3

Starsky stared at the blond who was being held upright by the two guards. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Hutch look so bad, including the horrendous time they'd had while he was coming down from the heroin. Had he been a junkie? Where had that memory come from? Blue/black bruises stood out lividly over the lightly tanned torso, and bruises cuts and grazes marred the handsome face. Whatever had been done to him, Hutch hadn't taken it without a fight. He stood, swaying between the two guards, his breath whistling through his teeth as he looked despondently at his partner tied to the chair again, scared at what he would find this time.

'Hutch?' Starsky/Blue said again a little less hesitantly. He knew that he knew the man, although he couldn't quite recollect why he knew him. Was he a relative? Was he a friend? Something nagged at his mind, telling him there was a longstanding relationship with the tall, flaxen haired man, but he was damned if he could remember. He'd told the doctor he was a cop. Was that right? He had no recollection of being a cop, although he thought he remembered a red car. Was that part of his past?

His heart hammered in his chest as he fought the fear caused by the absence of memories. It was as if he was looking out at the world from a big pit, surrounded by cloying blackness and he longed to feel; he longed to have any sort of emotion, even the angry, painful ones.

The blond man had called him by his name and had called the doctor a name too. Matwell?….no, Matwick. Starsky/Blue thought he should know that name also, but his mind was still partially fogged and in his desperation to remember he almost wished the doctor would put the electric prod against him again, so that the pain would bring more clarity. Shit, with the band around his head, holding it in place, he couldn't even shake it! The name coursed through his head. He should know why it was important, why couldn't he remember.

Hutch…Hutch…Hutch. Remember…try to remember….shit, hurts…..It hurts Hutch, Oh God it hurts!

'Starsky, ya gotta fight this! Fight the drug Starsk. You don't want to do this' Hutch pleaded. 'Don't give in. You aren't Blue. You're a person, not a machine. Starsk? Gordo? Remember! For me huh? For Hutch?' His voice tailed off into hopelessness as he saw the light leaving the familiar eyes and he knew then that he'd lost his partner, maybe for ever.

This was the twelfth day he'd been brought into this room to witness his partner's descent into oblivion. At the beginning, on the first day Starsky had fought with every ounce of his being to get out of the chair and back to Hutch's side. On that first day, there had been more guards because both men fought with every sinew they had to get free of the mad doctor's clutches. They'd both been injured in the process. Not seriously; never seriously – just bruises. The doctor and his associates still needed them in decent shape for their purposes. Broken bones were something they wouldn't tolerate. To the men, the important thing was that they'd fought together. Shoulder to shoulder, as they always had. A team. Starsky and Hutch. They'd watched each other's backs, but they'd been beaten into submission by the well-equipped guards, and then, as Hutch had been held back, they'd taken Starsky and bound him to that freaking chair and started their mad experiments.

With every progressive day since he'd been forced to watch Matwick inject more of his serum into the bound, muscle corded arm and more and more of the man he knew as David Starsky disappeared with the depressing of the plunger. His friend and partner was disappearing before his eyes and Hutch didn't know what was worse – the fact the Starsky's mind was being eroded away, or the fact that he was helpless to resist.

The change in the brunette after the administration of the drug was dramatic and almost immediate. The first day, Hutch had watched in horror as Starsky had been bound to that damned examination chair and Matwick had pushed the syringe against his partner's immobile arm and depressed the plunger. Starsky had been icily calm after the initial fight, staring belligerently at the evil doctor and refusing to meet Hutch's eyes. He knew his partner hated needles – not just a fear, but a pathological dread of them – and there was no way he wanted to see the fear and horror in those ice blue eyes.

But Hutch had watched as the needle came away and his partner's eyes turned glassy and unfocussed. At first the blond had hoped that the drug was maybe a tranquilliser or sedative and fairly harmless, but within minutes the changes had started to happen. Starsky started to struggle in the chair tugging at the bonds until he was in danger of ripping the flesh around his wrists and ankles. His breathing was ragged as if he's run a five mile race and his eyes stared about him wildly. He looked angry – the most angry and disturbed that Hutch had ever seen him and even when he looked at the blond, there was no hint of recognition in the eyes. It was that that had chilled the blond to the bone. No more shoulder to shoulder. No more team of two. No more Me and Thee. If he read the look on the handsome tanned face correctly, Starsky would much prefer to beat him unconscious rather that pull him into his familiar bear hug of an embrace.

And then Matwick, sitting calmly in his chair, pen and pad in hand had started to ask him the questions. Simple questions. The sort a five year old child could answer without another thought. But for the drugged brunette they were a test of his mind control and how much of David Starsky remained once the dreaded injections had claimed him.

'Tell me your name'.

Starsky had stopped his struggling at the sound of the voice and looked at the doctor as if seeing him for the first time. He opened his mouth to answer, and his lips worked at forming the words, but instead a confused look came over his face.

'St…S….Da…..My name? I don't know. Shit, I don't know' he'd said with rising panic in his voice and had started to struggle again. 'What the hell have you done to me? I'm St….St…fuck!' He'd looked in mute appeal at the blond, fear sparkling in the indigo depths and Hutch had met his gaze and locked his eyes on Starsky's, willing him to know the answer. Willing him to be strong and retain his identity.

Matwick had noted something on the chart he carried and had sat back and waited, watching in satisfaction as the bound man struggled with his emotions and tried to regain his memories. Hutch had tried frantically to talk to his partner, but that was never part of the experiment and at a nod from the mad doctor, the guards had set about silencing him with their fists. What unnerved the blond even more was that when he looked back at his bound partner, Starsky was watching the beating in rapt attention, a small smile on his face, his lips parted in anticipation of the next blow. He was enjoying the show!

Eventually Hutch had calmed himself, and the guards reluctantly stopped their attack, watching the panting sweating blond form at their feet. They were hungry for more, knowing that now, while the blond was still free of the drug, they could take advantage of him. Maybe later, they'd have to take as many precautions as they had to do with the curly haired hellion in the chair.

Ten minutes passed, Matwick again tried the same question.

'Tell me your name'

Starsky's eyes had been closed. He'd felt dizzy and sick as the drug washed over him and felt like he had the mother of all hangovers. He thought he'd been made to watch a movie – a violent one at that – but when he opened his eyes and saw his blond partner's body, cut and bleeding, he realised with horror that he'd witnessed Hutch being brutalised and it was no sick film. He stared back at the doctor.

'Why? You know my name! Leave him alone. If you want a piece of me, fine. But let him go'.

Matwick smiled and said nothing. Instead he wrote on the chart:

Dosage 10 - duration 10 minutes.

He signalled the guards and they picked Hutch's body up, supporting the semi conscious blond between them. Painfully he lifted bruised eyes to his partner.

'Be careful' Hutch wheezed.

'Hutch? Watch your back, partner'. Starsky turned his defiant gaze on the doctor. 'You no good piece of low life shit. I'm gonna kill you, soon as I can, ya hear. You leave him alone. I swear, if you lay one more hand on him I'll….' His tirade tailed off as the two men propelled Hutch out of the room and Matwick pushed another syringe against his arm.

And it had been that way every day since. The brunette had slowly lost his identity as the drug that Matwick administered with ever increasing doses slowly robbed him of his memories. And always there for the doctor to check on whether the strong-minded cop was faking it, was the blond partner. Matwick understood well the bond between the two men – that the brunette would not sit idly by while his partner was beaten. He'd seen with satisfaction the blood lust in those deep, indigo eyes while he'd watched the savage attacks on the blond, and he'd reported back that the drug was becoming a success.

With the increasing dosages the only thing that allowed Starsky to remember that he was David Starsky, Sergeant and Detective in the Metropolitan Police, Bay City Division was the pain. And Matwick knew he needed to eradicate that last little bit of free will too. Otherwise his syndicate would not be happy with their new purchases.

Now, Matwick pushed the plunger against the bared arm again, the crease of the arm at the elbow marred by the tiny needle wounds, and wrote on the chart.

Dosage 100

He sat back and waited. Blue 1 had already had a 90 dose earlier that day and the results had been encouraging. Now he wanted to use the final 10 dosage to see if he could eradicate the last vestiges of the brunette's persona and change him once and for all into the machine he needed to be.

Starsky's body trembled in the chair. The fire which had course through his veins earlier now turned to molton lava, forcing its way through his body and cleansing him of any thoughts save the feelings of anger and rage. He wanted to fight. He wanted to sink his fists into soft flesh and hear the grunts of pain…..he wanted to kill.

He stared back with wild eyes at the doctor and as Matwick came forward to lift the eyelids and shine his penlight into the stormy orbs, Blue 1's body jerked against the bonds, trying frantically to punch at the white coated man.

Matwick stepped away in alarm and then a satisfied leer crossed his features. Calmly he sat back down in his chair and picked up his chart and pen.

'Tell me your name'.

'Who the hell cares?'

'Tell me your name'.

'Blue 1' the man in the chair snarled, struggling still against the restraints.

'And what do you do?'

A rough smile crossed the features as he stared back, panting at the doctor, but he said nothing. Matwick pressed him further.

'What do you do?'

The one word answer was spat out with such venom that it took the doctor by surprise.

'Fight'.