Tracks to Home

87

Starsky and Hutch spend a Christmas with Hutch’s parents in Duluth.

 

Author’s Notes: Originally published in the 2024 Starsky & Hutch Advent Calendar.

Written for the Starsky/Hutch the Original bRomance (slash ship) Twenty Minute Fic Challenge Prompt Words:  box and train

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When the phone rang, Starsky knew it would be Hutch’s mom calling to wish them a Happy Thanksgiving. He left Hutch to talk to her while he went into the kitchen to get a piece of Edith’s leftover pumpkin pie they’d brought home. He’d just finished spraying a healthy dose of whipped cream on top when he heard Hutch from the other room.

“WHAT? You’re joking, right?”

When Starsky went back into the living room with the pie and a glass of milk, Hutch still had the phone up to his ear. The knuckles on one hand were white from the tight grip around the receiver; the thumb and forefinger of his other hand pinched his nose between his closed eyes. As Starsky sat down next to him, Hutch finished up the call.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him…. I don’t know, Mom. I don’t think he’s gonna be real happy about it…. Yeah, okay. We’ll let you know. Bye, Mom.”

Hutch reached over to the end table and put the phone back in the cradle, then leaned back on the couch, his eyes still closed.

“Wanna share?”

Hutch opened his eyes and turned his head towards Starsky, who was holding out the plate of pie. Hutch reached for the glass of milk and took a sip, wishing it was warm with about three shots of rum. “Have I ever?” 

“No, but I keep hopin’. So what was that all about?”

Hutch took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You are not going to believe this.”

“Try me.”

“They want us to come home for Christmas.”

“We are home.”

“To their home. To the farm. In Duluth.”

“Uh-uh! Ain’t happenin’.”

“Starsky. . . .”

“No way, Hutch. It was hard enough when we were there in August.”  

“Starsky. . . .”

“I mean, sure they said they were fine when we told ‘em about us, but I’m not really sure you’re dad’s all on board as much as he says he is.”

“Starsk. . . . ”

“Not like when we told my mom and she just wanted to know what took us so long.”

Hutch sighed and tried again. “Starsk. . . . ”

“Nope. We’re not going and you can’t make me.”

Hutch watched as Starsky stabbed the fork into the pie. He was a little scared that Starsky might stab him with the fork when he told him the rest.

“Huuuutttccchhhh, it’s my favorite time of year. I won’t be able to enjoy any of it if I have to tiptoe around your dad.”

Hutch knew he was just going to have to pull the bandaid off as fast as he could.  

“TheyinvitedyourmomtothefarmforChristmas.”

“Do they even watch Rudolph?”  

Starsky froze, fork mid-way to his mouth. His eyes were wider than Hutch had ever seen them and his eyebrows had disappeared completely into his curly hair. “What. Did you. Just say?”

Hutch unconsciously backed up a little bit on the couch, afraid he might get a face full of pumpkin pie and whipped cream. “I said, ‘they invited your mom to the farm for Christmas.’ ”  

“WHAT? YOU’RE JOKING, RIGHT?”

Hutch flinched at the shout directed towards him. He backed up a little more. “And she’s going.”

~~~

Hutch watched as Marilyn Hutchinson looked under the Christmas tree at the last remaining brightly wrapped package. She shared a quick smile with Rachel Starsky before looking around at her other house guest, sitting on the sofa next to her son.

“David, this last one has your name on it. But you’ll have to come pull it out from under the tree. It’s too heavy for me.”  

Hutch raised an eyebrow at his mother; the look between the two moms had not gone unnoticed by him. 

Now, with a glance at Hutch, who shrugged his shoulders in reply, Starsky slid off the couch, crawled over to the tree, and dragged the box out from underneath. The tag indicated it was from Marilyn.

Seemingly uncharacteristically nervous with a present at hand, Starsky paused before opening it. “Marilyn, you already gave me that matching sweater and scarf. You didn’t have to get me anything else.”

“David, I’ll decide to whom I give what! Now open the present!”

Given permission, Starsky tore into the gift like a five-year-old, much to the embarrassment of his mother.

“Davey! You don’t have to make a mess. They’re going to think you don’t have any manners.”

Hutch couldn’t resist. “He doesn’t.”

Still pulling the paper off, Starsky looked up and stuck his tongue out at Hutch before finally opening the top of the box, only to find it filled with more paper.

Hutch noticed his mother’s small sigh of relief when Starsky seemed to realize whatever was in the box was fragile and slowed his unwrapping technique.

The first thing Starsky opened was a red train, clearly quite old. “I can’t believe it! This is an Aerotrain Zephyr engine!” He hurriedly opened the next carefully wrapped car. “And . . . oh my god, I can’t believe this! This is the Mountain Train set! It’s worth a bundle! Hutch! Are you looking at this?”

Now leaning forward on the couch Hutch answered, “Yeah, I’m seeing it. And I can’t believe it either. Mom! You gave him my train set?”

Still sitting on the floor next to Starsky, who was elbows deep in all the treasures from Hutch’s childhood, Marilyn said, “Oh, Kenneth, don’t be ridiculous. You probably didn’t even know I saved them.”

“Be that as it may, why are you giving it to him and not me?”

“Because I’m the one who likes trains, moron!” Starsky threw some balled up paper at his partner to send his point home.

Hutch knew the look that crossed his mother’s fine features—she was preparing to diffuse her son. “Kenneth, darling. I’ve actually been saving all of this to give to my grandson one day. But since that’s not really in the cards anymore, I thought David would like to have them.”

Hutch was not to be placated and knew he needed to bring in reinforcements. He turned to his dad, who was sitting in his armchair engrossed in Shelby Foot’s The Civil War: A Narrative, that Starsky had given him earlier in the morning.

“Dad! Did you know about this? How could you let her give my trains away?”

Richard pulled off his reading glasses and looked up. “Hmmm? What’s that? Oh my! Is that Kenny’s old train set?” His whole face lit up with excitement.

Starsky’s smile went up another notch and Hutch could sense things were swaying his partner’s way. “Hutch, quit your bitchin’! I can’t even believe you had a train set as much as you complain about my trains.”

“That’s because you insisted on taking up a whole room at the house for them. The room that was supposed to be the library!”

“Library schmibary. There are plenty of libraries without us having one at home,” Starsky mumbled while still unwrapping train parts. “Oh wow! Ma, look at this one! Just like the Lionel I had, remember?”

Rachel could hardly contain her laughter. “Do I remember? I thought you’d set the house on fire the day I came home and you had that thing smoking!”

Richard, who was now helping Starsky unwrap all the pieces, started chuckling, too. “Kenny did the same thing, only it was the curtains in his bedroom! Say, Dave! I think the plywood we used for the track is still in the basement. Let’s take all this stuff down, set it up, and see if we can get it working.”

As they gathered all the parts and headed for the basement door, Starsky looked at Hutch sitting on the couch, well aware his face was a masterwork of dumbfoundedness. In a meant-to-be-heard stage whisper he asked, “Mr. Hutchinson, did Kenny really catch the curtains on fire?”

Richard was still laughing at the memory while they headed down the stairs, but everyone heard him say, “He did indeed. That boy. And Dave, I’ve told you more than once, call me Rich. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

Rachel excused herself to go to the kitchen for a cup of tea, as Marilyn began cleaning up the Christmas wrappings. Hutch watched her as he leaned back on the couch very contemplatively. After a few minutes he spoke up.

“Well played, Mom. Well played.”

“Kenneth, whatever are you talking about?”

“That was the absolute perfect thing to get the two of them more comfortable with each other. I couldn’t have manipulated that better myself. Thanks, Mom.”

“Manipulate? I never! But you should really thank Rachel. She mentioned how much David played with his trains when he was little. Before that I hadn’t thought about your train set in years.”

“What about that line of ‘saving it for your grandson’?”

“Kenneth, go get another trash bag.”

Hutch got up, and leaned down to give his mother a kiss on the cheek as he walked by her. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

“Merry Christmas, son.”