Apocalypse Now (Starsky & Hutch)
Title: Apocalypse Now
Author: tinx_r
Fandom: Starsky & Hutch
Genre/Rating: Gen/PG
Wordcount: 540
Pairing/Characters: Starsky & Hutch
Notes/Warnings: for nickygabriel
Summary: ...the end of the world as we know it?
Art by nickygabriel
The world's been dead a hundred days or more. Starsky's losing count. At the beginning, it had seemed to matter; seemed like knowing how many days, how many hours could somehow make it right.
Maybe somehow make it so there was a way back.
But that: that's a pipe dream. He knows it, and he knows Hutch knows it too. Whatever the blintz says, however much he fusses with that single dandelion he's been nursing like it's gonna take first prize at the county fair.
There's no way back. There's no way anyplace.
Starsky, Hutch, an out-of-gas, out-of-time converted bus, and a fucking dandelion. Not to mention the cockroach that lives somewhere in the dash, comes out time to time, feelers waving. Starsky's christened her Christine, and Hutch tries to flick her out the window every time he sees her.
Starsky doesn't know if they're gonna die here, him and Blondie; die along with the rest of the world, only somehow late for their own funeral. They've still got food, water, even a case of beer; in the grand scheme of things, they're doing okay.
Kinda slow delivery on the pizza, though.
Starsky knows the jokes drive Hutch crazy, but he isn't letting up. Because he knows if he does, it'll be something worse; the silence, the solitude, the goddamn knowing they're the only guys left in California, in the States, hell, maybe in the whole goddamn world.
What burns? Not even fucking knowing why.
But still, things could be worse. Starsky semaphores goodnight at Christine and hauls his partner away from the dandelion, shoos him up the ladder at the rear that leads to the silver-painted roof of the old hippie bus.
Hutch goes, complaining but willing. This is their new ritual; there's no stars, not anymore, but there's still a sunset. Blood-red and mustard against the dense, unforgiving clouds.
Up there, they sit together, arms around each others' shoulders. Watching, listening. Starsky'd pray if he thought there was anyone listening but he gave up believing a long time ago, and it's a hard habit to break.
"What're we gonna do, Starsk?" Hutch's voice is carefully neutral, denuded of fear. And hope. Nearly breaks Starsky's heart.
He looks at the horizon, at a flash of silver almost lost beneath the sinking sun. Where there's life there's hope. "Walk, Hutch. We'll start tomorrow. Head for the sea."
Beside him, Hutch breathes deep. "The sea? Why?"
Because, baby blue, it's the only thing I got left to give you. "Maybe the fish are still alive, Hutch."
"Yeah, maybe." Hutch sounds like he wants to believe. "L.A.'s that way, anyhow. If there's gas to be had, food... guess we'll find it there."
Starsky hugs Hutch close, approving. Relieved. Anything's better than Hutch giving up. "Always said you was the brains of this outfit."
Hutch smiles, quiet and pleased, and Starsky sighs. "I love ya, Hutch, I really do, but damn, I'm gonna miss Christine."
That gets a laugh, a real laugh. A laugh that makes Starsky know why they're alive, just the two of them. A laugh that gives him what he needs to carry on.
"C'mon, blintz, we better get some sleep. Gonna be a long day tomorrow."
Author: tinx_r
Fandom: Starsky & Hutch
Genre/Rating: Gen/PG
Wordcount: 540
Pairing/Characters: Starsky & Hutch
Notes/Warnings: for nickygabriel
Summary: ...the end of the world as we know it?
Art by nickygabriel
The world's been dead a hundred days or more. Starsky's losing count. At the beginning, it had seemed to matter; seemed like knowing how many days, how many hours could somehow make it right.
Maybe somehow make it so there was a way back.
But that: that's a pipe dream. He knows it, and he knows Hutch knows it too. Whatever the blintz says, however much he fusses with that single dandelion he's been nursing like it's gonna take first prize at the county fair.
There's no way back. There's no way anyplace.
Starsky, Hutch, an out-of-gas, out-of-time converted bus, and a fucking dandelion. Not to mention the cockroach that lives somewhere in the dash, comes out time to time, feelers waving. Starsky's christened her Christine, and Hutch tries to flick her out the window every time he sees her.
Starsky doesn't know if they're gonna die here, him and Blondie; die along with the rest of the world, only somehow late for their own funeral. They've still got food, water, even a case of beer; in the grand scheme of things, they're doing okay.
Kinda slow delivery on the pizza, though.
Starsky knows the jokes drive Hutch crazy, but he isn't letting up. Because he knows if he does, it'll be something worse; the silence, the solitude, the goddamn knowing they're the only guys left in California, in the States, hell, maybe in the whole goddamn world.
What burns? Not even fucking knowing why.
But still, things could be worse. Starsky semaphores goodnight at Christine and hauls his partner away from the dandelion, shoos him up the ladder at the rear that leads to the silver-painted roof of the old hippie bus.
Hutch goes, complaining but willing. This is their new ritual; there's no stars, not anymore, but there's still a sunset. Blood-red and mustard against the dense, unforgiving clouds.
Up there, they sit together, arms around each others' shoulders. Watching, listening. Starsky'd pray if he thought there was anyone listening but he gave up believing a long time ago, and it's a hard habit to break.
"What're we gonna do, Starsk?" Hutch's voice is carefully neutral, denuded of fear. And hope. Nearly breaks Starsky's heart.
He looks at the horizon, at a flash of silver almost lost beneath the sinking sun. Where there's life there's hope. "Walk, Hutch. We'll start tomorrow. Head for the sea."
Beside him, Hutch breathes deep. "The sea? Why?"
Because, baby blue, it's the only thing I got left to give you. "Maybe the fish are still alive, Hutch."
"Yeah, maybe." Hutch sounds like he wants to believe. "L.A.'s that way, anyhow. If there's gas to be had, food... guess we'll find it there."
Starsky hugs Hutch close, approving. Relieved. Anything's better than Hutch giving up. "Always said you was the brains of this outfit."
Hutch smiles, quiet and pleased, and Starsky sighs. "I love ya, Hutch, I really do, but damn, I'm gonna miss Christine."
That gets a laugh, a real laugh. A laugh that makes Starsky know why they're alive, just the two of them. A laugh that gives him what he needs to carry on.
"C'mon, blintz, we better get some sleep. Gonna be a long day tomorrow."