New FIc: Fault Lines

[peg22]

because I threw down over at MeandThee, so I thought I'd better put my words where my fingers were . . . or something like that.

Thanks to susan for the title . . .

Title: Fault Lines
Author: Kaye
Slash: S/H implied, etc.
PG
not mine

It's a pre tag snippet to Black and Blue. And indicates the fast and slippery slope of denial and recrimination that the boys found themselves hurtling down during S4. I like to think it got worse and then SvH and then it got better post SR. I can't write all that, though. It's not too happy, but it has Dobey in it, which is always a good thing.

Fault Lines

A Pre-Tag snippet to Black and Blue

by Kaye

 

 

 

The fallout was immediate. Hutch slumped against the wall and was surrounded by paramedics. Starsky struggled against the ropes in an effort to get to him and managed to tear a two-inch gash in his wrist on a jagged edge of the chair. Meredith threw up.

 

Dobey ordered Hutch back to the hospital, yelled at Campos to help Meredith, and bent down to untie Starsky himself.

 

“You couldn’t wait three seconds?” He gently grasped Starsky’s forearm. “You need stitches. I’ll drive you.”

 

“What about Hutch?”

 

“Oh, you mean your partner? The one who left his hospital bed to save your ass today? The one who bled on my Naugahyde seats all over town? The one who probably set his recovery back a week with this little . . .”

 

“He bled all over your what?”

 

Dobey tugged his tie loose from his neck and wound it around Starsky’s wrist, pulling hard. The blood immediately seeped through the yellow and green stripes. “My car. And now it looks like you’re about to do the same. And don’t think you aren’t gonna buy me a new tie.”

 

They drove most of the way in silence. Starsky kept going over the last few minutes at the house. He had been so surprised to see Hutch. He had been so surprised he didn’t have a bullet in his face. He had overreacted.

 

He could probably blame it on the stress of another near-death experience. Or being kidnapped. Or the image of Hutch slumped in that dark hallway with blood spurting out of his chest, which had played like a continuous cartoon reel through his brain every moment since it happened. Of course now that image could be replaced by a pale Hutch, panting, smiling – until he had turned to Meredith and opened his damn mouth. “How you doin, partner?” Partner?

 

He could say it was a reaction to that damned faked amnesia shit – payback. Or to the banter that had turned from breezy to brittle in the months since. He could write it off to fatigue or burnout or . . .

 

He could. If he wanted to continue the fantasy that the blame could be assigned anywhere else but in the widening gap between him and his partner.

 

The real one. The only one. Jesus. He stared out the window and worried. Wondered when it had gotten this serious.

 

“You okay?” Dobey asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

 

“Yeah, just a scratch.”

 

“So, you wanna tell me about it?” 

 

Starsky looked over to Dobey and then back out the window. Did he want to tell him about it? Did he understand it enough to tell anyone about it? He decided to play ignorant.

 

“About what?”

 

Dobey sighed. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

 

So much for ignorance. Except for the ignorance that made him think he could actually keep something from the captain.

 

“What’s the matter with you, Starsky? You can’t keep it in your pants for a minute, can you?” Dobey was cranking up to a full head of steam.

 

“I was worried.” Lame, but Starsky just couldn’t defend himself. He deserved everything he knew Dobey was going to say. And then some.

 

“Worried? Is that what you call it? Hell, Starsky, I thought you had more sense than that. And with Hutch . . .”

 

“I know,” Starsky interrupted. “I’m a complete asshole. I got it.”

 

“This thing between you two – it’s not new is it? Been stewing longer than this case.  If I were to take bets, I’d lay it down on John’s murder – somewhere in there.”

 

“John’s murder? John Blaine? Why would you say that?”

 

“Didn’t help, that damn stunt Hutch pulled last time you two were in the hospital. And then that cabbie case – sure wish that hadn’t happened. You had some kind of streak going for a while.”

 

Dobey pulled up to the door to the emergency room. He turned in his seat and laid a hand on Starsky’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s been going on with the two of you, but you’d better fix it or change it. I can’t have my two best detectives running around town with their heads up their . . .” Dobey coughed. “Well, you know what I mean.”

 

Starsky tugged at the tie around his wrist. “I wish I knew how to fix it. I don’t where to start.”

 

“Yes you do – what you always do. What you and Hutch do. Talk about it. Figure it out. Don’t let it go, Starsky. I mean it. This kind of thing gets in a partnership – in a relationship . . .” Dobey paused.

 

Starsky just stared at him. Relationship? Images and words and sounds swirled through his head. He couldn’t get a solid grip on any of it. He felt like he had been set afloat in a leaky boat without any oars. Every time he thought he had figured some part of it out, that they were both so tired, that every partnership had its ups and downs, that it would straighten itself out . . .

 

“ . . . I just don’t want to see you and Hutch go down that road, you know?” Dobey sat up and put both hands on the wheel. “So go in and get yourself checked out. And go talk to Hutch. Your partner.” Dobey looked hard at him.  I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

 

Starsky started to say something, but just nodded and climbed out of the car. Dobey gave him a half wave as he pulled away from the curb. He stood there for a moment. Lost.  He looked at the doors to the hospital, watched the people go in, come out, then turned to the green cab parked at the curb. His wrist throbbed; his head felt like it could explode at any minute. He couldn’t breathe.

 

He yanked at the tie until it slid off his wrist. He wadded it into a ball and threw it in the trash barrel next to the door, shoved his hand in his pocket, walked over and slid into the backseat of the cab. He didn’t look back, didn’t see the figure standing in the 2nd floor window, watching.  Didn’t see him turn away, head down. Close the blinds. Close up. Disappear.

 

He rode all the way home staring at his shoes. Walked into his house, sat down on the couch, put his head in his hands. He sat that way for hours. He felt the blood drip down his arm. He heard the traffic grow quiet. He rubbed his chest and wondered if his life could get any worse.

 

Comments

[callistosh65.livejournal.com]

Oooo I do love you when you write like this - I like me some buzzkill early of a morning.*g*. You really capture that sense of smth spiralling, especially in the last 2 paragraphs - Starsky with his head in his hands, Hutch 'closing up' - just brilliant. Fave bit was this:

Starsky just stared at him. Relationship? Images and words and sounds swirled through his head. He couldn’t get a solid grip on any of it. He felt like he had been set afloat in a leaky boat without any oars. Perfect way to sum them up, 'a leaky boat without any oars.'

Thank you, m'dear.

but but but....

[edioval.livejournal.com]

Wow. Crisp, harsh, real.

You're not leaving it like this, are you?

I've always done a lot of griping about this episode, too. Thank you for getting off the pot and doing something about it.

My guy is sitting in his apartment bleeding. Ummm, I know it's pushy, but the image is really hitting me (your writing is so clear). You've got to fix him, send Huggy, or Meredith (I'll duck some tomatoes), or get the brain cells in sync with the heart so he can stop bleeding. Because that bleeding is just staying with me.

Thanks for sharing,
Elaine

[kassidy62.livejournal.com]

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<Close the blinds. Close up. Disappear.>

You are a killer writer. That last paragraph is killing me.

Just...

I'm gonna call you Killer.

[lauramcewan.livejournal.com]

That was so wonderfully detailed and heartwrenching. Good ol' Dobey, driving bleeding cops in his car and having heart-to-hearts while he has them captive. Poor Starsk. Poor Hutch!

(Edit note: You're missing the opening quote mark before "I'll make it an order if I have to.")