Stuck

Hutch gets his hand stuck while working on his car. How can they get him un-stuck?

Originally published in Venice Place Chronicles Volume IX in 2012.

Archivist’s Note: This story can either be read as slash or gen. As it’s included in a Slash Zine, we have labeled it as Slash, but it could just as easily be gen. Readers decide!

“Try to pull it out.”

“I can’t, it’s stuck!

“I told you your hand was too big to fit in there.”

“Nobody likes an ‘I told you so,’ Starsky. What are we gonna do?”

“We? Looks like I’m going to have to call the fire department.”

Hutch looked at him with all the seriousness he could muster under the circumstances. “Don’t you dare!”

“I don’t know what else you think we can do. I can’t leave you like this.”

“Starsky, I swear I’ll kick your ass. Just find something to make it slippery.”

He couldn’t help it. Starsky started to chuckle. “So, you want me to lube you up, buddy?”

Hutch wanted to be mad. He really did, but he had to admit that the situation was ridiculous. He started to laugh, too. Before long they were both gone.

As soon as he thought he could speak, Hutch said, “Okay. Do you have that out of your system now?”

Starsky shook his head. “Probably not. It’s not every day I get an opportunity like this.”

“Starsky!”

“Okay. Gimme a minute.”

A trip up the stairs and five minutes later, Starsky returned to his trapped partner with a handful of things they could try to free him from his predicament.

~*~*~

One hour ago

Hutch had been tinkering with his car off and on for a week when he asked Starsky to come and take a look at something with him. He had been working on it when he caught his necklace on the engine and it broke and disappeared into the “abyss” as Starsky had called it. They had tried everything they could think of to fish it back out with no success.

“I’m pretty sure it won’t hurt anything for it to be in there,” Starsky said, trying to be reassuring.

“That’s not the point, Starsk. I need to get it.”

“Okay, take it easy. What we need is someone with small hands to try.”

“Got any suggestions?” Hutch asked.

“How about Huggy? His hands are skinny. Maybe he can get in there.”

“Good idea. Will you go call him? I’ll keep working on it with these tongs.”

One of their ideas had been to try a pair of tongs from an ice bucket in Hutch’s kitchen. When that didn’t work, Hutch had started to put his hand in through the opening when Starsky admonished him to stop.

“Be right back. And keep your hand out of there. My hand won’t go in there so there’s no way you’re gonna get anywhere but stuck if you try it. I’ll bring us a couple of beers when I come back. Maybe it’ll help if you relax.”

“Thanks,” Hutch said.

He thought about that. Relax? Easy for him to say.

Starsky was gone for a while and Hutch was getting tired of trying the set of makeshift implements they had gathered to do the job. He decided to try getting his hand inside the narrow opening one more time.

~*~*~

Olive oil hadn’t worked. Neither had gun oil or WD-40.

“Hutch, I think that’s starting to swell. I’m gonna have to call someone.”

Ignoring his partner’s accurate comment about the swelling, Hutch made a suggestion. “How about dish soap? Let’s just try that and if it doesn’t work, maybe we get out the bolt cutters.”

“Did you say bolt cutters?”

“I did. I’m serious.”

“You’ve definitely lost your mind.”

“You’re always telling me this thing is a pile. I’d rather you spring me with the bolt cutters than call the fire department.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’ll be right back.”

Hutch thought at least that he had two things going for him. He had the necklace in his closed hand, and he’d had the sense to put his left hand in when he did it. That meant his dominant right hand was free to try to work on the problem from above while he waited for Starsky.

After he got the necklace entwined in his fingers so he wouldn’t drop it if he relaxed his fist, Hutch took a deep breath, relaxed his hand as much as he could, and started to pull.

When Starsky got back, he found Hutch sitting on the ground with his back against the building. Hutch had wrapped his handkerchief around his hand and it had blood on it. He was as white as a sheet. Starsky knelt on the ground next him.

“You got loose. You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, what did you do?”

“I pulled,” Hutch answered a bit sheepishly.

“Let me see.”

“No, it’s okay. Just give me a minute.”

“This doesn’t look like a ‘give me a minute’ situation, buddy. Let me check it.”

Hutch handed the wounded hand to Starsky. He watched while Starsky gently unwrapped it to assess the damage. “I got it,” he said.

“What?” Starsky said distractedly.

“The necklace. I got it.”

“Well, I hope it was worth it. I never even asked you what you had on that was so important.”

Hutch opened his right hand and dangled the hard won object so Starsky could see it. “Oh. You could have told me it was that necklace.”

When Starsky had come right to the brink of death a couple of years back, shot down in the police garage, Hutch had given him the necklace he had refused to give up on retrieving. The pendant had special meaning to them both.

At the time of the shooting, Starsky had grown fond of a necklace with I-Ching coins on it. While he was in the hospital, the leather on the necklace had broken and one of the coins was lost. While Hutch had never been overly superstitious, Starsky was. He was too out of it to realize what had happened, and Hutch had been determined to replace the necklace with something that would have meaning for them both when Starsky was aware enough to understand. One day he took a break from sitting with Starsky and made a trip to a custom jeweler who had been recommended to him by the rabbi from the temple Starsky sometimes attended. A week later, he had it in his pocket when Starsky asked him the question he’d been waiting to hear.

“One of the nurses said my necklace broke. Do you know where it is?”

“I do,” Hutch answered. “The leather was toast, and one of the coins was lost. The rest is in your nightstand.

“Oh, thanks.”

“I have something for you.”

Hutch had reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace he had bought for his partner. The silver chain was long enough to slip over Starsky ‘s head so he wouldn’t have to struggle with a clasp.

“What’s this?” Starsky took it from him and looked at in amazement. The pendant was a Hamsa, an ancient symbol for health, healing, and protection from the evil eye. The rabbi had told Hutch that it was a popular symbol in the part of Europe where the Starskys had originated.

“Turn it over, ” Hutch said. “I know you‘re familiar with the Hamsa, but see if you can figure out what’s on the back of it.”

The letters M and T were engraved on the back of the pendant. Beneath them Hutch had ordered a Norse rune that was the symbol for strength when facing a difficult test.

”Will you wear it?” Hutch asked him.

Starsky ‘s eyes were bright when he nodded and quietly said, “Of course. Thank you.”

Hutch slid the necklace on and Starsky had worn it every day throughout the difficult healing process. When he returned to duty, he had quietly slid it over Hutch’s neck and told him it was his turn to soak up some of that mystical “me and thee mojo.”

“That’s why I couldn’t let it go, Starsk. You know what tomorrow is, right?”

Starsky nodded. The second anniversary of the shooting. “Feeling nervous, partner?”

“Not really. I guess I just wanted it near me. Just in case.”

Starsky chuckled at him, re-wrapped the handkerchief around Hutch’s hand and said, “Okay, you big softie. Let’s get you upstairs and clean up that hand. You can argue with me about the E.R. after we get a better look.”

“I’m not going,” Hutch declared. He accepted Starsky’s help to his feet and they headed for the stairs.

“We’ll see, buddy. We’ll see.”