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Rather than give each 100 word fic its own page, I decided to dedicate a page to such stories in each fandom. These stories were written for a variety of reasons. Some, just for fun. Others, for challenges. I like the discipline of trying to tell a story in 100 words. Mostly because I tend to use a heck of a lot more than that usually. |
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Hutch squinted up and tried to remember where he was. Who he was. And when he had first started hurting. Part of it was physical, sure. Aches and pain, and exhaustion so deep it was cellular. But the greatest hurt hadn't been one he could cure with aspirin or sleep. That wound had been invisible, yet had festered for months, often feeling more mortal than any made by bullets. How ironic that a man cut down by three actual slugs would be the one to save him. And all it had taken was Starsky, opening up his eyes and smiling.
Never tell the truth when a lie will get you in just as much trouble. And if this wasn't trouble, Starsky didn't know what was. "Where'd you stash Katie, pig? Tell me and maybe I won't hurt you anymore." Sure. No more hurting. Just killing instead. "Try Fresno, Bitterman," Starsky gasped. "Maybe we hid her with the raisins." Bitterman answered with his fists. Starsky groaned and bled and hung on. For now. Then the door crashed open. And a .357 targeted Bitterman. "Who're you?" Bitterman asked the man holding it. "My partner," Starsky said, so thankful those words were true.
"Don't let go." Hutch whispered. Starsky's face was inches from his. "I won't." He adjusted his grip. "Look at me, Hutch. Babe? Look at me." Hutch's lashes fluttered, affording Starsky only a glimpse. Hutch's eyes were turning inward now, away from him. And everything else. "Listen to me, Hutch. I'm stubborn, right? Wouldn't you say I'm stubborn?" Hutch frowned. "Guess so." "Damned straight. And I'm not letting go." "No?" "No. Not now. Not of you. You hear me?" Eyes closing, Hutch didn't reply. His fingers loosened, unfurled like petals. Leaving Starsky alone, and hanging on for the both of them.
Heart pounding, Starsky slipped into the alley. "Hutch?" His partner had disappeared down this same narrow passageway far too long ago. Starsky hadn't seen or heard from him since they'd separated. Gun drawn, Starsky sidestepped rainbow puddles and piles of garbage. He saw no one. The only sound was the city's distant murmur, as separate from this filthy corridor as Hutch was from him. Starsky's isolation reminded him of countless sci-fi paperbacks he'd read as a kid, of Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land and others. He had to find Hutch. No world would be stranger than one without him.
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