Battlefield of Dreams

Starsky woke, once again, to Hutch’s gut wrenching scream tearing through the quiet apartment. He leaped off of the couch and rushed into Hutch’s bedroom. “I got you, Hutch. It’s okay. I’m here,” soothed Starsky, gently rubbing his distressed partner’s head.

A very groggy Hutch, his eyes barely open, said, “You weren’t there, Starsk. I was alone.”

The words ripped into Starsky’s heart every time Hutch muttered them. From past experience, Starsky knew that Hutch was still in his nightmare and wasn’t aware of what he was saying. But the fact remained that Starsky hadn’t been there. Hutch had been alone with that madman. And that tore Starsky apart.

Starsky hugged Hutch, feeling him shake. It had been a week to the day since Hutch left the hospital. Since returning home, the dreams had intensified. Rip’s death had no bearing on Hutch’s unconscious mind.

“Starsk. Why?” Hutch whispered breathlessly, clinging to Starsky with a python like grip.

The death hug almost cracked Starsky’s ribs, but he didn’t even consider attempting to break the contact. It wasn’t fair that Hutch’s world was ripped apart over and over again in his sleep.

“Why?” Hutch asked again, loosening his grasp slightly.

Starsky took a deep breath. The question was the same one Hutch asked every time he woke up screaming. The contact with Starsky appeared to drag him back to reality, leaving this one question in its place.

Hutch looked up at Starsky, hurt and distress evident in his watery blue eyes.

Starsky swallowed. “I don’t know, babe.” He felt inadequate trying to answer a question that he knew was coming and he would never be able to deflect. The usual cliché replies wouldn’t work. ‘Wrong place, wrong time’ was a no. Rip had stalked Hutch because he was his type. And because Hutch was a cop working on his case. Rip obviously wanted to prove that he was able to not only capture, rape, torture and finally kill ‘normal’ men, but cops as well. That was one answer that Starsky would never share with Hutch, no matter how many times he asked why. Starsky had no doubt that Hutch would have figured that one out for himself anyway. If he hadn’t, he would one day, when his mind was clearer.

Hutch’s breathing slowed gradually, along with his shaking. Suddenly, he pushed away from Starsky. He sat, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face. “I’m sorry. I’m being pathetic again.”

“Hey.” Starsky put his hand on Hutch’s shoulder. He could feel the slight recoil at his touch, but Hutch didn’t pull away as he had in the hospital. “You are not pathetic.”

“It’s just…” Hutch mumbled through his hands clasped prayer like over his nose and mouth. “It seems so real. L-like it’s happening to me all over again.”

“Shush. He’s dead, gone. It will never happen again.” Starsky stressed the last sentence. He regretted that they would never get Rip’s answer to Hutch’s plaintive question. But that regret was eased by the relief that Hutch would never have to take the stand and relive his ordeal in public. Starsky wished that he could wipe away Hutch’s memory so easily. No, not easy. Killing a person was never easy.

“I know,” Hutch said, without lowering his hands. “And when I’m awake, I keep telling myself that.” He turned to Starsky. “But when I’m asleep, everything just floods back into my head.” He climbed out of bed, pushing past Starsky and began pacing, running his fingers through his hair. “I can feel his hands on me and smell his breath, even hear his voice, but I can’t see him. That’s the scary part. I know he’s there, but he won’t let me see him.”

That was a new one for Starsky. Hutch had never said he couldn’t see Rip before. “When did you stop seeing him in your dreams?” This was the first time that Hutch had mentioned the content of his dreams since he came home. Usually he took the comfort and then turned in on himself, going all quiet and broody in the normal Hutchinson style.

“I dunno.” Hutch looked thoughtful for a moment. “I guess, not the first night I was home. The second probably.”

Starsky’s mouth went dry. The day he had told Hutch that Rip was dead. The sound of his watch alarm going off made them both jump. Starsky silenced it, looking at the time piece on his wrist. He grinned sheepishly at Hutch. “Sorry. I forgot that I’d set the damn thing.”

Hutch smiled, a weak attempt of his generally dazzling beam. He glanced at the bedside clock. “Six a.m. Kind of early for you, isn’t it, partner?”

“I thought we could go to the gym before your nine o’clock appointment with Ellie.” Starsky saw the expression on Hutch’s face a second before Hutch spun around, heading for the bathroom.

“Not this morning,” Hutch said dismissively. “I’m going for a shower.” He grabbed the clothes that he had laid out last night.

Starsky cursed himself for setting his alarm. Hutch was opening up to him for the first time since he had learned of Rip’s demise and the damned ringing had broken the connection between them. “Okay. I’ll make breakfast,” he said cheerfully. No point in trying to break through that wall of Hutch’s. Only Hutch could do that in his own good time.

*******************************

Hutch sat on the toilet, head between his knees, gasping. He hated the vulnerability that he felt after the nightmares. He despised being so powerless, unable to dismiss the rape as another peril of the job. He’d managed to deal with every other attack that he or Starsky had suffered in the line of duty. The fact that Starsky slept on the damned couch every night acting as nursemaid, bodyguard and bogeyman slayer ate away at the last shred of masculinity that Hutch felt he had left. Even worse, he was the one who had asked Starsky to stay. Usually at the very last moment, just as Starsky was disappearing out of the door.

Pulling himself together, Hutch stepped into the shower and turned on the water. The usual temperature that he liked wasn’t sufficient anymore. Hutch cranked the knob up a notch. Steaming water hit his body like red hot pokers. He flinched and turned his back to the jet, allowing the liquid to flow down his back and buttocks. Lathering up a Scotch Brite sponge. Hutch scrubbed at his genitals and ass with the coarse side, frantically rubbing every last atom of Woody off of his skin.

“Jeez, Hutch. Whatcha doing in here?” Starsky’s voice came from the other side of the shower curtain. “It’s like a Turkish bath in here.” He dragged the curtain back, yelping as hot water hit his hand. “Owww. Get out of there. What are you trying to do, scald yourself to death?” He leaned in and turned off the torrent.

Suddenly aware of Starsky’s presence, Hutch backed against the tiled wall. “Fuck, Starsk. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” He quickly snagged the curtain and covered his front with the fabric.

Starsky looked at him, shocked. He tugged the sponge from Hutch’s hand. “How long have you been using this? Your skin is raw.” He took a towel from the rack and handed it to Hutch. “You really shouldn’t have the water that hot. You’re going to burn yourself.”

Feeling guilty that Starsky had witnessed yet another ritual Hutch had gotten used to since coming home, he yelled, “Get the hell out of here? How dare you come in when I’m having a shower.” He wrapped the towel around his middle before releasing the shower curtain that covered his lower half.

Starsky held up his hands. “Okay, sorry. Saw steam coming out through the door and I was worried.” He left the room without so much as a backward glance. “Breakfast will be ready in five minutes,” were his parting words.

Starsky was right. Hutch had the water temperature way too high. But scalding water and scrubbing his skin until it ached was the only way to banish the hands that crawled all over him every minute of the day. For a short time after each shower, his skin was so tender that all he felt was pain. Then the intense hurt would subside and the phantom hands started in again. How could he tell Starsky that? He had no idea what it felt like. How it made Hutch feel being pawed constantly without actually seeing who was touching him.

Starsky was sitting at the table eating by the time Hutch came out of the bathroom.

Hutch sat down and ate his breakfast in silence. He could see Starsky looking at him, but he had no desire to revisit the revelations of his dream. Hutch knew that Starsky blamed himself for not being able to find him. And he was aware that something other than his reaction to the nightmare upset Starsky, but Hutch couldn’t figure out what the problem was.

“Eggs okay?” Starsky asked. “Couldn’t find all the stuff for your shake, and I know you like scrambled eggs.” Starsky’s voice faltered.

“Fine. Thank you,” Hutch answered abruptly. Please don’t, Starsk. Hutch hated that he felt shut down, unable to connect properly with the real world, especially with Starsky. He was managing to function reasonably well on the surface, but whenever something threatened to penetrate the barriers he put up, the panic started again. He hung his head, ignoring all of Starsky’s further attempts at conversation.

An awkwardness descended over the apartment. The uncomfortable silence that Hutch had never expected when the only other person in the room was his best friend in the whole world.

Eventually, Starsky got up and cleared the table.

Hutch stayed where he was, watching Starsky cleaning up the kitchen. His own kitchen. He really should be doing that himself. Instead, he just let Starsky stack dishes, wipe down the counter and put away the rest of the eggs.

Housekeeping wasn’t high on Hutch’s priorities at the best of times. He employed Fifi to clean for him once a week, and the rest of the time he tidied around when he felt like it. Starsky, on the other hand, was very proud of the fact that he did all his own housekeeping. Hutch didn’t have the discipline that the Army had instilled into Starsky.

Starsky wiped his hands on the dishrag and turned to Hutch. “I’ll have a quick shower and then we can get on our way.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Hutch was surprised to see that it was past eight already. “Okay,” he said. He pulled his beige sneakers out of the closet. Sitting on the couch, he slipped them on. All he could do now was wait for Starsky.

 

You can’t believe that your whole world’s shattered
You used to have it all under control
Survivor — Michael Bolton

*******************************

Starsky backed the Torino into a parking space close to the outpatients entrance and looked at his watch. “Eight thirty eight,” he said triumphantly. “Told you that we’d be here in plenty of time.”

Hutch uncurled the fingers of his right hand from the handle grip above the door window. “I would have preferred an earlier start and a more sedate pace, thank you very much,” he griped.

Starsky grinned. “We got here, didn’t we? That’s the main thing.”

“Yes, I guess we should be grateful for small mercies,” Hutch said caustically. He was being abrupt with Starsky to cover his own rising anxiety. He shouldn’t take his anger out on Starsky. It wasn’t his fault that Hutch couldn’t deal with his problems in the usual manner.

Starsky jumped out of the car and walked to the parking meter.

Hutch watched him feed coins into the slot, then glanced around the parking area, his cop instincts automatically taking in the activity. He focused on the entrance doors, paying particular attention to the people bustling in and out. Doctors, nurses, patients, adults, kids, female and male. So many unfamiliar male faces. He rubbed his sweating palms up and down his thighs.

“It’s the usual practice to open the car door and get out,” Starsky said when he climbed back into the car.

“Huh?” Hutch dragged his eyes away from the hospital and back to his partner. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“Open door, get out,” Starsky said, miming how to open the door with his hand. “What’s the point in getting you here early if you’re just gonna sit there and make yourself late?”

“Oh.” Hutch put his hand on the door handle but made no attempt to open it. He had one eye on Starsky and the other on the parade of people passing to and fro. The women were superfluous, it was the men that held Hutch’s attention. Nameless men who Hutch had no desire to encounter.

“Want me to come in with you?” Starsky asked gently.

“No, no,” Hutch said quickly. “I am a grown man.” He pushed the door open and got out, feeling churlish. He strode purposefully across the parking lot. A car door opened right in front of him and a man, a good few inches taller and at least twenty pounds heavier than Hutch, got out of the car.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said apologetically. “Almost got you with my door.” He stood facing Hutch, one hand still resting on the car door.

Hutch froze. His heart raced and his stomach lurched. He stared at the heavily bearded man blocking his path. If Hutch had been able to move, he would have passed out there and then. As it was, he was suspended in time and space.

“You okay?” The man reached out to put a hand on Hutch’s shoulder.

A hand intercepted the man’s just before he touched Hutch. “There you are.” Starsky’s voice broke through Hutch’s stupor. “You really shouldn’t wander off on your own.” Starsky took Hutch’s arm.

“Is he all right?” the stranger asked Starsky.

“He’ll be fine, thank you. I’ll take it from here,” he said dismissively. He guided Hutch over to a bench near the hospital doors.

Hutch sat down heavily. “He-he took me by surprise, that’s all.” He tried to ignore the nausea and the blood rushing in his ears. Having Starsky by his side helped to soothe his floundering emotions some.

“I know,” Starsky said simply. “I’ll walk with you. I’d like a cup of coffee anyway.”

Hutch silently accepted Starsky’s spoken reason for coming with him. He smiled his thanks, grateful that Starsky had made the offer about himself and not Hutch’s need to be babysat. He kept close to the wall, with Starsky on his other side.

The elevator area was empty when Starsky and Hutch got there. But by the time the elevator arrived, there were two couples and a single man waiting for the same elevator.

Hutch positioned himself in the left corner, so that he had the other men in his sight. If he could see their faces, they couldn’t hurt him. No way was he letting another man stand behind him. His anus tightened at the memory of Woody penetrating him. He shook his head and pressed further into the corner. No one was ever going to take him like that again.

Starsky obviously noted Hutch’s defensive stance and stood between Hutch and the other occupants of the elevator.

Hutch was thankful when the last man got off the car on the floor below the one they wanted.

“I’ll wait here,'” Starsky said, when they reached room 33, indicating to a chair outside the door.

Hutch walked into the now familiar office at Memorial hospital. His shrink, Ellie Jones, used it on the days she worked at the hospital. His sessions had been cut to once a week after he went home, and this was his first visit after the change in schedule.

Ellie was already there, sitting in a black leather armchair, her red and white flowered dress bright against the dark hide. She turned as Hutch opened the door. “Good morning, Ken. Come in. Sit down.” She smiled warmly. “How do you like the new décor?”

Hutch glanced around. The room looked less like a hospital room and more like a dentist waiting room with black leather easy chairs and a mahogany coffee table replacing the austere metal chairs and cheap wooden table of his previous visits. The cheerful sunshine yellow walls put a smile on his face.

“I persuaded the hospital administration to let me furnish the room in a more pleasing manner,” Ellie explained in a calming voice. “Of course, they only agreed when I put my money where my mouth was.”

Hutch sat down in the chair opposite her. He stared straight into her bright emerald eyes. It was the first time he had made eye contact with her since their sessions had started. A stab of pride fluttered in his belly. Along with that sense of accomplishment came the loathing that such a small act could make him feel so good about himself.

Many of their first meetings had been spent with Hutch staring at her red high heeled shoes. He had studied them for so long that when he saw a pair of red Gucci shoes advertised in a magazine, he immediately recognized them as the ones Ellie wore every time he saw her.

Ellie crossed her slim legs and leaned forward, resting her forearm on her raised knee. “How have things been since we last met?” Her eyes bore into Hutch.

“Um. Better. Mostly.” Hutch coughed. He hated attending these sessions. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Ellie, but he hated having to admit that he was still experiencing difficulties in his everyday life.

Ellie got up and poured water into a plastic cup from the water cooler in the corner of the room. She handed it to Hutch.

“Thanks.” He took a sip. The cold water made his throat tingle. It was amazing how quickly his mouth had dried out when Ellie asked that first question.

“Okay,” Ellie said in a measured tone. “Let’s deal with the better first. And come back to the mostly later.” She picked up Hutch’s file from the coffee table and opened it. Pen poised over a clean sheet of paper, she said, “What’s changed since I last saw you?”

Hutch swallowed. He resented his life being under a microscope like this. Unfortunately, he had no choice. The department had made it clear, see Ellie or see the precinct shrink. They didn’t care which one as long as he got the counseling and a shrink’s clearance to return to his career.

“I have started going to the gym again. Every morning like before.” He clutched at the one thing that made him feel stronger. Proving to himself that he could still lift the same weights he always used to had reassured him that, in fitness at least, he was still the same person.

“How do you feel in a confined space with other men?” Ellie shot the question straight from the hip. No mercy.

Hutch faltered. The words ‘other men’ barbed at his mind. “There’s only Starsky and Vinnie there.”

“Why?” she asked simply.

“I always worked out before our shift. Before the gym was open.” Hutch desperately wanted her to know that the gym setup was normal. “Vinnie’s doesn’t open until ten, so he lets me work out while he prepares for the other members.”

“And Starsky?” Her knowing look said it all. “Did he work out every day also?”

Hutch snickered. “Never. He would pick me up later. Sometimes, he came inside with a coffee and a doughnut. Used to drive Vinnie crazy watching Starsky eating junk food in his gym.” Hutch grinned at the memory of Starsky taunting Vinnie by waving sweet coffee with milk and sugary doughnuts under his nose.

“What does Starsky do now?”

“He works out with me. Said he needs to stay in shape now that he’s getting older.” Hutch could see that Ellie was reading more into Starsky’s reasons than merely working out because he needed to. Hutch had been so grateful when Starsky accompanied him on that first foray to the gym after…that he hadn’t dug too deeply into Starsky’s motivations. Even though Hutch had known Vinnie for years, for the first time ever, he had been apprehensive at the thought of them being alone in the gym. Starsky was the lifeline that Hutch clung to when he felt threatened by the presence of other men.

“And what is Starsky doing today?” Ellie asked slowly.

Hutch looked toward the door. Why was she asking that question? Surely she had seen Starsky outside when he came in. Hutch suddenly felt hot. Had Starsky left?

“What’s wrong, Ken?” Ellie’s voice was low and calm.

“N-nothing,” Hutch answered. Why shouldn’t Starsky leave? Hutch was stuck in here for the next hour. No need for Starsky to be hanging around when he could leave and come back later.  The insecure voice inside Hutch’s head asked, “But what if he doesn’t come back?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Hutch hugged himself. Was Starsky still out there?

Ellie pressed on. “Your face and body language tells me otherwise.”

Hutch jumped up. “What the hell do you want from me, lady?” he spat, heading for the door.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Ellie said compassionately.

Her controlled tone stopped Hutch in his tracks. He stood between Ellie and the door, not sure what to do next. Forwards or backwards, there were demons to be faced in both directions.

“Sit down, Ken,” Ellie said with gentle authority.

He walked slowly back to his seat. This time, he stared at the red high heeled shoes instead of her eyes. One step back pinged into his mind. Only moments ago he had been able to look directly at Ellie, now he was back to those damned shoes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry. Anger is a big step toward recovery.” She crossed her ankles. “Look at me,” she said with velvet-lined toughness.

Hutch slowly raised his head, peering through his eyelashes at Ellie’s face. “All I ever seem to feel these days is angry or scared. I can barely remember what it’s like to laugh.”

Ellie wrinkled her nose. “It will happen. You will learn to cope with the memories and get on with your life.”

“I don’t want to cope.” Hutch scratched his chest. “I want life to be like it was. Starsky and me on the streets, doing our job. No bogeyman in the shadows waiting to pounce.” He stopped talking.

 

You’re searching through all the thoughts you’ve gathered
And it feels impossible
To make it through another day
            Survivor — Michael Bolton

*******************************

Ellie scrutinized the silent man in front of her. His comment about bogeyman and shadows had obviously hit him hard. She could see from his face that he was far from dealing with the horrific memories of his ordeal. She desperately wanted to tell him that everything would be fine. But her job was to guide him as best she could, not make promises for a perfect future.

The way he had shut down before her made it clear that pushing him right now wasn’t going to help. To give him a little respite, she opened his file and read again the information provided by his precinct that was supposed to aid her in his recovery.

Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson graduated from the Police Academy at the top of his class. He progressed quickly through the ranks to Detective Sergeant First Class. He was partnered with Detective Sergeant David Starsky after the minimum period allowed with a mentor. Their partnership produces the highest case closure rate in the precinct. His record is exemplary.

This report hadn’t told her anything about the man, or his partner, that was of much use. She needed to know Ken Hutchinson the person, not the paper copy. For this, she had called David Starsky into her office one day before Ken had been released from the hospital.

From him, she had learned the depths of their partnership. The closeness, that had given rise to the rumors that they might be more than just best friends. The jokes about them being like an old married couple. The constant touching that they interjected into everyday life without seeming to care who was watching. The envy of the other officers who could only dream about a partner who watched their back so intently and knew what they were thinking without a long explanation about who did what in the line of duty. And the string of women that both guys had had over the years.

There was no doubt in her mind that Ken and David were no more than best friends. Not many people found the bond that they seemed to have, but no way was there anything sexual between the partners. Ken would need that solid, no strings attached, support to get him back to where he should be.

The thing that worried her most was David’s interpretation of Ken’s personality. It told of a complexity that might well work against him. There was the tough, no nonsense cop. Then there was the kind soul who was considerate to hookers and homeless people.

His words had just confirmed that. He hadn’t managed to find the middle ground between anger and fear.

Men who protected or rescued for a living–police, firemen, military–were hit hard by a physical attack on their masculinity. They tended to be angry with themselves for not being able to fight off their assailant. This anger rarely led to anything good. The majority either hurt themselves, usually fatally. Or they lashed out at someone close, with disastrous results. The lucky minority dealt with their ordeal and came out of it stronger.

Ellie prayed that Ken could dig through the pain and find the strength inside himself that she felt he had. She just had to make him see that what happened wasn’t his fault and that he could put it all behind him.

A shuffling noise indicated that Ken was coming back to her, to this room. She hit hard, before he had the chance to gather his thoughts totally. “What were you thinking about, Ken?” she asked.

*******************************

Caught partway between his thoughts and the awareness that he wasn’t alone in the room, Hutch answered more truthfully than he’d intended. “That the bogeyman isn’t just in the shadow of night anymore.”

“What do you mean by that?” Ellie’s smooth voice curled around Hutch’s subconscious.

“He’s with me, day and night.” Hutch hitched his breath. “Whether my eyes are open or closed.”

“In what way is he there?”

In my head. In the people around me. Hutch picked at his nails. He was damned if he was going to keep staring at those shoes. He suddenly realized that they reminded him of the pool of blood on the floor after Rip had taken him anally many times.

“In what way is he there?” Ellie asked again.

“I just told you,” Hutch shouted. “Aren’t you listening to me?” He tried to control his anger, managing to grind out his next words through clenched teeth. “This crap is a waste of fucking time.”

“Ken, deep breaths. In, out. In, out. Breathe through the panic.” Ellie’s voice filtered through Hutch’s fury.

He followed her instructions. Breathing in when she said, breathing out when she said. Focusing on her voice halted the lion’s attack. How many times had he used this technique with victims during his career? He’d meditated for years, but it hadn’t occurred to him to use his own advice and experience to ride through his panic in this way. He chuckled. Practice what you preach, Hutchinson.

“Now I will answer your question. Yes, I am listening to you.” She took Hutch’s hands, to stop him from tearing his nails to shreds. “Your lips were moving, but the sound was turned off.” She smiled. “I don’t read lips. Tell me what you said,” she said kindly.

Hutch looked her in the eyes again. He felt slightly stronger, more in control of himself than he had been for quite a while. “I said that the bogeyman is in my head, in the people around me.”

“Explain that a little more to me.” Ellie maintained hand and eye contact with him. “What exactly do you mean? All people, or just certain people?” She licked her lips, her tongue gliding slowly over pale pink lipstick.

Hutch caught the movement in his peripheral vision. The combination of those stunning eyes and provocative licking should have caused a stirring in his groin, which would have proved to Hutch that the man he had been was still inside him somewhere. The man who appreciated a pretty, no, gorgeous, woman. The man who knew what he wanted from life and went for it. The cop who fed on fear and adrenaline, and did not let it destroy him. But he’d felt nothing.

Ellie squeezed his hands. “Things can be less frightening if we share them with someone else.”

Hutch remembered what he had started telling Starsky earlier in the morning. “He’s everywhere. He never leaves me alone. Awake and asleep, he’s there.”

“The man who raped you is dead. Gone. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Ellie said matter of fact.

Hutch inhaled deeply, holding the breath as long as he could before exhaling. “I know that. I’m not stupid.” He felt the anger rising again. He hated the rapid shifting of his moods. He had always been volatile, but he had rarely struggled to control his emotions beyond a reasonable level. The times when he had lost it, Starsky was usually there to help defuse the situation.

“I didn’t say you were.”

Hutch gazed at Ellie’s face. Her expression remained friendly and passive no matter what he said or did. Just like Starsky when he was faced with Hutch’s temper.

“Woody might have gone, but the bogeyman hasn’t.” Hutch always thought of his captor as Woody. Rip Mellor meant nothing to him.

“Woody?” Ellie looked a little confused.

Hutch finally pulled his hands out of her grip, and wiped his sweaty palms down his thighs. “He wouldn’t tell me his real name, and he reminded me of the scary janitor from my school. So I called him Woody. I needed to give him a name. Something to call him. To try and make him more human.”

“So Woody and the bogeyman are different people,” Ellie said, almost as if she understood what Hutch meant. “Tell me about the bogeyman. Why does he scare you?”

Hutch swallowed. The panic knotted his gut. He didn’t want to think about the bogeyman, and he certainly didn’t want to talk about him. “I can’t,” he said quietly.

“Can’t what?” Ellie’s small hands grasped Hutch’s to stop him scrubbing at his legs.

He hadn’t even noticed what he was doing with his hands until Ellie had touched him. He liked her touch. It didn’t scare the hell out of him. His problem was when men came near him. Her persistent interrogation was a different matter. He wasn’t the suspect here, he was the victim and that just about killed him inside. He reacted the only way he was able to these days–with the anger that directed itself at the people who didn’t terrify him shitless.

“Talk about it,” Hutch screamed, jumping up for the second time. This time he paced the room and didn’t head straight for the door.

 

Where do you turn when your faith’s been scattered
And nothing is logical
            Survivor — Michael Bolton

*******************************

For the third time in about half an hour, Starsky heard Hutch raise his voice. This time, it was more of a scream than a shout. He got to his feet and hovered around the door, just as he had done several times in that last thirty minutes.

Whatever Ellie was asking Hutch, his agitated response made it clear that he was upset.

Ellie’s calm voice was muffled and Starsky couldn’t hear her response. He smiled. It sounded like she was dealing with his partner’s tantrums the same way as he did. Not raising her voice to an irate Hutch would dampen his ire. Fuel it, and she would have had a fire breathing dragon on her hands.

However, Starsky stood with his hand on the door handle. The slightest hint that Hutch was getting out of control and Starsky would be in there.

A long silence unnerved Starsky a little. He could never quite tell with Hutch. Sometimes silence was good, and on occasion it had been very bad. The imbalance of Hutch’s emotional state at the moment made his temperament unpredictable. Starsky tightened his grasp on the handle, ready to push the door open in a heartbeat if he felt he needed to.

Ellie’s soft voice, and Hutch’s quieter response abated Starsky’s fears, for the moment.

*******************************

“I’m good at chasing away bogeymen,” Ellie said. There wasn’t a hint of condescendence in her voice. “Let me help you.”

Hutch watched her quietly observing his reaction. She made no move toward him. This calmed him somewhat. Her manner did help.

“The bogeyman hasn’t got a face.” Once he had started to talk, Hutch found it hard to stop. He paced around the perimeter of the room. The yellow walls and nice furniture might make the room look less stark, but the beige linoleum under his feet screamed hospital. “He comes at me out of nowhere. It doesn’t matter if I’m awake or not.” He leaned his back against the wall and slid down to the floor, resting his head in his hands. “I don’t know who he is. He could be any one of a million people.”

“People or men?”

“Men.” Hutch nodded at his own answer. “Men. Strangers. I can’t stop him if I don’t know which one he is.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “How do I stop him from touching me? His hands are everywhere, except when…” He stopped, reliving the scene in the bathroom in his head. Remembering the shocked look on Starsky’s face when he saw what Hutch was doing to himself.

“Except when what?”

Hutch could hear Ellie moving on her seat, and felt her eyes on him.

“When I’m in the shower.” Part of him wanted to tell her how he eradicated the hands for a short while, and part of him knew it was irrational to torture himself like that. That part made him ashamed of how often he washed himself down there. She had to know everything if she was to help him. He’d worked that out for himself. “When the water is so hot, it burns right through to my very core. And I scrub at my body, washing him away with a scrub sponge. My skin is so sore that I can’t feel his hands. Not until the pain recedes.” He ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Then he’s back.” Like now. Hutch shivered as his skin crawled with a million tiny feet marching all over him.

“To want to wash away the very essence of your rapist is normal,” Ellie said compassionately. “Every rape victim has done it.”

Ellie was the only person who’d said those words to Hutch since he left the hospital. Rapist and rape was avoided by all his friends, even Starsky.

Ellie continued, “You do have to be careful. Scalding yourself will achieve nothing in the long term, except a whole lot of scars. There are other ways to escape the constant alertness of your nerve endings.” She crossed her legs.

Hutch wanted to scratch his whole body. He settled for his left arm, digging his nails deep into his flesh.

“Stop it, Ken.” Ellie grabbed Hutch’s right wrist and snapped an elastic band over his hand.

Hutch looked at the rubber surrounding his wrist. “What’s that for?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

“It’s a high tech device that, hopefully, will help when you need it.” She rolled her eyes at her tongue in cheek description and chuckled at Hutch’s reaction.

“Seriously?” Hutch asked. “It’s not nice to mock the afflicted.” The fact that he felt comfortable enough to tease her surprised him.

“I’m not. It’s used as a distraction technique. Stretch the band away from the inside of your wrist,” she instructed.

Hutch pulled the rubber taut.

“Now let it go.”

He frowned at her, still holding the band between his fingers. “Isn’t that going to hurt?”

Ellie laughed. “It’s meant to. Trust me. Let it go.”

Hutch shrugged. “Okay,” he said, letting the elastic ping against the delicate skin of his wrist. “Shit, that stings.”

“What do you feel?” Ellie leaned forward. “What do you feel right at this moment?”

“Like an idiot for flicking myself with a rubber band.” Hutch rubbed the red mark with two fingers.

“What else?”

“Not following you. What should I feel?” Ellie had totally lost Hutch. He was on the verge of telling her that she should have her head examined.

“What were you feeling before the pain in your wrist? Why were you scratching your arm?” She pointed at the welt on Hutch’s forearm.

Hutch touched the spot that he had been worrying only seconds earlier. “My skin was crawling, his hands were all over me. But now, it’s not so bad.” The sharp sting from the rubber band had distracted him.

“Do you see what happened, Ken?” Ellie held out her hand to him. “Come. Sit back on the chair.”

Hutch pushed up from the wall, walking over to the chair across from Ellie. “I think so. The pain in my wrist took precedence over the ants.”

“That’s about it.” Ellie stroked the skin of his wrist under the band. “Every time you feel the panic rising, or the urge to scratch, or the need to broil yourself like a lobster, you flick your life preserver. Your focus will then be transferred to the discomfort it delivers.”

Hutch pursed his lips and nodded. “It did stop me thinking about him for once.”

“It’s not the cure for all your problems, but it can help.” Ellie picked up her pad, writing for a few moments. “And it’s waterproof so that you can use it in the shower.” She studied Hutch’s face. “Did anything else help with your control today?” She bit the end of her pen as she waited for his reply.

“The breathing.” Hutch leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together. “Concentrating on your voice and breathing in and out when you said lessened the panic and anger.” His head was pretty close to Ellie, his eyes on a level with her breasts…

“Ken?”

Hutch shook his head. “Sorry, did you say something?” He forced himself to look into her eyes.

She smiled. “I said that you can use whichever technique suits you best. Or use both.” She closed his file and placed it on the floor next to her. “Just talk yourself through the breathing, like I did with you.”

Hutch laughed. “Do you know how many times I have used breath control to calm a victim down? More than I can remember. But did I even think about using it myself?” He hung his head. “Not once. I used to meditate regularly. Haven’t done that in a long, long time.”

“You should. Focus on other things. Don’t let what happened rule your life.” She put one finger under his chin to lift his head up. “I know it’s easier said than done, but you can do it. It just takes a little time.”

Time was something Hutch didn’t have. He desperately wanted to get back out on the streets with Starsky. The longer they were apart as a team dulled their effectiveness, their ability to work together. His biggest nightmare was Starsky telling him that Dobey had given him another partner. That would mean that Hutch was no longer considered fit for active duty. He wouldn’t be able to handle that. He needed to be well, now.

Ellie glanced at her watch. “Time is almost up.” She picked up his file and opened it, writing something on the top page. “I’m going to give you some homework to do before our session next week.”

“Huh?” He assumed that she meant the breathing and band on his wrist. Maybe keeping a diary of when and how often he used it. He plucked at the band. “You want me to tell you if this helps, I guess.”

“I want you to use whatever works for you when you need it. The band, controlled breathing, or meditation. But I also want you to do something else for me.”

“What?”

Ellie skimmed over her notes. “You said earlier that you are fairly okay with men that you know.”

“Yes,” Hutch replied warily. The tone in her voice said he wasn’t going to be entirely comfortable with her assignment.

“So what’s wrong with Vinnie?”

The question threw Hutch. He thought back to their conversation about Vinnie and the gym.

“Why do you need Starsky with you? You have obviously used the gym for quite a while.”

Her eyes bore straight into Hutch’s. He was sure she would know if he lied to her. And that wouldn’t achieve anything. Lying to his shrink. “I, I,” he floundered around for the right words. “don’t know,” he finished lamely.

“Why does it scare you to be alone with Vinnie in an empty gym? A place that you know so well. Do you think he’s going to attack you?”

Hutch swallowed. He visualized the gym, and the thick set of Vinnie’s heavy body and bristling eyebrows. The vision changed to Hutch tied down over the sawhorse and Woody bending over him. “No, no. Leave me alone.”

“Ken. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

“Ow.” His wrist hurt. What the hell? Hutch was dazed. His surroundings blurred. He tried to focus on the person standing in front of him. Hutch blinked and he stared up at the face looking down at him. “How did I end up kneeling on the floor?”

Ellie released her hold on his upper arms. “You went pale and slumped forward. I managed to stop you falling face first onto the linoleum. I used the band to make you focus on the here and now.”

Hutch swayed a little when Ellie let go, but quickly regained his balance. He pushed up from the floor, and stood briefly on shaky legs. He dropped down quickly on his chair.

Ellie sat back in her seat. “Tell me what you think caused it.”

“The gym. Vinnie.” He licked his lips, trying to produce enough spittle to moisten his dry mouth. “It reminded me of where I was kept. Vinnie, no, Woody was hurting me.” He buried his face in his hands.

“That’s why you don’t want to be there alone? Because it’s a room with equipment that you could be tied to? Is Vinnie a big man?”

Hutch felt dizzy and closed his eyes against the nausea. He had never put into words why he wanted Starsky to work out with him. Not out loud, or even in his head. Now Ellie had done it for him. So much in the gym reminded him of his ordeal. The weight bench with the red leather cushion. The punch bag hanging from the heavy hook in the ceiling. The crash mats surrounding the boxing ring. The smell of stale sweat that hung in the air. Even the odd blood stain on the floor from a busted nose or cut eye. Fuck, fuck.

“Breathe, Ken. Remember your defenses. Breath and band,” Ellie’s words punctured the fog around him.

He inhaled and counted to three. He exhaled and counted to three. Then he repeated the process until he was back on solid ground again.

“Yes, to all of the above,” he said, not wanting to elaborate any further. Hell, it wasn’t a case of wanting, it was not being able to voice his fear. He cursed his natural reaction of turning in on himself when he was threatened mentally.

Hutch stood up and walked around his chair, leaning his hands on the back of it.

Ellie sat quietly, following his every move with her eyes.

Hutch had to assert his strength or he was sure that he would crumble again. “You mentioned homework,” he said in his best cop voice.

Ellie nodded. “Judging from what just happened, this isn’t going to be easy for you. But you have to try. Before our appointment next week, I want you to spend one training session alone in the gym with Vinnie. Doesn’t matter what day. That is up to you.”

Hutch gripped the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white, cramping his fingers. Ellie had just knocked the floor out from underneath him again.

“Starsky can stay outside in the parking lot. You’ll have back up if you need him.” Ellie crossed her ankles. “One half hour. That’s all I want you to do,” she said softly.

“I usually train for at least one hour.” Why did he feel he had to tell her that? He didn’t know.

“The timing is up to you.” She smiled. “I am asking for one half hour. If you can do more, that will be great.” She stood up. “We really need to wrap it up now.”

Hutch walked to the door. “What if I can’t manage it?” he asked hesitantly. He wiped a thin sheen of sweat off of his forehead.

Ellie patted his back. “Whatever you can manage will be progress. I know you can do it,” she said confidently. “What do you need to remember?”

“Breath and band,” Hutch answered automatically. “See you next week.”

He opened the door, relieved to see Starsky sitting on a chair outside.

 

A thousand pieces on the ground
How do you put them back together once again
            Survivor — Michael Bolton

*******************************

Starsky was a little shocked at how pale Hutch was. And there was droplets of moisture on his face and neck. Whatever happened in there had been more intense than Starsky realized. Obviously, the usual question of “Are you okay?” was a pointless exchange of social interaction. He went for the simple gesture of putting his hand on Hutch’s shoulder. Although, even that shared connection may well be the wrong thing these days.

Hutch nodded and covered Starsky’s hand with his. “Let’s get out of here,” he said in a way that conveyed far more than the words.

“You got it, partner.” Starsky almost lost his grip on Hutch when he veered abruptly towards the wall. Starsky looked up and saw a man approaching them from the other end of the hallway. Starsky shuffled to his left and put himself between Hutch and the man.

Hutch followed the man’s progress with a fearful glint in his eyes. He stopped moving when the man was a few strides away from them. Panic crossed his already too pale skin. He fumbled with something under his sleeve.

Starsky looped his arm through Hutch’s. “Keep walking,” he ordered. “I’m here.” God, if he hadn’t already killed Rip, he would tear him limb from limb for what he had done to Hutch. Starsky was scared for the Hutch who stood right next to him.

Hutch trembled, his attention focused intently on the man and not Starsky.

“Move,” Starsky barked. He was at a loss as to how to deal with the fear inside Hutch’s head. Tough love, or softly, softly. He had no idea what would work. Maybe he should book a session with Ellie. She had suggested it to him when they’d talked about Hutch and their partnership, but he had stupidly thought it unnecessary at the time. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He had her private clinic number and needed help. Desperate, Starsky tugged at Hutch-the-statue.

Hutch slowly took one step forward, then another. Finally, they reached the elevator. He stepped inside as soon as the doors opened and positioned his body in one corner, just as he had on the ride up.

Fuck. Hutch’s bizarre, but not unexpected, behavior was starting to cut through Starsky like a knife through butter. Every indication that Hutch was suffering mentally sliced into Starsky’s heart. Starsky remembered the cop who had no problem squaring up to male criminals, and never worried about who was behind him. He always used to joke about having eyes in the back of his head. And he always knew that Starsky had his back. Now, Hutch was reduced to trusting no one to stand behind him. Starsky felt that it also meant that Hutch didn’t trust Starsky’s back up anymore.

Every time the elevator doors opened, Hutch messed around with something on his wrist, his face a contortion of panic and pain. The panicked look quickly turned to a grimace of pain, then relief when only women entered the elevator.

Starsky understood the fear and the relief, but what the hell was the grimace all about? And why did Hutch keep touching his wrist? Now wasn’t the place for questions.

Hutch rested his head against the wall and breathed deeply. Not once did he take his eyes off of the door.

Starsky could see Hutch’s chest rising and falling with the force of controlled breaths. Starsky stumbled forward. Hutch had pushed him across the elevator. “Hey. Whatcha do that for?”

“We need to get off.” Hutch indicated toward the doors. “I don’t want to ride this tin can all day, even if you do.” He stepped quickly out of the elevator and leaned his back against the opposite wall, all the while looking up and down the hallway.

Starsky jumped through the closing doors. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t noticed they’d reached their floor. “Sorry. I wasn’t concentrating.”

“I know.” Hutch looked contrite. “I’m sorry that I’m so much of a burden.” He hung his head, his chin hitting his chest.

Starsky didn’t hear Hutch’s next words, they were so quiet. He bounded across the hallway and grabbed Hutch by the upper arms. “You are not a burden,” he said a little harsher than he intended. “I’m the one who wasn’t there,” he whispered.

Hutch tensed under Starsky’s hands, and shrunk back against the wall. His wide eyed stare gave him the look of a frightened child faced with the wrath of an angry adult.

Starsky released his partner. He felt like a total heel for losing control like that. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he said gently. “Did I hurt you?” What a stupid question, Starsky. You scared him half to death.

Hutch stayed in the same position, as if suspended by an invisible force, his expression frozen. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

Starsky didn’t know what to do. He had to do something before someone noticed Hutch plastered up against the wall. Starsky went for the least threatening gesture he could think of, he rubbed his hand up and down Hutch’s lower arm. “Hutch. Come on, buddy. Let’s get out of here.”

Hutch blinked slowly and inhaled, holding the breath for a short while before exhaling. With small movements, he peeled himself away from the wall. “I’m trying, Starsk. I really am,” he said haltingly in a whisper. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

Starsky wanted the floor to open up and swallow him at that moment. He had never heard Hutch sound so defenseless before. And it was his actions that had tipped Hutch over the precipice he had been balancing on since the rape. “I’m not angry with you.” He didn’t want a full blown conversation in public, but he had to make Hutch understand that what Starsky had done wasn’t Hutch’s fault. “I’m frustrated with myself. You’re my best friend, and I can’t do a damn thing to make this all go away.” A hand gripped his shoulder.

“Don’t fall apart on me. I can’t do this without you.” Hutch stepped closer to Starsky.

Hutch’s look of concern almost did Starsky in. He opened his mouth, and closed it without saying a word.

Hutch scrubbed his hand over Starsky’s back. “I need your strength to find mine again,” he said matter of fact.

Right now, Hutch seemed so much stronger than Starsky. The comfort radiating from Hutch soothed away some of the contempt Starsky had directed at himself. “Looks to me like you’re the strong one. I’m the wreck who’s blowing his top,” Starsky said truthfully.

Hutch was more like himself in this moment than he had been for a while. And that was exactly what Starsky needed. If Hutch could be strong for Starsky, then Starsky sure as hell was gonna do all in his power, and more, to get the old Hutch back for good.

Hutch looked around him and wrestled with his sleeve again. “Let’s get out of here before I freak again.” He smiled at Starsky and linked his arm through his partner’s. He kept his head down all the way to the car.

Starsky took that as Hutch’s way of saying “I trust you to watch my back, partner.”

*******************************

The walk across the parking lot seemed to take forever. Hutch was sure that he had held his breath the whole way. It had taken all his strength to resist the urge to constantly scan his surroundings and let Starsky be his eyes for once.

Starsky’s outburst in the hallway had told Hutch more than Starsky knew. Hutch had been momentarily terrified by Starsky’s actions. Then his brain had kicked in and he could see that the man pressing him against the wall was Starsky and not Woody. The haze of panic cleared and Hutch had a clarity of thought that he hadn’t experienced in a while. He was aware of how much Starsky hurt when he had meltdowns. He’d heard the words that Starsky whispered. He hadn’t realized that Starsky took Hutch’s mistrust of men as a slight on the trust between them. Or that Starsky blamed himself for not being there. Hutch never doubted that Starsky had his back, and he needed to reassure his partner that he still recognized Starsky’s sincerity.

Although, he trusted Starsky explicitly, Hutch was relieved to curl his fingers around the cold metal handle on the car door. He yanked it open and plunked heavily into the seat. The leather wrapped around his body in a comforting embrace. He had made no secret of the fact that he hated the Striped Tomato, but right now he relished the safety net it provided. The familiar surroundings, and the two doors kept out all others unless Starsky or Hutch permitted them in. The car was one of only two places where Hutch felt cocooned from the outside world.

Starsky climbed slowly into the car and closed the door. He put the key in the ignition, but made no attempt to start the engine. He stared straight ahead. “Thank you.”

Hutch locked the door before turning to face Starsky. “For what?”

Starsky raised his left eyebrow. “For trusting me after I scared you half to death.” He stretched his arm towards Hutch, placing his hand on the seat next to Hutch’s leg.

Hutch glanced down at Starsky’s hand; so close to his thigh but not actually touching him. Another sign of the barrier of insecurity between them. Hutch covered Starsky’s hand with his. “Starsk. You are the one person that I will always trust, no matter what.” A slight pain shot through his upper arm. Hutch rubbed the ache with his other hand. Starsky had gripped him so hard in the hospital hall that he’d left bruises.

Starsky pulled his hand away. “I did hurt you.” He grimaced.

Hutch grabbed Starsky’s forearm. “You squeezed a little firmly, that’s all.” He was sure that there would be some bruising, but he had no desire to make Starsky feel any worse than he already did. Both of them falling apart wouldn’t help.

“The old rubber band treatment, huh?” Starsky said, pointing at Hutch’s exposed wrist.

“Yes.”

“So that is the big cure, is it?” he asked incredulously.

Hutch wished it was that simple. He shook his head. “No. But it does help. Every time I think about,” he forced himself to say the words. “Woody and what he did to me.” Say the proper words, Hutchinson. It’s the only way to start banishing the demons. He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Whenever I think about the way Woody tortured and raped me.” There, he had said it, out loud. “And start to panic, or the groping hands get too much to bear, I flick myself with the rubber band, or deep breath, or meditate, or all three.” He stopped for a breath, fiddling with the elastic before realizing that, at that moment in time, he didn’t need it. “I can’t believe that I didn’t think about the various distraction and panic techniques that we advise victims to use.”

Starsky sat quietly, letting Hutch talk. He screwed his face up in pain when Hutch mentioned Woody and the ordeal he suffered. He mouthed “sorry,” but that was all.

Hutch laid his head back against the seat. “You have nothing to be sorry for, buddy,” he said. “It happened. And I have to deal with it.”

“We have to deal with it,” Starsky said firmly. “There’s no i in partners.” He smiled at Hutch.

“There’s no we either,” Hutch shot back. He turned his head toward Starsky. He hadn’t meant it to sound like it did.

“I know. I can spell,” Starsky said light-heartedly. He still looked like he wanted to say more, but was unsure how to start. He started the engine. “Home or Huggy’s?”

“Home.” Starsky asked the question every time they went out, but Hutch couldn’t bring himself to go into a bar, especially not Huggy’s. All this had started there. He wasn’t capable of facing those demons, not yet. He fiddled with the band, but decided that if he could manage his emotions with breath control, then he would. It was less obvious than pinging himself with an elastic band when in public. He had to get a handle on this thing before it consumed even more of his life than it had already.

Starsky guided the car out of the parking lot and pulled into the mid-day traffic. “Home, it is.”

Starsky would want to know more about Hutch’s session with Ellie, but it could wait until they were back in the privacy of his apartment.

 

And when your world comes crashing down
That’s when you rise and find your way up
That’s when you find out what you’re made of
            Survivor — Michael Bolton

*******************************

Thursday, September 19

Starsky parked the Torino in his usual spot behind Vinnie’s gym. “Eight a.m. on the dot,” he said unnecessarily. Turning off the engine, he made no attempt to exit the car. Instead he placed his hands on the steering wheel and whistled a nonsensical tune.

Hutch sat quietly beside Starsky, his body so tense that it physically hurt. He stared at the closed door of the back entrance. Vinnie always unlocked it early so Hutch could work out before his shift. Hutch had been coming here early mornings ever since he discovered Vinnie’s many years ago.

“Your call,” Starsky said softly. At least he had stopped that annoying whistling.

I’m aware of that, Hutch wanted to snap, but he held his tongue. It wasn’t Starsky’s fault that Hutch was such a coward.

It was day three. The third time that Hutch had sat staring at that damned door. Halfway through the week, and he still hadn’t managed to complete his homework.

Damn, he hadn’t even gotten through the door on his own. He had four days left before his next appointment with Ellie. Only three days to achieve his assignment. Vinnie’s didn’t open on Sundays, so that narrowed his window slightly. All he had to do was make it through a thirty minute workout. Hell, he could easily spend that long sitting here summoning up the courage to go inside on his own. It really wasn’t that long a time. No time at all.

Starsky touched Hutch’s shoulder. “Want me to come with?” he asked gently.

“No, no, no.” Hutch shook his head. If he couldn’t manage such a simple endeavor, then it was time he curled up and died. He’d been spineless long enough. He felt like a two year old having Starsky nursemaid him through the day. It was time to face this like a cop, not a victim. He’d wallowed long enough. He grabbed his carryall off of the back seat and hurled himself out of the car, running across the parking lot and hurtling through the door before he changed his mind.

He stopped short of the locker room door, and held his breath when Vinnie walked through.

“Hey, Hutch. How are you doing?” he smiled warmly. “No Starsky today?”

Hutch stood, opening and closing his dry mouth. He wanted to turn and bolt back to Starsky, but his legs wouldn’t obey his command.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I was you,” Vinnie said, pointing a finger toward the locker room. “Rented the place out for a boxing tournament last night. Some asshole threw up and left it to stink all night.” He walked across to the small utility room.

“Oh,” was all Hutch could manage. With slow movements, he snapped the band on his wrist. A sharp pain and intake of breath refocused his mind on his goal.

Vinnie backed out of the room with a bucket and mop. “I’ll be cleaning up the mess if you need me.” He walked back into the locker room.

“O-okay,” Hutch stuttered as he turned to his left and entered the main part of the gym. With a quick glance around at the equipment Hutch determined which was closest to the front door. He decided to start in the open area with a skipping rope. That way, he could see whoever came into the room. He could see when Vinnie came into the room, he corrected himself. Thankfully, he didn’t need to change. He was dressed in sweats, and had no intention of showing off more of his body than he needed to. He had his usual shorts and undershirt in his bag, but they were too skimpy for comfort these days.

He warmed up using a variety of stretches and lunges before he started his usual four slow, four fast combo of skips, stopping only when his legs turned to jelly. He had a long way to go before he was back to peak fitness.

The clock on the wall over the door showed that he was only ten minutes into his half hour target. Shaking out his legs and arms, Hutch took the time to figure his next move. Usually, he bench-pressed, but being flat on his back, on that red cushion didn’t hold the same appeal it once had. He wouldn’t be able to see the door from that position. He opted for the rack of dumbbells that were next to the weights bench.

Again, he positioned himself facing the door and selected a pair of fixed weights. They were lighter than the weights he generally used, but today wasn’t about the fitness of his body, it was about healing his mind. He launched into sets of six curls, lunges and squats. He repeated each set three times, with a short break in between.

Vinnie walked into the gym with a broom in his left hand. “You want me to hold the punching bag for you?” he asked, pointing to the bag behind Hutch.

Hutch almost dropped the dumbbell he had raised over his head. “Huh?” he said, mid stretch. His arm immobilized with the terror mounting inside his gut and his heart pounded like a jack hammer. He wanted to scream at Vinnie to get out, not to come any closer. But he simply stared at the advancing man.

Vinnie stopped in front of Hutch. “Want me to hold the bag?” he asked again.

Hutch’s arm muscles twitched in protest at holding the weight aloft for a prolonged time. He lowered his shaking limb. His mouth was so dry. “No. No, thank you. I haven’t done my cool down yet.” He moved to the dumbbell rack, dropping the weights back into their allocated slots.

Vinnie circled around Hutch and climbed into the boxing ring. “Won’t be hiring this place out at night again. Those assholes left a real mess everywhere.” He jabbed angrily at the canvas.

Hutch spun on his heel, goosebumps raising on his neck and back. No way could he bear having Vinnie behind him. Folding his right arm across his chest, he pushed on the elbow with his left palm, then alternated the exercise.

Vinnie talked the whole time that Hutch worked through his cool down exercises. None of the words permeated Hutch’s brain. All he cared about was keeping Vinnie in sight, and finishing the challenge of working out alone.

Keep going, Hutchinson. You can do this. Focusing on his goal kept Hutch from bolting before the end of the allocated time. Slowly, his panic of having Vinnie so close decreased. A strange sort of calmness took its place. By the end of his work-down, Hutch was at peace with Vinnie’s presence.

Suddenly, the bogeyman didn’t seem quite so big. Hutch had jumped the first hurdle, and survived. Vinnie was Vinnie, nothing more. Hutch grabbed his carryall. “See you tomorrow,” he said cheerfully, waving at Vinnie.

Hutch glanced at the clock on his way out. He realized that his workout had exceeded the required half hour. It gave his spirit a boost. Stupid, but very welcome.

He jogged the short distance across the parking lot to the Torino. Smiling, he climbed into his seat.

Starsky sat, following Hutch’s every move with his eyes. “Okay?” he said, his hands resting on the steering wheel.

“Fine.” Hutch nodded. “Just fine.” He closed the door. “Mission accomplished.” He kicked the bag at his feet to make a little more room.

“Vinnie okay?” Starsky turned to face Hutch, making eye contact, and rested his arm across the back of the seat.

Hutch knew what Starsky was really asking. “There’s no need to worry. It’s all good.” He put his hand on Starsky’s arm. “Vinnie was cleaning up some puke in the locker room when I went in. He came into the gym about halfway through my workout. Spent the rest of the time sweeping the ring.” He didn’t need to tell Starsky that he had declined Vinnie’s help with the punching bag. Facing his equipment issues was the task for another day. For now, he was more than happy to have gotten through this morning. It was a small triumph, but it was a major leap in Hutch’s life.

Starsky fired up the engine. The familiar throaty growl made Hutch smile. “I’m proud of you,” Starsky said quietly. He drove out of the parking lot, and eased into the last of the morning traffic.

“Me, too,” Hutch whispered. Starsky didn’t have to tell Hutch how much restraint it must have taken for Starsky to stay in the car.

 

It was like a darkness was gradually being lifted
and every millimeter of light brought with it a thing of beauty.
            Survivor — Michael Bolton

*******************************

Saturday, September 21 

After Starsky started back at Metro, Hutch began driving himself to Vinnie’s. Then he would spend the morning pottering around watering his plants, and cleaning. His place had never looked so neat and tidy.

Starsky usually came back at the end of his shift with take out food. Tonight, Starsky had picked up dinner at Huggy’s. The aroma of the fried chicken warming in the oven filled Hutch’s apartment.

Hutch put the sides on plates while Starsky took a shower. Bean salad for Hutch, fries for Starsky. Hutch popped two fries into his mouth. Starsky would never miss them.

“Caught you,” shouted Starsky.

Hutch started and twirled to face Starsky, almost choking in the process.

Starsky slapped him hard on the back. “You okay?” A half smile played on his lips.

Hutch turned to the sink and spit out the mangled potatoes, one hand on his heaving chest. “Shit, Starsky. Don’t do that. I nearly had a heart attack.” It felt like his heart was trying to escape from his body. He inhaled, holding the breath for a few seconds before exhaling.

Starsky grimaced. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think.” He leaned his butt against the counter. “I saw you snafling my fries, and…”

Hutch’s heartbeat slowed a little. “Did what I would have done if the shoe had been on the other foot.” He was surprised that he hadn’t wet himself. He couldn’t even start to explain how scared he had been for that split second when Starsky yelled. And he had been feeling so good about his success at Vinnie’s.

“Sit down,” Starsky said, pulling out a chair. “I’ll finish this.” He got the chicken out of the oven, and put two pieces on each plate. “Want any more?” he asked, pointing the serving tongs at the remaining four pieces on the baking sheet.

Hutch shook his head. “No, two’s plenty.” Suddenly, he wasn’t as hungry as he had been. He took his plate from Starsky and sat down.

Starsky sat opposite him. “I feel so stupid, shouldn’t have done that.” He nudged Hutch’s foot with his own.

“It’s not your fault that I’m so jumpy,” Hutch said. “You were just doing what comes naturally.” He grinned. “Being an ass.” In some ways, he was glad that Starsky had done it. He felt more normal when Starsky wasn’t treating him like a porcelain doll that had to be protected so it didn’t break.

Starsky tossed a fry at him, his swing knocking over Hutch’s beer. He fumbled with the bottle, but righted it before all of the beer spilled out on the table.

Hutch laughed. “And you call me clumsy,” He walked over to the sink for a cloth, and threw it to Starsky.

“Thanks.” Starsky caught the dishrag and soaked up the liquid. He actually giggled as he mopped up the mess.

Sitting down, Hutch looked at Starsky. It was the first time in ages that Hutch had seen such a genuine smile on Starsky’s face. No matter how happy and cheerful Starsky tried to be for Hutch’s sake, he could see the tinge of sadness, or maybe it was pity, in Starsky’s smile.

“What?” Starsky asked, meeting Hutch’s eyes. “Have I got juice on my chin, or something?” He wiped his hand over his jaw, checking his palm afterwards.

“No. I was just thinking how good this is.” Hutch saw Starsky’s confusion. “It’s been too long. I was beginning to think that being carefree, even for a few minutes, was no longer part of my make-up.” Hutch was sure that he could feel a shifting in his head, albeit very slowly. Too slow for his liking.

Starsky attacked a piece of chicken. “Know what you mean,” he agreed, his mouth full of food. “Chicken’s good. Try some.”

Hutch cut a chunk off the end of his piece and put it in his mouth. He nodded, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Hutch’s appetite had returned as quickly as it had left. This time, he tried not to analyze his changing moods too much.

Starsky cleared the table. He filled the sink and put the plates in the soapy water. “I’ll wash. You turn on the TV for Johnny Carson on The Late Show.”

Hutch didn’t move from the table. Since his last appointment with Ellie, the charade of Starsky leaving, and Hutch begging him to stay at the last minute, had stopped. Now, Starsky just settled on the couch with the TV for company until Hutch went to bed. Hutch had been thinking about bedtime all afternoon.

Starsky finished the dishes with a swipe of the sponge across the counter. He looked at Hutch. “We don’t have to watch TV if you don’t want to,” he said, walking across the room.

As he passed, Hutch grabbed his wrist. “Sit down, Starsk.” He pointed to the chair next to him. He’d made a decision earlier. Now all he had to do was convince Starsky.

Starsky pulled the wooden chair from under the table, and straddled the seat, arms resting on the high back. “You’ve got that thinking look on your face,” he said, half seriously, half joking.

“You know me too well.” Hutch tightened his grip on Starsky’s arm. “I want you to go home tonight.” He wanted to bite the words back when he saw the expression on Starsky’s face. “You can’t nursemaid me for the rest of my life.” The words were directed as much to himself as to Starsky.

“Who says that I stay here for you?” Starsky asked indignantly. “I want to be here as much, if not more, than you want me here.” He wiggled his butt on the seat. “I have needs, too,” he said quietly.

Hutch stared at Starsky. “I know you want to be here when I need you, Starsk. But I have to get back to normal, and that means being able to spend the night in my apartment alone. The only way to beat this is to face the demons head on. You don’t need to worry about me. I will be safe.” He looked at the front door. He’d installed a new deadlock, as well as big bolts top and bottom. He had replaced his mostly glass back door with a solid wooden one, although it didn’t let in nearly enough light for his plants. The new door had the same security as his front door.

Starsky jumped up. “I need to be with you. Irrational, I know, when all you want to do is get your life back together. It’s eating away at me.” He stopped talking, turning his back on Hutch. “No, you’re right. He snagged his jacket from the coat stand by the door. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Hutch ran across the room, and leaned against the front door to stop Starsky from leaving. “What’s eating away at you? What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. Slip of the tongue.” Starsky pushed against Hutch’s body.

Hutch could tell that Starsky was lying. Words like ‘eating away’ just don’t slip into conversations. “Didn’t sound like nothing.” He dragged Starsky to the couch. “Sit down.”

Starsky sat on the arm of the couch, not quite meeting Hutch’s eye.

Hutch stood over him, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not so fragile that you can’t talk to me, you know. I am aware of how hard this is on others. You, especially.” He’d tried shielding Starsky from some of his scarier memories, spending many hours awake in his bed biting the pillow to stop himself crying out and disturbing his partner’s slumber. “Tell me,” he said softly.

Starsky’s face crumpled. “I don’t ever want you to be alone again.” He slid backwards onto the couch cushion. “It was all my fault. I couldn’t find you. I failed.” A sob cracked his voice. “If those two guys hadn’t been jogging so late that night…”

Hutch looked into Starsky’s eyes. “None of this was your fault. You were looking for me. You would have found me. I know you would.” He couldn’t bear Starsky’s guilt on top of his own. “I was careless. I didn’t notice him in the shadows.”

Starsky wrung his hands together. “It tears me apart every time you say that I wasn’t there. It hurts so much that you had to suffer alone.”

Those words shocked Hutch. He’d never accused Starsky of not backing him up. “I’ve never said a word about you not being there. I wouldn’t.”

“You don’t realize that you’re saying it.” Starsky stared back at Hutch. “You say it when you’re waking up from a nightmare.” He hung his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I never meant to tell you.”

Hearing how much he was hurting his friend without even knowing he was doing it strengthened Hutch’s resolve. Life was going to get back to the way it was before. Sooner rather than later. Screw Ellie’s one step at a time program, and Starsky’s baby steps. Hutch was taking control now. “Starsky, the only person to blame for this whole mess is Woody,” he said firmly, quoting Ellie’s words. “I’m alive. He’s dead. We made it, partner.” He breathed deeply. “Life goes on.”

Starsky nodded. “Just tell me what you want me to do. Your call.”

Although Starsky’s agreement wasn’t as sincere as Hutch would have hoped, he pressed on. “You go home. Take some time for yourself. Not work, not me, you.”

Starsky looked like he was about to argue, then apparently changed his mind.

“You’re only a phone call away,” Hutch said. “I’ll call if I need you.” He put his hand on Starsky’s shoulder. “I have to do this,” he reiterated. For my own sanity, and for yours.

Starsky stood up, coat still in his hand. “Promise?” he said, walking slowly to the door.

“Yes. Now get out,” Hutch said with more confidence than he felt.

“Lock the door behind me,” Starsky instructed, stepping into the hallway.

“Yes, Officer,” Hutch joked, saluting Starsky. He closed the door and slid the bolts home.

 

Once you die, you’re finished.
Sometimes, you’ve just got to stumble and fall
            Stumble and Fall — China Soul

*******************************

Starsky stood on the landing, listening to the thud, thud of the bolts and the click of the lock. The sound sent conflicting emotions through his body. On the one hand, he was reassured that his partner was secure inside his home. On the other, it saddened him because Hutch had never been that security conscious.

With that last thought in mind, he reached above his head and ran his hand along the door lintel. He knew that Hutch no longer kept his key there, but Starsky had to make sure. When he was sort of satisfied that his partner was as safe as could be, he walked slowly down the steps. Part of him considered camping out on the landing. Or sleeping in the Torino outside Hutch’s building. None of which he could do. Hutch would not appreciate Starsky countering his wishes. Also, he needed to be next to his phone, just in case Hutch needed him.

He unlocked the car door, and stood with his foot on the edge of the Torino, looking up at Hutch’s windows. Light flooded the space behind the glass. Starsky got into the car quickly, fired her up and screeched away from the curb. He didn’t want Hutch looking out of the window and see him standing there, not when he had been told to go home.

Starsky made it to his place in record time. The traffic had been unusually light for a Saturday evening. Even the lights had been his friend, green all the way. Pulling into his usual spot, he parked and took the steps two at a time.

Stepping into his apartment, he stopped just inside the door and looked around. It felt cold, alien and unlived in. Which, of course, it was. He hadn’t spent much time there in the past few months. First, he had been out looking for his missing partner. When Hutch had been found, Starsky had spent most nights at the hospital. Since Hutch’s discharge, Starsky had been at Hutch’s every spare minute he had.

There were big gaps on Starsky’s shelves. His clothes, books and records had gradually migrated over to Hutch’s. He rarely remembered to bring his stuff back to their rightful home.

He walked around, picking up a few dead potted plants. They’d all withered in his absence. He threw them in the trash can, vowing to replace them. Somehow, he didn’t want to tell Hutch that he’d killed the baby spider plants.

Hutch had entrusted the plants to him with the words, “Even you can’t kill these, Starsk. They don’t need much looking after.” And Hutch had been right. Until he had been kidnapped. The plants just weren’t hardy enough to cope with the negligence of a frantic Starsky searching for his partner.

Starsky glanced at the clock on top of the television. It wasn’t quite ten p.m. What the hell was he gonna do for the next God knows how many hours? He wasn’t in the mood for watching the box. It was too early for bed. He stared at the phone, willing it to ring. He hadn’t even asked Hutch what the rules were. Aside from Hutch saying he wanted to spend the night alone, he hadn’t made it clear what would happen tomorrow morning. Did Starsky have to wait for Hutch to call and say he could go over? Or could Starsky just turn up at Hutch’s at a reasonable time? Maybe grab something for breakfast from Hutch’s favorite deli on the way. Even Hutch couldn’t be mad if Starsky turned up with food.

Rummaging through the few records he had left, he selected ‘This Is Fats Domino’. The first line of Blueberry Hill filled the quiet room. Starsky kicked his sneakers off, and walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth for the second time that night.

“The moon stood still. On Blueberry Hill.”

Coming back into the living room, he picked up his book of ‘Amazing Facts’ from the coffee table. He hadn’t looked at it in months.  The book had been lying there for a long time. Dropping onto the couch, he opened the book to the page with a dog-eared corner. Flipping page after page, he suddenly realized that he hadn’t read any of the text. He threw the book down onto the table in frustration.

What was the point of having time to himself when all he could do was worry about Hutch? He was in two minds as to whether the fact that Hutch didn’t have his gun was a comfort or not. Starsky still had nightmares about the night he found Hutch in the greenhouse with Starsky’s gun stuck under his jaw.

With a deep sigh, Starsky scrambled over the back of the couch, turned off the record player and headed to his bedroom. Deciding not to undress, he stretched out on top of the bedspread. He didn’t want to waste precious seconds putting clothes on if he had a call from Hutch in the night.

He tossed and turned, watching the time tick away. Minutes and hours passed far too slowly for Starsky’s liking. Every time he was on the verge of sleep, he thought he heard Hutch cry out. Even the simple act of closing his eyes in the dimly lit room didn’t help. Visions flicked under his eyelids. Pictures of Hutch bound and doubled over the saw-horse, suspended by his wrists, bloodied, unconscious and helpless played like a slideshow. No, a horror show.

Needing to empty his bladder, and possibly his stomach, Starsky leapt off the bed and into the bathroom. He peed as quickly as he could, washing his hands before walking into the kitchen. His mouth was dry. A quick examination of his fridge revealed nothing but moldy cheese and a bottle of root beer. He grabbed the bottle and closed the door on the festering lump. Twisting off the top, he gulped half the soda.

Sure that he wouldn’t sleep, he opened the fridge door again. The cheese landed on top of the dead plants in the trash can with a soft thump. Taking the wire shelves from the fridge, Starsky filled the sink with soapy water and wiped every inch of the fridge, inside and out. Cleaning and drying the shelves, he put them back in exactly the same grooves they had come out of. That task wasted all of ten minutes.

He went into the bedroom and lay on the bed. The phone on the bedside table remained stubbornly quiet. Starsky’s hand hovered over the receiver. All he needed was to hear Hutch’s voice, know that he was okay. Should he make the call? Even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t. If Hutch was sleeping, Starsky didn’t want to disturb him. No one liked the phone ringing in the middle of the night.

A sudden tiredness descended over Starsky. He yawned, his eyelids heavy. Gradually, his awareness lessened and he closed his eyes.

*******************************

Hutch leaned his back against the door. He desperately wanted to tell Starsky that he had changed his mind. That he really wanted Starsky to stay. His left hand brushed over the doorknob and he gripped it tightly. He was just about to open the door when he heard Starsky’s footsteps going down the stairs.

Hutch pushed himself upright, fighting against the part of him that wanted to chase Starsky and drag him back. He could do this. He was a grown man. A cop. What was he scared of anyway? Woody was dead. Hutch would never see him again. The only thing keeping Woody alive was Hutch’s mind.

He didn’t have to fear Woody anymore. The only thing Hutch had to fear was fear itself. He’d managed to overcome every bad thing that had happened to him, and to Starsky. This shouldn’t be any different.

But it was. It was so very different. He’d been helpless before, but he had never felt helpless. This time he had lost hope–he had been certain that he was going to die on that dark beach. And more importantly, he had lost his masculinity. That had never happened before.

The Torino screeched away, cutting through Hutch’s thoughts. He walked across his apartment to the greenhouse, checking the back door, even though it had been locked all day. Next he checked the window locks. Then he double checked everything. All was as secure as it could be. He was safer than he had ever been in his apartment. He only had two keys. One was by the door, and the other on Starsky’s keyring.

A shower might help him relax, but the water made a lot of noise. Hutch needed to be able to hear what was happening around him. He would have to relax some other way.

Meditation.

He sat cross legged on his cable drum coffee table, forearms resting on knees, eyes closed. “Ooooommmmm. Summer. Sunshine. Bikini. Beach. Woody.” He snapped open his eyelids. A droplet of sweat run down his forehead. He pinged the rubber band on his wrist, wincing at the pain.

His usual method of free association obviously wasn’t a good idea. Closing his eyes again, he breathed deeply. “Ooooommmmm, ooooommmmm.” He repeated the chant over and over. He visualized his stretched out body, mentally scanning the length of himself and willing his muscles to relax from toe to head.

Slowly the knotted tension melted away. The blackness under his closed eyelids was replaced by a relaxing green and purple swirling pattern. His racing mind cleared, and his panic abated. He was sure that he was calm enough to consider sleep an option.

Hutch hadn’t noticed that every light in the apartment was on until he started switching them off. As each bulb was extinguished, the place got darker. Finally, the only light was the glow from the street lamps outside, and the lamp next to his bed. He ignored the dark corners and walked into the bedroom.

Somehow, he didn’t relish the idea of stripping down to his boxers, or putting his pajama bottoms on. Wearing little or no clothing had never bothered him before. He was always comfortable with nudity, his own and others. These days, he was very conscious of showing off his body to anyone. He opted to sleep in his sweats, climbing under the bed linen fully clothed. He even left his socks on.

He turned off the bedside lamp and was surprised how dark this corner of his apartment was. He had never been aware of that before. Little light filtered through the screen that provided some privacy from his living area. He glanced quickly around the room. Things moved in the shadows. Faceless figures loomed towards him. Tendrils curled around his body, stroked his face.

“No. No,” he shouted, covering his head with the blankets. If they couldn’t see him, maybe they would leave him alone. Muffled noises droned in his ears. The blackness under the covers suffocated him.

Struggling to breathe, he sat up and flipped the lamp back on. The monsters died in the light of the room. He reached for the phone, dialing 555-839–.

His finger hovered over the 1. All he had to do was press the last number. Say three little words, just three words–I need you. And Starsky would be here, chasing the bogeyman away. He touched the button, not quite hard enough to dial the number. Gritting his teeth, he slammed the receiver down, severing the connection.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t have Starsky running to his side every time he felt a little jittery. He laughed. He was more than a little jittery, he was a quivering wreck. And he always would be if he didn’t pull himself together. He lay down, breathing deeply and stared at the ceiling. If he couldn’t sleep with the light off, then he’d leave it on.

He hadn’t done that since he was four. He remembered Jack telling him stories about monsters who lived in closets. That night, Hutch had screamed so loud when his mother turned the light off that she left it on for him, singing him to sleep. For almost a week, he’d made a fuss, until his father had had enough and made Hutch sleep in the dark again.

He rolled onto his side and curled up in a ball. With his back to the lamp, Hutch faced the open space of his apartment. Light permeated through his eyelids. It wasn’t nearly as dark as he liked for sleeping. He opened his eyes, looking into the darker recesses of the room beyond the screen.

It reminded him of the chamber where Woody had kept him. The bare bulb glaring in his immediate vicinity and the blackness beyond the reach of illumination. The place where Woody had hidden from Hutch so many times, before emerging to take him again and again.

“Starsky,” he yelled, unable to stop himself. Would this hell ever end?

Determined to beat his demons, he pulled the plug on the lamp. This time, he couldn’t turn the light back on until he had plugged it in again. Lying on his belly, his preferred sleeping position, he closed his eyes and silently sang the Brahms’ lullaby that his mother used to sing to him.

Lullaby and good night, with roses bedight.
With lilies o’er spread is baby’s wee
bed. Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed.
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed.

Every time he reached the end of the song, he started again. Breathing in through his nose, he could smell Elizabeth Arden’s Blue Grass, his mother’s favorite perfume. He let the thought of his mother flow over him like a giant comforter, gently coaxing him to sleep.

 

Somewhere alone in the dark — a phantom from the arc
Somewhere alone in the night is counting all broken lives
            Somewhere Alone in the Dark — Vanden Plas

*******************************

Sunday, September 22

Starsky woke up with a start. What had woken him so abruptly?

Feeling a little disorientated, he looked around the room. It seemed strange to wake up in his own bed for once. The clock next to the bed said 6:12. Too early for him normally, but Hutch would be up and about now.

That was if his partner had slept at all. It had taken Starsky a while to go to sleep. However, he must have slept soundly once he had, if the fuzziness in his head was anything to go by. Rubbing his eyes, and scratching his scalp, he sat up slowly. He climbed off of the bed, and stripped off his clothes. Desperate as he was to get to Hutch’s, he had to shower and change. Sleeping in his clothes for convenience was one thing, but since the mercy dash hadn’t happened, he felt grubby and in need of cleanliness.

He had a quick shower, and even took time to shave. The face looking back at him from the mirror showed that he hadn’t had a totally restful night. Dark shadows under his eyes revealed the truth. He brushed his teeth, and ran his fingers through his hair. He really must find the time for a haircut.

Walking into the bedroom, he snagged a pair of blue jeans from the closet. They were almost identical to the ones he had taken off, except these were older, more worn in. He didn’t have to work today, so he opted for his oldest, most comfortable denims. A dark blue cotton shirt completed his outfit. Maybe Hutch might feel like going out somewhere later.

It was just after six thirty a.m. when he walked out of the door, black leather jacket in hand. Since Hutch hadn’t specified what he wanted to happen today, Starsky needed to see that Hutch was okay. He was sure that Hutch would have called if he needed Starsky.

Then again, Hutch could be so stubborn sometimes. Starsky prayed that this wasn’t one of those times. His biggest fear at this moment in time, was finding Hutch in some state of despair, or worse. Starsky didn’t want to think about the worse.

He climbed into his car, throwing his jacket onto the seat next to him. He took a couple of minutes to settle into the reassuring hug of the leather, and stroked the dashboard with his fingertips. Sitting in his car always calmed him. She was his comfort blanket.

Traffic was light that early in the morning. He reached Hutch’s neighborhood in half his usual time. Far too early for Flores Deli to be open, so Starsky stopped at the Full Moon 24-hour diner. Parking in the lot closest to the entrance, Starsky walked through the propped open door.

“Hey, Nessa,” he greeted the slim, pretty pink-haired waitress who worked the early morning shift.

Nessa placed a plate of pancakes in front of a bald headed man in the booth next to the door. “Dave,” she replied, turning towards him. “Long time, no see.” She hugged him tightly. “Thought you were going to call me.”

Starsky couldn’t detect any bitterness in her voice. He had fully intended to arrange a second date with Nessa. That was until Hutch had disappeared. “Sorry, honey. Problems at work. My partner got pretty badly beat-up.”

She pushed him to arm’s length, looking him in the eyes. “Oh, yeah. I read about that.” She smiled sympathetically. “Is Ken okay?”

Starsky shrugged. “He’s getting there.” Dobey had kept the gory details of the rapes out of the newspapers, but they had still published information about Hutch’s kidnapping, the length of his ordeal and the fact that he had been badly injured. They had also run a separate article about Rip, detailing his crimes and that he was responsible for the death of six other men. And that he was dead. They had even named Starsky as the cop who shot him. Starsky could see the front page of the Bay City Herald as if it were in front of him. The headline had read, “Poetic Justice. Killer Downed by Partner of Only Surviving Victim.”

Nessa steered Starsky to the counter. Circling around to stand behind it, she said, “So, is this a social visit, or business?” She leaned her elbows on the laminated countertop, her low cut white t-shirt showing off ample cleavage.

Starsky appreciated the view for a few minutes, “Just on my way to Hutch’s. Thought I’d pick up breakfast on the way.” He licked his bottom lip. He really should see Nessa again.

“Let me guess.” She smiled, chewing the end of her pencil. “Egg burrito with chili peppers, and a side order of bacon and hash browns, for you. And for Ken?”

Starsky laughed. “You know me too well.” She should. He had been frequenting this diner for a while now. It was convenient when he picked up and dropped off Hutch. He rarely ever bought food for Hutch, because Hutch usually preferred a breakfast health drink. This morning, he decided that Hutch needed some comfort food. Selecting carefully, he said, “An English muffin with scrambled eggs and bacon.”

“Joey. One Starsky, and an English with scrambled and bacon to go,” she shouted to the plump guy in the kitchen.

Starsky grabbed her hand, kissing the back gently. “You named a dish after me. I’m touched.”

“Don’t be. You’re the only one who eats that combination,” she said, sticking out her tongue. “Back in a minute.” She moved down the counter to serve waiting customers.

Starsky looked at his watch. It was almost seven fifteen. He hoped that Hutch hadn’t been trying to call him. Now he wished that he’d gone straight to Hutch’s.

Starsky glanced around at the few other diners in the place. All were lone guys, who were probably on their way home from wherever they had spent the night. Nobody really caught his attention.

“Starsky and English ready,” said Joey, his gruff voice making Starsky jump.

Nessa finished taking orders and walked to the shelf between the kitchen and the diner. Snagging the paper bag, she put it in front of Starsky.

He pulled out his wallet. “How much?”

“It’s on me. Tell Ken that I wish him well.” She squeezed Starsky’s hand.

“Thanks, honey.” Starsky leaned over the counter and kissed her on the lips. “Did I ever tell you that red is my favorite color,” he said, licking the taste of her lipstick off of his lips.

“A few times.” She grinned. “Better get those meals served or Joey will string me up,” she said, nodding over to the plates piling up on the shelf.

Grabbing the bag of food, Starsky smiled. “See you later. I will call you,” he promised. “Soon as things quiet down a little. We’ll go out to dinner at this nice little Italian place that I know.”

She waved as he ran to the door. “You’d better,” she warned.

*******************************

“As soon as you walked into the bar, I just knew I had to have you.”

“No, no. Leave me alone.” Hutch struggled to wake up. If only he could open his eyes, the bogeyman would stop taunting him.

“I like them blond and pretty, and boy, are you pretty.”

He couldn’t move. His mind and body was trapped by the nightmare, teetering between full consciousness and restful sleep. He was aware that it was just a dream, but he was unable to get himself the hell out of it. If he could just open his goddamn eyes.

Lips pressed against his own. The stench of tooth decay drifted into his nostrils.

“I’m a cop. You can’t do this to me. They’ll be looking for me.” Wake up. For God’s sake, Hutchinson, wake up. He lost another battle with his eyelids. No matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t respond to his commands.

“Won’t help you any, sonny. You’re all mine now, and no one is gonna find you.”

“Starsky will find me. He always does.” But he didn’t.

“We’re underground, and the only way you’re gonna leave here is with my say so.”

“No. No.” Hutch willed his body to move. Willed his mind to stop this torture. Starsky would help him. Starsky would stop this. Starsky killed Woody. “Starsky!”

A scream cut into Hutch’s nightmare. Someone was shouting Starsky’s name. The noise freed Hutch from his torment. He sat upright, his eyes snapping open at the same time. He surveyed his surroundings, trying to find the person who wanted his partner so badly that they screamed his name.

The early morning sun filtered through the plants in the greenhouse, and the window shutters, dappling light on the walls, floor and furniture of his apartment.

Other than the dim light, Hutch was alone. Sweat run down his face. His clothes stuck to his body. He had been the one to scream Starsky’s name and save himself from the bogeyman.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Hutch rubbed his tingling lips savagely against his kneecaps. He could still feel the pressure of the kiss from his dream. He rocked back and forth. Was he ever going to feel normal again?

He glanced over at the time on his bedside clock–6:12. Might as well get up. No way was he going back to sleep. Now he definitely needed a shower.

Hutch walked into the kitchen and turned on the burner under the half empty coffee pot from the night before. It would probably taste worse than the stuff they served up at Metro, but he couldn’t be bothered to make a fresh one. He rinsed out the mug in the sink and then went to the bathroom.

He turned on the water, stripped, and stepped into the hot torrent. Hot, not scalding. He had reset the temperature to normal the day that Starsky had discovered his harmful ritual. He’d even gone back to using a wash cloth that cleaned, not stripped, his skin. The first few days he’d done this, the hands on his body had almost driven him crazy. Now, whenever he felt them, he pinged the elastic band on his right wrist, and the sensation dulled into the background.

This morning, however, Hutch had the overwhelming urge to scrub Woody away again. His skin prickled as Woody’s essence wrapped around his naked body. He backed away from the ghost touching his groin. Something hard pressed against his butt crack. He jumped, whipping around in panic and came face to face with the wall. Realizing with relief that the erection he had expected to see was actually the shower faucet, he snorted. God, he was a wreck. This had to stop.

Hutch washed quickly, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Rubbing his chin, he decided that he really should shave. Stepping out of the tub, he wiped the condensation from the mirror and stared at his reflection.

Gaunt features and sunken eyes looked back at him. He barely recognized the sharp angles of his jawline and cheeks. Even at his thinnest, his cheekbones had never been so prominent. His skin was pale and wan. Hardly surprising since he had spent days underground, then in a hospital room, and now shut up in his own apartment unless he was forced to leave. Then he usually only went to the hospital or the gym. He was spending far too much time indoors. Not wanting to see the stranger that sort of looked like him staring back at him any longer, he abandoned the idea of shaving and walked to the stove.

Extinguishing the gas, he poured a mug of black sludge. He leaned his butt against the sink and raised the cup to his lips, inhaling the aroma of stale coffee. He couldn’t drink that. He had to make a fresh pot. He turned to throw the offending liquid down the sink.

Knock, knock, knock.

Startled by the pounding on the door behind him, Hutch dropped the mug. It hit the counter and bounced onto the floor, shattering, covering Hutch’s bare feet with hot coffee and shards of pottery.

“Fuck,” he yelled, hitching a breath at the pain in his feet.

“Hutch! You okay in there?” Starsky’s frantic voice shouted through the door. “Let me in.”

“I’m fine,” Hutch said, gingerly picking through the debris. “One second.” Taking three strides to get clear of the broken mess, he pulled the bolts back with ease. He’d oiled them well, because he couldn’t bear the sound of grating metal, which reminded him of…

Hutch shook his head. He had to train his mind not to connect things in his every day life to that hellhole.

Starsky pushed through the door almost before Hutch had opened it. “What was that noise? I heard a crash?” He looked at Hutch, waving a brown paper bag around in the air. “You were shouting.”

“Dropped a mug. Coffee was hot.” He pointed at his wet feet. “You look like shit,” Hutch said, changing the subject before Starsky realized the reason why he had dropped the mug. Starsky’s knock had been so loud to Hutch’s ears. All his senses were on high alert these days. Probably a good thing he hadn’t drunk the coffee. Putting caffeine into his adrenaline spiked body wouldn’t be the wisest move.

“Thanks, partner.” Starsky feigned hurt. “I made the effort to bring us breakfast, and all I get is an insult.” He walked into the kitchen and put the bag on the table. “Why don’t I clean up the mess while you get dressed.” Starsky opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a dustpan and small broom. “Hurry up or the food will get cold.”

Hutch didn’t move for a moment, watching Starsky sweep the broken crockery into the dustpan. Then a couple of Starsky’s words sunk in. Get dressed. He’d forgotten that all he had on was an orange towel.

For the first time in ages, he wasn’t stressing about his state of undress. He trusted Starsky implicitly. He was the only man that Hutch didn’t silently accuse of wanting a piece of him.

Stop it, Hutchinson. You’re thinking too much again.

He went into the bedroom and put on clean underwear along with his black sweat suit. He sat on the bed for a short while, picking imaginary lint off of his pants.

By the time he went back to the kitchen, Starsky had finished with the pot on the floor, put the food on the table and boiled a fresh pot of coffee.

“Sit down and eat.” Starsky pulled a chair out for him. “Got you an English muffin with scrambled eggs and bacon. Hope that’s okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, fine,” Hutch said, as Starsky plonked a fresh mug of coffee in front of him. “How is Nessa?” He looked at Starsky’s plate, and shuddered. Burrito for breakfast.

Starsky seemed surprised at Hutch’s question. “How? Oh, the food. Yeah.” He took a huge bite of his burrito. “Not as pissed as I expected.”

“Why should she be pissed at you?” Hutch asked, cutting his muffin in half. His stomach was rumbling. He hadn’t even noticed that he was hungry until he smelled the food.

“Haven’t contacted her since our first date. Not with all the…” He stopped, gripping the burrito a shade too tightly. “Work and stuff,” he finished lamely.

Hutch bit into his muffin, stopping mid-bite. Starsky and Nessa’s first date had been the night before his and Starsky’s argument. Before…

“She sends her love.” Starsky devoured his burrito, alternating bites with sips of coffee.

Starsky had chattered about this gorgeous waitress at the Full Moon diner for weeks. Although Starsky bought food there every day, before and after their shifts, Hutch had only seen her a couple of times. She was pretty enough, very pretty actually. She had pink hair, pink! But Starsky liked her, and he had asked her out eventually. Hutch had never known Starsky to be coy with a girl before. Then Starsky had put everything on hold, because of what happened to Hutch.

Hutch shook his head in dismay. He hadn’t given a thought to how this was affecting everyone else. Wrong. He had thought about it, but he had been unable to do anything except wallow in his own self pity. Not that others saw it that way, he knew that. He had to stop fucking up other people’s lives. No matter how much everyone helped him, he was the only one who could force himself to move forward. Learn to deal with what happened, and put it behind him once and for all.

“What you wanna do today?” Starsky asked, holding a forkful of hash browns hovering in mid air.

Hutch chewed the bite of muffin that he had just taken. “Why don’t you spend it with Nessa?” He smiled at Starsky. “Take her someplace nice. Woo her like you should have been doing weeks ago.” He didn’t want to be the cause of Starsky losing a girl he had been so smitten with.

Starsky shook his head. “She’s working. You’re stuck with me for the day.” He thrust his chin out with determination. “Like it or not.”

Hutch smiled. “You know I like you being around. But you need some.”

Starsky cut him off. “I tried that ‘me time’ shit last night. And look what happened.” He slurped his coffee. “I was cleaning out my fridge at some ungodly hour this morning. I tossed and turned until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.” He looked at Hutch through dark eyelashes. “And I was awake just after six.” He frowned, and said softly. “I was worried about you. This shit hurts so goddamn much. I hate to see you like that.” He stopped talking, and closed his eyes, as if searching for the right words, or even wishing he hadn’t said what he had. “Not like yourself. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Hutch put his hand on Starsky’s forearm. “I’m okay. Really.” How the hell was he supposed to deal with Starsky’s pain on top of his own? Usually when Starsky was hurting, Hutch was slightly removed from the situation. It was normally someone else who caused Starsky such distress. Now the pain was Hutch’s. And it went deeper than any he had ever experienced in his life. Starsky’s empathetic pain was intensified by the guilt that he’d been unable to find Hutch in time. But for the intervention of civilians, Hutch would not be here now.

Starsky inhaled deeply. “Yeah?” He opened his eyes, and stared directly into Hutch’s. “You made it through the night alone. But it wasn’t easy, was it?” The glint in Starsky’s eyes dared Hutch to lie to him.

Hutch had to start being totally truthful with everyone around him, including himself. Trying to hide from his inner turmoil wasn’t making things better. They just surfaced when he least expected it, taking him by surprise at his most vulnerable moments. “No. No, it wasn’t.”

Face problems head on, isn’t that what cops did? Take charge, eradicate the vermin. Not sweep them under the carpet for later. “I had the same sort of night that you did. Tossing and turning.” He grinned. “I didn’t clean the fridge out, though. Thought about mom and the lullaby she used to sing me when I couldn’t sleep. Worked for a while, until the dream started.” He rubbed his face with his hand.

Starsky pushed his empty plate away, wrapping his hands around the coffee cup.

Hutch looked at his own plate. He had barely touched his muffin. His belly roiled. What he had already eaten wasn’t sitting well in his stomach. Judging by his reflection this morning, food had not been high on his agenda lately. He couldn’t remember much about the past few weeks. He’d gone through in a haze of denial and self-preservation, not doing very well with the self-preservation side of things.

“I shouldn’t have left you,” Starsky stated, picking up the plate. He poured himself another cup of coffee, and leaned against the sink drinking it.

“Yes, you should,” Hutch insisted. “Nothing bad happened.” He tried to make his voice more upbeat. “It’s morning, and we’re both still here.” He gulped down the last of his coffee and reached around Starsky to put the mug in the sink. “I want to go to the beach,” he said decisively.

“Venice beach? Or did you have somewhere a little further afield in mind?” Starsky walked over to the window. “Should be a good day. The smog ain’t that bad this morning, and it’s supposed to be around seventy-five degrees. The sun’s up already.”

“Not that beach.” Hutch hugged his arms around his body. “The beach where I was found,” he said in a whisper. He didn’t even know which beach it was. If anyone ever told him, he didn’t remember.

“Huh? I dunno about that, Hutch.” Starsky turned his back to the window and faced Hutch. “I know you go to the gym on your own. And you managed to stay here last night without me. But maybe you should talk to Ellie before pushing yourself too much.”

Anger rose in Hutch’s body. “I’m sick of everybody controlling what I do. It’s my life.” He punched the kitchen countertop, ignoring the agony that shot through his arm on impact.

Starsky moved towards him. “I know it’s hard, buddy. We just want what’s best for you, that’s all.”

“I’m not a fucking child.” Hutch spat. He balled his fists on the counter, resting his weight heavily on them. “I need to take the control back. He won’t leave me alone until I do.” He looked at Starsky. “You’ve read the report. You know the exact spot. Hell, you’ve probably even been there.”

The answer was written all over Starsky’s face. Of course, Starsky had been there. He would have wanted to see the crime scene for himself. Just as Hutch would have done, if it had been the other way around. “I have to do this,” he said, through gritted teeth. “If you won’t take me, then tell me where it is.”

Starsky’s face drained of color. “You are not going alone. I will take you if you really want to go.” He stood next to Hutch. “I’m not telling you where it is. That way, you can’t take off without me.” He put his hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “You sure?”

Hutch nodded. “Wait for me in the car.” He needed to regroup, and he couldn’t do that with Starsky standing next to him. He could feel the tension radiating from Starsky’s body. This was going be hard on both of them. Sometimes, the only way forward was to go back first.

 

My face had left a scar inside your memory
Now I see it in your eyes
Aren’t you dying to forget me
            Somewhere Alone in the Night — Vanden Plas

*******************************

Starsky left Hutch standing by the sink. He’d noticed Hutch’s skinned knuckles from punching the countertop, but said nothing. His own emotions were just as raw as Hutch’s. He wasn’t sure if he could handle going back to that spot again. How the hell was Hutch going to?

Starsky sat in his car, thinking about the last time he’d visited that beach. It had been a lovely, sunny day. Everything looked normal. People were enjoying the weather. If they knew what had happened there, it didn’t mar their fun. There was no trace left of the crime or the police investigation.

However, the crime scene photographs had told a different story. For the second time in less than a week, Starsky had seen some of what his partner had endured in photographic detail. Maybe not the actual acts of rape, but the aftermath of how Hutch’s body had reacted to the attack. There were dark patches on the sand where bodily fluids had leaked from Hutch and Rip. The report had stated the stains were a combination of urine, semen, feces and blood. All of it coming from Hutch’s body, except the semen. That one fact had pleased Starsky in a weird kind of way. He was glad that Hutch hadn’t given the bastard the joy of making him come.

Again, the guilt of not having his partner’s back when he most needed it reared its ugly head and Starsky slumped into the leather seat. The usual comfort of his car made no difference this time. He had failed Hutch in the worst way possible. Starsky hated himself for that. Knowing that Hutch didn’t see things the same way made Starsky feel even worse. Though it stabbed him in the heart, he took the blow gratefully when a semi-conscious Hutch accused him of not being there for him.

Starsky ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. Too many visions were floating around in front of him. He stared straight ahead, trying to focus on the road in front of him, on the passing cars, anything.

Instead, Hutch’s screaming face filled the windshield. His tortured voice filled the car. “Starsky!”

*******************************

“You okay?” Hutch asked, as he climbed into the car.

Starsky sat with his hands pressing harshly into his eye sockets.

“Starsky,” Hutch spoke a little louder. He leaned over and pulled Starsky’s hands away from his face before he did some damage to his eyes. “Hey.”

“Huh? What?” Starsky blinked rapidly, the faraway look in his eyes gradually turning to recognition.

The expression on Starsky’s face hit Hutch in the gut. It was the haunted look of someone who didn’t want to do what was being asked of him. Hutch wished that he could change his mind. Tell Starsky to head for Huggy’s. Anywhere but the place Hutch’s brain was compelling him to go. He knew that Starsky wouldn’t let him face the monsters without him. Even when he had offered Starsky an out, he had been certain that Starsky wouldn’t take it. “I have to do this,” he whispered.

“Why?” Starsky gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “I thought you wanted to move on. You’re doing so well. Vinnie’s, last night.” He looked pleadingly at Hutch. “You don’t have to do this.”

Would Hutch be able to explain his need to Starsky. He was sure that Starsky understood, if only he’d let himself think it through. “I have to see where it nearly ended for me. Face it head on.” He turned to Starsky, covering one white hand with his own. “What if we get a call to that beach? What if I freak out in front of other cops?” He squeezed Starsky’s hand tightly. “Sometimes, the only way forward is to go back first.”

“Wouldn’t happen,” Starsky said with certainty. “It’s not in our jurisdiction.” He shifted in his seat, turned on the engine and put the car into drive without pulling away from the curb.

“Goddammit, Starsk.” He was pissed at Starsky for stalling. No, he was getting pissed at himself, because if Starsky didn’t move this car, Hutch’s nerves would get the better of him and he would bolt back inside his apartment and stay there. “I’ll just call Records and get the location myself. I am doing this whether you like it or not,” he said, his voice wavering slightly.

Starsky screeched into the oncoming traffic and a horn blasted at him from behind. “Fuck you,” he shouted over his shoulder. He drove down Venice Boulevard and turned north onto Pacific Coast Highway, toward Seaview Point.

Hutch’s throat closed up. He gulped in air. Oh God, not Seaview Point. Anywhere but the beach where he had hidden, and betrayed, Jeanie. Given her up to Forest. And for what? One more hit, that’s what. He’d given up the woman he loved. Traded her for horse, like the junkie he was.

His heart jackhammered in his chest. Poetic justice, he supposed. End his life in the place that was the beginning and ending of their love affair. He’d known exactly what Jeanie was. There had been no secrets between them. It wasn’t her previous lifestyle that had ended their relationship, it was his guilt of the pathetic mess he had become. Then, like now, had not been his fault. So why had he felt that he got what he deserved? Both times. Lost love, lost life. But he had survived. He had his life, just no love.

“Hutch? You all right?” Starsky had pulled the car over and stopped.

Hutch shook his head and looked around him. They had passed the turn-off to the Point. He let out the breath, not realizing that he had been holding it in and gazed into the concerned eyes of his partner. He had been wrong, he had love. The love of a best friend, best partner. “I’m fine. Just a little tense.” He thought about his other friends. Huggy, Dobey and his family, Molly, Kiko and his mom. All of whom had rallied around him, cosseted him, since the rape. “You still not telling me where we are going,” he said, forcing lightness into his voice.

“Topanga Beach.”

“Oh,” Hutch said. He hadn’t been able to hazard a guess as to how far he had ridden in the trunk of Woody’s car. He’d never been to Topanga Beach.

Starsky gunned the engine back to life. “Still time to change your mind.” He looked hopefully at Hutch.

“No. We’ve come this far.” Please, Starsk. Just drive. Don’t keep giving me the coward’s way out. Hutch was so sure that he had to revisit the scene of the crime. He figured it would either help or turn him into a total basket case. He hoped the former. He was already the latter as far as he was concerned.

With a sigh, Starsky lurched the car forward. The Torino seemed as reluctant as its owner to continue the journey.

Hutch leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes in silent meditation. What would he find? Would it lay his ghosts to rest? He doubted it, but he was willing to try anything to get back to where he had been; a cop in the prime of his life. Scared of no one. Able to throw himself into the center of whatever fight duty threw at him.

Starsky turned the car off of the Pacific Coast Highway and into the parking lot for Topanga State Beach. The lot was nearly empty, except for a couple of cars and a pick-up. Starsky pulled up in front of one of the many streetlights surrounding the lot. “It’s up there a short way,” he said, pointing to the left of where they were parked.

Hutch rubbed his sweating hands on his pants, and looked around him. He didn’t recognize the area. He spotted the light, unlit above the car.

There was a slit of light when the trunk opened, he kicked for all he was worth. Not very much. Woody just laughed at him.

Starsky opened Hutch’s door, standing quietly as Hutch got out. Starsky locked the door, walked across the parking lot and disappeared.

Hutch ran the short distance to where his partner had been a second ago. He stopped quickly, almost falling down the wooden steps in front of him. He didn’t recall a set of steps.

Woody hauled him out of the trunk and threw him over his shoulder. Hutch struggled and wriggled, but Woody had a vice-like grip around his waist, and he only managed to tire himself out.

Starsky had stopped part way up the beach.

Hutch jumped down the steps, and walked toward Starsky. Hutch was surprised at the buildings, and rocks on the beach. All he remembered was blackness and sand.

A woman and two small children played at the edge of the water about ten feet to the right of the steps. A little way further up the beach, what looked like two teenagers lay on the sand making out.

The shifting soft sand and the small rocks dotted around made walking a little difficult. Woody had done this walk with Hutch slung over his shoulder. Hutch shuddered when he realized the immense strength that Woody must have possessed.

He stood next to Starsky. “Was it here?” This part of the beach was more rugged with rocks leading down to the water. Larger rocks were closer to the cliff side. The sandier part of the beach was to the right of where they had parked. A lone surfer rode the small waves beyond the stony prominence closest to them.

Starsky nodded. He kept his head up and stared out at the sea. The rise and fall of his Adam’s apple was the only sign of his inner emotions. Feelings that he was obviously trying to keep in check for Hutch’s sake.

Hutch looked at the sand. All dry, pale and innocent. Strangely enough, he felt nothing. He had expected some reaction. Starsky seemed far more distressed than Hutch.

Starsky watched him, hovering like a guardian angel in Hutch’s peripheral vision.

Hutch knelt on the soft sand, running the grains through the fingers of his right hand.

Woody dumped Hutch unceremoniously onto the sand and rolled him onto his belly.

He fell forward, his sweatshirt riding up his torso. Sand hit his bare midriff. The sounds from the incoming waves and the few people on the beach drifted away from him. It was like they were in a tunnel. Time slowed, and then stood still. He couldn’t move for the weight on his back. He couldn’t breathe.

The sand beneath him scraped his naked skin. He couldn’t bear the sensation of the gritty grains on his face and body. Hutch’s head was pulled up from the sand. He spluttered, spitting the sand from his mouth. He saw the rope seconds before it was tied around his neck and pulled tight. He coughed. “No, please, no.”

The rope tightened despite his pleas. Then he felt his butt cheeks pulled apart, and Woody’s penis pushed in. Each time Hutch had been penetrated, the pain was terrible, a vicious burning throb in his rectum. He screamed his anger at what was being done to him.

Woody only thrust harder as he pulled at the rope around Hutch’s neck. The rope around his neck cut off his air supply, and he dropped into oblivion.

Hands grabbed at his body. Turned him over, pulled him away from the scratchy sand. “No, please, no,” he begged, struggling against the unseen assailant.

“It’s okay. I gotcha,” a familiar voice drifted into the veil of darkness that had fallen over Hutch. “Starsky’s here. You’re safe.”

Starsky! You found me. You saved me.

Hutch opened his eyes. He was half lying on the sand, half lying against Starsky’s body. Starsky was rocking him like a mother comforting a crying baby. A sob escaped from Hutch’s throat. The flood gates opened and he couldn’t stop. He lay, cocooned in Starsky’s arms, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“That’s it. Let it all out,” Starsky cooed. “Let it all go. You’ll feel better.”

Hutch leaned limply against Starsky. The more he tried to compose himself, the stronger the emotion poured out of him. He clung desperately to Starsky’s arm, realizing that he had never really grieved for what Woody had taken from him. He’d screamed, begged, fought, cursed, threatened, been hysterical, vomited, and even turned in on himself, but he couldn’t recall actually crying actual tears.

He didn’t know how long he had stayed, cradled, in the sanctuary of Starsky’s arms. He didn’t even care if anyone saw him, a grown man, being comforted by another man. His chest, ribs and throat hurt from the force of trying to breathe and stop the all-encompassing sobs that racked his body. Gradually, his sobbing lessened. Breathing didn’t seem so hard. His cries were more of a whimper, which turned to heavy sighs, before stopping totally. He slumped, pushing further into Starsky’s hug. He was totally spent.

Starsky’s arms tightened around him. “I think it’s time we went back to the car,” he said. “Can you stand?”

Still leaning heavily against Starsky, Hutch tried. His legs felt too weak to hold him. He had no energy left for anything, especially not standing and walking.

Somehow, Starsky managed to get them both upright. He half dragged, half carried Hutch up the beach to the steps. “Gonna need some help here, buddy.”

Hutch raised his head. The steps seemed more like a mountain than a staircase. “Need a minute,” he gasped, slipping out of Starsky’s grip and sitting on the sand. He was so drained that even talking was too much effort. He sat, elbows resting on his bent knees, his head hanging loosely between his arms.

“Okay.” Starsky dropped down next to him. “How’d you feel?” He rubbed soothing circles down Hutch’s back.

“Exhausted,” Hutch breathed, rather than said the word. He also felt oddly serene. A calmness had washed over him. Something had changed in his mood. Some of his ex-girlfriends had said that a good cry relieved stresses that nothing else could touch. Now he understood what they meant. He had cried before, but never like he had just now. He turned to Starsky. “Thank you.”

“For what? I didn’t do anything.” He stood up and held his hand out to Hutch. “Ready to move yet?”

Hutch swept his arm around him. “For this. For bringing me here. For being with me. For…”

Starsky interrupted him. “Enough already. I will always have your back, buddy. I might not always be in the right place at the right time. But I will do my very best.” He grabbed Hutch’s arm and pulled him to standing. “Not sure that I can carry you up those.” He nodded to the steps.

Hutch brushed the sand off of his ass and legs. “Think I can make it.” He climbed the steps first, keeping his hands firmly on the rails.

Starsky followed Hutch up the steps, circling around him at the top and running to the car.

The passenger door was open when Hutch got there. He flopped into the seat, relishing the softness under his butt, the smell of leather wrapping around him like a familiar blanket. He gratefully sunk into the comforting shell of his partner’s car. His eyelids were very heavy. Sleepiness descended and he leaned his head back against the seat.

 

I’ve found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I’m at peace with myself
I’m Movin’ On — Rascal Flatts

*******************************

Starsky sat in the car watching Hutch sleep. The snoring had started almost as soon as Hutch closed his eyes. Starsky waited for the usual twitching and groaning that generally built up. It often erupted into screaming, a pattern that had begun from the first day Hutch had woke up in the hospital.

However, instead of the pained, pinched look that crossed Hutch’s face in his nightmare sleep, he looked peaceful. The deeply etched lines on his forehead were almost gone. The cleft between his eyes was shallower than it had been in a long time. Even the corners of Hutch’s mouth turned slightly upwards in a half smile. His body relaxed into the bucket seat. He was the picture of a man whose sleep was, for once, restful and unencumbered by dreams that threatened his very sanity. The boyish Hutch had emerged from the chrysalis once more. But for how long?

Satisfied that he wasn’t about to get a half mile down the road before he had to stop, Starsky gunned the car into life. Pulling into the afternoon traffic, he sang silently to himself.

All I want is black bean soup
And you to make it with me

It was the song that he and Hutch used to sing regularly together. Why? He didn’t know. It wasn’t the sort of song that he’d expect to sing with another guy, but that didn’t matter. Starsky loved the catchy tune, and the way their voices complemented each other. Hutch’s was more gentle, smoother, than his own. Starsky liked to belt out songs full volume. Somehow, singing together worked.

It seemed to take no time at all to get back to Venice Place. Hutch hadn’t stirred once during the drive. Not even when a stupid trucker got up Starsky’s ass and thought it was funny to honk loudly at him. Starsky had slapped the Mars light onto the top of the Torino, lights flashing, and burst out laughing when the rig backed off immediately.

Hutch would probably have wanted to stop and read the trucker the riot act. Tell him not to distract drivers with such a stupid, childish act.

Starsky pulled the car to a stop by the curb outside Venice Place. He nudged Hutch’s arm. “Hey, wake up, Hutch. We’re home.” He got out of the car and ran around to Hutch’s side.

Hutch’s head lolled on the back of the seat, his mouth open and dribble running down one side of his chin.

Starsky felt mean for waking him. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” He pulled his semi-conscious partner out of the car.

Hutch groaned. “Leave me alone. Tired.”

Starsky shook him. “You can sleep when you get to your apartment. Right now, you need to wake up.” He didn’t think he had the strength to carry Hutch. These steps were even worse than the ones at the beach.

Hutch swayed against the car, his eyes half closed. “‘Kay,” he muttered. “Climb steps. Then sleep.” He stumbled forward.

Starsky grabbed him, tucking himself under Hutch’s left arm. He pushed the carved wooden door open, and paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Lift your foot,” he instructed, counting as they painstakingly made their way upwards. “One, two. That’s it. You’re doing good. Three.” It took an eternity to reach the landing. He couldn’t believe that Hutch was so totally out of it.

“We there yet?” Hutch mumbled. A modicum of blue stared at Starsky through slit lids. “You’re my best bud. You know that, right?”

Starsky propped him against the wall. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Hutch was falling down drunk. “Yeah, I know. Ditto,” he said. Whatever had happened on the beach today seemed to have wiped Hutch out mentally and physically. Starsky hoped it was a good sign. He couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t.

Holding Hutch upright with one hand on his chest and his body against Hutch’s, Starsky fumbled in Hutch’s jacket for the key. Luckily, he found it in the first pocket he stuck his hand into.

“A few more steps,” Starsky said, opening the door, and almost piggybacking Hutch into the bedroom.

Hutch slid bonelessly onto the bed. His half open eyes closed completely. The soft snoring that had punctuated the drive back started again.

Starsky yanked off Hutch’s shoes, and lifted his legs onto the bed, twisting his body as he did so. He covered Hutch with a blanket and walked into the living room, unsure of what to do next. He didn’t want to just go without Hutch’s knowledge. Maybe he didn’t want Starsky to leave at all tonight.

He sat on the couch, and wished he could have talked to Hutch about what happened on the beach. Starsky had watched Hutch go from apparently not recognizing the place where he had almost died, to being belly down on the sand reliving the whole thing again. All Starsky had been able to do was hold Hutch as he crumbled in front of him. Make sure that he felt safe, didn’t hurt himself, and let the whole thing rip out of Hutch’s system.

Starsky had never felt so inadequate. So clueless as to how to help his flailing partner. Starsky thought that his own emotions up until now had been raw, guilt ridden and hurting because Hutch was hurting. But today had been something else. He’d trembled along with Hutch. Tears had flooded down Starsky’s face as the full reality of Hutch’s tortured soul finally burst out. Events leading up to this point had not prepared Starsky for the debilitating agony that had ripped through him and Hutch this afternoon.

And afterwards, while Starsky’s heart had been trying to thump out of his chest, Hutch had slipped into nirvana, surfacing briefly to perform the tasks requested of him. What that meant was still unclear. Had Hutch merely shut his mind off to prevent further anguish? Or had he found the peace that he’d craved these past weeks? Starsky prayed for the latter.

“Starsk,” Hutch called in a croaky voice from the bedroom.

Starsky jumped over the back of the couch and hurried into the bedroom. “Yeah.”

Hutch stared up at Starsky from the bed, his blue eyes glazed. “Go home. I’ll be fine.”

Starsky started to protest, but Hutch held his right hand up. “Pick me up at eight fifteen. No later,” he scolded, pointing his index finger at Starsky. “Don’t want to turn up at my nine a.m. appointment with Ellie looking like the G-Force tried to rip my face off.” He grinned, sticking his tongue out.

“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” Starsky sputtered, pretending to look hurt. “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Yes, now go.” Hutch stared at Starsky. “I’m tuckered out. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He turned his back to Starsky. “Lock the door on your way out.”

“Yes, sir.” Starsky mock saluted Hutch’s back. It seemed like Hutch was dealing with this better than Starsky was. He hesitated for a few minutes, studying Hutch. His breathing evened out, the steady rise and fall of his shoulders indicating the lack of panic.

Reluctantly, Starsky walked out of the apartment and locked the door with the key on his keyring. It occurred to him then that he hadn’t needed to search for Hutch’s key earlier. His head was all over the place. He’d totally forgotten that he had his own key, until now when he had used it without even thinking. God, he was so tired. The lack of sleep last night, the turmoil of the trip, and the driving were starting to bite back. He would happily have settled on Hutch’s couch for the duration. He dragged himself down to his car, and pointed her in the direction of home.

*******************************

Monday, September 23 — 8:55 a.m.

Ellie sat in her office at Memorial hospital, shuffling the files on the coffee table in front of her. She had had a hell of a morning already. Her alarm hadn’t gone off. Then she had gotten stuck in traffic, finally making it into the building at eight thirty. She liked to have at least an hour before seeing patients. Part of that time was spent re-reading their files, although she had already read through them at least once since their last session. She hadn’t even had time for a cup of tea. She had grabbed one from the machine near the elevator, but had tossed it out barely drunk. Hospital tea was the worst ever.

Her nine a.m. appointment was Ken Hutchinson. She thought back to their session last week, recalling the red flags that had emerged during the hour. Ken’s moods had swung far too rapidly. At first, his demeanor had been almost apologetic, and he’d struggled to make eye contact. As if he didn’t deserve her time and attention. Without warning, he had swung to the opposite end of the Richter scale. This happened throughout their session. There was so much underlying anger, mostly directed inward at himself, but occasionally bursting to the surface. That was worrying. Anger like that could have tragic consequences. And the fact that the death of his rapist hadn’t given him any comfort spoke volumes. Instead, his fears had manifested into a faceless male bogeyman that plagued him daily. He was constantly on guard. Looking for his attacker in every male he encountered could not end well.

She had decided that, if this week’s session went anything like last week, she would recommend Ken increase to two sessions a week. One here at the hospital, and the other in her private clinic in Culver City.

Even then, she wasn’t sure if that would make much difference. She didn’t doubt her own ability, she was good at her job. She’d had a lot of experience with female rape victims, but had only treated one other male victim in her career and he hadn’t been a cop. That was her weakness–understanding the mindset of a police officer. She had expected the police department to insist Ken saw their own psychiatrist, Dr. Jonathan Bryce. He dealt with traumatized cops on a daily basis. But the manner of the attack, and that Ken had wanted to continue meeting with Ellie, meant that she’d stayed on as his therapist. Of course, there was no reason that she couldn’t talk to Dr. Bryce, seek out his expertise. She would set up a meeting with him later this week if he was available.

Knock, knock.

Ellie looked at her watch. It was almost nine. “Come in.” She looked up when the door opened.

The man who walked in didn’t look like the man she was expecting. Actually, he was the man she expected, Ken Hutchinson. But that was where the similarity ended. Ken with the hunched, closed in walk, the haunted look, the dead eyes, and lank hair was gone. The Ken in front of her walked in with an almost confident gait. The contours of his face were much softer, his eyes a clearer blue, and his hair had been washed to a healthy blond glow. The baggy sweat suit had been replaced with black cargo pants and a red plaid shirt, the top button unfastened.

“Hello, Ken,” she said. “Good to see you. Sit down.” She gestured to the black leather chair opposite her. She was a little stunned at the transformation of her patient. She suspected that the achievement of the task she had set him last week to attend his gym sessions without Starsky wasn’t the reason for this dramatic change.

“Thank you.” Ken sat down, smiling, and made immediate eye contact with her.

She leaned back against the leather, crossing her legs and studied Ken, his file sat on her lap. She flicked through the pages again, although she could probably recite every word in it from memory. With a clean sheet of paper on the top of his notes, pen poised, she started the session. “Tell me how things have been since our last meeting.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Mostly.”

*******************************

There were still issues that Hutch had to address. He was aware of that. But he did feel good today. After he had showered, he couldn’t bear to put on another sweat suit. He had craved the feel of his regular clothes, and had dressed in his normal attire.

“Okay.” Ellie nodded. “Let’s start with the task I set you, and go from there.”

Hutch licked his lips. “The first two days, I-I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go into Vinnie’s alone. The third day, I managed it. Starsky stayed in the car. He did the same the fourth day.” Hutch fiddled with the rubber band on his wrist. “Friday and Saturday, I drove myself and worked out for one hour,” he said proudly.

“That’s good.” Ellie smiled encouragingly. “I see you are still wearing the band. Does it help?”

Hutch glanced down at his wrist, and back at Ellie. “I haven’t used it much recently.” It just seemed like a part of him. As natural as wearing the rest of his clothing.

“So you are perfectly comfortable around Vinnie?”

“Yes. No, not completely. I make sure that I can see around me, see when he approaches.” Hutch hadn’t used the weight bench, or the punching bag yet. “I exercise in the middle of the gym, facing the door.” Correction, he had tried the bench once, but felt too vulnerable on his back with weights that impeded any quick movement should he feel the need.

Ellie smiled. “It’s progress, Ken. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. Any little step forward is a triumph.” She wrote some notes in his file. “Everybody has their own pace during any period of recovery.”

“I just felt so pathetic, like half a man,” Hutch admitted. “I am a cop. And we should be able to bounce back from whatever life throws at us.”

“Balls bounce at different heights. It depends on the power of the thrower.” She leaned forward a little. “We all need help from time to time. You said felt. Do you mean felt or feel?”

Hutch paused before answering her. His inner turmoil wasn’t so bad. He didn’t have the gnawing feeling of dread that had been hanging over him. “I think I mean felt. I sent Starsky home Saturday night.”

“You spent the whole night alone?” Ellie raised her eyebrows.

“Yes. Starsky said that I shouldn’t push myself without checking things with you. But I sent him home anyway.”

“I’m here to help you, but you also know your own mind. If you feel that something is right for you, it’s your decision.” Ellie locked eyes with him. “And the bogeyman. Did he come?”

Hutch closed his eyes and nodded. “It was hard. It had never bothered me before how dark my place was without lights. I prefer to sleep in total darkness. I tried sleeping with the light on. That didn’t help either. In the end, I pulled the plug on the lamp and hunkered under the clothes.” He swallowed the lump that was rising in his throat. “That was too claustrophobic, I couldn’t see what was coming at me. So I lay on my stomach, facing the living room, and thought about my mom. How she used to chase the bogeyman away when I was little.”

“And how did she do that?”

“She would sing to me. Stay until I went to sleep.” He could almost smell her perfume just talking about her. “I tried to ignore the shadowy fingers that kept touching me. I sang the song in my head until I drifted off. I guess I slept for a few hours at least. Probably too tired to stay awake.” He opened his eyes and stared into Ellie’s green ones.

“Was it a peaceful sleep?” Ellie asked, biting the end of her pen.

“No. The nightmare still came. I woke up shouting for Starsky.” Hutch frowned. “It wasn’t as bad as it has been.”

“And last night? What happened last night?” Ellie stood up and walked over to the water cooler. She poured two drinks and handed one to Hutch.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it from her. He gulped the small cup full in one go. “Last night was different. I must have slept about twelve hours.”

“What made last night so different to the night before?” Ellie sat back in her seat, sipping her water delicately.

“Lots of things. Yesterday morning, I saw the person I’d become in the bathroom mirror, really saw myself. And I didn’t like that stranger.” He cringed at the memory of the sallow image of himself in the condensation filled glass. All watery and grey. “Starsky brought breakfast, and I barely ate any of it. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten a full meal.” He slumped in his seat. “I used to be so particular about nutrition and grooming.” He flicked a drop of water off of his thigh. Must have missed his mouth. “I’ve stopped having scalding showers,” he said as an afterthought.

Ellie smiled, but didn’t say a word.

Hutch continued. “I made Starsky take me to the beach.” He added quietly. “The beach where Woody intended to kill me.” He jumped up and wandered around the room. Not agitated like he had been last time. He needed to be active, sitting around too long wasn’t normal for him unless he was on a stakeout. “I had to get Starsky to take me. I didn’t even know which beach it was.” It seemed important that she understood why he hadn’t gone alone. “I asked him for the name, but he wouldn’t let me go without him.” He leaned forward, palms against the wall behind Ellie. “It was Topanga State Beach,” he supplied, even though she hadn’t asked where it was.

“Why did you want to go there?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said sharply. “I’m a cop. We visit crime scenes.” He could feel the anger rising. This time, however, he forced it back down. Bit on his bottom lip until he was more composed. “Thought it might chase away the ghosts.”

“What was it like?” she asked softly. “Being back on the beach where you should have died.” She twisted in her seat to look at him. “How did you feel?”

Hutch shook his head, pushing himself upright and circling the room. “At first, nothing. It could have been just another day at the beach. When Woody took me there, it was dark. All I remembered was seeing the back of his dirty coat when he threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I didn’t even know that he had to carry me down some wooden steps.”

Ellie followed him around the room with her eyes. She remained seated. “Go on,” she said, maintaining her upright posture on her chair.

Hutch stood still, next to his chair, eyes focused on the back wall. He took a deep breath. “I stood on that beach totally emotionless. Like nothing bad had happened to me there.” He knelt down and scratched at the floor. “Then, somehow, I ended up on my knees, running the sand through my fingers. Suddenly, I was on my stomach, and the sand against my bare belly.” He sat on the floor, cross-legged, head back, eyes closed. Unsure of whether he could continue, Hutch inhaled and exhaled, almost meditating. The deep breaths calmed him some.

“You’re doing very well.” Ellie’s calm voice broke into his contemplation.

“That’s when I lost it. What happened in what should have been my last minutes on earth came flooding back. I couldn’t stop crying, sobbing. I clung to Starsky like a drowning man clings to a life raft.” In that moment, Hutch experienced the calmness that had descended over him on the beach.

Ellie shifted in her seat, shuffling paper.

Hutch opened his eyes. “When I finally managed to stop wailing, I was exhausted. I mean really, really wiped out.” He searched for the words he needed to help her understand what had happened. “It was like something popped inside me. Like I’d slayed the dragon. I was still alive, and he was dead. I was vaguely aware of Starsky telling me to walk, get into the car, go up the stairs to my apartment. And, I told him to go home again.” He smiled. “That was the best night’s sleep I have had since the kidnapping. My head was so much clearer this morning.”

Ellie smiled back, closing his file and placing it on the table. “The mind is a very complex thing. The smallest trigger can change our whole outlook.” She leaned forward.

Hutch pushed himself off of the floor and sat back onto his chair, listening closely.

“Every rape victim reacts differently. A very fortunate few can process, deal with, and return to normal life pretty quickly. The majority suffer a variety of emotions–denial, anger both at themselves for allowing this awful act to happen to them, that can be followed with anger toward their attacker, usually withdrawal from the whole genre of their attacker, some form of depression. These are generally temporary emotions, and, in their own time, they also move on with their life.

Hutch rubbed his hand over his mouth, digesting what Ellie had just said. He must have looked worried because Ellie said–

–“You are getting there, Ken. That beach was your trigger.” Ellie looked at her watch. “We’re almost at the end of the session. Seeing that you are a few steps ahead of my planned program, I want you to spend time alone in a public place. You choose when and where. Shopping, on the boardwalk, in the park. Anywhere that you will encounter both men and women. I want you to note the emotions you feel around both sexes.”

“I need to restock my place with decent food.” He looked at the door. “Starsky hasn’t got the faintest idea about healthy eating.” He grinned.

“That sounds like a good plan.” Ellie stood up and held out her hand. “You should be very proud of your progress,” she said simply.

Hutch shook her hand. “I can’t believe how quickly the darkness seemed to shift.”

“There is still some way to go,” Ellie warned. “Even years down the line, something could well trip the switch. We learn to cope with the negatives, but they can come back and hit like an express train with no warning.”

“I know, but it is good to see that there is light at the end of the tunnel.” He walked over to the door. “I desperately want to get back to work.”

“That’s what we all want. Be well, Ken. Same time next week.”

Hutch opened the door. Starsky was kicking the candy machine by the elevator.

 

I’ve dealt with my ghosts and I’ve faced all my demons
Finally content with a past I regret
I’m Movin’ On — Rascal Flatts

*******************************

Tuesday, September 24

Ellie followed Officer Minnie Kaplan through the hallways at Parker Center. She had called Dr. Bryce for an appointment after her session with Ken yesterday, and he’d informed her that he had a clear morning today. Seeing that she was also free for a couple of hours, they’d agreed to meet in his office.

“You’ve come to see the doc about Hutch, I presume?” Minnie said over her shoulder. “He’s a fine detective. Now that partner of his. He’s a different animal altogether,” she said fondly. “They’re the best cops on the force.”

“I’m afraid that I can’t discuss the reason for my visit. Patient confidentiality. I’m sure you understand,” Ellie said pleasantly. Obviously Minnie had a soft spot for both men.

“Sure, honey. I understand.” Minnie stopped outside a wooden door and turned to Ellie. “I always was too nosy for my own good. Hutch is a good man. He don’t deserve any of this.” She knocked on the door. “And so is Starsky. He might be loud, but he’s got a good heart.”

“Come in,” said a deep male voice from inside the room.

Minnie opened the door and announced, “Dr. Ellie Jones to see you.” Without waiting for a reply, she waved Ellie into the room and closed the door behind her.

The room was very clinical. Cream walls, without even a window to break up the color. The only illumination came from a single florescent light on the ceiling. A tired wooden desk sat in the middle of the room–a metal bar decorated one end of it.

The man behind the table stood up and extended his arm. “Dr Jones, welcome to my world,” he said expansively. “Don’t be deterred by the bar.” He pointed to the end of the table. “Standard interview room issue. I keep asking for a decent desk.” He pointed to an uncomfortable looking wooden chair in front of Ellie. “Please sit down. Again, more police furniture. Don’t like the cops to get too comfortable.” He laughed at his own feeble joke.

Ellie liked his manner. He reminded her of a mad professor, peering at her over the top of his half-moon glasses. His Friar Tuck hair was longish and sticking out at very odd angles to his head. “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Dr. Bryce.” She shook his hand. He had a nice firm grip. She met too many people with wishy-washy handshakes.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He smiled. “It isn’t often I meet fellow professionals from outside the police department.” He remained standing until Ellie sat down. “You want to discuss Detective Hutchinson.”

Ellie nodded. “I had a session with him yesterday. The last of five so far.” She opened her large purse and pulled out Ken’s file. Extracting a piece of paper, she glanced over her notes quickly. “Progress was slow to start with. I’ll be truthful with you, Dr. Bryce. I haven’t had much experience treating policemen, or women, come to that. I have, however, extensive expertise in the rape field.”

Dr. Bryce nodded. “I have read some of your papers. I particularly enjoyed your ‘Why Men Rape’ article in ‘Mental Health Magazine’.”

“Thank you,” Ellie acknowledged. “During my research, I never encountered men who raped men, only ones who raped women. Ken’s, Detective Hutchinson’s, case is new territory for me.”

Dr. Bryce leaned back in his tan leather chair, the only sign of luxury in the stark room. He stroked his mustache. “I have to admit that it isn’t something I have encountered either. I usually treat cops who have attended a particularly harrowing scene, have lost partners, have been badly injured themselves, or held against their will for whatever reasons–hostage, kidnapping, etcetera.”

Ellie fidgeted in her seat, the wood underneath her was very unforgiving. How Dr. Bryce could comfort anyone in this horrible space was beyond her. “Detective Hutchinson is desperate to return to duty.”

Dr. Bryce stared at her over his glasses again. “You said his progress was slow. I’m not sure he is ready for duty. I would need to see him first.”

Ellie nodded. “I am aware that you have the final decision on his readiness for duty. I was very encouraged by our session yesterday.” She rifled through the file and handed Ken’s evaluation form to Dr. Bryce. “There was a vast improvement in Ken. He’s no longer acting like a victim. He’s taken some control of his life again.”

Dr. Bryce took the sheet of paper and slowly read Ellie’s notes. “Policing the streets is very hard on the psyche. No way would I put him out on the beat on this basis.” He waved the paper. “I would expect to see better results than these on his evaluation test.”

“I’m not suggesting he goes out on the streets.” Ellie took the form back from Dr. Bryce. “I think that a few hours desk work every day would help enormously. He needs to reimmerse himself into the world. Be with other people, other men, in a controlled situation. A squad room could be that controlled environment. With people who will understand if he has a meltdown.” She stopped for a breath. “You could carry out further sessions with him, here.”

Dr. Bryce picked up the handset from the phone on his desk. “Captain. Bryce here. Have you got a few moments, please? Thank you.” He put the phone back in the cradle. “That was Captain Dobey. Detective Hutchinson’s superior. I think he should be in on this discussion.”

Ellie nodded her agreement. “Lead the way.” She hastily shoved the papers back into the file, put it in her purse, and followed Dr. Bryce out of his office.

It only took a few minutes to reach Captain Dobey’s office. Dr. Bryce knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said a gruff voice.

Dr. Bryce entered the room first. “Captain Dobey.” He shook the hand of the big black man sitting behind the wooden desk. “Thank you for seeing us at such short notice. This is Dr. Ellie Jones.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Jones,” said Captain Dobey.

“Likewise,” Ellie said, smiling at the man she had only seen once from a distance in the hospital. “I’m sure that you are wondering why Dr. Bryce requested a meeting. I came to discuss Detective Hutchinson’s recovery and the possibility of his returning to work in the near future.”

Captain Dobey nodded. “I had a feeling that was what this was all about. I would like to see Hutchinson back as much as anyone else.” He shook his head. “This whole business has been terrible. Who could ever have imagined.” He stopped talking, as if unsure of how to finish whatever he wanted to say.

“I agree,” Ellie said. “These situations are hard, both for the victims and those close to them. And this one was particularly nasty. However, Detective Hutchinson is improving and I seriously think that the time has come for him to take the next step.”

“I don’t think Hutchinson is ready,” Bryce interjected. “I’m not happy with his evaluations. He’s missing the benchmark on every one of them.”

“I am not saying that Detective Hutchinson is ready to go back to street duty.” Ellie reiterated her proposal. “I simply think a few hours desk work might be good for him. He needs positives in his daily schedule to stop him dwelling on the negatives.” She turned to Captain Dobey, trying to look appealing and determined to do her best for her patient. “He’s come so far in the past few days. Knocking him back now could undo all that.”

Captain Dobey played with a pencil, twirling it in his fat fingers. “Hutchinson is a damn fine cop.” He glowered at both of them. “One of the strongest I know,” he stated.

Bryce forced out a heavy breath, as if he disagreed with Captain Dobey.

Captain Dobey shot daggers at Bryce. “I know all about the rumors branding him as a pretty boy, a soft touch, amongst others. There’s no denying that he and Starsky have the best case closing rate in the precinct. They pull the worst cases around here, and deal with them. Without exception,” he added for good measure.

Bryce had the grace to nod his agreement of Captain Dobey’s statement.

“How often have you seen Hutchinson, or Starsky for that matter, on your couch after something has gone badly wrong?” he challenged Bryce.

“Not very often,” Bryce admitted. “Only when you’ve forced them to attend the required sessions laid down by the state.”

“Exactly. I’ve never known cops who bounce back as quickly as those two.” Captain Dobey put the pencil on his desk and wiped his face with a white handkerchief.

“That’s what I’m trying to get you to understand.” Bryce quickly jumped all over Captain Dobey’s last sentence, leaning forward to make his point. “Hutchinson isn’t bouncing back quickly this time. He’s struggling, understandably. That’s what makes him more dangerous.”

“Hutchinson isn’t dangerous,” Captain Dobey spat. He thumped the desk with his fists and stood up, the veins in his neck bulging.

Bryce shrunk into his chair slightly. “Sorry, wrong word. I mean more vulnerable. More likely to crack under pressure.”

“Pressure is Hutchinson’s middle name. He thrives on it,” Captain Dobey countered.

Ellie held up her hands. “This is getting us nowhere.” Men were like little boys when they got together, especially when they couldn’t agree on something. “The issue isn’t whether a case is going to go wrong, or if Detective Hutchinson is going to crack in the process. That worry is for a later date. At this precise time, we’re talking about a few hours a day in a controlled environment, no pressure.”

Captain Dobey walked around his desk and leaned against it, folding his arms over his stomach. “I have no objection whatsoever to Hutchinson coming back to desk duty.” He pointed to a brown file box in the corner behind his desk. “There’s a box full of cold cases that could use a fresh eye. The odd ones are Starsky and Hutchinson’s, but the majority belong to other officers that I have had to put on current cases. He could work with Wilen and Starsky could mentor Powers.”

Ellie glanced at Bryce. He was the one who held the ultimate power here. Captain Dobey might well be all for Ken returning, but he wasn’t the one who got the final say so. If Bryce didn’t sign Ken’s back to work appraisal form, she doubted that Captain Dobey could do anything about it. “Reaching or not reaching a benchmark doesn’t always mean that a person can or cannot function in the real world,” she declared. “I’ve seen cases where the state has declared a person sane because they checked the right boxes and they’ve regressed straight back to their former mental state within weeks of being released back into society. On the other hand, I’ve seen patients in mental hospitals who really shouldn’t have been there, just because they didn’t have enough checks on a form where half the questions weren’t relevant to their particular condition.”

“What if Hutchinson freaks out in the middle of a packed room? I don’t want to be responsible for him hurting someone.” Bryce took his glasses off, wiping his hand across his eyes.

“Not going to happen,” Captain Dobey said confidently.

“It could.” Bryce chewed on the earpiece of his glasses. “Not all the precinct staff are trained cops. There are civilian employees as well. Your secretary for one,” Bryce pointed out.

“Hutchinson would never intentionally hurt anyone, cop or civilian,” Captain Dobey ground out between gritted teeth.

Ellie sensed that Captain Dobey was closer to Ken and David than the other detectives under his command. She had no real evidence to back her theory up, never having met the man until recently. She had a gut feeling, that was all. He seemed so certain of Ken’s character, of his behavior.

“Not intentionally, no,” Bryce said. “In a panic, who knows what he’ll do?”

She could understand both sides of the argument. However, this to-ing and fro-ing wasn’t resolving the situation. She looked at her watch. “May I use your telephone, Captain?” She pointed to the phone behind him. It looked like she could be here for a while.

“Please, do.” Captain Dobey moved out of her way. “Dial nine for an outside line.”

Ellie called her receptionist. “Melissa, will you please contact Mrs. Garvey and Mrs. Kennedy to cancel their appointments for today. Reschedule them for tomorrow after four. Thank you.” Luckily, her appointments were part of a group that she called ‘neglected housewives’. Their husbands were more interested in their businesses than their marriages and the women paid top dollar to spend an hour complaining about their lonely lifestyles. Retail therapy can only do so much. However, the rich patients allowed Ellie the freedom to volunteer some of her time to the local hospitals. Those patients were the ones who made her job worthwhile.

She turned to Bryce, who was still sharpening his teeth on his spectacles. “Am I correct in assuming that if you agree to Detective Hutchinson taking on desk duty it can be revoked at any time, should you deem it necessary?”

Bryce stared at her, as if he was trying to figure out if he was being backed into a corner or not.

“Yes or no?” she demanded when he didn’t respond immediately.

“Well, yes.” He nodded, putting his glasses back on. He pulled at his hair, twirling a section around his finger until it stood at right angles to his head.

Ellie smiled. That’s why his hair was so weird. He twiddled with it when he was feeling uncomfortable. Was he diagnosing her little weaknesses as they talked, like she had just done with him? She assumed so. It was the nature of their job, to read and understand body language as much as the spoken word.

“So what is the problem? Give him a chance. If he can’t handle it, get him into your office and talk to him. Or get him to call me. I’m happy to see him anytime.” Ken’s case stretched her beyond her comfort zone and she was enjoying the challenge. Maybe she’d look into more work of this kind in the future. Working closely with the police force could be the next step on her career path.

“I’m not making my final decision until I’ve spoken to Hutchinson,” Bryce said stubbornly. “See how he copes with the pressure of this discussion.”

“Fine,” Ellie said. “I have a gap in my appointment book tomorrow between ten and three.” She had suspected that it might take more than a couple of hours today to achieve her objective. “I suggest that, with your agreement, Captain,” she looked at Dobey, “We ask Detective Hutchinson to meet with us here at eleven a.m.”

Dobey checked his datebook and nodded. “I don’t have anything that I can’t postpone until later.”

Ellie turned to Bryce. “Dr. Bryce. Does that meet with your approval?”

“Yes,” Bryce said. “It will give me time to peruse Hutchinson’s file and study his evaluations more closely.”

“It might help if we analyze Detective Hutchinson’s evaluations together. I could give you my thoughts and belie any worries that you might have. I am free for the rest of the day. Is your office available, or do you have appointments?” Ellie offered. If she could get Bryce to see Ken’s improvement the way she did, he might give Ken the opportunity that Ellie felt was crucial to his further recovery.

“That might be beneficial to us both. Captain, would you contact Hutchinson or shall I?” Bryce asked, standing up.

“I will call him in the morning. I would like us to meet before he gets here, for an update on your discussions today. Ten thirty a.m.,” Dobey stated, rather than asked.

*******************************

Wednesday, September 25

Hutch wandered around his apartment, checking the soil of his numerous plants. All were well watered, their leaves cleaned, the dead ones snipped off. He’d repotted, taken cuttings, and, if he wasn’t careful, he might end up killing some of his babies with kindness.

It was too quiet. Even the noise of the city outside seemed to have deserted him. He couldn’t believe that only an hour had elapsed since his last phone conversation with Starsky. He’d wanted to know if Hutch needed him before he went on early morning duty. Hutch had assured him that he was fine. In truth, he was getting so bored that he wanted to scream.

He walked into his bedroom, towards the old canvasses propped against the wall. He set up his table top easel on a high stool, and lifted his latest creation onto it. Stepping back, he studied the half finished watercolor. He’d gotten as far as outlining the two small boats being tossed around on a background of choppy grey waves, and dark, stormy sky. The boats with their two sails full of wind tilted towards each other, on a collision course controlled by Neptune himself. Hutch hadn’t thought about his painting in weeks. Even as he selected the tubes of color from his paint box, he wasn’t sure if this was the distraction he needed.

The sound of crashing waves echoed in his ears. Hutch’s torso hurt from the weight on his back. His chest burned from his attempts to breathe, his throat closed by the rope, stopping the air he was trying to gulp into his abused body.

Hutch pushed the picture away from him. It toppled sideways onto the worktop. He frantically inhaled, trying to pull in air around the lump stuck in his throat.

Hyperventilating, he stumbled into the bathroom, his belly roiling from the memory evoked by the simple seascape. That type of scene was one of his favorites to paint. Not any more. Leaning heavily on the sink, hands resting on the rim of the bowl, he hiccupped. Long, loud hiccups caused by too much air in his lungs. He turned on the tap, splashing cold water onto his face and wrists.

Gradually, the feeling of panic and the hiccups subsided, leaving him weak and a little discouraged. On Sunday, everything had seemed to slip into place. The release and calm that he had felt after his meltdown had been euphoric. Even his session with Ellie on Monday, although hard at times, had left him with a brighter outlook for the future.

All too soon, the switch had flipped out of Hutch’s control. He glared at the man in the mirror. Woody’s dead eyes and sneering mouth appeared where Hutch’s should have been. “No. Dammit. I won’t let you win,” he shouted vehemently at his contorted reflection. “This is my life. You. Are. Dead.” He pulled his right arm back, fist clenched. Halfway to the glass, he stopped, hand hovering in mid air. What would cutting his hand to shreds achieve? A whole lot of pain. He’d had enough of that all ready. Why give Woody the satisfaction of pushing his buttons all the way from the grave?

Turning off the tap, Hutch went back into the living room. For the first time in ages, the room wasn’t the sanctuary it had become, the place that had cocooned him from the male population. Suddenly the walls were closing in on him, suffocating him. He needed to get outside. Ellie had said he should spend time with other people, without Starsky around to babysit. Now was as good a time as any.

He pulled on his brown cowboy boots. They always made him feel more macho, if that was possible for a street cop. Cowboy boots had been the start of his rebellion against his father’s ideals. Snagging the tan leather jacket that was almost a match for the boots, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

The telephone rang just as Hutch grasped the handle and yanked. Startled by the loud noise in the quiet apartment, Hutch stopped mid stride, but not mid pull. He hit himself in the nose with the door. “Shit,” he said, raising his hand up to his face. Thankfully, no blood colored his fingers when he looked at them.

Lurching over the back of the couch, he lifted the receiver. “Yeah,” he growled at the instrument of his most recent pain.

“Hutchinson. Captain Dobey here,” said his boss in his gruff voice.

“Oh, hello, Captain,” Hutch said, trying to sound a little more gracious despite the pain in his nose. “What can I do for you?”

“There are a few things that Dr. Bryce, Dr Jones and I want to discuss with you, about your return to work.” Dobey said. “Can you be in my office by eleven a.m.?”

Hutch looked at his watch, 9:30. “I guess so. I was going out to do some food shopping,” Hutch said, nervous but excited about the process of returning to the force. “I definitely will be there by eleven.”

“Starsky will meet you in the police parking lot.”

“Tell him that he doesn’t need to.” Hutch had finished his sentence before he realized that Dobey wasn’t on the other end of the phone any more. He dropped the receiver into the cradle with a sigh.

He circled the couch and sat down. More paperwork, he assumed. He was tired of completing forms that all reminded him of the rape. All he’d done since he’d come around in the hospital was fill in insurance forms, police assessment forms, police benefits forms, sign statements, and those silly psychiatric tests that Ellie had given him.

What more could they need from him? He hadn’t even gotten a date to return to work. Maybe that’s what Dobey meant. But, Ellie hadn’t said that she felt he was ready yet, even for a desk job. What he wouldn’t give right now to be the one typing the blasted incident reports in triplicate for someone else, some other victim who wasn’t him.

 

But I never dreamed home would end up where I don’t belong
I’m movin’ on
I’m Movin’ On — Rascal Flatts

*******************************

Starsky looked up from the crime scene photographs he had been studying for the past half hour in an attempt to refocus his eyes.

Jim Wilen had asked Starsky for his input on his latest case. At fifty-five, Jim was the oldest homicide detective in their precinct. He was laboriously typing up a report at Hutch’s desk. His weight gain over the past years made it clear that he didn’t spend much time on active duty. Lately, he mostly mentored the new recruits.

Jake Powers, a young, newly qualified, Detective Third Class, was Jim’s latest fledgling. He had transferred from Second Precinct five months earlier. His blond surfer look reminded Starsky of Hutch’s absence all the more. Thankfully, that was where the resemblance stopped. Jake had hazel eyes, and was four inches shorter than Hutch. Jake had been shadowing Jim Wilen until he was permanently partnered with another detective.

Starsky did a double take when he spotted Ellie and Bryce walk past the squadroom. Ellie’s presence could only mean one thing. She was here to discuss Hutch’s future. He was sure that she wouldn’t come all the way downtown just to give Dobey a report on his progress so far. Starsky clasped his hands in front of his mouth. If he were a practicing Jew, this would be the time to pray.

“Can I help?” Jim asked, standing up and walking to the coffee cart for a refill. “I could do with a break from that damn machine. Been at it almost an hour, and I’m not even halfway through.” He circled the room, sipping from his cup.

“No. Thanks.” Starsky gathered the photographs into a pile. “I was just about finished with these. Can’t see anymore than you or Jake found.”

Jim grabbed the stack of pictures from Starsky’s hand and passed them to Jake. “Have another look at these, sonny,” he said, smiling fondly at his protégé.

Jake grinned. “Just what I’ve always wanted.” He eagerly sifted through the photos.

A brief vision of a young Hutch doing the exact same thing in their dorm room at the academy shot across Starsky’s mind. Only Hutch hadn’t been looking at murder scene evidence, he’d been compiling a photo album for his sibling Mary’s sweet sixteen.

Starsky had never met any male who’d do that for their little sister, especially using an album with an elaborate lacy, pink front cover. Hutch had filled the book with photos of the whole family from Mary’s birth to the day he’d left the family home. That was the day Starsky realized Hutch was someone special and not just a privileged pretty boy with a private education. He really took the time to show the people close to him how much he cared and loved them.

“Starsky.” Dobey’s voice cut into Starsky’s reverie. “Hutch will be in at eleven.”

Starsky stared at Dobey, fully aware that his mouth was slightly open. Ellie. Bryce. Hutch. Was that good or bad? “What’s going on, Cap’n?” Hutch had been so positive since his breakdown on the beach. No way was Starsky going to let anything jeopardize the progress Hutch was making.

“I’ll speak to you when I’ve seen Hutchinson,” Dobey said with a finality that Starsky knew was a dismissal. Dobey walked back into his office and closed the door.

Jim had resumed his two finger typing technique during Starsky and Dobey’s conversation. Jake was resolutely examining the photographs and writing in his notebook. The body language of both men clearly showed that they weren’t getting involved with whatever was about to go down.

Starsky sighed. The wall clock said ten-thirty. He had less than a half hour before Hutch got here. Starsky’d had enough of reviewing someone else’s investigation. He could quote every report from memory, and probably draw every photograph if he had Hutch’s artistic skills.

What he really wanted was Hutch at his side so that they could work their own cases, bounce ideas back and forth. He needed Hutch’s logical, overall picture, approach to complement his own eye for the finer details. Hutch craved getting back to work, and Starsky wanted his partner where he belonged, at Starsky’s side.

Starsky hoped that Ellie was here to make that wish come true. And not to blow Hutch’s whole world off the fragile path he was on at the moment.

Starsky walked slowly down to the cafeteria, where he bought himself two pink iced doughnuts and a cup of coffee with creamer. He needed to get some air. Get out of the building for a while. He also needed to decide whether to forewarn Hutch that Bryce and Ellie were in Dobey’s office.

Sitting on the hood of his car, he ate both doughnuts and drank most of the coffee before Hutch’s old beater pulled in through the open double gates.

*******************************

Hutch drove into the parking lot behind Parker Center at ten forty-five. He parked in the vacant space nearest to the gate, almost opposite the Torino.

Starsky sat on the hood, arms crossed. He didn’t move until Hutch was out of his car. “Hey. How ya doing?” he said, walking over to Hutch.

“I told Dobey that you didn’t have to meet me,” Hutch said caustically, although he was happy that Starsky was there. Why couldn’t he just be gracious for once? “It’s good to see you, partner,” he added, trying to bury the anxiety rising because he could see cops moving around the parking lot and garage. All were going about their business, probably didn’t even notice Starsky and Hutch at the far end of the lot. However, Hutch was aware of every male presence, and their position in relation to where he stood.

Starsky held his hands up in surrender. “I told you, buddy. You lead, I follow.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Bryce and Ellie are with Dobey. Told me to keep out.”

“Dobey said that they would both be there.” Hutch paused. “Go back inside. I’ll be there soon.” He locked his car door, then chuckled to himself at the irony of securing his car in the police lot. “And don’t tell people to leave me alone or give me a wide berth,” he warned Starsky.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Starsky looked reluctant to leave. He pretended to polish a spot on Hutch’s front right headlight. “You ought to clean this heap more often, you know.”

“Go,” Hutch commanded. He sounded far more confident than he felt inside. However, he doubted that he fooled Starsky for one minute. “I’ll be fine.”

“Fine is a word that hides how we really feel,” Starsky said philosophically. He frowned, and turned his back on Hutch. “See you in the squad room.” He hesitated and then walked very slowly away from Hutch, across the now empty lot to the door of the building. Starsky’s body language said that he didn’t want to leave Hutch alone.

Hutch watched Starsky’s back. Every step Starsky took made Hutch hitch a breath. His security blanket unraveled inch by inch. He pinged the rubber band on his wrist, refocusing on his goal to make it to the squad room alone. It was such a simple task. One that had never been a problem before. An act that was as natural as breathing. Now, it had become an unscaleable mountain that needed to be conquered.

Starsky reached the door, glancing back at Hutch. He nodded once, and was swallowed into the dark hole of the building.

Hutch stepped haltingly towards the same door. His gait was almost robotic; his legs so tense that he barely bent his knees as he walked. Reaching the entrance quicker than he wanted to, Hutch paused, breathing deeply. Once through this door, he would have to cope with people, men.

He’d been planning to go shopping alone just over one hour ago. Surely this would be easier? He knew most of the cops in the building, if not by name, at least by sight. What better place to start his rehabilitation? If only it was that easy. It is, Hutchinson. Suck it up and get inside, you coward.

Voices, male and female, assaulted Hutch’s ears almost as soon as he was through the door.

“Good to see you, Hutch.”

“How are you, Hutch?”

“Good to have you back, Hutch.”

The sentences all overlapped each other. Hands patted him on the back. He tried not to care whether they were male or female and that people were touching him. He did his best to hide the shivers. Pushed all the negative thoughts out of his mind.

Hutch nodded back, acknowledged the obviously heartfelt greetings, and said “Thank you,” more times than he could count.

Soon, the figures blurred, moving slowly in and out of his vision. The voices slurred their words, drawing out the syllables longer than normal. Hutch ploughed through the apparitions that crowded in on him, and the figures parted as he blundered along the hallway. Somehow, he made it to the squad room doors. His shirt was stuck to his back with sweat. He could feel the moisture on his face and neck. He had felt the color drain from him almost as soon as the fingers started clawing at his flesh. His clothes had disintegrated in his mind, leaving him exposed for their pleasure.

Starsky stood, waiting inside the double doors, his hand poised on the handle. He had a smile plastered on his face, his lips twitching at the edges with the effort of keeping it there.

Hutch shot him a ‘don’t fuss’ look and pushed on the door.

Starsky nodded his understanding, backing away as Hutch opened the door.

Hutch stopped a few steps into the room. The door swung closed behind him, and he leaned back against it. He took a few minutes to survey the familiar space. There were only two other people in the room.

Jake Powers looked up from his reading and smiled at Hutch. “Hi,” he said quietly, before going back to the file in front of him.

Hutch smiled back. He could see a lot of himself in Jake. Enthusiastic, methodical, desperate to impress his superiors by doggedly committing as much information as he could to memory. It was almost like looking back in time to his own first months as a detective.

The other person in the room sat at Hutch’s desk typing a report. Jim Wilen’s bald top was all Hutch could see of the heavyset man’s head. He was bent so close to the typewriter that his face was hidden behind it.

“Sit here,” Starsky said, pulling his own chair out for Hutch.

Jim looked up. “Sorry, Hutch. I can move.” He started to get up from the chair.

Hutch put his hand up. “No. No, stay there.” He sat down. “I can sit here. Keep working.”

Starsky hovered around Hutch, his mouth opening and closing a few times, as if he wasn’t sure what Hutch would consider too much fussing. Finally, he settled his butt against the bank of filing cabinets on the back wall.

Jake got up from his seat and walked behind Hutch to the drawers next to Starsky.

Hutch tensed as he tried to follow Jake’s every move without turning his head and making his discomfort obvious. Hutch’s butt cheeks clenched together. Goosebumps erupted all over his body. It was taking all his willpower to remain seated. His instinct was to get as far away as possible from the young man. Jake hadn’t been behind him for more than two seconds, and Hutch was acting like the guy had tried to molest him. He loathed being like this. Being afraid of his own shadow. No, not his own shadow, just everyone else’s. His own shadow reminded him that he was still alive.

Jake took a file from the drawer and slammed it closed. He walked back towards Hutch.

This time, Hutch jumped up in panic, his eyes fixed on Jake. Terrified of letting anyone see his fear, Hutch grabbed a mug and the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup. He slouched against the coffee cart so that Jake had to pass in front of him.

 

I’ve lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they’re always the same
They mean me no harm but it’s time that I face it
            I’m Movin’ On — Rascal Flatts

*******************************

Starsky smiled wryly, Good cover, partner. He touched Hutch’s elbow. “You okay?” he asked quietly, a fraction of a second before Dobey’s door opened.

“I’m ready for you now, Hutchinson,” Dobey said.

Starsky followed Hutch into Dobey’s office, or he tried to.

Dobey’s firm “Not you, Starsky,” stopped him in his tracks.

Starsky glared at his boss. Dobey seriously didn’t intend to exclude him from this meeting? No way was he leaving Hutch alone with two men, whomever they might be. Dobey was family, and Hutch would probably be fine with him. But neither of them knew Bryce that well. Hutch had coped so far, but only just. He might look fine on the outside, but Starsky could see the pent up fear inside of Hutch. He was attuned to those small signs emanating from his partner. Every twitch told Starsky more than a thousand words ever could.

Starsky nodded when Hutch said, “Um. I’d rather Starsky be there. He is my partner, after all. If we’re going to discuss my future, it concerns him as well.”

Starsky looked triumphantly at Dobey. Can’t exclude me if he requests otherwise.

Dobey conceded with a nod. “Close the door.” He walked around his desk and sat down.

Bryce and Ellie sat in the two chairs that normally furnished Dobey’s office.

A wooden chair had been placed a little way to the right of the room, obviously meant for Hutch. However, he stood at the back of the room, his shoulders resting on the closed door.

Ellie turned around and smiled. “David,” she acknowledged Starsky before turning to Hutch. “Ken, come and sit down beside me.” She pulled the chair closer to hers.

“I’m good here,” Hutch said curtly.

Starsky saw the furtive look pass between Dobey and Bryce. He touched Hutch’s arm.

Hutch turned to Starsky.

“Sit down, buddy,” Starsky said softly. His eyes said, Don’t give them any reason to doubt that you can do this.

Hutch’s eyes flashed his understanding. I’ll do my best, partner. “Okay,” he said, folding his body to sit on the straight-back chair.

*******************************

Ellie wasn’t sure that she liked the way the meeting had gone yesterday. Ken was due in any minute and they were no closer to making a firm decision on his return to work.

“I’ll see if he’s arrived yet,” Dobey said, opening his door.

Ellie had to suppress a smile when she heard Captain Dobey say “I’m ready for you now, Hutchinson.” Hutch was ready for this meeting too. She was sure of it. However, an unexpected summon from his Captain might have knocked him off kilter. She hoped otherwise.

Bryce turned to face the door a fraction before she did. She heard, rather than saw, his movement.

The assertiveness with which Ken insisted that David be allowed into the room gave Ellie some confidence. Good boy.

She’d always called him Ken in their sessions, and she would continue using Ken instead of the more formal Detective Hutchinson in the hope that this would make him feel more comfortable.

Ken’s next action, however, concerned her. Instead of accepting her offer to sit, Ken leaned defensively against the door, cutting off her sentence with a curt answer. Almost like he was preparing his escape route. Stay near the exit, face your attacker, came into her mind. She willed him to conform to etiquette.

Starsky said three little words to Hutch and Hutch acquiesced.

Ellie caught the eye contact between Starsky and Hutch, and realized that more was being said in that nonverbal exchange than in the words. She’d heard of that kind of silent communication between twins, but it rarely happened between unrelated individuals. She could only guess at the content of that conversation. Whatever had been said, Hutch seemed a little more receptive because of it.

*******************************

Starsky was right. Being defensive and hostile wasn’t going to earn Hutch any points with his superior officer or Bryce. He pushed off of the door and took the seat by Ellie.

Starsky leaned against the door, since there wasn’t a chair for a fifth person in the room. I got your back, partner.

Ellie winked her approval to Hutch before turning back to Dobey.

Hutch studied the faces of the three people in the office who had the authority to decide his fate. He was content in the fact that Starsky was behind him, backing him up as usual.

“I assume this meeting is to decide when I can come back onto the force,” he said bluntly, taking the lead since no one else was talking. He’d had enough of being a shrinking violet.

Bryce cleared his throat. “I have to tell you that I have major concerns on the matter, Detective Hutchinson,” he said. “I am worried how you will cope in a predominantly male environment given your frame of mind.”

“So am I,” Hutch admitted, shifting in his seat. “Unfortunately, there’s no way of knowing until I am put into that situation. I can sit at home all I want. I’ve still got to face that first day sometime.” He could lie and say he was fine. That it wouldn’t be a problem. Swear he was confident around men, and back to his normal, functioning self. Then fall flat on his face at the first hurdle and risk losing his job or his mind altogether.

“Can I say something?” Starsky interjected. “I know I’m a gatecrasher at this meeting, but this is relevant.” He walked over to the other door in Dobey’s office, the one that opened into the hallway. It was the one position that allowed Starsky to see all the people in the room. “We were both worried about my partner getting here after he’s had such a rough time.”

Bryce sat up straighter in his chair, turning his focus from Hutch to Starsky.

“Hutch got up here under his own steam. He glanced from person to person. “Did he freak? No. Is anybody injured or dead? No.”

Hutch grinned. Starsky was really getting into his stride. Maybe he should shut him up before he said something that would get them both into trouble. He wasn’t sure he liked the dead comment.

“My partner,” Starsky swept his hand in Hutch’s direction. “Went through a nightmare that no one should ever have to experience. But he made it out alive.” He bent over, his face inches from Bryce. “Yes, he’s struggling with some issues. Who wouldn’t? But he is ready to take the next step. He wants to return to work. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to make those decisions for himself?”

“There are other people to consider, Detective Starsky,” Bryce said pointedly. “We all have Detective Hutchinson’s best interests at heart. We have to be sure he’s ready, that’s all.”

“It isn’t like he’s going to have his gun. He can’t shoot anybody,” Starsky said, standing up straight and raising his voice.

Hutch didn’t know which words hurt the most. Bryce being so certain that Hutch wasn’t stable enough not to maim or kill someone in a panic that hadn’t even happened.

Or Starsky’s revelation about Hutch’s ordeal. The fact was that he had a lot to prove before he would be allowed his gun back. That gun was his safety net. Correction, had been his safety net. Which ever gun he got when he was deemed totally sane again wouldn’t be the one he’d relied on all his career. His Magnum was in Evidence, and no way did he want it back. He didn’t know if he even wanted the same make of gun again.

Hutch was grateful for Starsky’s unwavering confidence in his ability to overcome all and be the partner that he was before the rape. Dobey and Ellie seemed to share Starsky’s view. He hoped that he could live up to their expectations. He would sure as hell try.

“That’s enough, Starsky,” Dobey barked. “You’ve had your say, and it’s been duly noted. Another word and I will make you leave.”

“I agree with David,” Ellie said. “Ken should have some say in all of this. I’ve spent time alone with him and not once did I ever fear for my safety.” She smiled at Hutch. “He had his temper tantrums, mostly directed at himself. Never, even at his most volatile, did he make any attempt to harm me.”

“You aren’t a man,” Bryce pointed out to Ellie.

“I am here, remember.” Hutch hated it when people talked about him like he wasn’t there. “Do I look like I want to hurt you, or run away?” he challenged Bryce. “I’m reasonably comfortable in your presence. The Captain’s, too. I work out at the gym with just the owner around. I don’t pretend I’m a hundred per cent recovered, nothing near.” He turned to face Bryce head on. “I can control my fear. It’s not as all consuming as it was. All I’m asking is to be able to take that first step. Whatever the Captain decides that will be. I’m happy to do a desk job for a while. I know I’m not able to work the streets yet.” He glanced up at his partner. “I hope I will be, some day soon.”

“I’ll take full responsibility for Hutchinson,” Dobey offered. “How would you feel about you and Wilen shifting through some cold cases?” he asked Hutch. “While Starsky partners Powers for a while?”

Starsky nodded his approval. “I’d like nothing more than my partner back where he belongs. But I do need to get back out on the streets. I’ll take Powers for a while. Just until Hutch is ready,” he added pointedly.

“Anything, Captain.” Hutch would have agreed to anything at that point. “I need to be occupied, to feel useful again. I love my plants, but I’m afraid they’re going to die from boredom if I spend any more time talking to them.”

Everyone except Bryce laughed at Hutch’s comment. “Looks like I’m in the minority,” he said ungraciously. “I will sign off on Hutchinson’s return to basic duty, but be assured that I will be annotating my concerns on the accompanying report.”

“Do whatever you feel you need to do, Jonathan,” Dobey said. “Hutchinson. Be in my office at nine a.m. tomorrow. We’ll work out the finer details of your reinstatement then.”

“Thank you, all,” Hutch said, elated as he shook the hand of everyone in the room, including Starsky. He didn’t care if he seemed excitable, stupid, or what any of them thought. Today was the beginning of the rest of his life.

 

At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there’s no guarantees, but I’m not alone
I’m Movin’ On — Rascal Flatts

*******************************

Friday, December 10 – 7:30pm

Hutch sat at Huggy’s best table, feeling very pleased with himself. Well, technically, Huggy didn’t have a best table. This table was the furthest away from the john and closest to the bar, that made it the most popular table in the place.

He, Starsky and Dobey were having a celebratory meal to mark the occasion of Hutch successfully completing his first week of street duty.

True to form, Starsky was emptying the candy machine, while Dobey had made a beeline for the restroom as soon as they’d walked through the door.

“What it is, my man?” Huggy asked, disturbing Hutch’s reverie. His pencil was poised over his order book.

“Steak dinners all round, and a bottle of your finest champagne,” Hutch said flamboyantly.

“How do you want the steak cooked?” Huggy asked seriously.

Hutch laughed. “Same as usual. However Angie serves them.” He’d never had a steak that had been cooked how he asked for it since Huggy had been serving food. He doubted that would change now. “And make sure the champagne’s cold.”

Huggy shot him a hurt look. “I always serve the best, you know that.”

“Can you join us, Hug?” he asked the closest friend he had besides Starsky. “We’re celebrating my first full week back out on the streets. My treat.”

Huggy shook his head. “My treat, blondie. And I will be honored to join you once I’ve placed your order.” Huggy headed toward the kitchen.

Starsky strutted over to Hutch with a handful of candy. “Want one?” he asked, thrusting a Snickers bar under Hutch’s nose.

“No, and neither do you. I’ve just ordered steak and champagne. Huggy’s joining us.” Hutch grabbed the candy out of Starsky’s hand and shoved the bars into his jacket pocket. “Don’t eat dessert before the main course.” He loved ragging Starsky about the amount of junk he shoveled into his body.

“In that case, I’ll just have one now.” Starsky pulled a Hershey bar from his shirt pocket and stuffed it into his mouth before Hutch had the chance to admonish him.

Dobey returned to the table just as Huggy sidled up with four champagne flutes and an uncorked bottle in an ice bucket.

Starsky grabbed the bottle. “Wow, Huggy. It’s the real deal. Didn’t know you stocked anything authentic,” he joked.

“Only the best for my three favorite people,” Huggy said, sitting down on the empty chair and pouring the amber liquid expertly into the glasses. “A toast to our buddy, Hutch. Glad you made it.”

“To Hutch,” said Starsky and Dobey in unison.

“Thanks, guys. I couldn’t have done it without any of you,” Hutch said seriously. “Especially my best friend and partner, David Michael Starsky.” He raised his glass to Starsky.

“To Starsky,” said Dobey and Huggy, acknowledging Hutch’s toast.

Diane brought over the food. “Dig in,” Huggy said ceremoniously. “Another bottle, Diane,” he shouted to her retreating back.

“We haven’t finished this one yet.” Hutch laughed, raising his glass again. “To our generous host and friend, Huggy Bear. And our fantastic Captain. I seriously don’t know where I’d be now without all of your support. Every single one of you.”

“To Huggy and the Cap,” echoed Starsky.

Hutch felt truly blessed. He’d survived the worst ordeal that he had ever endured, and could confidently say that he was tougher than before. The saying really was true, “What didn’t kill you made you stronger.” He would certainly testify to that.

 

The devil bowed his head because he knew that he’d been beat
He laid that golden fiddle on the ground at Johnny’s feet
Johnny said: “Devil just come on back if you ever want to try again
‘Cause I told you once, you son of a gun, I’m the best there’s ever been.”
Devil Went Down to Georgia — Charlie Daniels

 

Finis