Mothers Know Best

A stupid bet nearly goes horribly wrong.

Writing prompt: National Chocolate Covered Nut Day in the US. First published 2023.

It started out the way it always did: as a stupid bet because they were bored. Usually, no-one got hurt. At least, not too much. But this time…

Starsky slammed his fist into the locker three times at speed, making a detective on the other side of the lockers jump.

Said detective peered around the corner of the row to see who was making such a ruckus and then backed away quietly. He deliberated. The grim set to Starsky’s shoulders was an obvious sign to keep clear, but the way he was now holding his hand was indication that he’d likely hurt his knuckles. Only one answer to this dilemma: Hutch.

Fredericks walked into the squad room and straight up to Hutch, whom he noted didn’t look quite himself.

“Uh, Hutch? Is everything okay? Only I think perhaps you ought to go check on your partner.”

“And why’s that then?”

Fredericks noticed Hutch’s voice was slightly raspy and his manner was definitely frosty.

“He’s picking a fight with the lockers and looks grim. Think he may have hurt himself. Someone ought to check. Thought it might be best if it’s you.”

Hutch’s face softened. “Oh. Okay, thanks for the heads-up.”

Hutch finished drinking his water and then stood up, giving himself a mental shake. On the way to the locker room, he mentally prepared himself. He knew instantly what was eating away at his partner – guilt – and, although Hutch had been irritated that Starsky had egged him on, they were both equally to blame for the outcome. After all, he was a grown man: he could have just said, “no.”

Hutch softly stepped into the locker room and looked around, listening. All was quiet. It seemed like no-one was there. Some instinct made him hesitate and then he heard it: the sound of soft, but distressed, breathing. Hutch walked past the first row of lockers and turned the corner. His partner was sat on a bench, head leant back against the locker behind him with slow tears rolling down his face.

All irritation forgotten, Hutch hurried to his partner’s side and placed a gentle hand on his curly hair.

“Starsky.”

The single word was an acknowledgement of his partner’s anguish and an attempt to assuage it. Starsky rubbed his hands across his face and sat up, attempting to shrug away his discomfort.

“I’m okay, Starsk. It was a stupid accident, that’s all. Not your fault. I’m as much to blame.”

Starsky’s response was just above a whisper, “Almost lost you, Hutch…If the Heimlich hadn’t worked…You turned blue. I thought I’d killed you.”

“You didn’t do anything! It was that chocolate covered peanut. I should’ve listened to my mother. She was always warning me as a kid not to throw food into my mouth. Turns out she was right!”

A small smile appeared on Starsky’s lips. “Yeah, Ma always told me the same thing.”

“See. Mothers know best and we’re a pair of idiots!” Hutch declared.

“F-Forgive me for egging you on?”

“Nothing to forgive but, if it makes you feel better, yes. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Hutch hauled Starsky to his feet, wincing slightly.

Instantly alert, Starsky asked, “How are your ribs? Did I hurt ya?”

“I’ll live, but I would just like to go home now and rub some arnica on. How are your knuckles?”

Starsky looked down and saw the bruises beginning to darken.

“I’ll live…Maybe I could borrow some of your arnica?”

As they headed out of the locker room, Hutch pointed out, “You can’t borrow arnica, dummy. You can’t give it back, can you? Once you’ve used it, it’s used.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Yes, but that’s beside the point. You need to be more careful about what you say.”

“You need to stop being so pedantic!”

As they passed by the squad room, Fredericks heard the good-natured ribbing and was relieved to see harmony between the two partners had been restored.