Alphabet Soup

Once the case is over, Starsky can’t help recalling how it felt when he thought Hutch had been shot dead. Post ‘The Psychic.’

First published 2023.

“I’m pickles. He’s onions.”

Starsky quickly swapped plates with Hutch and started eating his hamburger but, after only a few mouthfuls, he stopped and then pushed his plate away. Huggy peered at the dark haired half of the partnership and asked, “Something wrong with the burger?”

“Nah, it’s fine, Huggy. I’m just not very hungry.”

This statement resulted in raised eyebrows from both Huggy and Hutch.

“You all right?” Hutch asked, around a mouthful of fries, “or are you sickening for something?”

Starsky shrugged. “Like I said. Not very hungry.”

Hutch looked surprised still but didn’t push his partner. However he kept one eye on him as he carried on eating his own meal with huge enjoyment. He was very hungry after having to run all over town to answer telephone calls made by the kidnappers of Joanna Haymes.

Starsky chatted to Huggy while he waited for Hutch to finish, but without showing any of his usual enthusiasm. He felt unsettled. Not unwell like he was going down with something, just unsettled after the eventful day. Eventful – that was one word for it. Traumatic was another.

He had felt sick to his stomach – no, more like hollowed out – when he’d thought Hutch had been shot dead. The moment played over in his mind. The shotgun ringing out, Hutch being hit in the chest and the force of the shot spinning him backwards to crash through a plate glass door. Starsky felt bile rising in his throat and quickly took a swig of his drink to try and hide the fact from his partner. After a minute, he excused himself; telling Hutch he needed some air and would meet Hutch by the car.

As he leaned against the Torino, Starsky realised he still felt raw with the emotions that had been stirred up by the close call. Yes, Hutch had been wearing a vest, but what if they’d aimed for his head? As it was, his partner’s hands were covered with small cuts reminding Starsky of what had happened and, every time Hutch winced because of the bruise on his chest, Starsky winced too. A bullet proof vest could stop a bullet but it didn’t stop the impact it made as it slammed into you. Starsky swallowed hard again. He hated feeling this jumble of emotions but he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

The initial shock had been eased, as was their usual way, by physical touch. Hutch had seen his partner’s stricken face and had quickly reached out to pat his head as well as reminding him that he had been wearing a bulletproof vest. Starsky had grabbed the front of Hutch’s shirt and held on like he was never going to let go again. He’d needed the reassurance from his own hands that Hutch was in one piece. Then, after only a few brief minutes of respite, it had been back to work, desperately trying to find Joanna before it was too late. Fortunately, they had been successful. That was the one great consolation for all they’d been through.

“Hey, Partner? You okay?”

Hutch had come up behind Starsky so quietly, he hadn’t heard him arrive. He jumped, startled.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. It’s been a long day. Time to go home and kick back.”

Hutch nodded and stifled a yawn.

They drove across town and arrived outside Hutch’s apartment. Starsky turned off the engine. Wearily, Hutch climbed out of the vehicle and turned back to say goodnight to his partner, only to find Starsky was out of the car. Hutch raised an eyebrow.

“All right if I come in for a beer?”

“Sure.”

Hutch felt a sense of rightness as he led the way up to the apartment. It was right that Starsky wanted to come up and spend time together after they day they had had. Once inside, they both removed their jackets and took off their holsters. Hutch went to collect two beers, sipping from one on his way back to hand the other to Starsky.

“I need a shower. Make yourself at home.”

As Hutch disappeared into the bathroom, Starsky found his stomach was rumbling. He went to investigate whether his partner had any proper food in the fridge or cupboards. After quite a bit of rummaging, the only thing he came up with was a can of alphabet soup. He thought it might even be one that he’d bought a while ago when he’d been going to stay at Hutch’s and wanted to make sure there were things he could eat without too much bother. One of them had been ill. He couldn’t remember which one. He opened the can and poured the soup into a pan. He placed it on the hob and stirred it idly, allowing his thoughts to wander.

Bang! The sound reverberated around his head as the scene from earlier came unbidden to the front of his mind. He took a shuddering breath and tried to slow his now thumping heart. Gradually, his heart and mind calmed. He turned the soup off again, his appetite gone. Feeling off balance, he went to sit on the sofa and drank the rest of his beer, sip after melancholy sip. He heard the shower shut off and then Hutch whistling as he dried off and got dressed. It was a soothing sound.

When Hutch came into the living room, Starsky went to use the bathroom. Hutch made his way into the kitchen and spotted the lukewarm soup. He stared thoughtfully after his partner and then made a decision about what he needed to do. He set the soup back on the heat and then found some crackers, which he placed on a plate on the table. He stirred the soup until it was warm and then ladled a little onto a plate and the rest into a bowl.

By the time Starsky returned, the soup was sitting waiting for him on the table. Hutch waved a beer at his partner, saying, “You can have another of these but first you need to eat, Gordo. Can’t have you being grumpy!”

Starsky grimaced but went and sat down at the table and lifted his spoon. He played with the soup for a moment while Hutch watched him with concerned eyes. After a moment, Hutch walked across to the table and set a plate down in front of Starsky. It was covered with six alphabet pasta letters.

I M OKAY

Starsky raised eyes filled with tears to look at his partner. Hutch tutted and shook his head but then wrapped his arms around his partner and gave him an affirming hug.

“I’m okay. I’m still here. Not going anywhere.”

Starsky squeezed and then pulled back, wiping his eyes. Gruffly, he said, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, eat up before it gets cold again. I can’t have you wasting away on me.”

Starsky grinned. “All right, Blintz. Just to keep you happy, mind.”

As his partner ate, Hutch wondered out loud, “Where did that tin of soup come from anyway? I’ve never bought a can of that.”

“Musta been the soup gods,” Starsky offered, “taking pity on me ‘cause they know you never have any real food in the place.”

Hutch rolled his eyes but then smiled, happy to see his friend’s mood had been restored. It had been a tough day – one that had shaken them both – so it was always good to take the time to connect and make sure they were both okay; just to be sure that they were able to move past whatever had happened and be ready tomorrow to focus on another day on the job as partners.

They worked together in such close tandem that they somehow knew when something was off with either of them. They shared the pain and the laughter of each day and knew when one of them had been overwhelmed and needed time to heal and reconnect. It was just how it was and they were both grateful for their special bond.