A Christmas Eve Tale

Starsky waits at home for Hutch to return from work. Older guys.

Written for the 2025 Advent Calendar.

Starsky gave a pat to his cat, Zebra, who was curled on his lap. The Christmas tree was decorated, the twinkling lights were turned on, and all was cozy and warm. Presents were wrapped and piled under the tree, where Starsky’s model train ran. Zebra purred loudly. Starsky sipped the eggnog, liberally mixed with rum and topped with nutmeg, that he held in his hand. It was Christmas Eve and life was good.

The only thing that was missing was Hutch, who was working late. But Starsky wasn’t worried. Since taking the lieutenant’s exam and receiving his promotion, Hutch was in a much less dangerous position, mostly supervising more junior officers. Since Starsky’s shooting by Gunther’s goons, and his return to work after his recovery, he had been working cold cases, which meant he rarely worked late, so he was home in the house he shared with Hutch, waiting for his lover to return.

He took another sip of rum-laced eggnog. Earlier that day there had been an office party, and he had stuffed himself with the tasty treats brought in by his coworkers. Now he was starting to get a little hungry again. Dinner was ready, meatloaf and mashed potatoes, keeping warm and waiting for Hutch. But where was Hutch?

Starsky shifted in his seat, and Zebra made a little mew of annoyance, then settled into a new position and started purring again. But Starsky was restless now, it was past the time Hutch should be home, even working late.

Tomorrow they were both off, and they had promised to spend time with Kiko and Molly at Mrs. Ramos’ home, then drop in on the Dobeys, and finally go to a Christmas party at The Pits with Huggy Bear. But tonight was their time alone together, and Hutch should be here by now!

Now Starsky was worried, not terribly worried, not yet, but starting to get anxious. He started thinking of all the things that could have happened, things that had happened in the past, to Hutch and to him. Shooting, poisoning, broken bones, stabbing, kidnapping, a bomb blast… the list seemed endless, and even the relative shelter of a lieutenant’s rank couldn’t protect him from everything.

Zebra jumped from Starsky’s lap and stood on the floor watching him. He mewed piteously. Starsky checked the time. Yes, it was late enough now that it was the cat’s dinner time.

Starsky pulled himself to his feet and walked to the kitchen, proceeded by the cat, and got a can of cat food from the pantry. He opened it and scooped the food into Zebra’s bowl, gave him fresh water, and watched while the cat started gobbling the food down hungrily. Hutch was always here by this time.

He returned to the living room, and drank some more of the eggnog. He considered pouring himself another glass with rum, but decided against it. If Hutch was in trouble somewhere, he might need to be alert and able to drive in case of emergencies.

Time ticked on. Why hadn’t Hutch called if there was a problem? The phone remained ominously silent.

Zebra finished his dinner and walked back into the living room and jumped into Starsky’s lap again. Starsky stroked him absent mindedly. What had happened to Hutch? Where was he? On Christmas Eve of all nights? He tried thinking of where he might call to try and find him, but he didn’t want to try searching him out just yet.

Finally there came the noise of someone opening the front door. Starsky hurried over and arrived just as Hutch stepped inside. He looked unusually worn, and there was a large bandage on his right hand.

“Hutch! Where have you been all this time? And what happened to you?” Starsky cried.

Hutch slowly took off his coat, not answering, and Starsky caught him up in a hug. “I was gettin’ worried!” he added.

“I’m sorry, I should have called, but I didn’t want to upset you and I didn’t realize how long it would take,” Hutch said wearily.

“How long what would take? Where were you?” Starsky demanded.

Hutch sighed. “I was at the ER getting my finger stitched up.”

“Stitches?” Starsky repeated. “What happened to your finger?”

Hutch mumbled something inaudible, sounding embarrassed.

“Come on Babe, tell me.”

Hutch took a deep breath and said, a little louder. “I shut my finger in the car door.” He blushed a little.

“You shut your finger in the car door? How did you manage that?” Starsky asked incredulously. “How bad is it hurt?”

“It’s not bad,” Hutch said dismissively. “Only a couple of stitches, and I’ll lose the nail. But the bone’s not even broken.”

“Well, why didn’t you call? It’s Christmas Eve, I was gettin’ worried.”

“I thought I’d be out a lot faster than I was. I didn’t realize it needed stitches, I thought they could just bandage it. By the time I realized how long it would take I was in the exam room without a phone. The ER was crowded too. I didn’t realize it would be so busy tonight.”

“How did you manage to shut it in the door anyway?” Starsky demanded.

Hutch blushed again. “It’s stupid. I came down to the car from the precinct and opened the door. Then I remembered that I’d left some papers in the squad room, so I shut the door, and… I don’t know exactly how it happened. I stumbled just as I shut the door, and my hand got caught. It hurt like hell, and it was bleeding pretty badly so I wrapped it in a handkerchief and drove myself to the ER.”

Starsky shook his head. “Only you, Blintz, only you.” He kissed Hutch firmly and then broke away. “But I’m glad it isn’t worse. How bad does it hurt?”

“It’s not too bad. They gave me something to take for the pain tonight.”

“That’s good. Now come on and have dinner, it’s gettin’ cold.” He led the way to the kitchen.

First he made Hutch a glass of eggnog, without rum because of the painkillers. Then he dished out helpings of meatloaf and mashed potatoes to them both. There was a green salad to satisfy Hutch’s health consciousness, too, though Starsky topped his with a load of creamy Italian salad dressing.

Hutch ate clumsily because of his bandaged finger, but was able to manage everything. He ate hungrily, as did Starsky. It was well past their usual dinner time by now.

When they were done, and the dishes rinsed and put in the dishwasher, Starsky said, “Now let’s get to the presents.”

“Oh no Starsky.” Hutch said firmly. He pointed his bandaged finger at Starsky. “We decided. This year we’re sticking to it. No presents until Christmas morning.”

“Aw Hutch! You’re injured! You need a pick-me-up. And I spent this whole time worrying about you.”

“I’m not injured that badly, Starsk. And I’m sorry you worried, but that’s no excuse. We have this argument every year and every year you end up winning. This year I mean it.” He shook the injured finger at Starsky. “Not until the morning! It’s too late now anyway!”

“Come on Babe! Just one? To set the mood?” He looked at Hutch with pleading eyes. “You owe me for making me worry.”

“Oh all right,” Hutch grudgingly agreed. “Just one each.”

So they sat down in the cheerfully decorated living room. Zebra jumped up on the couch between them and curled up.

“OK, what should I open?” Starsky asked Hutch happily, looking at the pile of gifts.

“That rectangular one in the silver wrapping.” Hutch directed. Starsky got up and collected it. Zebra mewed in protest, then settled again.

Starsky tore into the wrapping with gusto. To his joy the present was a camera lens, one that he didn’t have. “Hey this is cool! I’ll be able to take closeup pictures of stuff now that I couldn’t before,” he said in delight.

“The man at the camera store said it was excellent quality, and that every photographer should have one,” Hutch explained

“Well thanks, Babe! Now you open one. Take that big one there, in the red paper.”

Hutch picked it up. “Feels like a book,” he said. He curiously opened it. “The Joy of Gay Sex, Starsk? Do you think we need an instruction manual at this point?”

“There’s a lot more stuff in there then just different positions, Hutch,” Starsky said seriously. “There’s all sorts of information on gay living.” Then he grinned “And the different positions that we’ve never tried should be fun too!”

Hutch laughed. “OK, thank you. I’ll look forward to reading it.” He smiled. “And maybe trying out one of those new positions tonight… if we get right to bed.” He kissed Starsky, a deep, sexy kiss, and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, lets go. We have to be up early.”

“Hey, it’s past midnight,” Starsky said as he turned off the lights. “Merry Christmas, my big beautiful blond.”

Hutch hugged him tight. “Merry Christmas, Starsk. Merry Christmas.”