Hi All,

Thanks so much for all the encouraging reviews and emails. I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Poor Pony (who has been my beta) has been struggling with eye problems and per doctor's orders, can no longer beta until her eyes heal. Kate CMT has offered to help me while Pony's eyes rest and heal. Heal soon Pony! And Thank you Kate!

Chapter 3

As he regained consciousness, Hutch found his world was a very disorientating and confusing place and he tried to figure out who he was. It took a long time, at least, it felt like a long time, but he did recall that much.

After figuring out who he was, he focused on trying to make sense of the confusion that was happening around him and to him. He struggled to figure out where he was. This too, seemed to take considerable time, but finally, his eyes and nose told him he was in a… a… the word escaped him. It was a place where hurt or sick people got better.

He chased the word around in his brain. There was a name for this place. The word evaded him. He tried again and again until his thoughts had become like a… a… slobbery, furry animal chasing its wagging thing, round and round. He chased the evasive word round and round in his head. There were words for those slobbery, furry things too. In his mind the blond could see the image of the creature and the place in his head. But the words themselves were gone.

Hutch knew these words… but what were they? He knew them; they were there on the tip of his… his… He had to work to stick out the pink thing in his mouth, so he could see it… name it, that thing too had a name… and that word, like so many others, ran fearfully away from him. His words were gone. So very many of them were now gone. He head began to fiercely pound with the effort of finding the words, reluctantly, he forced himself to stop trying.

As he now often did, he lay staring blankly as things happened around him and to him. Over the next few days Hutch also noticed that his body didn't want to listen to him. And when it did, it took a great deal of effort to do anything. Moving was difficult, rather like swimming in thick, dirty, wet stuff. Moreover, his right side seemed affected more than his left.

Hutch also noticed was that people in this place talked too fast and in some strange foreign language that didn't sound like anything he'd ever heard before. Their words ran together and were a garbled mess. And things became even worse when more than one person spoke at a time, the input was just too great and it made him nausous. He wanted answers, but when he attempted to ask questions, nothing coherent came out of his mouth.

He had seen his… his… again the word evaded him. When he had been little, they had been there, younger versions of the people who were in the room with him now. His, strict, stern-faced male... the word wasn't there. Hutch's headache grew, so he didn't bother to look for the word.

The other one, crying female… light-blonde hair… his… his… again the word he wanted wasn't there… she burst into tears whenever she was near him. But he knew her. He tried to ask her what was wrong, but she would shove her… white cloth… in her face and turn away, with shoulders shaking.

Men and women in white flitted around him at different times of the day and night. They seemed to be continually popped in and out of his space as they babbled rapidly in their strange language. Time passed, and then he heard another voice. This one spoke quietly and slowly, so much so that he could almost understand what was being said to him. Curious, Hutch used much of his limited strength to turn his head to face the speaker.

For a long moment, the blond simply stared at that man with the dark curls and blue eyes. He gaped blankly at the face and watched the lips move and make words as he fought to understand. He struggled with his aching head and his vanished vocabulary. It was frightening to be missing so many words and maddening that things kept happening so fast.

Hutch could feel the liquid pool in his mouth and was powerless to wipe it away as it flowed out of the corner and over his bottom lip and down his face. Then, as always, everything quickly changed on him. There were some rapid movements, a loud, sharp sound and then the crying female was there, wiping his face, patting his aching head, and babbling, always babbling at him.

There was more loud, incoherent chattering between the crying female and the stern male. Hutch lost interest after Dark Curls left. He pulled into himself mentally, retreating as he closed block out outside stimulus. He began to ruminate on whom those dark curls belonged to.

The more he thought about it, the more he was certain he knew… Dark Curls. But the more he concentrated, the more his head began to pound. Finally, Hutch gave up, too tired to chase the word.

As sleep overpowered him, it came to him that he really did know the man with the dark curls. Hutch was elated. But then he recalled, with horror he had had… water from mouth… and that was when Dark Curls had backed away - hadn't even tried to touch him. The not trying seemed… wrong, somehow. Maybe Dark Curls didn't like to see… water from the mouth. He resolved that he would try harder the next time he woke up. Then perhaps, Dark Curls would stay near.

XXXX

When next he woke, Hutch found that there was too much going on around him. He couldn't even begin to make sense of any of it. He wanted everything to slow down-- to stop. All of the commotion was making him nauseous. But the action not only continued, but increased, until his thoughts spun and he head ached.

He lifted his head to try to get someone's attention as his stomach started to spin. He tried to roll to his side and curl up, but found he couldn't move. Hot soupy vomit surged up his throat and out of his mouth. Some of it flowed backwards and clogged his throat, causing the blond to choke, cough and retch violently.

Movement stopped and people clustered around him, reaching for him as his world faded to gray and then black.

XXXX

Some time much later, Hutch woke up slowly, taking in his surroundings. It was different then the hurt/sick-get-better place. He closed his eyes and slowly sniffed the air. The scent was familiar, as were the walls that surrounded him. He was… the word refused to reveal itself. He knew this place. Back when he was young, growing up… he had a… little young blonde, with long hair… hanging on him, laughing with him. It was his… his… Hutch gave up on the word for the little blonde. In this place was crying female, stern man, little long hair and him. Yes, he knew this place. Knew it very well.

"Badkkwi ad kw jdalkjfee j soes sd gtey."

Hutch slowly opened his eyes; facing him was a female in white.

"Dkd, spk avbdama?"

He stared hard at her mouth, attempting to make sense of the strange words. She seemed to be asking him something.

"Dkd, spk avdbama?"

Frustrated, Hutch shook his head, which made spots form in front of his eyes. He snapped his eyelids down and rode a wave of nausea. He startled at a touch to his hair and reopened his eyes.

"Badkkwi ad kw jdalkjfee j soes sd gtey." The female in white smiled. "Hds woyfkam."

She patted his arm and picked up something from a tray next to his… his… Another word was missing. Hutch didn't bother to look for it. Instead he looked at what she held. It was a long pointy, clear, plunger, push.

She raised it, flicked at it with a finger and pushed the plunger part. Some liquid squirted out the pointy part. "Pedeta dk m kale vxd."

Hutch pulled back, sinking deep into his pillow, staring at the long pointy thing, with the liquid running down. He eyes were glued to the sight of the object. He gritted his teeth and tried to tell her to stop. He could hear his own harsh and labored breathes as he struggled to speak, to say something –anything- to get her to stop.

"Pedeta dk m kale vxd." She rubbed something wet and cool on his arm, she smiled as she stuck the long pointy sharp part of the thing in the crook of his elbow.

Hutch flinched and tried to move, his breath came in panicked huffs as he felt it pierce his skin. With a mighty effort, his left arm obeyed him, flailed out and she was pushed back away from him. The push-plunge clattered to the floor. Success!

"HXZQW!" The female in white glared at him. "Nmx jz woika wdk dplu!" she dabbed at the stain on her white front. "Yoemx xcyzw, da pexd djekled."

Hutch had no clue what she said, but he really didn't like the sound of it, whatever it was.

XXXX

Starsky arrived at Bay City airport terminal and took a taxi home. He hadn't called Dobey or Huggy or any number of other friends of his to come and get him. He just wanted to be alone for a little while.

He knew Dobey, Huggy and the others would ask all kinds of questions, questions he simply didn't have the answers to. Nor did he feel up to dealing with the sympathetic looks –or all the rest of the crap they would say, or do, to try to make him feel better. There would be no "feeling better" this time. This whole tragic fiasco was his fault.

The brunet brooded all the way home. He paid the taxi driver and as the man sped away, Starsky realized he should have paid the man a little extra to haul his duffle up to his apartment. He looked at the retreating taillights and cursed at himself as turned to stare up at the stairs. Still awkward with his crutches, he knew it was gonna be a challenge to climb those steps while trying to tote his luggage. There seemed to be far more then he remembered. As he cautiously bumped and thumped up them, they seemed to be multiplying.

The strap of the duffle kept slipping off his shoulder and hitting his crutch. Which would cause him to slap his broken leg down on the riser to keep his balance. The pain would surge up his leg to the rest of his body only to be repeated on the next one. It was a vicious cycle. It sapped at his much diminished strength and upon gaining the top step he had a near death experience when his had nearly lost his balance, duffle, crutches and life. He flung himself forward and somehow managed to land on his duffle with his crutches at his sides, instead of all of them ending up at the bottom of the steps.

He lay there panting for several long moments before climbing to his feet. The brunet was too tired to try lift his bag, so he ended up using his crutches to alternately push the duffle and swing his broken leg. Push, swing. Push, swing. He slowly forced himself to his apartment door by shear willpower.

Starsky entered his place, flicked on the light, closed the door and locked it. He rested his forehead against the solid wood for a few minutes and panted. His lungs heaved and the sweat dripped off of him. His leg was aching now as badly as when he had broken it, the other leg burned with fatigue from the combination of the long flight, cab ride and climbing the Mount Everest of staircases.

When the exhausted detective finally caught his breath, he turned and faced the room. He was home. Only it didn't feel like home. Not anymore. He let out a heavy sigh, arranged his crutches under his arms and maneuvered his way over to his couch. After he sat, he heedlessly let the crutches drop to the floor with a clatter of sound. He left them there. Starsky stared without seeing the blackened screen of the turned-off television.

He thought back to the conversation he had had with Dobey while he was still in the Duluth hospital that he was on short-term disability for the next eight weeks, minimum. After which one of the departmental doctors would check his progress. Starsky knew the drill by heart and right now, he didn't care. He had to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

TBC