21

Eventually Hutch heaved a deep sigh, raising his head from his hands he looked at his partner. 'I can't tell anyone. I couldn't face the looks. Hell, I can't bear to think about it myself. Now I know how those poor women feel when we sit there an' tell 'em to make a statement an' everything will be fine and dandy. I wanna keep it quiet, like it never happened'. He looked at his partner for confirmation.

Starsky nodded, levering himself up into a sitting position on the bed, his neck feeling as though it was barely capable of keeping his head on his shoulders.

'But it did happen' he croaked, swallowing painfully and reaching for the ice chips again. 'How are we gonna deal with it Utch? Memories are….bad. Keep dreamin'……hurts'.

A sad look crossed his partner's face. He looked at the damage he'd inflicted on the smaller man; the cuts; the grazes; the livid bruise which had almost cost the brunette his life. Nothing mattered so much as having Starsky still alive. He could live with painful memories if he had to. He could live with the thought of what those men did to him and he could live with the memories of hurting Starsky. But he still had his partner. Starsky was still living and breathing in the bed there. A little bruised, tattered and torn around the edges, but still the same partner.

'What're ya sayin' here? That we come clean an' tell? That we press charges? Can you imagine what it'd be like to give evidence? The field day the courts would have with it, let alone the press! Shit, I can't do this'. He got up, winced and sat down again, empty, looking for simple answers to complicated issues.

'Can ya live with the memory?' the scratchy voice asked, bringing the question down to basics.

'I know I can't live with the thought of other people knowin'. When Traff told me just now, it took me all my time not to throw up. And now he's said it, the memories are there, kind blurry in the background, like I watched somethin' ages ago on TV, but they're there an' this is real. Starsk, I can't do this. I don't wanna do this. Its too much…….help me?'

The brunette placed a bandaged hand on his partners, then reached up and pulled the big blond body to him, wrapping his arms around and ignoring the pain from his damaged ribs. He held on as Hutch sobbed against him, finally letting out all the pent up emotion and grief he'd held in, starting the process of coming to terms with his violation.

Eventually the shuddering sobs ceased, and Hutch pushed himself away from the comfort of his friend. He heaved a shaky breath.

'M'sorry. First of all I nearly beat you to death, then I try an' drown ya!' he said in embarrassment. 'How're you with all this?'

'Not good…….but got you' Starsky croaked painfully. His dreams had shaken him with their clarity and ferocity and now he could feel the guard's hands on his body again and the sickening memory that they forced him to beg for his violation. Hutch was right. If he wasn't ready to face the memories himself, he sure as hell wasn't ready to tell them to someone else. And who would that someone else be? Would it be easier to tell a stranger, or a friend? Could he cope with the sympathetic looks and the whispered conversations behind his back? He shook his head on the pillow. 'Need time……to remember ...an' deal'.

'Yeah, me too buddy. Me too. So here's the plan. We're gonna deal with it like we deal with everything else. Me and Thee against the world; against the memories an' against the fuckin' perverts that did this to us. An' every day we're gonna remind ourselves that we suffered and we came through an' we survived. Starsk, I thought I'd killed you. I thought my life had ended when I remembered your body on the ground and the bruises I'd put round your neck. Somehow, this….distant memory….pales into insignificance compared to that. At least it does at the moment. Ask me again when it shakes me awake in the middle of the night huh? If you can deal with it, privately and together, so can I. What d'ya say, huh?'

'Hey, I did my share of fightin' buddy' the curly haired man rasped. 'An' you're right. We made it this far…..'

'So, we tell Traff it never happened?'

'Agreed. But then we go out and we find the suckers and we nail 'em'.

oOo

Traff made his way down the corridor of the Metro. He'd spent some time with Dobey, giving his statement and getting the story from the captain on what Matwick had been like the first time around in Cabrillo. Dobey had even kept the newspaper clippings of what Matwick had done to his patients at the other institutions he'd worked at and he showed them to the solder as Traff's blood boiled.

They'd then had the analysis of the drug Matwick had used this time. And the lab, while terming the concoction barbaric, were nonetheless impressed by its effectiveness. Traff was not so impressed however, and after hearing how the mad doctor had used his friend and the mental patients the first time around, was more than angry that he'd been allowed out of jail on a technicality.

Dobey had assured him that this time, Matwick would be locked up for a very long time and with those words ringing in his ears he was on his way back to the hospital to visit with his two slightly recovered and staunchly tight lipped friends.

As he strode around the corner of the corridor, shouldering back into his jacket, he literally cannoned into a party of three coming the other way.

Chang and Marsh grinned at the soldier as he stumbled back, but Traff's eyes were on their prisoner.

The doctor's glasses glinted dully as he looked at the tall man who was stunningly reminiscent of the curly haired cop. He cowered back as Traff loomed over him.

'So you're the mad Doctor Matwick' Traff said calmly. 'You're the guy who used my two friends as lab rats, not once, but repeatedly. Do you know what my friends would like to do to you Doc?'

Matwick shrunk back, trying to hide behind Chang, but the detective pushed the trembling man forward again.

Traff was continuing. 'My friends would like to take another dose of your wonder drug and stand in that bloody arena with you. See how you'd fair. Unfortunately, they're cops and they aren't allowed to use indiscriminate violence on their suspects. So I guess from that point of view you're lucky' he looked at Chang and started to walk away, then changed his mind.

'On the other hand. While Detectives aren't allowed to punch their witnesses, guys from the 8th Battalion can do exactly what they fucking well want' he grinned, pulling his right fist back and slamming it into Matwick's stomach.

The doctor bent double wheezing and clutching his stomach as the tears formed in his eyes. He panted through clenched teeth.

'That's assault' he grunted, looking up at Chang and Marsh at his side. 'You saw that, he hit me. I want to press charges'.

Marsh looked at Traff and then at her partner. 'Hit? Did you see anyone being hit?' she asked innocently.

Chang shook his head. 'Aw…no. I didn't see nothin' either. Maybe you imagined it. Ya want an injection to make you feel better?' he said pushing the doctor up the corridor. Before they turned the corner, he looked back over his shoulder and winked at the soldier.

Traff grinned back, the pain in his fist reminding him just how good it had felt to get one in on his friends' torturer. He put his jacket on properly and walked briskly out to the car park.

oOo

Two days later the detectives were released from the hospital. While Hutch was now classed as walking wounded and had no other physical side effects other than the bruises and wounds inflicted during his fights, Starsky was a little less firm on his feet. Both men were pushed to the door of the hospital in wheelchairs, but while Hutch managed to limp to Traff's waiting car, Starsky had to be helped from the chair and supported to the waiting back seat. His throat had swollen almost to the point of closure during his first night in hospital and it had taken all his willpower to keep breathing, the thoughts of a respirator keeping his iron will working. That, and the fact that when he went to sleep, his dreams were painful, terrifying and all on the same dirty subject.

And so he was weak, his voice was gone completely, but he was happy to be going home. Traff had offered to stay on to look after them for a couple of days and they both felt happy having the soldier around – he being the only one of their friends who knew of the full details of their ordeal.

One week later, they were back at work. Hutch had felt confined in the house, the memories having returned in their full sickening glory. He had no idea which he found worse – the memories of his hands round the brunette's throat, or the hands of the guards invading his own body. Either way, he needed some release for his emotions, and work seemed the answer for both of them.

Starsky's voice was slowly returning, although it seemed to have lowered an octave and was husky and weak. But he too itched to get back to some semblance of normality, hoping that work would allow his mind to concentrate on something other than the freakish captivity he'd endured. Each time he closed his eyes he saw the guards leering over him and heard his own voice asking them to violate him, and each time he remembered, the bile rose in his throat and the blood boiled in his veins.

Their first morning back at the metro had been strained. The other guys were used to one or other of their number coming back to work after an injury, but each comment or each brief touch made Hutch or the brunette jump, wondering if their story had leaked out. Did that comment mean someone knew what had happened to them? Did this touch have a hidden meaning? By lunchtime on that first morning they were ready to explode and both decided to hit the streets, hoping familiarity and the car would calm their emotions.

'I need to get out' Hutch growled, shouldering into his jacket and pushing the chair back with such force it bounced off the desk. Starsky followed a pace behind, but such was the blonde's need for air he couldn't catch his partner up until they were outside and in the car.

'Hey Blintz, slow down huh?' the brunette got into the car and sat behind the wheel. 'Hutch we can't go on like this. One of us is gonna explode at this rate. We need to do somethin' or say somethin' but I ain't gonna go around with my head in the sand any more. I can't. This is eatin' me up and its getting you all bent up too. We either need to ignore it, or talk to someone, an' I don't think I can do the first option'.

Hutch shook his head. 'Well I'm not ready for plan B either. I just feel like my heads gonna blow up. I don't sleep, I don't function properly when I'm awake. I thought coming back to work would make it easier, but I'm jumpier than a cricket'.

'So what? Whatcha wanna do? Coz we sure can't carry on as we are'.

The blond ran his finger over his lip. 'Dunno. Drive an' we'll think of somethin'