It’s Like Water

Sequel to If Hutch Was A Dog.

Author’s Notes: Still bored to tears at work. I think I need to get busy at work soon, or figure out a way to retire because I like this writing thing way too much.

“Well, Cap’n, I wouldn’t say that,” Starsky replied, risking the wrath, and bellow, from Captain Dobey.

“Who asked you, Starsky?” Dobey yelled back.

“Well, I was just….” Starsky caught the look Hutch shot his way. Hutch’s warning stopped his partner from babbling on and making himself an even larger target for Dobey’s ire.

“Captain, can we go?” Hutch asked, hopeful that the chewing out by Captain Dobey was over.

“No! And what’re you standing around for. Sit down!” Dobey commanded. Starsky looked at Hutch from his seated position and cocked his head toward the empty chair. Hutch headed for the proffered seat.

“And you!” Dobey continued, now addressing Starsky. “Get your foot off my desk!” Starsky slipped his foot off the desk immediately, though his captain wasn’t quite through with this tirade. “How many times have I TOLD you that? It’s like talking to Cal to get his room clean.”

Starsky grinned at the comparison. Dobey caught the grin and said, “What’s so funny? You think it’s funny being compared to a fourteen year old?”

“No,” Starsky answered, feigning seriousness for Dobey’s sake. “I….” Dobey was still not through.

“Nothing’s funny right now, Starsky. You let him slip away. What were you thinking?” There was no way Dobey’s tirade wasn’t being heard in the squad room and all the way down to booking.

“Um, Captain, Starsky didn’t….”

“And where the hell were you, Hutchinson? You know how important getting Marquez is.”

“I was just going to say, Captain, that you can’t blame Starsky for what happened.”

Again, before Hutch was able to continue his defense of his partner, Dobey said, “I don’t blame Starsky. I blame the both of you! It was sloppy work. What were you, sleeping on the job?”

Starsky looked guiltily toward Hutch, the answer to the on target question from his commanding officer right on the tip of his tongue.

Before Starsky could get himself into real trouble, Hutch answered, “Of course not, Captain. We wouldn’t do that. We know the seriousness of getting this guy. I just think you’re putting too much importance on this one escape. He didn’t think he was escaping anyway. He doesn’t even know we’re trailing him, from the way he’s acting.”

“I thought you said tonight would be the night we’d catch him? You come back here telling me you lost him. What do you expect me to think?”

“Well, that might have been a bad choice of words on my partner’s part.” Hutch looked toward Starsky with a ‘thanks for getting me into this mess’ look. “What we meant was he left before we had a chance to catch him in the act.”

Dobey looked at his two detectives, the glower easing only slightly. He reached for his handkerchief and swiped the sweat from his brow. These two are going to be the death of me, he thought.

“What are you, drunk? You sound like someone who can’t get his story straight.”

“Drunk?” Hutch asked, perplexed. He knew his brain wasn’t working at full speed. It had been a long two shifts.

“Drunk, Hutchinson. As in sloshed. Drinking too much liquor?” Dobey responded acerbically.

“Liquor? What’s that?” Hutch asked. It had been a very long time since he or Starsky had the time or the energy to open even one bottle of beer.

“It’s like water,” Starsky replied. Hutch and Dobey looked at him, equally perplexed by Starsky’s non sequitur.

“What?” Starsky asked, a little defensive.

“Liquor’s like water, Starsky?” Hutch asked, the frustrations of the night’s misstep and his mind’s feeble attempts to understand his partner combining to make him feel more tired than ever.

“Yeah,” Starsky replied. “You drink ’em both.” Simple logic. Starsky logic. Hutch needed about two shifts worth of sleep to keep up with THAT logic.

“Get the hell out of my office!” Dobey bellowed.

Grateful for the reprieve, Starsky and Hutch practically raced to be the first out of Dobey’s door.

Hutch grabbed for his head, rubbing his forehead and pushing his hair into a tousled mess.

“Got a headache?” Starsky asked, already pulling the Tylenol out of the cabinet.

“Ya think?” Hutch yelled back irritably, taking the tablets his partner offered.

Starsky ignored the curt reply. “Come on, let’s get outta here. We can get about five hours sleep if we go straight to my place.” After a brief pause, he added, “And I drive.”

“Be my guest, buddy,” Hutch answered in apology. The easy smile and sustained hold as he handed his partner the keys was all the apology Starsky needed.

The pair headed out of the squad room. Just as they reached Hutch’s car, the blond asked, “Oh, just how is it I remind you of Uncle Al’s dog Martin?”

“Oh. Friendly, reliable, trustworthy. Uncle Al was a big fan of the breed. He also said Martin loved him too much. What’s the word, when someone’s overly sensitive?”

“Empathetic?” Hutch asked.

“Yeah, that’s it. Said he was too empathetic. Just like you,” Starsky finished, smiling at his now also smiling other half.

“That’s how you think of me, huh?” Hutch asked, somehow pleased with the portrait Starsky was painting.

“Yup. And that’s how I think of you with or without the dog in the picture.”

Hutch smiled and eased his head back on the headrest, the headache receding to a distant memory. It was nice to hear Starsky describe him that way.

“Of course, when I think of you AS a dog, I think that you probably give big, but only slightly wet kisses. You’d probably be considered a good kisser in the dog world.”

About that headache….

The End.