Recipe for the Perfect Blintz

149

Hutch brings home sweet treats, and a life altering surprise, to help Starsky get over some devastating news.

 

Written for the SHareCon 2022 zine.

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Starsky didn’t look up from his cocoon on the couch when Hutch walked into his apartment.

“I know, Starsk,” Hutch said softly, his voice holding all colors of emotion. Concern pink tinged with empathy, love shaded blue with sadness. “You feel depressed. You think you’re broken and…unable to go back onto the force.” He heaved a deep breath as if reluctant to say anymore. “Maybe emasculated.”

Starsky cringed at the brutal charge, finally looking out from under his coverlet. He was perpetually cold and had been curled up on the couch for what seemed like years. Probably wasn’t. Probably only a few days, but the weight of it all had drained him dry, as if every ounce of life had leached away.

“I’ve heard you, even when you don’t say the words.” Hutch came all the way over to set a pink box on the coffee table. “I’ve felt that way, too.”

Gazing at him silently, Starsky was not even remotely curious about the bakery box.

“After I was trapped under that car, leg broken, hanging on by the skin of my teeth—”

Under any other circumstance, that might have brought a smile. Hutch only used that expression because Starsky had taught it to him. One of those sayings his ma frequently used.

“Thinking of you.”

Hutch sat on the stuffed chair next to the couch, lightly touching the top of Starsky’s head with the palm of his hand, his fingers sinking into the curls, becoming part of Starsky’s soul.

“Waiting for you to come. And you did. Then I was in the hospital, with my leg in traction and learning to walk again, but I did—”

“Doc said I can’t be a…” Starsky’s voice was rough from disuse, his throat raw from the silent screams that roiled inside. “Ever.”

Hutch swallowed, tight and controlled. Starsky could hear the sound, could picture his elegant neck, and see in his mind’s eye the way Hutch’s Adam’s apple would roll slowly in place.

“I’m done.” Just saying the words sent shards of pain through his brain.

“Yeah.”

Hutch didn’t dispute that, which kindled the tiniest flicker of anger inside Starsky’s chest. He was too dispirited, to give that anger free rein. Caring about life took work, and he had no strength left.

“I had this whole plan,” Hutch continued, “of how I was going to do this. To tell you my idea.”

Starsky’s attention was captured by the pastry box. It wobbled. What the heck was that? He’d have reached out, but his nest was too cozy and he didn’t actually give a damn.

“Was going to go to Sweet Sally’s, get you a surprise from your favorite bakery.” Hutch picked up the box, holding it in his lap. “When I saw Arietty.”

Sweet Sally’s daughter. Sally had been a hooker years ago. After getting, as she’d said, knocked up by a customer with a faulty French envelope, she’d quit the biz then and there. With a baby on the way, she’d done the only thing she knew how. Made cookies.

Terrific cookies. Starsky’s mouth watered. To support her, he and Hutch had bought her cookies. Starsky took to buying anything she’d baked, she was that good. Now, six years on, she had one of the most celebrated bakeries in Bay City, all staffed by former call girls.

“Arietty.” He adored the girl. Hadn’t seen her in ages. “Must be taller now.”

Hutch held his hand up, impossibly high for a—what—seven year old, nodding.

Starsky realized he was watching the pink box wiggle, wanting one of Sally’s cookies. Her boxes had never been quite so animated. Cookies generally sat where you placed them, sugary and tempting. “What–?” he started to say, but stopped, because he wasn’t interested.

Wasn’t hungry. Wasn’t anything anymore.

“Had planned to get you a blintz,” Hutch said, one hand on top of the box to keep it shut. It shifted to the left slightly as if trying to escape. “She’d made them fresh.”

Fresh blintzes were one of the best things on earth. Not that he had eaten a bite of food all day.

And wasn’t going to. What was the point?

“Arietty had a big box,” Hutch said. “Probably once contained bakery ingredients, or something.”

“Flour,” Starsky offered.

“Exactly.” Hutch grinned triumphantly, like something wonderful had happened.

Starsky eyed him suspiciously, suddenly hearing the oddest little noise. Definitely was not Hutch clearing his throat.

“I’d talked to Dobey, told him my intentions—”

“When did you talk to Dobey?” Starsky asked. That hadn’t been part of the news previously.

“Before I went to Sweet Sally’s.” Hutch lifted the lid slightly, putting one hand inside the tempting box. “Didn’t I say?”

Starsky shook his head, riveted to the display. Trouble was, he knew Hutch was drawing him out, dammit, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He wasn’t about to be enticed by some fucking blintz, no sirree.

“Arietty was sitting on one of those pink chairs in front of the shop, with this huge box,” Hutch said. “And called me over to show me that her cat Marzipan had babies. Cream Puff, Cookie, Macaroon, and Blintz.” He lifted up a kitten, long white fur with ears and tail of the palest peach. “That’s her name.”

Blintz squeaked, more the sound of a mouse than a proper cat, batting at Hutch’s big fingers waggling in front of her.

Starsky reared back, stunned. “Nothing to eat?” he asked, which sounded stupid even to his own ears.

“Got a whole assortment.” Hutch chuckled, scratching the cat’s ears. “In the car. But I wanted you to—” He leaned into Starsky, depositing the warm, wiggling ball of fluff onto Starsky’s lap, all the while kissing him.

Starsky soaked in the kiss, padding his bedraggled spirit with love to hold the depression at bay for a few moments.

“Have her with you, whenever I am not.” Hutch stroked Starsky’s cheek, and didn’t mention the tear that trailed behind his fingers. “I know this is hard. It’s not what we wanted.”

Blintz squirmed, giving off a high-pitched bleat. She head-butted Starsky in the chest, scrabbling under his coverlet to curl up against him. Her huge eyes were the exact shade of Hutch’s summer blue irises. “Can’t…can’t even claim I’ll be working such long hours that I can’t take care…” Starsky stopped, his throat clenched around the words. Tears filmed his eyes but he’d mostly managed not to cry.

Stupid.

“We,” Hutch corrected, grabbing his hand. “We won’t be working long hours. That’s what I told Dobey.”

He really was stupid because he couldn’t make heads or tails of what Hutch said. As if illustrating the point, Blintz’s tail whipped wildly as she pounced on their linked fingers, licking both hands with a tiny, scratchy tongue.

“I quit, Starsky.”

Starsky jerked his head up, staring at his partner. There wasn’t an ounce of trepidation, fear, or reluctance in Hutch’s face. As a matter of fact, he looked relaxed, confident, far from the worried guy who had hovered over Starsky’s hospital bed, trying to coax him to eat or play a board game. That Hutch had been anxious and morose, feeding into Starsky’s own apprehensions about his future recovery.

The news that he’d been sprung from the prison they called a hospital room had joyfully galvanized Starsky for a week, especially after the hilarious late night visit from a very drunk Hutch, Dobey, and Huggy.

He’d been jubilant when Hutch brought him home, even climbing the mountain of stairs to his hillside house with minimal help. Didn’t take long for reality to set in. That he couldn’t go back down again without someone at his side. That he needed a chauffeur to take him to appointments. That the Torino had incurred massive damage, and wasn’t salvageable. That he’d lost half a lung…that he had permanent nerve damage in his shoulder…on and on.

No going back. Not as a cop.

“You can’t quit!” Starsky protested.

His outburst startled Blintz. She dug needle sharp claws into his thigh, back arched, mini fangs bared in violent retaliation. Tiny enough to fit in the palm of Hutch’s hand, yet she fought.

“Ssh, ssh.” Hutch scooped her up, cuddling her close. “He didn’t mean to scare you, sweetness.”

Her purr was loud out of all proportion to her size. She could have powered a motor boat.

Starsky trembled on an inhale, his emotions out of control. One minute depressed, one moment angry, the next—what? Where did he go from here? “I thought you loved being a cop,” he whispered, his heart broken far more than his body. Having Hutch there was the only thing stitching him together. “I did.”

“I would have quit a year ago, maybe more,” Hutch admitted, releasing Blintz to the floor. She attacked Starsky’s abandoned blue and white sneakers, tugging the laces and bouncing in and out of the shoe. “You saw me throw my badge away, but—”

He looked away, staring out the window for such a long while Starsky felt weird panic in his chest welling up and threatening to capsize what equilibrium he had left. Hutch don’t leave me boomed in his head but he didn’t release the phrase to be heard out loud.

“I couldn’t leave you,” Hutch said with infinite love. He grabbed Starsky’s hand, all but tugging Starsky upright.

Taking a single step, the coverlet puddling on the carpet, Starsky folded onto Hutch’s lap. He wrapped both arms around his lover, afraid to let go, and finally felt warm.

“I stayed because of you,” Hutch said, his lips against the curve of Starsky’s jaw, his ear, his temple.

Barely audible, but he drowned out the noise in Starsky’s brain, soothing all the pain in his soul.

“I would have done anything for you.” Hutch hugged him tightly, as if afraid to let go.

“You saved me,” Starsky said. “From myself.”

“It’s mutual.” Hutch kissed him on the lips, and they stayed that way for a long, long time.

Blintz burbled, swatting her paw at Starsky’s dangling foot. She peeped, mountain climbing Hutch’s pants leg to burrow between them, demanding attention.

“You got any cat food in the car with the cookies?” Starsky asked, not sure whether to laugh, cry, groan, or let go. All and everything.

“There’s milk in the fridge,” Hutch offered, petting her fluffy head with the tip of his finger.

“You never had a cat before, did you?” Exasperation for Hutch’s ignorance was rapidly replacing all those other moods. They’d return, no doubt, but every day from here on in they would have less of a hold on him. Starsky took a deep breath, feeling the pull and twist of his healing scars. That was his reality, but also his to drown in or rise above.

His choice. With Hutch beside him.

“My mother didn’t allow pets in the house,” Hutch said. “Allergies.”

“You’re not sneezing now,” Starsky observed pointedly.

“Apparently she’s allergic to cats, I’m allergic to pollen, and pine—”

“Mums, daisies, and ragweed.” Starsky crawled slowly off his lap to stand erect. Felt good. Strong. Until he tried to go down those fucking stairs on his own.

Which is where Hutch came in handy.

“Kittens should not drink milk, goat or cow,” Starsky said with long expertise. His own mother had welcomed any cat or kitten in to their second floor apartment that could make it up the stairs. And many had. “Once weaned, kittens need meat.”

“Obligate meat eaters, right?” Hutch pointed his finger at the noisy feline.

“You do listen to me once in a while!” Starsky grinned. First time all day.

“On a stakeout, what else is there to do?” Hutch looked up at him in wonder, as if he was seeing a miracle taking place. “Should I go to the market, pick up cat food?”

“Bring in the cookies, first.” Starsky rescued Blintz from under the coffee table where she’d found an ancient corn chip. “There’s liverwurst in that gift basket the gang from Vice sent me when I was sprung. Blintz can chow down on that.”

Hutch nodded absently, getting up to dig through the shredded excelsior at the bottom of the large basket sitting in the kitchen. “It’s pate du foie gras, Starsk, not liverwurst. There’s cheese, crackers, and a jar of olives here, too. I could buy some French bread, make it a meal.” He held up a bottle of white wine and a small box of chocolate truffles. “When was the last time you had morphine?”

Starsky couldn’t remember. It wasn’t like his pain was muscle deep, or from his scars. It had spawned from his beleaguered spirit, delving deep into his brain. Morphine had never relieved that. “Haven’t had any today.”

“No food either, huh?” Hutch asked sadly. He dumped most of the pate into a small bowl for the cat and spread more onto a water cracker, delivering both to the couch. “Eat.”

Blintz needed no encouragement. She got into the bowl, scarfing up the meat with a speed no man could match.

Starsky bit the cracker Hutch held to his mouth, crunching. The savory smoothness and slight salty flavor melted onto his tongue and he wanted more. Immediately. “There’s a market three streets over, on Fairlane. They got great bread.” He licked his lips, gazing up at his love, his heart.

His Hutch.

“Come back quick.” He wouldn’t need the down comforter around him any longer. Not with Hutch there.

“Wild kittens couldn’t keep me away,” Hutch promised. “Until I’m back, Blintz is here.” He stole another kiss before pulling out his car keys. “You’ll never get rid of me.”

“You got that right,” Starsky vowed.

FIN