Hi all,

Thanks for the kind reviews. Sorry if this chapter is a little heavy on the medical stuff and a little boring. Oh and any resemblance to real persons or places is unintentional.

Again, thanks to Pony for the excellent beta work. Any errors found are mine.

As always a special thanks to the Usual Suspects. I couldn't do this without you guys.

Chapter 2

Three days later.

Starsky moved down the hall, carefully swinging his cast-encased leg forward after planting his crutches. He surreptitiously watched for nurses and orderlies. They always seemed to have a sixth sense whenever he was about to make yet another attempt to visit his partner. But that did not stop him. He would try until he succeeded; that's all there was to it.

For the first time in three days, Starsky made it all the way to Hutch's room and he quietly slipped in. He waited until the door swung silently shut and scanned it for his partner's parents. He would be in deep trouble if they –or anyone one else- caught him in there. He had no doubt in his mind that they would press charges if they found him. Restraining order be damned, he was going to see his friend. He listened quietly for a few moments, waiting to make sure he was alone.

The room was dark, and the curtain was drawn around the bed. He moved silently forward and eased the curtain back. "Hey, sleepyhead," he spoke softly by way of greeting.

Moving even closer to the bed, he gently rubbed the blanket-covered arm nearest to him. A happy sigh escaped him. It felt good to touch his friend again. He had needed this contact for days now. A stranger in this city, Starsky had had no visitors to ease his stress and help pass the time until he could go home.

He had spoken to Dobey a few minutes each day, but that was not enough. The Hutchinson family was as tight-lipped with Dobey as they had been with him. They had simply told the captain that Hutch's life as a police officer was over.

Starsky desperately needed to talk to Hutch, so they could get this mess straightened out. The nurses refused to give him any information about his partner, and getting to Hutch's floor, let alone his room, was on par with breaking into Fort Knox.

He had to see for himself, without interruption or confrontation, if Hutch was in as bad of condition as it had looked. It just couldn't be. It was unthinkable.

The figure in the bed twitched.

Starsky continued to stoke Hutch's arm, he pitched his voice low and soft. "Hey look, babe, I don't have much time. I just wanted to –"

"Masher! Get out of here… you, you rapist, you!" The person in the bed sat bolt upright, let out an ear-shattering scream, and started whacking the surprised detective with a pillow.

"What the –? Who are you?" Starsky stammered, as he fended off the attack.

"Nurse! Help! I'm being accosted!" The older woman who now occupied Hutch's bed shrieked. She grabbed the call button and pushed for all she was worth.

Starsky staggered backward quickly. Trying to evade more blows from the pillow, he lost one of his crutches and nearly fell. Just as he caught his balance, the door banged open behind him. The lights were flicked on; a stark glare filled the room.

"What the devil is going on here?" barked the first nurse to come through the door.

"I just wanted to see my friend!"

"That masher was feeling me up!"

Starsky and the lady spoke at the same time. Then, the woman threw her pillow at him.

"Just a second, Mrs. Murphy. Jill, see to Mrs. Murphy, will you?" The black nurse grabbed Starsky firmly by the elbow and moved him toward the door. Stooping briefly, she snagged the fallen crutch and handed it back to him.

Once they were out of the room, Nurse Melissa, with whom Starsky had had earlier run-ins, put her hands on her hips and gave him a dirty look. "Explain yourself."

"Where's my partner?" Starsky shot her an equally dirty look.

"He is no longer at this hospital." There was a hint of compassion in her eyes as she spoke.

"What! Where is he?" The brunet could feel the blood running from his face.

"I don't know. And if I did know, I couldn't tell you, anyway; it's confidential." The nurse broke eye contact, turned on her heel, and darted back into what was now Mrs. Murphy's room.

Starsky stared at the closed wooden door for several seconds before he adjusted the crutches under his arms and headed back to his room. "I'll find you, Hutch. I will find you."

XXXX

Earlier that day.

"Dr. Lottridge, you are one of the top men in your field. You came highly recommended; that's why I've asked you to look at my son. And all you can tell me is that he will not improve?" Richard Hutchinson turned away to stare out the window of the doctor's office at the winter-white world below. He rested his hands on the window frame and leaned on them.

"No, Mr. Hutchinson, that's not what I said. I said that he will improve some, but only with intensive therapy. He will need extensive physical therapy, as well as speech therapy, and I have this theory –"

"How extensive?" Elizabeth Hutchinson quietly interrupted, as she dabbed carefully at her weepy eyes and discreetly wiped her dripping nose. She sat stiffly upright in one of the chairs, her legs off to her right and crossed at the ankles. She was the very picture of a genteel, but distraught, woman.

"It could take years. And, even so, he will likely need 'round-the-clock care for the rest of his life." Dr. Robert Lottridge adjusted his pristine lab coat before making eye contact with Elizabeth. "You'll have to make many changes in your home to accommodate him. He will need a great deal of hands-on care and will be prone to outbursts." He shifted his eyes from one parent to the other and took note of the tension in the husband's posture.

Richard kept his back to his wife and the doctor, his eyes still fixed on the winter scenery beyond the pane of glass.

"'Outbursts'? What type of outbursts?" Elizabeth queried.

"Emotional, in the beginning, and physical, once he regains some control over his body. This is a frequent occurrence for people with head injuries. If he recovers to the point that I hope he can, he will be frustrated by his inability to communicate and move. He'll be rather like a perpetual two-year-old."

Elizabeth dabbed at the corner of her eyes, trying not to smudge her mascara. "I'm sorry. Could you tell me again what is wrong with Kenneth?"

"He has sustained severe trauma to the head," Dr. Lottridge explained. "He injured the left side of his brain, which is the reason why he has some paralysis on his right side. I believe the paralysis to be temporary, but only time will tell."

"Wait a minute, the right side of his head was injured, how can the left side of his brain be injured as well?" Elizabeth left off dabbing at her weepy eyes to stare at the doctor.

"Kenneth sustained a contra coup injury. That happens when –asin this case, a car accident- the victim's head hits something or decelerates rapidly. There is bruising to that portion of the brain, but the process isn't over yet, the brain can then smack in the opposite side of the skull, causing injury there as well. And given the region of his head that was injured and his verbal responses, or rather the lack of any, I believe he also has aphasia." The doctor handed her another tissue and tossed her used one away. He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I know this is difficult to hear."

Elizabeth shoved her fist to her mouth and her eyes brimmed with tears as she nodded in response to the doctor's words, too upset at that moment to speak.

"You mentioned that earlier. Aphasia – from the Greek: a, meaning 'not,' and phanai, 'to speak.'" Richard spoke over his shoulder, still not taking his eyes off the outdoors.

Dr. Lottridge raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

"My husband has studied law as well as running his Great Lakes shipping company," Elizabeth said by way of explanation, her voice was strained by her emotions. "But what about all the strides they say you people are making in medicine? Can't you just give Kenneth a shot or something?" She proceeded to ball up the paper tissue nervously as she explained for her husband.

The doctor sadly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hutchinson. There is no 'shot,' no miracle cure, for brain injuries. And this is even truer for injuries such as the one your son has suffered. It simply takes time – a great deal of it – for any hope of progress. Time and work – a lot of work. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"H-he's my son; of course, I want to care for him… You said he'd be like a baby." There was an odd mixture of hope and concern in her voice.

"I cannot stress this enough; he will be like a baby, an impulsive, temperamental, 175-pound baby! What aphasia does is impair a person's ability to comprehend spoken and sometimes written words. It can also hinder or even prevent the production of speech. With Kenneth's level of damage, I suspect he has a combination of all of these symptoms. I beg you to reconsider putting him into a full-time nursing facility, especially for the first few months. I can recommend several –"

"He's my son. No child of mine is going to be sent to a nursing home. I'll take care of him." Elizabeth stood up, as if to show her determination, she carefully adjusted her immaculate pant suit. She put her shoulders back and inclined her head as she looked at the doctor.

Lottridge's eyes moved again between the couple before resting on the wife's face. "You understand that he has global aphasia, the most severe form. He eventually will only be able to understand and produce a very few recognizable words and understand very little of what is said to him. He will not be able to read or write. His ability to control his movement is also severely impaired, as we discussed earlier. So he is like a baby with very limited control. He could easily hurt you without meaning to."

Elizabeth broke off eye contact, quietly considering those words for several seconds. Her gaze shifted back to meet the doctor's. "I don't care. I can do this." She gripped her purse tightly in both hands, knuckles whitening with her grip.

"The facility I am thinking of is exclusive and very private. Kenneth would receive the very best care. But this is your decision. Either way, he will need to have a nurse stay with him, at least for the first few weeks. You'll need help caring for him, and you will need to learn how to provide what care he requires, as well." The doctor looked at Richard's stiff back. Not getting any response from the husband, the doctor turned again to the wife. "When did you want to start?"

She made direct eye contact. "Today."

"I'll contact the pharmacy and get his prescriptions filled, all right? I know a couple of nurses that would be perfect to assist you in his care." He clasped his hands over Elizabeth's and gave them a warm, comforting squeeze. He then dug into his lab coat. "Here is my card. Please call me if you need anything, anything at all."

"Certainly." Elizabeth took the card and put it in her purse.

XXXX

After the couple left, Lottridge sat down behind the desk to make a phone call. "Carla? This is Dr. Lottridge; I think I've found a job for you. Can you contact Stacy Sandburg and see if she is interested in some work, too? Good… I'll call you when I hear from my patient's parents… Yes, I'm sure about this… Great! I'll keep you posted." The doctor replaced the receiver and leaned back in his leather executive chair, resting his elbows on the padded arms. Steepling his fingers, he tapped his fingertips lightly together as he stared thoughtfully at the phone.

XXXX

Starsky had found out, through eavesdropping, that Hutch had been taken to his parents' estate to be cared for. With a cast on his leg, the detective knew he wouldn't be able to break in or dress up to sneak into the mansion. He would just have to bide his time and let his leg heal. The Hutchinsons were only doing what they thought was right for their son. He couldn't fault them for that.

With nothing holding him in Duluth, Starsky reluctantly made arrangements to go back to Bay City. He was discharged from the hospital and wheeled to the exit, where his cab was waiting for him.

After the short, silent drive to the airport, he paid the cabbie and then a porter to haul his few belongings to the check-in counter. It felt bizarre to be flying home without Hutch at his side. But it was a feeling he was going to have to get used to, at least for now.

Once he'd boarded the plane, Starsky settled in for the long, lonely flight home.

TBC