Eating Out

I don’t own the original characters, series, or film. I’m currently in arguments as to whether I own my muses, or they own me.

Written for the au100 challenge on LiveJournal. I don’t really think it counts as a death story… exactly.

“Wake up!”

Hutch stirred, drawn from unconsciousness by his partner’s voice. His body felt heavy as lead; for a brief moment, he remembered what it had been like to spring out of bed on full alert.

“C’mon, Hutch, get up!” Starsky cajoled.

“Wha’ time s’it?” Hutch slurred as he managed to open his eyes and sit up. He blinked as the answer registered on his senses, and shot Starsky a quick glare. “You know, I didn’t torture you like this back when I woke up first…”

Starsky ignored his grumble. “Hu-utch, I’m hungry! And you know I don’t like to eat alone.”

Hutch was already getting dressed. “Where do you want to go?” Starsky looked puzzled. “There’s nothing fit to eat in the house.”

Starsky leered at him. “Sure, Blondie? ‘Cause I’d say you’re looking very edible…”

The look Hutch gave him wasn’t friendly. “You had to wake me up for that?”

“Hey, I’m not into necrophilia!”

Hutch froze. “Narcophilia, Starsk. Necrophilia is with a dead body. It’s narcophilia if you’re asleep.”

“Right, narcophilia,” Starsky said, subdued. Hutch forced himself to continue dressing, shaking his head with fond exasperation as Starsky added, “I’m not into that, either. Only thing I’m interested in is a gorgeous blond guy, who lives with me, and sleeps with me, and –”

“Is feeling pretty hungry himself, now that you’ve woken me up,” Hutch interrupted. “Let’s go!”

Starsky pouted, then spun and ran for the door. “We’re taking the Torino!”

Hutch rolled his eyes, then raced after him.

“So where are we going?” Hutch repeated when they were on the road.

Starsky shrugged. “Huggy’s?” he suggested.

“Can’t,” Hutch said immediately, shaking his head. “Remember, we promised him after –”

“Oh, yeah,” Starsky agreed, slightly embarrassed by the memory. “Um… Tony’s?”

Hutch gave him a tolerant stare. “Is only open ten till four.”

“Huh.” Starsky pursed his lips thoughtfully, but before he could make another suggestion, the car radio crackled.

“All cars, repeat, all cars. Armed robbery in progress at 215 Fairfont Street.”

Hutch raised an eyebrow at Starsky when they didn’t turn in the right direction.

“Aw, c’mon, Hutch,” Starsky protested. “It’s probably a false alarm, and I’m starving!”

“And if it isn’t?” Hutch relented slightly as Starsky turned the car around with a violent motion that startled the other drivers on the road. “Look, we do a quick check, then we get breakfast. Okay?”

Starsky gave him a quick smile, and nodded. “Yeah. Hey, let’s go to that coffee place on Viewmont! They do great donuts –”

“You can’t have donuts any more,” Hutch reminded him.

“Don’t mean I can’t smell them,” Starsky pointed out with irrefutable logic.

“I’m amazed the smell doesn’t make you feel sick. It makes me feel sick; all that fat and overdone batter — and why do they always smell of batter when –”

Starsky turned on to Fairfont Street, and Hutch cut himself off mid-rant at the sight of three men in Halloween masks leaving a store. “False alarm, huh?” he asked smugly.

Starsky grinned lopsidedly. “Guess it proves the law of averages still works.” Feeling Hutch’s puzzled stare as they got out of the car, he explained, “You can’t be wrong all the time.”

Hutch snorted, then looked over at the three criminals, still unused to being ignored even though it had been happening ever since they left the police force. “Fast?”

Starsky nodded once, face grim as he watched the gang of crooks. Without another word, they exploded into action.

The criminals never saw what hit them. Two were down in two seconds, as the third ran down an alleyway.

After eight blocks with no sounds of pursuit behind him, he stopped for a brief rest, looking around suspiciously.

Starsky was right behind him, close enough to touch. He jumped, spinning around to start running again — and almost collided with Hutch.

“H-Hey, what do you guys want?” he asked, trying to sound tough.

Instead of answering, the two ex-cops grinned at him. The light from a nearby sign glinted on their fangs. “Aww, man… you’re those dead cops…”

Starsky leaned forwards slightly, his fangs lengthening. “Yum. Breakfast.”