew up behind him and helped his partner out of the car, leading him into the familiar surroundings of his home. He'd hoped that once in a welcoming recognisable space, Starsky would start to come around from the Thorazine, but instead the bewildered man stood, hands at his side and head drooping in the middle of the room, waiting.

'Hey buddy, ya wanna sit down?' Hutch asked, looking into his partner's face. There was no response and he tried again. 'How about a shower huh? And then ya can get your own clothes on'.

The indigo eyes cleared a little and a shadow of a smile flashed across the face. 'Jeans?'

Hutch chuckled, relieved to see Starsky was still in there somewhere. 'Yeah, whichever pair of crummy blue jeans ya want. Let's get ya washed up'.

Traff set about making drinks as Hutch lead the drugged cop into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and watched as Starsky made ineffectual attempts to untie the string around the scrubs pants. Hutch took hold of the cord and pulled, watching in dismay as the curly haired man saw the pants drop to the floor to puddle round his feet. With a sigh, Hutch guided his partner under the hot water and handed him the soap. Starsky took it hesitantly and stared at it. But the water seemed to be having a reviving effect and Hutch checked that the brunette was going to be ok before going into the bedroom to choose some clothes to replace the hospital issue pants. He thanked providence that both men kept a small supply of their own clothes at their counterpart's homes, and he quickly drew a pair of well worn, soft blue jeans and a red tee shirt from Starsky's part of his cupboard, heading back to the bathroom to deposit them on the floor near the towels. Checking that Starsky was still ok, he walked back into his living room and flung himself down onto the settee as Traff handed him a cold beer from the fridge.

'I hate seeing him like this' Hutch said as he took a long comforting pull from the bottle

'He'll feel better after the shower. Might bring him round a bit' Traff nodded, feeling Hutch's pain. 'Did the Doc give him some pills then?'

'Yeah, the same Thorazine crap. I just feel like throwing 'em down the pan'.

'No, don't do that' Traff said sitting down on the chair opposite. 'For one thing, he needs to come down off it gradually and for another thing, he'll need something to get through the next few weeks'.

Hutch nodded. 'That's what the Doc said, but I don't wanna drug him up every two minutes. Jeez, what kind of friend would I be? I feel like a complete bastard for letting McGrail near him with that hypo today' he put his head in his hands, suddenly weary beyond words.

'Its not gonna be every two minutes and believe me, he will need it. I've seen guys come back from war zones less sick then Curly and they've been crying out for something to shut their minds down for a while coz the pains too great. I know he's tough, but he's gonna need some help and I think the pills are the answer to begin with'.

At that moment, the bathroom door opened and a wet, bedraggled but clothed Starsky came out, rubbing his dripping curls with a towel. He'd struggled with arms that felt like lead to pull on the tight jeans, but just getting back into normal clothing for the first time in weeks felt good and gave him a boost, although the tee shirt rubbed against the still healing burns on his side. He stood at the doorway, leaning heavily on the lintel and looking shaky, but he was smiling, the ghost of the old Starsky trying to break through.

'Welcome back' Traff beamed at him.

'S'good to be back. Feels like I've been gone a long time' the brunette replied. 'Feel like shit an' I've got the mother of all hangovers. Is there a drink around?'

Hutch got up. 'Sure what d'ya want. Coffee, tea? Can't do the beer, it won't mix too well with the….' He couldn't bring himself to say it.

Starsky walked over and sat down on the chair in the living room, seeing the blonde's discomfort.

'Juice would be good. And Blondie, don't beat yourself up about it huh? They wouldn't let me home unless I got an armful of loony juice, so you did what ya had to do. No big deal' he dumped the wet towel on the floor and ran his fingers through his hair, two, three, four times

Traff passed him the glass of orange. 'How d'ya feel now?'

'Well d'ya mean do I want to count everything and run naked through the park at midnight? No, at the moment my head's quiet and I don't need to count. As for the park at midnight?' he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 'We'll see later'.

He took the juice noticing the five fingerprints on the glass. No, don't go there, don't count 'em. Good boy. Normal…. Just be normal. He put the glass down on the table, refusing to look at it further.

'Are ya tired? Ya wanna watch TV?' Hutch asked him, seeing the somewhat distracted look in the brunette's eyes. He dismissed it, putting it down to the lasting effects of the Thorazine.

Seven words. He said seven words and there are three li…..shut up. Stop it! Don't count. Starsky curled his hands into fists, his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms.

'Whatever you want to do. I'm feeling tired. I might take a nap' he said, feeling the need to be on his own and quiet. Maybe if he could just be quiet he could stop the noise….stop the voices in his head telling him to count. He stood up and was about to go to the bedroom when Traff intercepted, handing him a fresh glass and a small white tablet.

'What's this?' Starsky asked suspiciously.

'Thorazine, but only a small dose. Just take it Curly, it'll help' the soldier urged.

The brunette took a hold of it and stared. 'So, you want to drug me too?' he said quietly, accusation in his voice.

Traff took hold of the cop's shoulders. 'Hey, this is me, Traff. Would I give ya something if I didn't think it'd help? It'll just stop the voices for a while, that's all'.

'I don't hear voices' Starsky said, a little too sharply, then backed down. 'I just need some sleep that's all'.

'Well take the pill and then sleep huh?' Traff pushed the glass of water at him again and reluctantly Starsky took it, putting the tablet in his mouth and taking a gulp of the water. He handed the glass back and walked uncertainly into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Swiftly he spat out the tablet and threw it in the waste paper basket, lay down on the bed fully clothed and closed his eyes.

One tablet….two sheets on the bed…..three lig….SHUT UP, just shut the fuck up and sleep. That's right, just sleep and it'll be batter tomorrow. Sleep. He curled over on his side, the one free of burns, pulled the sheet up around his ears and tried to sleep.