Rubber Ducks and Pigeons

Starsky spends some time pondering after a conversation in the squad room takes a life of its own.

Originally published in the 2025 Starsky & Hutch Advent Calendar.

Author’s Notes at the end.

It had started as a throwaway comment from Simmons. But then Babcock took it and ran. Before long, everyone in the squad room was in agreement and wondering how they’d not ever seen it before. Minnie was laughing so hard she had to leave for the ladies room to fix her make-up. Eventually, Dobey came out of his office and made everyone get back to work, but not before adding his two cents on the matter, because of course, he’d heard everything from behind his door.

But now, in the quiet of the empty room, Starsky had time to think about it. He didn’t normally like to think too much about him and Hutch; it always led to more thoughts he wasn’t ready to deal with. But today he let his mind wander.

For starters, he was glad Hutch was in court, which was the whole reason Starsky was alone in the squad room to begin with, and that’s how Hutch missed all the absurdity. He was sure Hutch would’ve had more familiarity with the subject. And he was certain it would have royally pissed him off, although he wasn’t sure why he knew this.

But now? He had no good answers. He decided he needed to do what he did best.

Detect.

Starting next week. When their shift changed. He’d be home in the mornings and would have plenty of time to research and figure out if the claims had any validity, which he was sure he would find they did not.

He hoped.

~~~

The timing of their night shift worked better than Starsky could have expected. Since they didn’t have to log in until 4:00 p.m., Hutch wasn’t picking him up until 3:30. Work had been pretty slow and he’d been back home each night by 2:00 a.m. That still gave him a good seven hours of sleep before he had to get up to start his research. And since most of his research involved watching TV, it wasn’t very strenuous. To his surprise, the program in question came on twice during the day, which made the surveillance go that much faster.

Mid-week, when he decided he needed to expand his search, he regretted not being more insistent with Hutch that they use one of the fleet Crown Vics while the Torino was at Merl’s getting a much-needed tune-up, new tires, and bodywork repairs. At least he would have had a car rather than being dependent on his partner’s wreck-of-the-month. But he couldn’t very well ask Hutch to drive him where he needed to go, so he rode the bus. He couldn’t remember the last time he rode the bus, and for good reason. But it was worth it. The LPs he picked up added a whole new dimension to his information gathering.

It had been a little tricky putting Hutch off. Usually, when they worked nights, they’d spend a couple of mornings a week playing tennis or basketball, then having lunch, or even catching an early movie before logging in. He could tell Hutch was starting to wonder what was going on, but, like always, Hutch let it slide. It was a slow dawning that Starsky realized he would have done the same for Hutch; they always seemed to know when the other just needed some space.

~~~

By the end of the week, Hutch had had enough. Starsky had been morose, grumpy, and irritable. He’d been non-committal for any plans outside of work and Hutch had decided he’d given Starsky enough time to mull it over on his own. It was time to pry.

In anticipation of a lunch of Starsky’s choosing, Hutch had already been for his morning run, eaten a healthy breakfast, and swallowed about half a bottle of antacids before arriving at Starsky’s unannounced at noon. Sensing he would be unwelcome, he parked down the street. Just like when they were trying to get the drop on a perp, Hutch decided a surprise entrance was called for.

He knew Starsky was home; he could hear the TV through the door. Hutch knocked his customary shave and a haircut sans the two bits on the door, and without waiting for an answer, turned the knob to walk in. When the door didn’t open and his face smashed into the wood he was more than a little surprised.

“Starsky, are you in there? Open up, will ya?” he said through the door as he rubbed his nose. When he heard a loud thud from inside the apartment, followed by heavy, running footsteps he became alarmed. He dug into his pocket for his keys as he addressed the door again. “Starsk? You okay in there?”

He just had his key to the lock when the little peep door opened and he could see half of Starsky’s face.

“Whadda ya doin’ here, Hutch?”

“I thought we’d go to lunch before work. You know, that new burrito place you’ve been talking about for weeks?”

Starsky made no move to open the door. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

Hutch leaned on the closed door and got closer to the peep hole. He tried to hide his frustration and put as much concern into his voice as he could muster. “Starsk, what’s going on buddy? Why don’t you let me in and tell me what’s been bothering you? It’s not like you to keep something from me.”

Starsky glanced nervously over his shoulder. In his rush to get to the door before Hutch opened it, he hadn’t turned off the TV. His weeklong stakeout was going to be made if he didn’t act fast. He turned back to the opening in the door and Hutch had a huge, goofy grin on his face and had started laughing.

“Is that Sesame Street I hear?” he asked, giggling.

“No!”

Hutch was now trying to see through the small opening. “Starsk, I watch a lot of PBS. I know Sesame Street when I hear it! What are you doing watching Sesame Street? You getting that serious with what’s her name that you’re thinking of settling down? Doing a little research for when the kiddos start popping out?” Hutch’s giggling had progressed to guffawing.

Starsky again looked over his shoulder, back at the TV, hoping against all hope the show would end in the next three seconds. “I’m thinking of settling down, but not with what’s her name,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing, okay!” In an effort to put an end to the conversation, Starsky slammed the small door. But being tiny it had little effect and didn’t dissuade Hutch at all.

Hutch lost his patience and slammed his flattened hand onto the closed door. “STARSKY! Lemme in or I swear I’ll kick the door down!”

“FINE!” Starsky knew the game was up. He unlocked the door, opened it just a crack, walked back to the couch, and fell onto it in a heap.

Hutch slowly crossed the threshold and surveyed the apartment, looking for clues like he would at a crime scene. He spied the Sesame Street LPs immediately. He picked them up on his way to the peacock chair and carefully examined them as he sat down.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve been off all week.” Hutch looked at Starsky, and when he didn’t get a response he asked more gently, “Don’t you think it’s time you tell me what’s been goin’ on?”

Annoyed at being caught, Starsky knew he had to come clean. He turned around on the couch so he could face Hutch. “Last week, while you were in court, Simmy said something.”

“What’d he say?”

“He’d been watching Sesame Street with his kids when it finally hit him.”

“What hit him? His kids hit him?”

“No! Not his kids.”

“Then who hit him?”

“For fuck’s sake, Hutch, pay attention and stay with me! This is important. No one hit Simmy. It dawned on him?”

Hutch stared at Starsky for a long minute, unsure how to proceed. “Are you sure you weren’t hit? In the head, maybe? You’re not making any sense. But okay, what dawned on Simmy?”

“That we are Ernie and Bert,” Starsky blurted out.

“Who we?”

“We, you and me. We are Ernie and Bert. And then it just snowballed from there. Babs jumped right in and said we’d always reminded him of some TV duo but he could never put his finger on it. And that Simmy was right. We are Ernie and Bert. Then everyone else started chiming in. Even Dobey said it. Said Rosie was always saying ‘Ernie and Bert are so funny just like Uncle Dave and Uncle Ken, Daddy.’” Starsky mimicked Rosie’s sing-songy voice.

Hutch continued to stare at Starsky.

“Hutch. Say something.”

“Starsk, I’m not sure what to say. Other than I never thought Rosie would turn on us like that.”

It was the relief they both needed and the tension between them melted. Hutch, as always, was quick to put things together.

“So, after they said all that, you decided to find out for yourself if it was true or not?”

“Yep. Something like that.”

“And what did you conclude?”

Starsky hesitated and fidgeted with the fringe of the blanket on the couch. He finally looked up at Hutch. “We are Ernie and Bert.”

Hutch wiped his hand down his face, then picked up the LPs he’d put on his lap. He studied them for several long minutes. He suddenly stood up and in two strides was in front of the TV. He snapped it off, ending Kermit’s action news report, and turned to face Starsky, a look of resignation on his face.

“Okay, who do I get to be?” he asked.

“You don’t get to be; you are Bert.”

“I am not Bert!”

“You most certainly are! I mean you both like pigeons.”

“I do not like pigeons!”

“Pigeons, plants, same thing.”

“They’re not even close to being the same thing.”

“They start with the same letter.”

“Very good, Starsk. I guess today’s episode was brought to you by the letter P.”

Starsky ignored the comment and went on with the facts he had gathered throughout the week. “Then there’s your paper clip collection, just like Bert’s.”

“Starsky, a small tin holding a few paper clips in my desk drawer at work can hardly be construed as a collection.”

“See, right there. Ernie would never use a word like ‘construed.’”

Hutch rolled his eyes, and made his way back to the peacock chair. He sat back down and didn’t say anything for several long minutes. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Wait. Aren’t Ernie and Bert roommates?”

Without realizing it, Hutch had given Starsky the very opening he needed. Starsky could feel the tide turning.

“Yeah. But are they roommates, or are they roommates?” Starsky asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Hutch had picked up the LPs again. “I think they are just roommates. I can’t imagine that PBS would let them get away with being roommates.”

Hutch finally looked up at Starsky who was still wiggling his eyebrows. “Is there more?”

“Well, Hutch, I’ve had all week to watch, and listen, and think, and figure it out. Ernie and Bert are really great friends. Kinda like you and me. And they are both really different. Kinda like you and me. And they are both interested in a lotta different things. Kinda like you and me.”

“Starsky, are you asking me to live with you? Again?”

“NO!

Hutch stared at Starsky.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

Hutch stared some more.

“Yeah. Ernie and Bert make it work.”

Hutch stopped staring and smiled as he finally asked, “As your roommate? Or as your roommate?

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I asked you first.”

Starsky sighed. “I’ve just had all week to think about this. And thought it might be fun to. . . .”

Hutch interrupted him before he could finish. “I’ll be straight with you, Starsk.”

Starsky looked stricken.

Hutch held up his hands, palms up. “Okay, bad choice of words. I’ll level with you. There’s no way I could just be your roommate. It’s gotta be roommate or nothin’.”

Starsky was shocked it had been that easy. “Really?”

“Yeah, really, ya big orange muppet.”

“That’s t’riffic! But no calling me Ernie in the squad room. People will start to talk.”

“Starsky, they already talk.”

~~~

Six months later. . . .

Something woke Starsky in the middle of the night. It was the absence of a warm body next to him. He got up and grabbed his robe, then went looking for Hutch.

He found him sitting at the small table they used as a desk, with only the lamp illuminating his workspace. He ran his fingers through the fine hair at the base of Hutch’s neck, then spoke softly.

“Whatcha doin’ that couldn’t wait ‘til morning?”

Hutch leaned his head back into the hand and looked up at Starsky. “Something we should have done a long time ago.”

Starsky moved and hiked his hip onto the table so he was facing Hutch. That’s when he noticed the checkbook on the desk. “Did we forget to pay a bill?”

Hutch draped an arm over Starsky’s thigh. “Nope.”

“Give it up, Blondie. What’s cookin’?”

“The way I see it, we owe Simmy. A lot.”

Starsky’s raised eyebrows encouraged Hutch to go on.

“If he hadn’t started the whole Ernie and Bert thing a while back we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Agreed?”

Starsky nodded.

“But it’s not like we can go tell him how things ended up. Also agreed?”

“He’s a good detective, Hutch. I’m pretty sure he and Babs know what’s going down,” Starsky countered.

Hutch nodded. “Of course they do. But they can’t tell us they know what’s goin’ down any more than we can tell them what’s goin’ down.”

“Babe, it’s too late for your mumbo-jumbo. Just tell me whatch’re doin’?”

Hutch tore the check out of the checkbook and held it up for Starsky to read.

“Aw, man, that’s t’riffic!”

“I thought so. An anonymous donation in Simmy’s name to the Children’s Television Workshop.”

“Maybe we should sign it ‘Ernie and Bert.’”

“Nah, too easy. We’ll make him work for it. He’ll eventually figure it out.”

The End.

Until Starsky starts watching The Odd Couple.

Author’s Notes: Every Monday I get an email from the Children’s Television Workshop with a Sunny Days video. They call it a weekly dose of sunshine in your email box! One day, after watching my dose of sunshine, all I could think of was Starsky and Hutch are soooo Ernie and Bert. This fic was inspired by this video:

Ernie Locks Bert Out of the Apartment | Sesame Street Classic

After this realization, a further dive down the rabbit hole unearthed this tidbit of information from sesameworkshop.org.

Ernie
Birthday: January 28

Ernie lives in the basement apartment of 123 Sesame Street with his best friend, Bert. Ernie is best known for his practical jokes, his love of baths, and his Rubber Duckie.

His free-spirited approach to successes and failures alike makes him one of Sesame Street’s most enduring and likable characters. Together, Bert and Ernie model how to appreciate similarities and differences between friends, and understand others’ points of view.

Bert
Birthday: July 26

Bert is the long-suffering best friend of Ernie. He is the more serious, focused, and practical of the two, and he considers himself the voice of reason in their friendship.

Bert can be rather eccentric; he collects bottle caps and paper clips, plays the tuba, and loves his pet pigeon, Bernice. Bert is not always a willing participant in Ernie’s escapades; he correctly senses when the tables are about to be turned on him. But Bert always forgives Ernie, forever remaining his “old buddy.”

I rest my case.