If Hutch Was A Dog

Starsky’s back to work but Hutch can’t stop worrying.

Author’s Note: Bored to tears today at work. Thought I’d write a story (I sound like Rosie O’Donnell).

The sequel to this story is It’s Like Water.

“God, I’m so tired,” Starsky said, rubbing his face with both hands in an attempt to stay awake.

Hutch was glad for the admission. Starsky had been back working full time now for just two weeks, and he’d made every effort to keep up the appearance that his body and mind were ready for the long haul.

In reality, Hutch and Starsky both knew that there were limits to what the battered body could endure. Unfortunately, police work wasn’t a nine-to-five job. It wasn’t even a seven-to-seven job this week, as the pair had been forced into overtime to catch a well-known drug dealer who recently chose to move in to their beat.

Recognizing that acting quickly would be their best bet to keep Manolo Marquez from grabbing a foothold in the area, Starsky and Captain Dobey had agreed that putting the extra time in at night would be required.

Hutch was far more reluctant on this count.

Sure, getting a leg up on the bad guy was important; he just would have preferred that another team take the lead on this investigation. Starsky was back and raring to go, healthy and fit and approved for active duty. But Hutch knew, and undoubtedly Starsky and Dobey knew as well, that working these hours would put a strain on Starsky that they hadn’t counted on this early in his return to duty. Starsky’s ability to keep up this pace had not been tested. There would have been no way to put him to that test, really, and passing the review board at that level would never have been expected of any cop.

But Hutch still worried about it as he watched Starsky with concern, happy that his partner wasn’t hiding his exhaustion, but worried about the strain all these hours were putting on his best friend. The memory of Starsky’s broken body haunted Hutch; a relapse seemed inevitable if they kept up this pace.

“Starsk, why don’t you close your eyes for a bit? What did they call it in that seminar?”

“I think… I missed that seminar, babe.” Starsky’s answer was interrupted by a long yawn. He looked at Hutch, encouraging him to remember.

“Sure you do. Remember, it was hot as hell. The A/C was on the fritz. Simmons kicked it in the afternoon and it went out altogether.”

“It wasn’t hot as hell where I was.” He paused briefly, and then said, “Seemed like hell.”

Hutch’s face changed in a flash: the broad smile disappeared, replaced with a look that surely mirrored the feeling now left in his stomach.

“Shit, Starsk, I’m sorry,” he said, laying his hand affectionately on his partner’s shoulder. He squeezed encouragingly and said, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

“Hey, I’m glad ya did. Not something either of us wants to remember much of, I guess. It’s okay.” Starsky looked squarely into his partner’s eyes. He could see the pain behind them, maybe even the hint of tears barely being held at bay. He needed to act fast.

“Come on. What’d they call it? You gonna keep me in suspense the rest of the shift?”

“Call what?” Hutch asked, still tormented about his lapse in memory, and the painful reminder he just forced on his partner.

Starsky rolled his eyes. “Hutch, will ya cut it out. It’s not a big deal. Jeez, you act like my Uncle Al’s Golden Retriever, Martin.”

“Your Uncle Al had a Golden named Martin?”

“Yeah. He loved Dean Martin, so he named the dog after Dino.”

Hutch still looked perplexed, so Starsky continued his explanation. “He coulda named him Dino, I guess, but said that’d always remind him of ‘The Flintstones’. Said he’d start callin’ Aunt Rosie ‘Wilma’ with that reminder around all the time.”

Worries of his earlier faux pas now completely forgotten, Hutch shook his head, wondering what exactly this conversation was now about. This was a feeling he’d had any number of times before during conversations with Starsky.

It was disconcerting every time it happened.

“Hutch?” Starsky asked, tipping his head in order to look into his partner’s baby blues.

“Hm?” Hutch replied, still in recovery mode.

“Seminar? What they called ‘it,’ whatever ‘it’ is that you were talking about? Boy, you’re pretty distracted tonight, partner.”

No thanks to you, partner, Hutch thought.

“Um, a nap. What they called a quick nap.” Hutch didn’t continue, still thinking about how Starsky was able to trip him up with these stories of his. It was an art. It’s a shame they couldn’t harness that and use it in some positive fashion, maybe for world peace.

“Hutch!”

Hutch jumped. “What?”

“What did they call the nap? At the seminar?” Starsky was going to finish with, ‘that I wasn’t at,’ but decided Hutch didn’t need that reminder to put him back in guilt mode.

“Power nap. Sorry.”

“Well worth the wait.” Starsky’s reply dripped with sarcasm. “Sounds like you need one as much as I do.”

“Yeah, well one of us has to stay awake. We’ve only got three hours to go. Come on, hop in the back and try to go to sleep.”

“Won’t need no trying, Hutch. If I close my eyes, I’ll be out.”

“Good.”

“You’re sure?” Starsky seemed uncomfortable with the idea. Hutch had been living with this aspect of his partner’s return for two weeks now. Whereas before, before the shooting, that is, Starsky would be more than happy to cat nap while Hutch drove, or would be the first of them to dive in the back seat for a snooze during surveillance work, now Starsky seemed to think he had something to prove. Now, he spent every minute of their patrols awake and alert, every second of surveillance wide-awake. Hutch tried to approach Starsky about this tendency earlier in the week, with a definitive denial of said tendencies from his partner.

Hutch decided he would allow Starsky that denial, for now. But there was no way that Hutch would allow that denial and the behavior associated with it to jeopardize Starsky’s health or his staying in shape and remaining on the force.

“I insist,” he replied, the sweet, caring smile encouraging Starsky to head into the back seat.

“Jeez, Hutch. When’d you clean this bucket out last?” Starsky complained as he tossed assorted junk from the seat and tried to make himself comfortable.

“Go to sleep,” Hutch admonished in his best mothering tone.

“You’re not my mother, you know,” Starsky continued.

“Shut up, and go to sleep,” Hutch demanded.

Hutch heard the moaning and groaning continue. The quiet mumbling he was unable to decipher, and it didn’t last long as it was replaced with soft snoring.

Hutch was feeling a little giddy with his success in getting Starsky to sleep when suddenly he remembered that his partner hadn’t finished his story about Uncle Al’s dog Martin. How exactly was Hutch like a Golden Retriever?

Hutch knew that the easy snoring in the back seat meant he’d have to wait for that answer.

After thinking about it for a while, he wasn’t too sure he really wanted to know.

The End.