Moving Violations

Starsky and Hutch finally move into a new home, which triggers unexpected memories.

Originally published in the 2006 SHareCon zine.

Whistling off key as he drove, Starsky glanced at the rear view mirror and smiled at the site. Hutch sat in the back seat, surrounded by plants, arms protectively curled around what he claimed was a philodendron. It just looked like a big green thing to Starsky. His partner had a smudge of dirt on his left cheek and a faraway look in his eyes as he looked out the window at the passing scenery.

This was the last trip of a very long day. They’d decided to take their most fragile items over ahead of time and let the movers handle the heavy stuff tomorrow. Starsky had his own precious keepsakes in the box on the passenger seat that contained his dad’s police uniform and medals and his own first beat uniform.

Moving Hutch’s plants alone had taken two trips and it would take him forever to get the dirt out of the back seat of the Torino but since his partner was in between cars again, not like he had much choice.

Starsky parked in their one car garage and walked around to take the plant from Hutch’s hands, ducking his head down for a quick kiss that was enthusiastically reciprocated.

Hutch grabbed the box from the front seat and said with a smile that belied his words, “I’ve had that plant since the academy. Drop her and I’ll divorce you.”

“You can’t, we’ve already consum… you know…” Starsky couldn’t resist saying with a leer. He could tell by Hutch’s blush that his partner knew exactly what he meant. Baiting him never got old, he thought as he watched appreciatively as Hutch headed into the house. Still smiling, he closed the back door of the Tornio with a hip check and followed him through the door. He barely stopped in time to avoid slamming into the other man, who was standing still just inside the kitchen door.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you dare tell me you’ve changed your mind about the place.” He walked around Hutch to place the plant gently on the counter. He caught himself reaching over to pat its leaves, shaking his head slightly at how much his partner had rubbed off on him over their years together.

“Thirty-nine houses, Hutch, and we finally agreed on this one. Actually, it was 37 houses, seeing as this is both the first and the last one we looked at, we could have just skipped the ones in between but no… and there is no way I’m loading any of this stuff back in the car.”

He finally looked over to where Hutch was still standing, and he could have sworn his lover’s face had gone pale. Starsky knew shell shock when he saw it and he moved quickly to close the gap between them.

“What’s wrong,” he repeated softly, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me, babe. You getting cold feet about this?”

He tried to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. Hutch couldn’t have changed his mind. They’d talked about this for months, agreed to wait a while to make sure it wasn’t just because of the shooting, that it wasn’t just a need to hold each other close for a moment, that it was more than just sex. A year later, they’d proved to themselves what they had known from the start, that they were going to stay together in every way possible.

And yet if Hutch truly wanted out, Starsky would fine a way to make it happen. He’d put Hutch’s happiness above anything else, even his own.

“Hutch,” he asked again quietly, afraid of spooking him further.

“No, god no, Starsk, this is all I ever wanted, ” his partner avowed, looking him straight in the eyes. “Everything.” Hutch then took another panicky glance around the kitchen. “Got to get out of here,” he mumbled.

Starsky carefully took the box that Hutch probably didn’t even realize he was still holding out of his hand and put it on the counter next to the plant. Taking his hand, he led his partner though the dining room and into the living room.

“We don’t have to stay here tonight, we could go back to my old place,” he said quickly making a face as he remembered the state it was in. By the time he was finished packing, the apartment had been an obstacle course of boxes. Even the couch was buried. At last count he had 83 boxes and 16 bags, all which had been marked important. Somehow he didn’t think Hutch was quite finished laughing at his system yet.

“Or yours…” he started again, but trailed off at the look on Hutch’s face. Hutch’s place had been even worse. Starsky foresaw days of cleaning if they had any hope of getting that security deposit back. In their defense, they’d had a perfectly good carnal reason for getting sidetracked while the spaghetti sauce boiled over on the stove and exploded on the walls. The sex had been more than worth it, and at least they hadn’t burned the building down.

Starsky tried to think of a place they could go. He still didn’t understand what was freaking Hutch out, but if they had to leave, he’d find them somewhere to land. It also didn’t help that neither of their old homes actually had a bed at the moment. Early on they had decided that Starsky’s was too small and had given it away. They had spent their nights sleeping in Hutch’s brass bed until the unfortunate incident with the handcuffs. Who could have expected the metal headboard to snap in half? Their shiny new king size bed was scheduled to be delivered tomorrow afternoon and Starsky had definite ideas about how to break that in, starting with the news toys he had bought from the shop next door to the bedroom store.

Boxes had taken over the Hutchinson apartment also, so they couldn’t sleep on the floor there either. Hutch had his very own system. Boxes packed early in the process were meticulously organized and sorted, the last 30 or so were completely unmarked as a result of throwing things in the night before. Starsky should know, he’d been up until 3am the night before helping to finish.

He looked around at the sleeping bags spread out in the middle of the floor; they had planned to rough it for the first night in their new home. “We can always get a hotel room,” he offered.

“No it’s okay, I can hardly smell the paint from in here.” Starsky felt Hutch squeeze his hand and returned the favor. “Besides, I want to spend the first night in our house with you.” Hutch ran a gentle hand down Starsky’s cheek and cupped his face in hands. Starsky felt himself pulled in for a gentle kiss and then a strong hug. Quickly reciprocating, he ran his hands up and down Hutch’s back, trying to sooth the trembling frame.

The paint fumes, oh my god, the paint fumes, Starsky thought frantically. It had never even crossed his mind; no wonder Hutch had looked shell-shocked. He’d been standing in their new kitchen having flashbacks to their last day in the squad room before Gunther’s hit.

The place they’d picked was not quite their dream house but in a couple of years — okay the rest of their lives — worth of work, it would be. It more than met their basic needs, garage for the Torino, greenhouse for the plants, close enough to see the water through the houses across the street, and access to the beach. Waterfront property was out of their price range but they could smell the salt breeze from where they were and that was enough for Hutch to feel at home. They had a master bedroom for two and they could afford it. The house was in both their names, it was theirs, and that was all that mattered.

The only thing that had to be dealt with before they moved in was water damage on the inside wall of the kitchen near the refrigerator. The window was okay but sheetrock had to be replaced and the wall repainted. The painters had just finished up in the hours they were gone on their last run. And the goddamned paint fumes were still overwhelming in the kitchen.

“Right here, Hutch, I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” He’d said these words hundreds of times before and knew he would say them again and again until Hutch truly believed it. He was healing physically and they were both healing emotionally. It was taking longer than either of them would have liked, but at least it was happening. “Right here, still not dead, not gonna leave you, I promise,” he repeated. “My name’s on the mortgage, remember.” The last drew a soft laugh from the man in his arms.

“Come on, love, whaddya say we get out of here for a while? Go get something to eat, do something together.”

“If you even mention playing ping pong they will never find your car,” Hutch warned.

“Table tennis,” Starsky offered. “Kidding,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. All these years and Hutch still thought pointing at him was scary. It only worked on people who didn’t know what a mushball he really was.

“Beer, food and an early night in our very own house, how’s that sound?” he asked as he locked the kitchen door behind him.

“And then we can spend the rest of our natural lives unpacking,” Hutch pointed out but Starsky could hear the smile in his voice.

“Half our lives. Just you wait until we start renovating the place. You think moving is bad, it’s got nothing on reconstruction hell. We’ve got to do something with that downstairs bathroom and the bedroom needs redoing…” He smiled at the groan from his partner, happy that his intended distraction was putting his mind at ease. It was good to be home.

Chapter End Notes:

Author’s note: This fic is in honor of Venice Place’s migration* to a new server (we moved a whole building people, how cool is that?), my move to a place of my very own, and everyone else who has either moved or is going through reconstruction hell. May our new spaces bring us as much joy as the boys’ new home. And thanks to whoever got the security cameras hooked up so fast… what a view!

Archivist’s note: “Venice Place’s migration” refers to moving the VenicePlace mailing list from its original server to its next home. The mailing list mythology referred to its members as “tenants” of a Venice Place building that could continually add rooms and apartments as new people “moved in.” The original Venice Place is a real building in Venice Beach, California, that was used as an outside location for episodes of Starsky and Hutch. Hutch, in the series, had an apartment in the building.