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I watched CSI last night - big shoot-out, one dead cop - and it brought (back) to mind something I think ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kimberlyfdr was talking about recently - what if Starsky had died after he'd been shot? What would Hutch had done? Occasionally, a scene about just that wanders through my brain and then I ignore it and it goes away. Only last night, it refused to go away, so I wrote it. It's just a vignette, an AU, and it's Not Nice At All. WARNING: DEATHFIC.
He shouldn't have heard, from where he was waiting, the steady keening of the flat-lined heart monitor but he did. He ran to the room where Starsky lay, stopping short inside the door just in time to hear a voice call, "Clear!" and see Starsky's body convulse, arching off the bed. The keening continued as a doctor nodded towards the technician, who gelled the pads again, rubbing them together then holding them at the ready. "Clear!" and Starksy's body arched again under the electric current. After a moment, the doctor's shoulders sagged as he looked at the clock. The room became suddenly silent as the technician switched off the monitor. "Time of death," the doctor said wearily, "3:27 p.m."
"No!" Hutch screamed but his breath caught in his throat and no sound came out. "No!" he screamed again and everyone in the room turned to face him. "No! No, do it again you have to do it again do it again -" and he was launching himself at the technician, ready to grab the paddles and bring Starsky back to life himself. The doctor stepped forward, grabbing him by the shoulders.
"Detective Hutchinson. Detective Hutchinson!" The man's voice grew sharp and he shook Hutch a bit. Hutch grew still and stared at the doctor. "I'm sorry," the doctor said and he sounded sincere." "I'm so sorry - the damage your partner suffered was so great - there's nothing else we can do. I'm sorry; he's gone."
*No he's not,* thought Hutch, *he's there, right there, and if I reach just a little I can touch him.* He pulled himself away from the doctor, staggered a little. A nurse reached for him and tried to guide him to a chair while the doctor said, "Perhaps a tranquilizer -"
"No." He didn't yell or scream this time. Very calmly he said it again. "No." He stood straight now, rubbing his hand over his face then looking at his wet hand in surprise - when had he cried? He didn't shake or tremble and inside, where his rage had been seething just a short while ago, he felt calm, still. He was cold. Silently and calmly, Hutch turned and left the room.
Half an hour later, still silent, still feeling that calm that he was sure he shouldn't be feeling at such a time, Hutch strode through Gunther's offices, ignoring receptionists and secretaries who tried to stop him. He straight-armed the conference room door, vaguely noting the loud reverberations as it crashed open and hit the wall.
Gunther, who had been speaking, looked up in shock. He started to sneer contemptuously then saw Hutch's face and became afraid. Before any of the men in the room had a chance to stand or even dial a phone, Hutch, without a word, drew his gun and shot Gunther through the heart, emptying the weapon.
Pandemonium struck. Men yelled, calling for an ambulance, calling for police. Hutch put his gun back in the holster and sank into the nearest chair. One man moved toward him, then stopped - it was very apparent Hutch had no intention of trying to get away. He was still sitting there when the police entered the room and cuffed him. And somewhere inside, he died.
Ok, ok, please don't hit me! Maybe now it will leave me alone.
As penance I offer First Dance. WARNING: SLASHY; SCHMOOP; MUSH MUSH UNABASHED MUSH.
(Cross-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
starsky_hutch.)
kimberlyfdr was talking about recently - what if Starsky had died after he'd been shot? What would Hutch had done? Occasionally, a scene about just that wanders through my brain and then I ignore it and it goes away. Only last night, it refused to go away, so I wrote it. It's just a vignette, an AU, and it's Not Nice At All. WARNING: DEATHFIC.He shouldn't have heard, from where he was waiting, the steady keening of the flat-lined heart monitor but he did. He ran to the room where Starsky lay, stopping short inside the door just in time to hear a voice call, "Clear!" and see Starsky's body convulse, arching off the bed. The keening continued as a doctor nodded towards the technician, who gelled the pads again, rubbing them together then holding them at the ready. "Clear!" and Starksy's body arched again under the electric current. After a moment, the doctor's shoulders sagged as he looked at the clock. The room became suddenly silent as the technician switched off the monitor. "Time of death," the doctor said wearily, "3:27 p.m."
"No!" Hutch screamed but his breath caught in his throat and no sound came out. "No!" he screamed again and everyone in the room turned to face him. "No! No, do it again you have to do it again do it again -" and he was launching himself at the technician, ready to grab the paddles and bring Starsky back to life himself. The doctor stepped forward, grabbing him by the shoulders.
"Detective Hutchinson. Detective Hutchinson!" The man's voice grew sharp and he shook Hutch a bit. Hutch grew still and stared at the doctor. "I'm sorry," the doctor said and he sounded sincere." "I'm so sorry - the damage your partner suffered was so great - there's nothing else we can do. I'm sorry; he's gone."
*No he's not,* thought Hutch, *he's there, right there, and if I reach just a little I can touch him.* He pulled himself away from the doctor, staggered a little. A nurse reached for him and tried to guide him to a chair while the doctor said, "Perhaps a tranquilizer -"
"No." He didn't yell or scream this time. Very calmly he said it again. "No." He stood straight now, rubbing his hand over his face then looking at his wet hand in surprise - when had he cried? He didn't shake or tremble and inside, where his rage had been seething just a short while ago, he felt calm, still. He was cold. Silently and calmly, Hutch turned and left the room.
Half an hour later, still silent, still feeling that calm that he was sure he shouldn't be feeling at such a time, Hutch strode through Gunther's offices, ignoring receptionists and secretaries who tried to stop him. He straight-armed the conference room door, vaguely noting the loud reverberations as it crashed open and hit the wall.
Gunther, who had been speaking, looked up in shock. He started to sneer contemptuously then saw Hutch's face and became afraid. Before any of the men in the room had a chance to stand or even dial a phone, Hutch, without a word, drew his gun and shot Gunther through the heart, emptying the weapon.
Pandemonium struck. Men yelled, calling for an ambulance, calling for police. Hutch put his gun back in the holster and sank into the nearest chair. One man moved toward him, then stopped - it was very apparent Hutch had no intention of trying to get away. He was still sitting there when the police entered the room and cuffed him. And somewhere inside, he died.
Ok, ok, please don't hit me! Maybe now it will leave me alone.
As penance I offer First Dance. WARNING: SLASHY; SCHMOOP; MUSH MUSH UNABASHED MUSH.
(Cross-posted to
starsky_hutch.)Tags: