Again -- thanks to those who are reading.

I appreciate it.

-oooo-

There was a draft over his head. Hutch sat on a corner of the exam table. The hospital gown he wore left a gaping section of his bare back on the receiving end of the cold air blasting down on him. Shivering sent a lightening bolt of pain to his neck. He eyed the medical instruments that lay on a tray to his left. Couldn't stop looking at them. They were shiny and metallic and were going to be used somehow to poke around the swollen and throbbing mass inside his throat. He was tempted to sneak away, but the skinny black man, who was glued to his side, stood on the other side of the door of the stark examination room.

Besides he hardly had enough energy to sit up--let alone get up from the table and make his way out into the hallway—escaping doctors, nurse, and his new caretaker, Huggy Bear.

A doctor was going to perform an Indirect Laryngoscopy on him. At least that's what the physician had explained to him.

The shiny stainless steel on the tray drew his gaze again. Announced its presence and suggested its future home was soon to be somewhere digging around inside the scorching pain pulsing in his neck. He groaned quietly both in the expectation of its punishment and also in acknowledgement of the terror building within. Terror – the state of – was a place he was becoming too accustomed to. His partner had been the one to send him on the journey there.

He didn't like being fearful. Not that he didn't have moments when he had been scared. There had been many. The alley—just days before Gillian's murder, or… when poison threatened to take the life of the person most important to him—his partner, or…when Ben Forest had tried to inject a beast from hell into him. And hundreds more…

But every time he had been scared-- Starsky had been there. Hutch had drawn strength from his friend's love and support. Trusted Starsky to have his emotional and spiritual back.

At the moment—even if he could convince himself he was completely at ease with his partner standing at his side—it wouldn't have been permitted.

Dobey ordered the cops to keep distance between them.

Part of Hutch could still feel Starsky reaching out to him. Part only felt the strangling grip of his partner's crushing fingers at other end of that reach. He shuddered.

The door swung open.

"Detective Hutchinson, so sorry I kept you waiting," the doctor offered apologies as he gave the detective a warm smile.

Hutch barely nodded as he watched the doctor move to give his hands a good scrub in a nearby sink.

Dr. Lisner asked him, "Feeling ok today," while slipping a pair of latex gloves over his disinfected hands. Not waiting for Hutch's answer, the doctor began gently probing his patient's wounded neck. "Hmm, swelling hasn't gone down much. Was hoping we'd see some improvement," he mulled.

Hutch grimaced from the light contact and slightly turned his face away to hide his pain from the physician.

"Sorry," the examiner mumbled as he continued peering through his bifocals at the bruising.

Hutch wanted to tell him it was all right but he couldn't take the words in his head through the maze of inflammation-- form them in the back of his mouth and roll them off the chalkiness on his tongue. He couldn't stand the taste in his mouth. Wanted to scrub away the organic tinge of stale blood and bitter medicine that were coating his teeth and gums. He raised a hand to his chest and uttered a sound that should have been a word. "Ugmhm."

The doctor cast his eyes up at Hutch. "Don't try to talk," he instructed firmly. "Ok, I want to take look in there." Lisner made a deliberate swipe at metal on the tray, picking up a long pointed object with a mirror on the end of it.

Hutch glanced down at it and felt another shudder zip up his back. Glancing up to the doctor's face –he realized his complete preoccupation with the tray hadn't allowed him to notice the doctor wore some contraption of light and mirror on his head.

His puzzled expression wasn't missed by the physician who commented, "This procedure is simple. Just going to use this." He held up a metal tongue depressor. "…and this." And showing Hutch the mirror in hand again, "…to look down your throat. The other items on this tray are just decoration, okay? Nothing pointy. I won't be doing any cutting. I would spray with a local anesthetic but the taste can be quite bitter and could also cause the sensation of swelling. I don't want you to have deal with anymore discomfort than necessary. Unless you feel you want it?"

Hutch waved a hand to dismiss the need for the spraying.

Not too long ago…

Starsky would have been flitting around behind him. Playing class clown to distract him and make light of the whole thing. Now it was just Hutch and his fear. And the metal soon to be probing at the site of his tribulation.

"Can you open up for me?"

Hutch tried to obey. But it hurt. Open up for more pain.

"Just a little wider, please," the doctor asked.

Hutch's eyes followed the distorted too-close-image of the gleaming steel items making their entry. Instinctively, he pulled away from the coldness taking possession of his tongue.

"Don't move." Lisner ordered in an authoritative voice.

He felt naked and small, not his imposing 6ft. The doctor began to investigate what Hutch had hid behind a shut mouth and cotton collars pulled together tightly.

What Starsky had done to him.

The cold steel grazed the back of his throat at the same time the reality of the moment kicked in.

What Starsky had done to him.

Not a minor disagreement –or an accidental injury during some playful roughhousing ...

Attempted murder was the charge.

Hutch gagged. The doctor extracted the mirror as he kept a firm hold of the pressure on Hutch's tongue.

"That's a normal response. You didn't have breakfast right?" Not waiting for Hutch's answer, the white-coated man quickly looked down at Hutch's chart for corroboration.

Normal Response?

Hutch's stomach had curled in sympathy to the light gagging reflex and he wasn't sure that any bold attempts of macho control would settle it.

"Yes, Ok. Just some broth and fruit juice last night."

Whatever-- Hutch thought. Tell it to his stomach. There was some queasiness forming.

Hutch's pathetic expression earned him some bedside compassion. "I'll be quick," the doctor promised.

One more gentle nudge.

The tingling of loss of control of his body began in his calves. Hutch wanted to shake the doctor off and push him away – but the man had metal objects pressing at the back of his throat. It hurt and Hutch didn't want one iota of movement from him to trigger more pain.

Another poke and it was over.

Liquid and bile splashed forward. Splattering on Dr. Lisner's glasses and dripping down to the man's cheek.

Horrified, Hutch found himself unable to control his gagging, and his retching continued. It sent minions of dutiful nerve cells screaming in protest to the insane act of adding vomiting to the list of woes to the savaged area.

The liquid drenched the front of the thin fabric covering of the hospital gown and Hutch tried to get off the table.

"No," Dr. Lisner's excited voiced advised.

A plastic bin appeared from nowhere and Hutch leaned in, moaning in agony to deliver another wave of the bile coming up into the receptacle.

Tears ran down his face and he grabbed at the tightening in his chest as air tried to escape from filling his lungs.

"Please Relax, Detective Hutchinson—you're fine."

"Agmyy," Hutch cursed. He was a grown man. Vomiting all over himself and his doctor. He was embarrassed for it.

It would have been a good time to have Starsky's comical jestering to make light of it. But all there was his utter demoralization. The remains of his self-regard splattered on the physician's bifocals and onto the gray tiled floor.

-ooo-

"You gotta eat. Eating's not optional. Hutch?"

Hutch tried to ignore both the Native-American designed earthenware and the man who thought putting soup in it would make him more interested in consuming its contents.

"You keep runnin' on empty and I know whose gonna be carting you back to the hospital—me," Huggy argued. "Your doctor said you could come home if you'd follow his orders. Want me to drop a dime—I will!"

Hutch waved a threatening finger at Huggy who continued his cautionary tirade.

"That's where you wanna go—gonna go. Cuz I'm not gonna sit by and watch you starve yourself.…C'mon man," Huggy added pleadfully. "Cmon, do it for me, huh? Eat your soup—I worked hard on making sure it's tasty—I swear."

Hutch sighed his defeat, slowly inching his fingers to the spoon sticking out of the warm bowl of thick cream and pureed vegetables.

A minute ticked by and Huggy tipped his head slightly in the direction of the telephone and the call he was seconds away from making.

Hutch loudly gruffed his surrender and picked up the small tray of vegetable soup, yogurt with strawberry preserves, and iced tea – all prepared by the his newly self-appointed caretaker.

He lifted the spoon to his mouth and made a careful swallow.

Gazing up at Huggy, he nodded his compliance and went to work to finish off the food.

"All right then." Huggy said softly –without any tone of victory in his voice. "All right."

He was worried about Ken Hutchinson. A good friend and up until a few days ago David Starsky's best friend.

-oo-

Huggy said:

"I'm not gonna tell you something didn't happen on that island. I don't care bout what people think, man. There's things that go bump in the night. But Hutch, evil is evil. There's no difference between the guy selling smack to kids in the playground and some voodoo priest. Now, don't get me wrong, you know I'm no saint. Done my fair share of sinning in the past and more ahead I'm sure. But, bro-- fear what you know. Not what you don't. There's just stuff we're not gonna understand—cuz we…we ain't supposed to. Don't kid yourself-- you and Starsky always have been battling evil—it just came at you in way you wasn't expectin'—that's all. You know who and what that curly haired dude is all about. Evil—nah—no way--hmm—pain in the rear?—yeah."

Hutch gazed sharply at the advice giver. He couldn't help but to find some humor in the observation Huggy had made.

"All I'm telling you is-- no shrink or internal investigation can tell you what you already know. Starsky…"

Hutch waved a hand to dismiss the conversation. "Know that." He said through strained muscles.

"All right then. But, you got some doubt. Right?" Huggy questioned.

Hutch looked away guiltily.

-oooo-

"Can I come in?"

"Sure." Hutch almost whispered, moved slowly to unblock Starsky's entry to the living room.

Hutch modestly pulled the collar of his bathrobe over the abuse on his neck.

"Don't." Starsky said quietly.

"What?"

"You don't hafta do that—try to hide it. I know it's there. Know it's nasty. Saw it when you were in the hospital, 'member?"

"Oh." Hutch said, wincing-- his left eye fluttered uncontrollably as he moved too quickly to motion Starsky to sit.

"Hurts, huh?"

"Not – much…any...more." Hutch rasped out, unsuccessfully lying to his partner who responded with an accusation.

"Liar."

"Alright…hurts. Want beer?"

The almost-midnight visitor had barely entered the room --one of his hands remained on the gold metal knob of the front door. "Ain't gonna be here that long." Starsky stated.

That got him a questioning glance.

"I just came by to tell ya…"

"What?" Hutch's new gruff voice made Starsky squint.

"I can't do this one." Starsky admitted his complete inability to deal with what he'd done to his best friend.

"Uhm…don't know…"

The dark-haired man cut off any feeble attempt by his partner to play dumb. "Need help with this one. Hutch--we need help."

There-- Starsky had laid out the only resolution to get them both to the other side of the nightmare.

"Doc says --month— and bruising's -- gone." Hutch managed to say the whole sentence with a bit of volume—hoping to hijack the direction of the conversation. He didn't need help to understand what had happened. Did he?

"Funny thing is, Blintz—you and I ain't soon gonna forget who put it there."

Silence cast an eerie shadow over the two men.

"Not--your fault." Hutch tried to counter after too much of a delay to make it sound convincing.

"Yeah – so everyone keeps telling me."

They stared at each other until Hutch looked away.

"Do it for me," Starsky asked him.

"Stars…" Hutch shook his head in disagreement.

"That's all I wanted to say. We ain't even supposed to be talking." The dark-haired man, skulking with defeat, walked out.

The soft click of the front door punctuated the end of their conversation.

(tbc)