Fault Line

Their careers are winding down. Co-workers are retiring and Hutch thinks it’s time to consider their next steps, but Starsky refuses. He uses brutal force, catching the suspect in an extremely ugly case and objects when Hutch tries to stop him.

Warning: The case involves a quick overview of a murderous pedophile (not sexually graphic) and suicidal ideation.

In his darkest nightmares, it could never happen. But it did in real life, and his only explanation was that he’d gone insane. Why else would he ever pull a gun on Hutch?

They’d been detectives for years. Partners. Cops longer than that. And lovers since Gunther nearly killed them both. They were getting older. Doing their jobs was getting harder. Co-workers were beginning to retire. Hutch thought maybe it was time for them to go, too.

Starsky resisted. He loved being a cop. Always had. Didn’t know what he would do if he wasn’t. When Hutch pointed out he needed to start thinking about it, that he couldn’t be a cop forever, Starsky shut down and sulked.

* * * *

Annie Parker was seven years old and missing from a playground near her home, where she and her little brothers were playing, while their mother talked to other mothers about the upcoming school year. Everyone was searching for her and her sobbing mother pleaded on television for her safe return.

She was found, dumped like garbage in an alley across town from where she disappeared, half-dressed, raped and beaten to death. The public went crazy, afraid for its children, demanding answers no one had. Police worked overtime, investigating tips and hauling known pedophiles in for questioning.

Even the street gangs cooperated. Pedophiles were universally despised, but they hadn’t killed before in Bay City, and no one wanted another child raped and murdered.

Starsky took the call, while Hutch was paying for their food. Six year old Chad Owens was missing, but this time, there was a witness, who gave a description and a partial license plate. The car had been spotted in the alley of a derelict neighborhood ten blocks away and they were closest. He leaned on the horn and Hutch came running.

The suspect was there, stripping the unconscious child on the seat beside him. Starsky stopped the Torino at the end of the alley and took off for the car, yanking the door open and dragging the suspect out by his hair. “You goddamn pervert!” Starsky hit him and knocked him to the ground.

Hutch turned his attention to the child. The boy been struck on his forehead, and was bleeding from a deep cut. Hutch grabbed a towel he found on the back seat and covered the boy, then did what he could to staunch the blood. There was no response from the child.

Starsky reached for his handcuffs, enraged by what he saw, blind to the suspect’s grab for his gun. He actually got his hands on it, pulled it from its holster and got off a shot that grazed Hutch’s temple. Starsky punched him before he could fire again. His gun fell to the ground, but Starsky kept punching, seeing Hutch bleeding, Chad Owens’ naked body and the remains of Annie Parker in his mind, and he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. He grabbed the suspect by his hair and slammed his head repeatedly against the ground.

“Starsky! Enough! You’re killing him! STARSK!” Hutch wiped the blood out of his eyes and ran around the car toward his partner.

Starsky stopped long enough to grab his gun off the pavement and aim it at Hutch. “Get back, Hutch! See to the boy!” He panted wildly and his hand shook.

Hutch stopped in his tracks and raised both hands. “The boy’s alive. Except for the cut, he hasn’t been harmed. But I don’t think the suspect is breathing. You may have killed him, Starsk. Put the gun down and let me check.” He waited anxiously for a response.

It took time for sanity to return to Starsky, and it came back fast when he saw the fear in Hutch’s eyes. Not fear for him—he’d seen that in their years together—but fear of him. Something he’d never seen before. He lowered his gun and let Hutch approach. When Hutch reached for it, Starsky handed it to him and got off the suspect.

Hutch was right. The suspect was dead.

They collected the child and returned to the Torino, still idling at the mouth of the alley. Hutch carefully laid Chad on the passenger’s seat, then radioed for backup and an ambulance. Starsky leaned against his car and wiped blood off his hands against his jeans, lost in thought.

They didn’t speak.

* * * *

He was on paid leave, pending Internal Affair’s investigation, but to the public, Starsky was something of a hero, ridding the city of George Smith, aka Grant Seevers, aka Gene Sullivan, aka Gus Sims, before the murderous pedophile had the chance to establish himself. He was a slender, nondescript white man younger than Starsky, with pockmarked cheeks and dark, curly hair. Linked to a dozen child murders in four states, he’d disappeared and re-invented himself whenever investigators closed in. He didn’t seem to have a type except Caucasian youngsters ranging from five to seven years old.

Starsky didn’t care. Privately, he was unremorseful for killing the man, but the idea that he’d aimed his gun at Hutch absolutely horrified him. Hutch was right. It was time to go.

But there was a problem. They hadn’t spoken since it happened.

Hutch had written out his statement about the incident and turned it in to Dobey. He’d given concise answers to IA when they’d interrogated him. To wit: They’d taken the call and found the car with the suspect inside undressing his victim. Starsky pulled the suspect out and was arresting him when the guy got hold of Starsky’s gun and managed to fire it. The bullet grazed Hutch. Starsky fought the guy, while Hutch tended the child. The suspect died at the scene.

Hutch didn’t mention Starsky’s temporary insanity, or that Starsky’d aimed his gun at him. But he was extremely careful around Starsky now. He returned to the place they shared when he finished each shift, but took no chances. He changed the combination to the lockbox he used to secure his gun and went from being companion to ghost. He didn’t talk, didn’t touch, and he slept on the couch.

Starsky was frantic. There had to be love still, else Hutch would be gone, but he needed to negate the fear he saw when Hutch looked at him, and he didn’t know how. He thought about moving out, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

IA cleared him, and returned his badge and gun. The desk sergeant at the precinct put him back on the schedule. He would start again next week.

Elated, he went home and found Hutch sitting on their bed, cradling his own gun. “Hutch?”

“So, you’re armed again.” Hutch’s voice was as dead as the eyes that looked through Starsky. “Here to finish the job? Or shall I do it for you?” Hutch put the barrel of his gun in his mouth and closed his eyes.

Rampant fear choked Starsky, body and soul. “Hutch? Babe? Don’t do it. Put the gun down. Please…” He finally had a taste of what Hutch had been suffering.

Hutch took the gun out of his mouth, but didn’t look at him. “Yeah, it would be inconsiderate of me to do it here. You’d never get the security deposit back. Alleys don’t require cleanup. I’ll use one of those.” He stood and headed for the door.

Starsky didn’t try to stop him, relieved a decision had been made. “I love you, babe. You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you. My car or yours?”

Hutch paused, extreme fatigue in his voice. “Why did you point your gun at me, Starsk?”

He’d thought long and hard about that, and answered honestly. “I wanted to kill him, Hutch, and I didn’t want you to stop me.”

“Because he was killing kids?”

“No. Because he nearly killed you. I went crazy when he got hold of my gun. That never happened to me before.” Starsky reached out and touched Hutch for the first time in weeks. “You’re right. It’s time to retire.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll surrender my gun and wash cars or deliver papers. I’ll do anything to erase your fear of me. Hell, we can buy a little farm house and raise chickens for all I care. You like to cook. I like eggs.”

He heard a faint chuckle from Hutch. Starsky couldn’t remember the last time that happened, and he ventured, “Put our guns in your lockbox and lay down with me, Hutch. Let me just hold you. We both need that right now.” He held his breath, waiting for Hutch to decide. It didn’t take long.

“Where’s your gun?” Hutch went to the dresser, opened the lockbox and put his Magnum in it. Starsky got his gun and set it next to Hutch’s. Hutch locked the box, kicked off his shoes and laid down on the bed. Starsky joined him.

He did exactly what he told Hutch he would do. He gently gathered his lover in his arms and held him. No kisses, no foreplay, just a simple closeness more intimate than the sex they’d enjoyed.

Slowly…slowly, the tension drained from their bodies and they nestled against each other, reaffirming their love in whispers that brought them even closer.

They had a future to plan soon. But this was enough for now.