Disclaimer This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit. It is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders to the rights of Starsky and Hutch.
Warning "Family Business" is truly a dark tale and contains some scenes of incest, male rape and foul language that may be offensive to some readers. If this is not your cup of tea, then please refrain from sipping. I truly do not want to offend anyone and it is never my intentions to do so. Please consider yourself warned.
A/N: Hey sweet Karen . .. mahalo for your reminder . . .
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Previously on "Family Business":
Dr. Brennan eyed the stubborn brunet who picked up the shirt his partner had brought for him and resignedly handed Hutch two small brown bottles. "Painkillers and antibiotics," he said, at the detective's silent question, "Believe me, he'll need them."
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Chapter 10
They decided to stay at a Motel 8 along Makinen's main highway, thanks to the belated recommendation from Sheriff McCabe who had walked into the hospital room shortly after Doctor Brennan had exited, informing the brunet that he needed to stay in town at least for another day just in case he had further questions for the detective. The elderly lawman had also told them that he had released Lee Roy Woods into the care of Child Protective Services after taking his statement in the hospital, and he handed Hutch the address to the garage where the Torino had been towed.
When Starsky asked McCabe about the welfare of his prized baby, the sheriff shrugged his shoulders apologetically and smiled as he told the detectives that he had no idea how long it would take to fix the problem with the flashy red and white car.
The motel was your run of the mill place, nothing fancy, just practical. Hutch parked the car in one of the many vacant stalls and walked to the front desk; the bright neon light flashing vacancies illuminated the dark with its harsh colors as the blond entered the lobby and registered them for the night, while Starsky waited in the car. Getting the key and the room number, the tall blond thanked the clerk and made his way back to his partner.
"Room 9," Hutch said, leaning up against the open window on the passenger's side, "Got us a room on the bottom floor so you don't have to climb the steps buddy. Stay here while I dump the bags, and then we can drive over to that diner we saw down the highway okay?"
Hutch waited for a reply, but all he got was a brief nod from his silent and brooding partner who leaned wearily against the door, looking out through the rain splattered windshield.
Hutch sighed softly, knowing Starsky was hurting both physically and emotionally, and he wanted so badly to reach out and squeeze his partner's shoulder, to let the brunet know without words that he was there for him, but the fair haired detective kept his hands to his side. Refraining from touching him, Hutch quietly took the bags from the trunk, though his mind never left his companion. The tall blond frowned; he hated when Starsky would shut him out, going within to lick his wounds, but that was his partner's SOP when he was hurting or wounded, especially when it was emotional hurt that he was trying to deal with.
For the most part, Hutch understood his partner and tried hard not to push, allowing their natural bond and chemistry to somehow ease the way in so that his partner would open up on his own, but this time . . . well this time there was something that seemed to be "blocking" it. Though he couldn't put his finger on it, Hutch could 'feel' it and it bothered him immensely. As the tall blond methodically opened the motel room with the key; not even bothering to flip on the lights as he quickly placed the bags down and shut the door, he thought back to what had happened back at the hospital . . .
Hutch had wanted to help his partner dress, knowing how difficult it was with broken ribs, but the brunet had stubbornly refused, insisting that he could manage, becoming irritated and short with his blond counterpart when he continued to hover.
"Hutch! Will you stop?" Starsky snapped, as the tall blond held up the sleeve of the tee-shirt to make it easier for the brunet to get his arm through, "I can do it myself!" the brunet grumbled, feeling suddenly awkward and uncomfortable with his partner's close proximity. The dark haired detective sighed as he saw the flash of hurt that entered in his partner's light blue orbs, "Look buddy," Starsky began, finally giving in to the blond's persistence as he clenched his teeth and begrudgingly stuck his arm through the sleeve, "I get that this whole thing freaked us out, but it's over now. I'm fine. I've lived through worse injuries than this."
"Starsky, that backwoods psycho abducted you, beat you, hunted you down . . . like you were some kind of animal, and he . . ."
"And he's dead already!" Starsky snapped, angrily cutting the blond off, feeling the sudden, almost tangible silence that filled the small room. The brunet exhaled slowly, trying to get a handle on his raging emotions, knowing he was intentionally pushing Hutch away and hating himself for it. "I'm sorry Blintz," Starsky said more calmly, "But really, I'm fine . . . okay?"
Hutch snorted softly, the look on his face was both sheepish and apologetic, "Yeah . . . okay . . . no mother-henning . . . I get it."
"Good!" Starsky said, "Now hand me my pants." The brunet grinned as Hutch tossed him another pair of what his blond friend called 'crummy"' jeans. "Thanks pal!" Starsky winked, trying hard to make light of his earlier sharp retort, wanting to smooth over the awkwardness of the moment with the friendly banter that they were so fond of. He didn't want to hurt his partner, but just being with anyone right now took effort and the weary detective struggled valiantly for normalcy.
Hutch grinned as he caught the playful twinkle in his partner's sapphire gaze, "Yeah . . . you owe me one buddy . . . you're lucky I remembered to take your duffle bag out of the trunk before your piece of junk got towed."
"Junk?" Starsky feigned a hurtful expression, "She's a work of art Hutch . . ."
"Yeah? She blew her engine again buddy, you need to trade her in." Hutch interjected.
"What?" the dark haired detective frowned, grimacing as he pulled the tight pants over his bandaged thigh, hating to be in any state of undress right now, especially with his partner standing so near.
"You're just lucky I don't trade you in pal!" Hutch griped, though a tiny smile tweaking the corners of his mouth softened his declaration, giving away his pretense of irritation, as he eyed his partner, wincing in sympathy, almost feeling the pain himself from the wound on the brunet's thigh.
The dark haired cop grinned, "Hey . . . tell ya what? I'll buy dinner at the first greasy diner we see around here . . . 'sides I'm starvin'," Starsky whined, as he searched through the pockets of his jeans, his puzzled look turning to one of anger, "Damn! I forgot!"
"What?" Hutch asked, as he regretfully saw the frown marring his partner's previously smiling face. The tall blond was beginning to enjoy their playful banter, making things feel somehow right and normal again between them, "What's wrong buddy?"
The brunet cursed softly under his breath, "My wallet . . . I forgot that scum bag took it." Thinking of Jebb made him remember how the hillbilly had looked through his pictures, hearing his drawl, making lewd comments as he leered with his toothless grin at the people who were closest to his heart . . .
"This hea yer mama boy?"
"She be a fine woman . . . bet yer daddy loved to fuck her dry huh?"
"She looks like ya . . . so purty . . . with all of them dark curls,"
"An' looky hea . . . this shure is a purty little filly,"
"That yer gurl, boy?"
"Ah bet she was good in bed too. Milked ya real tight 'twixt them creamy thighs of hers . . . huh boy?"
"Well, well . . . yer wallet's jus' full o' purty people ain't it? He's all golden like the sun, a totin' ya up with his hand 'twixt yer legs. Makes me kinda wondah if ya like to hop the fence now and then . . . if'n ya knows what ah mean?"
"Starsk?" Hutch called softly as he watched the emotions that played across the brunet's face, intuitively knowing that something was wrong, that some horrible memory of his capture was being replayed in his mind. Hutch walked quietly over to his friend, not wanting to startle him, reaching out a comforting hand to place it upon the brunet's rigid shoulder . . .
"Whatsamattah boy? Ain't no man evah teched ya befoa? Don' tell ole Jebb that that nice lookin' blond man in dem pictures ain't nevah done this t'ya,"
Starsky jolted at the unexpected touch, reacting on instinct as he roughly whacked Hutch's hand away, his eyes glittering angrily as he snarled, "You son of a bitch!"
For a second there was only stunned silence and the heavy breathing of the brunet who suddenly registered the blond's astonished face, feeling sick inside as he quickly lowered his eyes to hide the raw anxiety and humiliation that he felt within, while struggling to bring his breathing and rapid heartbeat under control.
Hutch was concerned and perplexed. If he didn't know better, he would think that Starsky was keeping something from him; granted his partner had been through hell, but this kind of reaction wasn't typical of Starsky, especially not when it came to them. Touching one another was something that brought them comfort; that made their bond even tighter, that took away and eased the pain and horror of whatever the streets and their job threw their way. "Starsk?" Hutch began again, keeping his voice soft and soothing like he would if he were speaking to a wounded animal or a frightened child, "Buddy, it's me . . . you wanna . . . you wanna talk about it?"
The dark haired detective kept his head down as he tried to get a grip, he could feel the slight tremors that raced throughout his body, could feel the intense and worried gaze of his partner and he knew the look of concern that would be etched upon the blond's face if he raised his head; so he didn't . . . he couldn't . . . not yet. It sickened him to think that he had struck Hutch's hand off, when his partner was just trying to comfort him, but the 'nightmare' of Jebb was still so vivid, still so harshly 'real', and to be frank, Hutch being in his personal space all the time was starting to unnerve him, it was unsettling, almost suffocating . . .
"Ya liked it, din't ya? There's more where that came from,"
"Starsk?"
Swallowing hard, the brunet lifted his head; a stormy blue ocean met the blue of a soft, summer sky, "Let's get outta here huh? I'm starvin'."
Hutch nodded slowly, knowing his partner was trying to change the subject again, knowing that Starsky was trying to bury whatever it was that was bothering him and it tore the sensitive blond up, but for now, Hutch would let it go. Now was not the time or the place for the heart to heart talk they needed to have.
"Okay," the tall blond conceded, "Let's get you out of here pal."
Hutch frowned as he made his way back to his rented car. He was gonna get to the bottom of whatever was eating away at his partner. Maybe after he ate something the tight-lipped brunet would be more apt to talk. The tall blond prayed it would be so.
…
Starsky laid his weary head against the window, the cold, smooth glass felt good to his warm forehead. His body loudly protested his upright position, but slouching lower made the knife-like stabs in his ribs flare painfully, so he just eased back and leaned against the door, tracking the tall form of his friend through the rivulets of water that ran down the window pane, watching as he carried the bags until he disappeared around the corner.
The dark haired detective closed his eyes, letting the fatigue wash over him, feeling the residual effects of the sedative start to fade as the pain in his body grew more intense. He was so tired, tired of sitting up, tired of thinking about forcing himself to eat so Hutch wouldn't worry so much, tired of making conversation and pretending that everything was okay when all he wanted to really do was to take a hot shower and wash the filth and horror of Jebb's disgusting memory away from him. Yet mere soap and water alone would never take that nightmare away, for if the truth were known, Starsky felt as dirty on the inside as he did on the outside.
The dark haired cop could feel anger and confusion flaring within as he remembered the jolting stab of pleasure that breached through his defenses as he bore the brutal and painful assault of Jebb's invading fingers, hearing the slime's whispered words, the barely contained excitement in the hillbilly's panting voice . . .
"That feel good boy?"
"Ya liked it, din't ya? There's more where that came from,"
Starsky shuddered, hating himself inside as the hot color rose from his neck and stained his cheeks in the dark and quiet solitude of the car. "Fuck!" he swore softly, "I'm as sick as that fuckin' son of a bitch," he whispered to himself, hanging his head with shame and degradation as he thought of the jolt of pleasure that had pierced his soul. How could he have found any pleasure in that whole horrific ordeal? 'What the hell is wrong with me?' the brunet thought angrily, 'Maybe I'm more like Johnny than I thought.' Starsky held onto his aching ribs and sat up straighter as he saw the approaching blond making his way over to the car. "T'rrific!"
The brunet sighed, feeling his mask of indifference fall back into place, knowing he was building a protective wall around his heart, but how could he even begin to share any of this with Hutch? If his partner knew, he would freak . . . there was no way, he would ever share what happened up at the cabin . . . as it was, he knew they were already talked about by the others in the department and if they found out that he found any pleasure in that disgusting act . . .
The dark haired detective's sapphire eyes hardened with determination as he thought, 'There is no way anyone will ever know . . .not now . . .not ever! Not Hutch, not Huggy, no one.' Starsky sighed softly, tightening his arm around his ribs as he closed his eyes in despair, determinedly making up his mind. He would die before he would expose himself . . . and he would make sure that no one would ever know what a sick bastard he was.
Hutch walked quickly through the light drizzle as he approached the car; making out the dark silhouette of his partner still slumped against his side of the door. The fair-haired detective took in a deep breath and squared his shoulders; whatever was bothering his friend was going to be resolved as soon as possible. Hutch plastered a grin to his face as he opened the driver's side of the door to peer in at his partner, "Okay, you ready to eat pal?"
Starsky turned to look at his longtime friend and attempted to grin back, though the smile somehow never reached his eyes, "Yeah, starvin' . . . let's go huh?" he said softly. The gentle jostling of his partner getting into the car beside him made his ribs ache painfully and the brunet inconspicuously clenched his side as the blond closed the door, and started the motor. The darkness that settled over them was comforting to the curly haired cop for he knew it cloaked his expression from his partner; and he leaned wearily against the door looking out his window, not registering any of the town that slowly drifted by.
To be continued . . .