Night And Day
Chapter Three: Poor Starsky
Author's Notes: Black Crystall Draygon – Again, thank you for the review. Yes, Mark is quite evil, and quite nasty, and you'll find out soon exactly what he has in store for our beloved detectives.
Gordo (again) – Thanks! I had a great birthday! No Guiness, but I got some New Castle, which is imported English Brown Ale, and that's just as good. And I'll send you Cryssie Ficcie as soon as I post this.
Freddie – Thank you once again for the review, I appreciate it a lot!
Oni3 – As I said in my email, there aren't a lot of slashy fics, and I'm glad that I could give you one to keep your interest in. Thanks!!
Disclaimers: As I said before, the beautiful boys aren't mine, the car's not mine, hell, the only thing I own is the flamboyant gay man, the evil warehouse guy, and the other minor characters in this fic.
Warnings: A bit of the ol' F word thrown around in this chapter. And the start of some decent slash.
Perry did quit, as Bunny knew he would. The packaging room was very quiet for the rest of the week, as no one wanted to do anything to upset the large man. Starsky and Hutch were nearly sure that Mark had something, if not everything, to do with George's accident, though they couldn't prove it yet.
"I'm tellin' ya, Cap, it's him."
They were on the phone with Dobey on Saturday, lounging around the apartment. Hutch had forced Starsky to take a morning jog with him, as they hadn't had much exercise packing boxes with Styrofoam peanuts.
"Do you have proof?" Dobey's gruff voice boomed over the line.
Starsky winced. "No."
"Then I suggest you get working on it!"
"Cap..." Hutch was on the other extension, listening in. "True, it's all circumstantial, but how are we supposed to get proof on something like that?"
"You're the detectives, figure it out!"
The line went dead, and the two hung up their receivers.
"Get proof," Starsky muttered. "Okay, I'll just walk up to him, and ask, 'Hey, Mark, did you kill George?' and he'll go, 'Why, of course I did,' and then we can cuff him and take him in."
Hutch grinned. "I wish it were that easy. No, what we need is some kind of plan."
"Mark hasn't picked his new punching bag yet."
"So?" The blond paused in his pacing of the room, looked at Starsky who was sitting on the couch.
"So, let's choose it for him."
"Starsk, no way, forget it."
"Come on, Blintz, it's the only way." Starsky's voice was quiet, resigned. "We need proof."
"Getting yourself killed is not the way to do it."
Starsky picked himself up off the couch. "Look, I can handle getting a few beatings. You don't become a cop and not expect it. What else do we have?"
Hutch stood staring at him, into those clear, stubborn eyes. Starsk, I don't think I can handle watching you get hurt. No, I know I couldn't handle it. "Gordo, I don't like it. I don't like it at all. How can you expect me to watch you take a beating from that jerk?"
"It's part of the job."
"Like hell it is!" Hutch yelled, exploding. "Can you honestly say you'd be able to watch someone beat on me and not do a damn thing about it?"
"No," Starsky whispered. "I couldn't."
"Then how in the hell can you ask me to do it?" Hutch stepped forward, rested his hands on his partner's shoulders. "Starsk, we back each other up, always. We'll find another way."
Deciding the conversation to be over, Hutch pulled him into a hug, clung to him. I won't do it, he thought. I won't let that guy touch you.
Starsky brought his arms around Hutch. He's right. I wouldn't be able to watch it, and it's unfair of me to ask him to do it. Love you, Hutch.
There was a knock at the door, and it swung open. The two men jumped backward on instinct, but it was only Bunny, decked out in a pair of tight fitting slacks that flared dramatically at the legs, and a shirt tied where, if it were a woman, her breasts would be. A pair of sunglass rested on his nose, shielding his eyes.
"Oh, don't let me interrupt," he said, smiling widely. "Please, finish up what you were doing."
The two blushed simultaneously, and Hutch turned back to Starsky. Do it, he'll know it's only for show. He leaned in and brushed his lips over the other man's, softly, teasingly. He felt Starsky stiffen, but relent.
You're supposed to be together, Starsky reminded himself. This just goes with the territory. So, why did it feel so good? Why did it feel so right? Wait! I'm not gay! And I'm not in love with Hutch! I just love him.
Hutch's mind was spinning. Starsky's lips were exactly as he'd imagined they'd be, soft, inviting, and... responding? He was responding to the kiss? This is so weird, Hutch thought. So weird, but so right.
He pulled back, flashing Starsky a grin. The other man hesitated, but allowed a smile to creep onto his face. They turned to Bunny and grinned even wider. "You enjoy the show?" Hutch asked.
Bunny held a hand to his heart. "You two are so cute," he gushed. "If you were to ever break up, I'm afraid I couldn't choose who to go after."
They shared a laugh, which eased the tension between the detectives considerably. "So, Bunny, why are you all dressed up?" Starsky asked, falling back down onto the couch.
"It's Saturday!" he told them. "Shopping day! You boys interested?"
Hutch turned to look at Starsky, who was silently pleading with him. "Oh, well, Bunny, we have some uh, personal stuff to take care of. Call our mothers, let them know we're settled in, things like that."
"Oh." Bunny looked disappointed for a moment, then seemed to shake himself. "Okay, then I guess I'll see you later." He turned to go, but stopped when Starsky called out his name.
"Do you wanna go out tonight?" the brunette asked, feeling bad. "Get some pizza, some beer, listen to some tunes?"
The other man's face lit up. "I'd like that. How about seven?"
"Perfect," Starsky agreed, smiling at how happy Bunny was.
After he'd left, Hutch turned back to him. "You handled that well," he commended.
"Yeah, well, if you just pretend he's a woman, it sort of just works on its own."
"So," Hutch said, sitting down beside Starsky on the couch. "That was, um, strange."
Starsky grinned at him. "Bunny enjoyed it." And you did, too, you curly headed moron.
"Yeah. Do you wanna go over what we have so far?" Hutch asked, feeling the oddness emanating from Starsky.
"Yeah, let's do that."
In a few minutes, they had the case file spread all over the floor, and were both sitting on the floor, beers open and on the table. They poured over them, reading and re-reading things they thought they may have missed. After an hour, Starsky sighed heavily.
He picked up a page, stared at it. "Oh, hell, Hutch, these aren't telling us anything we don't already know."
"I know," his partner agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why don't we call Huggy, see if he's heard anything?"
"Good idea," Starsky said, standing up and stretching with a groan.
While Hutch went to the phone, Starsky wandered into the kitchen, dug for a bag of corn chips he knew he'd bought. Finding them, he tore the bag open, popped a few into his mouth.
"Hey, Hug, it's Hutch. Not too much, how are you?" Hutch's voice filtered through the doorway.
Starsky sat down at the kitchen table, stared into space. What was going on with him, lately? This assignment must be getting to me, he thought. How could I have enjoyed a kiss with Hutch? It's Hutch for crying out loud. He rubbed his face with his hands. And for that matter, why'd he even do that? We could have just acted embarrassed and not done it at all
Why had Hutch kissed him? His mind wandered as he chewed on the chips. It felt... good, he realized. He had actually liked kissing Hutch. No, that was insane! This was his partner, his best friend, the person he shared just about everything with. He couldn't be... in love with him, could he?
Oh, sure, why not, he told himself. And while you're at it, start dressing like Bunny and wearing barrettes in your hair.
He snorted at that thought, but the thoughts kept coming. What if I am? What if I'm in love with Hutch? I'd know it, wouldn't I?
Hutch walked into the kitchen, saw his partner sitting at the table, staring at nothing.
God, Starsk, he thought. If only you knew half of what I felt.
"Huggy's got nothing," he said, dropping into the seat beside him.
Starsky started. "Back to square one," he muttered.
"What's bugging you?"
"Nothing."
"Starsk, come on. I can tell something's up. You never sit and stare off into space unless there's something on your mind."
He stood. "Nothing's wrong Hutch, really, I'm fine." He paused, shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm goin' for a walk," he said, then turned and left the room. A few seconds later, Hutch heard the door close.
"Way to go, Hutchinson," he said aloud. "You kiss the guy and actually succeed in making him walk away." Starsky had never walked out before. They'd always been able to talk about whatever was wrong with the other. Now...
Now you're the problem, came the thought. Smooth, very smooth.
Deciding to give him one hour, Hutch chose to take a long, hot shower. If Starsky wasn't back by 5, he'd go looking for him.
Starsky walked along the side of the warehouse, hands jammed in his pockets, head bent down. He wasn't walking with his usual cocky swagger, instead, he seemed to just move his legs, figuring the rest of his body to follow.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought. Why did Hutch and I ever take this case? It's making things weird. He wished he had someone to confide, someone he could talk to. Usually, that person was Hutch, but it wouldn't do to talk to the person with whom all the confusing feelings were about, would it?
Hutch wouldn't understand, Starsky told himself glumly. He'd laugh at me and say I was being silly. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. Hutch never laughed at him for things when he was being serious. No, he'd tell me that it was just the case, just the stress of it.
Pausing near a window, he took a deep breath. Why had he run out like that? He'd never walked out on Hutch before. It hurt, he realized. It hurt to leave his partner the way he did. Deciding to go back and make up something, he made to turn around.
Loud, angry voices stopped him.
"Mark, you gotta stop! You already killed one guy, how many more are there?"
"Rocco, they're stupid. They're stupid, fucking queers! The only reason I have this job is because Clinton is my uncle, and he pays me well. I hate them all!"
Starsky leaned against the building, listening through the open window.
"Yeah, but you messed up. People know that George's death wasn't an accident. He never took that damn safety harness off, even you know that."
"It doesn't matter. The only one saying anything is Bunny." His voice took on a high-pitched tone. "'Oh, what happened to George?' He's gonna have to go." Now there was a deadly edge to it. "Can't have someone asking questions all the time."
Starsky's head snapped up. Bunny? Mark was going to kill Bunny? No way, he wouldn't let that happen. Stepping backwards, he turned to run back to the apartment, to tell Hutch what he'd heard. He didn't notice the garbage can near the building until he tripped over, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Way to go, ya klutz, he berated himself. The noise had alerted the two men in the building, and both came running outside.
Mark grabbed the collar of Starsky's shirt. "What did you hear, you queer?" he asked.
"I didn't hear anything," Starsky said. "I was just takin' a walk, getting' some fresh air. I wasn't watchin' where I was goin'."
"Sure ya were," Mark said. "Hey, Rocco, you think he's telling the truth?"
A man the same size as Mark sneered. "Hell, no. He probably heard everything."
"Guess I'll have to teach you a lesson about eavesdropping there, Ryans."
Starsky tried to back up as the two men advanced on him, but they were too fast.
Hutch paced the length of the living room one last time, then sighed. It'd been an hour and a half. Deciding he wasn't waiting any longer, he grabbed the room key off the table, and left the apartment.
He didn't know which way Starsky had gone, but he had a feeling he'd taken the Torino for a ride. So, he started toward the parking lot, walking down the street that ran along the warehouse. It was then he saw a figure lying the pavement, unmoving. Hutch broke into a run. He'd recognize that head of dark, curly hair anywhere.
"Starsk! Starsky!" he called as he reached him. Dropping to his knees beside him, Hutch gripped his shoulders, rolled him over. Starsky's face was dripping with blood. It oozed out of a large gash across his forehead, gushed out of his nose, and even leaked out of a cut on his lip. "Hey, buddy, wake up."
The man in his arms gave a groan, and pain-filled blue eyes fluttered open. "Hutch?"
"Yeah, it's me," he told him. "What happened to you?"
"Mark..." Starsky's eyes went wide and he struggled to sit up. "Hutch, they're goin' after Bunny. Gotta stop them..."
Hutch helped him to his feet. "Okay, but first we're gonna get you back to the apartment, and cleaned up."
"No, m'fine," he said, as he swayed on his feet.
"Yeah, sure you are, Gordo." Hutch put Starsky's arm around his shoulders, wrapped one of his own securely around his waist. "Come on, let's go."
With help from Hutch, the two slowly made their way back up to their apartment and into the bathroom. Hutch deposited Starsky on the toilet lid, dampened a washcloth.
"All right, buddy, let's get you cleaned up a little."
With amazing gentleness, Hutch began to wash the blood from Starsky's face. "So, tell me what happened."
"I was just out walkin' tryin' to clear my head," Starsky began. "I heard voices from inside the warehouse. Mark and his goon friend, Rocco. They were talking about George. They killed him. I heard it with my own ears. Then Mark said they had to take care of Bunny, 'cause he was askin' too many questions. I went to run back here and tell you, but I tripped over a garbage can."
"Klutz," Hutch said gently and with fondness.
"What about Bunny?" Starsky asked.
"He's still shopping, I don't think we'll have to worry about him for now."
"Ow."
Hutch bandaged the gash on his forehead, and the bleeding from his nose and lip had already stopped. "All right, buddy, you're all patched up."
"Thanks," the brunette muttered.
"Anytime."
Starsky stayed sitting on the toilet, and Hutch stood there, bloody washcloth still in his hand.
"Sorry I ran out like that."
Kneeling in front of him, Hutch looked him in the eye. "It's all right, Starsk. You had a lot on your mind."
"Yeah, but I didn't need to leave."
"Look at it this way, we got Mark cold-turkey now."
They both jumped to their feet when the apartment door crashed opened. Running out to the living room, they weren't too shocked to find Mark standing there with his buddy Rocco, grinning sinisterly at them.
"Go runnin' to your boyfriend, didja?" Mark sneered.
"No, I didn't say anything," Starsky lied.
"I don't believe you. I'll just have to get you two out of the way for a while, now, won't I?"
The two big guys came at them, and Starsky put up as much a fight as he could muster. His head was throbbing painfully, and it wasn't hard for Mark to get the upper hand and wrench his arms behind his back, and hold him.
They watched as Rocco connected with a hard right to Hutch's cheek, sending the blonde sprawling to the floor. Rocco reached down and dragged him to his feet, pinning his arms in the same way.
"Let's get them to the room, quick, before anyone sees us."
Starting for the door, the two detectives were dragged from the room as if they were rag dolls.
