|Gillian and the Fix
Author: ThePandoricaWillOpen PM
Hutch's new girl has a secret – a secret that puts him in danger. When he goes missing, it is up to Starsky to figure out whom, what and why. Cross-between 'Gillian' and 'The Fix' with some changes here and there. T for some cursing and themes.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Crime - Chapters: 6 - Words: 17,320 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 5 - Updated: 05-25-13 - Published: 10-16-12 - id: 8616329
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Description: Hutch's new girl has a secret – a secret that puts him in danger. When he goes missing, it is up to Starsky to figure out whom, what and why. Cross-between 'Gillian' and 'The Fix'.
Summary: Hutch thinks he is in love. Everything seems right with the world and this bachelor is ready to give up his ways for a beautiful woman. He was always the sitting down type anyway and now, with a beautiful and intelligent lady at his side, there was nothing that couldn't stop him. But that soon changes when her past comes back to haunt her – and Hutch.
She had grown up in a small town in the Midwest that barely had a population of five hundred. She had grown up with parents as strict and straightedge as anyone in her neighbourhood. By age seventeen, she had had enough. Once her college applications were sent in and she received a response, she picked the farthest school possible from her parents and left. They still sent her money now and then, thinking that, at age thirty, she was still at school. Little did they know what their daughter really did with her time …
It started as a way to earn money for college. She had been able to get an apartment near the school, affordable on the budget she had. But once her tuition and other fees were tallied up, she realised her money would not last very long. Bay City was expensive being so close to another large city like Los Angeles. One of her girlfriends had a cousin who knew some guy who could get her a job that earned good money. She wasn't picky, not then, about what type of job she wanted. She was barely out of high school; most employers took it as a risk to hire a teen. So she didn't say anything when they asked her for intimate details during the interview.
"Can you dance?" had been the interviewers, a pudgy woman of about fifty, first question. She was about to respond when the woman added, "erotically." She shook her head. The woman wrote something down on the pad of paper she had in front of her. "Let's start with something simple, shall we?" the woman asked. "Say your name."
"Gillian Elisabeth Monroe," she said.
"No!" the woman yelled in frustration. "Say it erotically."
And so began her career as a hooker and all the 'perks' that come along with being the property of some big shot who lived in a mansion on the fancy side of Bay City with his elderly mother.
"It's a job," she told herself as she walked out of the interview room, a paper with an address on it in her firm grip. "I can quit once I've save up enough money for school. I can quit… "
But quitting from the mother and son duo that ran the operation wasn't easy as she found out two years later. She was tired of living the life of a striper/masseuse/hooker and had already saved up more than enough money for at least six years. She wanted quits. But they hadn't taken her letter of resignation, not with everything she 'knew' about them.
"You can put us in the hole," the son said, threateningly. "You can't quit. No one quits."
She had packed up and moved out of her apartment the next day. Her bank accounts were emptied and she ran for the hills trying to get away from them. One of her favourite hangouts now that she was free was the library. She always watched over her shoulder, was always careful to use her new name.
It was there she met Kenneth Hutchinson and were things began to fall apart.
He met her at a library. Funny thing about libraries: they are always chuck-full of women. Not just any women, however, intelligent women. Hutch liked intellectuals. He'd gone to college, even (half of) medical school and had gotten used to intelligent women who could keep a conversation going for hours. But in Bay City, these kinds of women seemed to live outside of his reach. In the ten years he had lived in the city, he'd only met one woman with whom he had really clicked. And he found her in a library whilst returning a book on criminal psychology.
The woman – a tall, curvaceous yet slim lady - reminded him of a young Marilyn Monroe. She was standing right by the shelf he had picked up his book, right next to the book that was next on his list. She lowered her glasses down her nose as he passed by. He took that as a good sign as he passed by, muttering an excuse me as he did.
"No problem," she replied turning to him with a wide smile.
Hutch smiled back, raising his eyebrow as he turned back to the shelf. She had in her hands a copy of the book he'd returned. This is no coincidence, Hutch thought. This is destiny. He turned back to her once he found his book of the week, the cover reading outwards.
"Excuse me, I couldn't help but see that you have in your hands …"
And the rest was history.
"When do I get to meet this new gal of yours, Hutch?"
"Soon," Hutch replied running his hand through his blonde hair. He was sweaty from the chase as they ran after the chum that Starsky now pushed into the hands of a UNI. One would think Starsky would be the one sweating bullets, what with all the burritos and toxic foods he ate on a regular basis. And yet he was sweat-less and Hutch was sticky and smelly from the sweat his body insisted on releasing. He was the one that jogged a mile every morning, not Starsky.
"When is 'soon'?"
"When I feel like it, partner."
"You talk about her all the time, man! I feel left out not having even seen this girl."
"She's not a girl, Starsk," Hutch corrected. "She happens to be a very intelligent woman."
"Whatever you say," Starsky mumbled under his breath. "When am I gonna get to meet this 'intelligent' broad of yours, then?"
"Soon," Hutch said pushing through the double doors of the temporary homicide squad room and going straight for the telephone on his desk. Starsky followed, looking over his shoulder as he dialled. Hutch turned to his partner, covering the mouthpiece. "Would you mind?"
"Oh, sure!" Starsky exclaimed walking away. He plopped himself in his seat, not as comfortable as his old one, and waited until Hutch turned back to the phone and then said over his shoulder, "You're supposed to dial 9 for an outside line."
Gillian was lying on the couch, her feet nervously moving from left to right with every second that passed. Hutch was late and Hutch was never late. He always called, always, at this time to check in with her. It was more for her safety and his peace of mind but she had gotten used to the calls. He'd helped her get away from her past and he wasn't about to let her go back into it.
"It's like an addiction," he told her, "little by little, you detox and forget you even had a problem."
She hoped he was right with all her might. Every phone call from him, every touch and look gave her strength to quit and to continue to fight to be her own person, not controlled by a mother and son who owed people like objects. She wasn't an object, Hutch reminded her, she was a human being with rights.
The phone rang and immediately she pulled herself up, answering with an urgency that scared the man on the other side of the phone. Disappointed, she mumbled into the phone, "wrong number," and hung up. Gillian laid back down on the couch and waited.