As always, thanks to the Usual Suspects for all of their help and support.

Warnings: If you are sensitive, please do not read any further.

Chapter 6

Hutch slowly blinked his way into wakefulness; his room was shrouded in the gray colors of pre-dawn. He wasn't certain what had caused him to wake up. He tensed and listened carefully… and heard it again. Out of habit, he tested his left arm. The blond was not surprised to find it was restrained. He moved his left leg a bit and once more felt the tug of restraint. He tried moving his right side and was happy to note that those limbs responded. He further noted that his weak side was not restrained. But why should they bother with it? He had very limited strength or control of that side.

He had attempted to get out of bed several times in an effort to see to his own needs. He had fallen on one occasion and on another had collapsed just short of his goal. After that, they had taken to restraining him at night. It maddened him to be so restricted and he put up a fight each time. But something deep inside him made Hutch put up a struggle every time they did it. He couldn't seem to stop himself.

Hutch guessed that they were restraining him at night so they could sleep without worrying about him falling or hurting himself. His thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door to his room being opened. That creak was followed by the swish of fabric and he knew what was coming next. Anger, frustration and fear crawled through him. Another day was about to begin.

It must be one of the women in white – a nurse – Hutch knew that now. Words were beginning to come back to him, slowly, far too slowly for his taste, but they were coming back. He could occasionally understand the rare spoken word, but those times were so few and unexpected, that he didn't have time to respond. Spoken words were still mostly gibberish to him. Talking was beyond him; the words just wouldn't come out. He could manage to make some sounds, but he noticed that when he did that, the nurses would often use the push-plunge on him.

He wondered which nurse he would have today, would it be the pinch-faced one or the short one? He was just able to make her form out in the dim morning light, the scent of flowers wafted over him. It was a scent he had come to detest right down to the very core of his being. Today it was the short one. He groaned inwardly, pinch-face wasn't any better or worse than the short one. But at least she didn't pretend that she really cared about him.

The short nurse spoke to him in soft tones. He didn't understand a single word of what she said, but he could read her face. And by now he knew the morning routine. She drew near and smiled down at him. His belly clenched.

The short nurse pulled the bed sheet up away from his right ankle and she brought out a small damp square of sharp smelling stuff and applied it to his skin. It was cold. She wiped a small area where she was going to stick him with the push-plunge.

Hutch struggled to pull his weak leg back away from her, his leg twitched in response. Fear rose as she patted his leg and smiled up at him again. He shuddered and bared his teeth at her.

She frowned back at him, but continued on with her task.

Hutch was sure that what she was doing was wrong, it had to be. His whole mind and body rebelled at the notion of being stuck and having the push-plunge used on him. He was certain as well, that the normal place to use a push-plunge was the arm, or sometimes the butt. But it didn't really matter where they stuck him; his whole being screamed at him that is was wrong.

The only reason he could think that they would give him a push-plunge down there was to hide the fact that they were giving them to him. They varied the places they gave him those as well. Probably to further hide their deed. But why? Why were they doing it? What were they giving him and why were they hiding it? Or was he mistaken about their actions? His whole world no longer made much sense to him. His words and life were gone. With his words gone, he couldn't ask question or even tell anyone what was going on, though he had tried… and failed.

The nurses gave him a push-plunge nearly every morning since he had fought and made noises when he had needed to urinate and had wanted to use the… hard, white bowl, small room… he gave up on that word. But ever since that day, the nurses slipped into his room before his… the crying female; his… mah-mah arrived. He was aware that mah-mah wasn't quite the correct word, but it was a lot closer then 'crying female'. He did not try to call her mah-mah though; some how he figured it would be taken wrong. They already treated him as if he were a… scrunch-faced, cry, squall.

At first, he was certain that they might be trying to help him. That's what the women in white were supposed to do. He had slowly come to realize that the push-plunge things they gave him were not helping him. At least he didn't think they were helping. Then again, push- plunges…of any kind simply made his skin crawl.

Having the stick-poke, drip-drip thing secured to the back of his hand bothered him as well. They had removed the stick-poke, drip-drip thing from his hand a few days ago. But the secret use of the use of the push-plunges made him sweat, tremble and gave him nightmares that he could never quiet remember the content of… it was mostly emotions, and pain. Gut twisting agony, helplessness, fear and a dark figure of a man. A man who wouldn't let him out of a small room, or was it several men? Hutch remembered only pieces of his nightmare. It all was muddled in his mind, sometimes it was one man, sometimes it was three men in the room.

Hutch did remember bitter anger at that the men, or was it a single man? He shook his head but it did nothing to clear up the memory… he thought back to the man in the nightmare. He could have made the pain go away, but he kept Hutch in that little room and made him suffer. But the man had also been kind to him… Was it a real memory? Or was it just another one of his frequent nightmares?

Hutch returned his attention to short nurse and grimaced as she took a last swipe on his leg with the cold pad of smelly stuff, then she poked the sharp part of the push-plunge into his skin. These early morning visits made him want to scream. But he didn't, not anymore. Screaming, or loud noises of any kind brought his mah-mah and stern-faced man. Mah-mah would look distressed and fearful. Stern-faced's eyes never met his, always looking at a point somewhere above Hutch's eyes. Stern-faced's expression was a combination of sorrow and disgust. Then one or both would hold him down while one of the nurses gave him a push-plunge that made him sleepy.

After using the push-plunge, the short nurse went about the rest of the morning routine. She cleaned him up; changed his diaper. This was another thing he hated. Being treated like a cry-squall… not allowed to feed himself, being made to wear diapers. But it was this or the small plastic tube inserted into his privates. He still couldn't decide which was worse, it was this or that. They didn't permit him any other options and being restrained at night kept him from trying to see to his own needs. The nurse would release him just before mah-mah would show up.

Hutch did his best to turn off his mind while she cleaned him up and bathed him. Fighting only made things worse and he never won. Not ever. He looked out his big picture window and tolerated what was being done to him. He imagined himself by a big, endless water that smelled of salt and… and… other things. He closed his eyes and could picture the… blazing circle in the sky, sinking into the big water… he thought of changing colors of the sky as the light slowly disappeared… he felt a deep ache in his chest. It was an ache he got every time he thought of that big water and the blazing circle sinking slowly into the water.

That deep ache that told him he was missing something… forgetting something… and that something was important, but what that thing was, he just could not remember. The thing was like his words… there, but gone… like a word on the tip of his… Hutch let out a hiss of frustration as he gave up and mentally returned to his room.

The short nurse removed his restraints and patted his head. She brushed his hair back off of his face and said something. It was all gibberish to him. She shook her head at him and walked away to sit down in a chair across the room.

A short time later, his mah-mah arrived with his morning meal.

XXXX

She was doing it again. Hutch leaned back into the pillow that cushioned his back from the metal rails of the bed. He ground his teeth together as his frustration level crept up another notch. Mah-mah was jabbering at him in that crooning, sing-song way, just as she must have when he was a little, scrunch faced... he didn't even try searching his brain for the elusive word. It only made his head hurt more than it already did.

Hutch knew he was missing so much more than words. He missed being able to move with ease, to grab things without having to concentrate so hard that he got headaches from it. He missed being able to take care of himself… Nothing ever changed for him though. He could hear his stomach rumble and he could feel his anger rise.

She brought the full spoon to his lips, first talking then making motor sounds as she swiveled the spoon around in arcs as she brought it to his lips. Though his stomach snarled angrily at him, he turned his face away from the food. He was not a scrunch faced, crying… He could feed himself, if she would just let him. A harsh breath escaped his lips. He could feel his blood pulse in his veins as his anger grew. Hutch was losing grip of his emotions again. He turned his head and closed his eyes, trying to think about being by the big water.

Mah-mah spoke to him; the tail end of what she said had a slightly higher note which tipped him off that she was probably asking a question. He knew better then to try to speak to her. Most of the time when he tried, nothing came out and the other few times that something did, it was just inarticulate noises that never failed to make her burst into tears and run from the room. That was always followed by one of the nurses securing him to the bed and use the push-plunge on him.

He panted a bit, trying to control his fear of having a push-plunge used on him again today. He didn't want that.

Mah-mah gently grabbed his chin and turned his head to face her. The spoon bumped his lower lip. The smell was inviting… Tempting… He was hungry all the time now, but he didn't want to be fed, he wanted to feed himself. Her way was too slow. He grabbed awkwardly for the spoon with his left hand. Moving his right took too much out of him, the effort alone often gave him blinding headaches. He tried again for the utensil.

She pulled the spoon away and said something in a scolding tone, shaking her index finger at him as she did so.

Hutch watched as her finger turned into a... a fork-tongued, hissing… thing with red eyes. He jerked back from it. The hissing thing turned back into her finger. He blinked. The finger was still a finger. His stomach growled loudly. He knotted his left fist in an effort to maintain his grip on his increasingly overwhelming feelings.

Mah-mah edged closer to the bed and brought the spoon to his lips again. Hutch reached up and grabbed for it. She jerked it away and scolded him again, more sharply this time, waving her finger in his face.

Something tore loose inside of him. Fine, if she wouldn't give him the little metal thing, he'd get his food anyway he could.

He lurched forward and grabbed the bowl that was on the little table next to his bed, he brought it to his mouth and tipped it up, not caring that the warm gooey stuff didn't all make it into his mouth. Some of it dripped out the sides of the bowl and down his chin, some of it made it onto his nightshirt. It was hot, but he ate it as fast as he could, knowing that she would try to take it away from him.

Hutch heard her horrified gasp, but kept eating. He was ravenously hungry. He couldn't get enough. The bowl was snatched from his hands; he made a grab for it and missed, nearly falling out of bed in the process. Hands pushed him back, preventing a fall. He lashed out, suddenly not wanting to be touched. His skin felt hot and tight. He felt as if bugs were crawling on him. He began to flail his left hand wildly about. His fist connected with something solid. There was a muffled thud and a yelp.

Free of the distracting and almost painful feeling of being touched, Hutch began to dab at bits of food off of his covers and chest. His focus narrowed down to each bit of gooey morsel of food he found. He savored the sweet taste and the feel of it in his mouth. His concentration narrowed to just that. Very dimly in the background, he heard a muffled sob, but was too interested in his food to give it much thought.

There were some shouts and weight was piled on him; he didn't have time to struggle before a pinch as the push-plunge sunk into his skin. His world faded to black.

XXXX

Hutch slowly woke up. His mouth had that sticky, thick taste that he identified as having been stuck with the push-plunge once more. He heard his mah-mah's voice and moved his head to see her. Their eyes met and she stepped back from him and put her hands to her face. The skin around her eyes was puffy and discolored. He had seen something like that before, somewhere.

He could see she was very upset and crying nearly silently, only the occasional sob escaped from her. He wondered what had upset her so and tried to reach out a hand to console her. He felt the familiar tug on his wrist. His left hand was restrained. He attempted to use his right hand to reach out to her, it was restrained as well.

Bile worked its way up his throat.

Something was not right.

He knew it.

He could feel it.

He whipped his head about, taking in the familiar sights of his room. The changes came slowly to him. He looked around.

Change number one -he was not in his bed.

Change two -his mah-mah looked like she was hurt.

Change three -was the two men in white clothing who stood on either side of mah-mah. He did not know them. Their arms were crossed over their chest as they looked down at him. He looked at mah-mah; she sobbed once and turned away from him. The short nurse pulled her away from his side. The pace of his… his… quiver-pump-thing began to beat more rapidly in his chest.

The door to his room crashed open and stern-faced man stormed in. He dashed to Hutch's side, face twisted and red. He leaned down and grabbed Hutch's shoulders and shook him hard, yelling into his face. Spittle flecked out and landed on him.

There was a flash of motion and the hard smack of a hand across his face. Hutch blinked up at stern-faced, the pain of the contact seared and burned his cheek. Mah-mah cried out and ran over. There was much shouting and pointing of fingers. Arms gestured wildly. Hutch started to feel queasy as he was overloaded with input. The room spun and his head began to throb. Too much… it was too was much. Something was very, very wrong.

Hutch wanted to ask them to stop. Stop yelling, stop moving. Just… stop. Everything, stop… He sensed he was moving. Only he wasn't moving. His bed was. The two men in white pushed his bed, it really wasn't a bed, he knew that, it was too small… no! Small rolling bed… white clothes… they were taking him to a… a… vehicle with lights and loud wailing… bad… bad. This was very bad. Vehicles with lights and wailing meant trouble. Big trouble. Always.

He panicked and jerked and pulled at his restraints.

The bed stopped and the short nurse quickly bared his right arm and tied a stretchy tube around it.

A quiver raced through his body as he stared helplessly at the push-plunge as she brought it to his arm. Closer and closer. Tied, restrained, helpless, no control… no control…Hutch didn't know when he started to scream, but now that he had started, he couldn't stop. "Nuh! Nuh! Mah-mah! Noooo!"

The short nurse plunged the sharp part into his arm and pushed. The liquid was forced into his vein. She removed the stretchy tube and stood up.

"Mah-mah! Mah-mah! Noooo! Mah-mah no!"

TBC