Meathead

Starsky is worried about Hutch.

Originally published in the 2023 SHareCon Zine.

Thanks to Babs and Daisy Morgan for their proofreading and editing.

As Starsky rounded the corner to Hutch’s apartment, his spidey senses kicked into overdrive. Hutch was not pacing the sidewalk waiting for him. In all the years they’d worked together, Hutch would start pacing if Starsky was not five minutes early picking him up for work. Starsky wanted to chuckle at that thought, but Hutch’s absence choked it back down.

Taking the steps two at a time, he had his arm up reaching for the key on the lintel before he reached the door. The panic ramped up a notch when he didn’t feel it, but then remembered Hutch had finally stopped keeping his key there. He cursed his own tight jeans as he struggled to extract his keys from the pocket, then cursed again when he dropped them. With shaking hands he finally unlocked the door and burst in.

Hutch was sprawled on the couch, somewhat dressed but not completely put together in his usual GQ fashion. His shirttail was untucked, his belt tossed in a nearby chair. The foot on the floor was covered by a boot, and presumably a sock, while the foot on the couch was bare.

An ongoing, longtime argument flashed through his mind. Ever since they’d watched that episode of “All in the Family” together, they’d been debating whether you should put on a sock and a sock or a sock and a shoe. It led to weeks of Starsky calling Hutch “Meathead.” It was just like Hutch to go against the norms of society.

A moan from the couch brought him back to the present, and now, not focused on the sock and the shoe, he noticed the heating pad across the top of Hutch’s head, along with the open bottle of aspirin and glass of orange juice on the coffee table. For Hutch to have actually taken some aspirin was the telltale sign as to how bad a migraine he had.

He knelt down next to the couch and gently placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “A bad one today, huh?”

“’s OK. Just give me a sec and I’ll be ready to go.”

Starsky couldn’t help himself. “Aw, Meathead, I don’t think you’re going anywhere. I’ll call you in sick.”

When Hutch didn’t even flinch at the “Meathead” moniker, Starsky knew it was worse than he thought. “How long ago did you take the aspirin?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how long ago or you don’t know if you actually took any.”

Still not having opened his eyes, Hutch mumbled, “Neither.”

“I thought the doctor gave you a prescription. You know when it’s this bad, aspirin ain’t gonna cut it.

“Didn’t get it filled.”

Starsky squeezed Hutch’s shoulder, took a deep breath, bit his tongue before he let out another “Meathead” and reached for the bottle on the coffee table. He shook out four aspirin, then helped Hutch sit up just enough to down them with the orange juice.

“Thanks, pal. You go on in to work. I’ll be fine in about an hour and I’ll meet you there.”

“Nope. You’re not going anywhere. You stay right here and I’ll be back at lunch to check on you.” When he got no resistance, he thought maybe Hutch had fallen asleep. He stood up, walked around the coffee table, then bent down and picked up the encased foot. As gently as he could, he removed the boot and the sock and laid it beside the other bare foot on the couch. There. At least your feet are back to normal instead of a sock and a shoe.

As he was laying the afghan across the still figure, Hutch mumbled, “It’s a sock and a shoe not a sock and a sock. Always has been. Always will be.”

Starsky chortled. “I didn’t even say anything! How’d you know what I was thinking?”

“Me and thee. And you called me Meathead.”

~~~

Walking down the hall, Dobey glanced through the glass window and saw Starsky sitting partnerless at his desk. He was about to barge in and read him the riot act demanding to know where Hutch was. But then he stopped. To anyone else it would have appeared that Starsky was simply sitting at his desk catching up on the never-ending pile of paperwork. But Dobey had been this man’s captain for far too long to not see the underlying worry in one half of his best detective team. The bouncing knee, drumming fingers and more wiggles than Rosie in a church pew gave it away. Something was wrong with Hutch.

With unbelievable stealth for a man his size, Dobey slid into Hutch’s chair across from Starsky.

“Detective Starsky. Getting caught up on some paperwork, I see?”

Startled, Starsky glanced up, then back down and replied, “Oh, mornin’ Cap’n. Yeah, just thought I’d try to catch up a little.”

“Good, good. Anything in particular on your schedule for today?”

“Um, no, just catching up and you know, redoing some of those daily reports from last week you didn’t seem to like.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like them, Sergeant, it’s just that some of your more elaborate details perhaps are better suited for a superhero comic book rather than your police report. When you retire and begin a new career, I’ll be happy to enjoy the ongoing adventures of you and your partner.”

Dobey had the drawer open and was quietly rummaging through it, somewhat haphazardly, but with purpose and thoroughness. “Speaking of your partner, where is he?”

“Oh, Hutch?”

Dobey could sense Starsky’s unease as he continued to rifle through Hutch’s desk. Without making eye contact, he answered, “Yes, he’s the one. Detective Hutchinson? You remember him? The blond one?”

“Yeah. He had a migraine this morning so I left him at home. Said he’d be here in a little while.”

“A migraine, huh? I thought he had an appointment weeks ago for those. What did the doctor say?”

“Well Cap’n, you know Hutch. He kinda didn’t go.”

Dobey stopped and looked up at Starsky. He just noticed a tic of panic in Starsky’s eyes over the illegal search of Hutch’s desk. It was all he could do to keep up his bravado. “Didn’t go, huh?”

“Cap’n? I hate to be nosy but is there something you’re looking for? And if you don’t mind me asking, do you make it a habit of going through our desks?”

Starsky didn’t get an answer; Dobey had already dropped his head and was back to shuffling things around in the drawer. After a few more seconds, he finally found what he’d been looking for and began waving a small white card in the air.

“Ah, here it is. Make him an appointment and make sure he goes, even if you have to handcuff him to get him there. I don’t want to see him back in here until he’s been seen.”

Dobey handed the card to Starsky, closed the drawer, heaved himself up out of the chair and headed around the desks to his office door. Just before he went through he turned around with a huge smile on his face to address Starsky one final time on the matter.

“Dave, you can always ask me anything, son. And of course I go through your desks. How do you think I stay one step ahead of you two?”

~~~

Starsky could still hear him laughing behind the closed door as he looked at the card Dobey had handed him. It was the name and number of the headache specialist Hutch was supposed to have seen. Now smiling himself, he dialed the number and was able to set up an appointment for that afternoon due to a cancellation.

As he hurried out of the building, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Meathead would be up and about with a sock and a shoe on.

Chapter End Notes: You can find the “Sock and a Shoe” clip from “All in the Family” here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=prRtcQz8Uqk

When Daisy Morgan proofed this for me, she informed me the original Archie and Meathead bit was all ad libbed. It made me like it that much more!