June 21st- One More Day by Cyanne

Thanks to Flamingo for the beta editing, the invaluable suggestions, and the encouragement, it all means a lot to me. And thanks for being my partner in crime; we make a pretty good team.

One day. They only had to get through one more day. He and Hutch were a team, the best. They watched each other’s backs and were damn good at it. They’d be fine.

Starsky was so lost in thought that he stumbled over the edge of the tub, barely managing to catch himself before he hit his head on the sink. Grateful not to be starting the day with a concussion, he walked into the kitchen, wondering if the refrigerator would try to kill him next.

Starsky got into the car to go to work but as he was about to turn the key, an inner voice told him, You can never be too paranoid. The fact that the voice belonged to Mad Tommy who had just been sentenced to a long stay up at Cabrillo for going on a shooting spree with a nail gun and a crossbow was not reassuring.

The idea that someone might have picked today of all days to blow up his car wasn’t reassuring either so Starsky gingerly popped the hood. Raising it higher, he was happy to see that there wasn’t any extra wiring present that hadn’t been there the day before. What he did see reminded him that he really needed to get the spark plugs replaced on his next day off. Cautiously optimistic that he’d get to work in one piece, he drove off, mostly obeying the speed limit for once.

Hutch was fifteen minutes late. Nothing to panic about, probably had a late night, overslept or something. Starsky went back to his half of the pile of reports that always seemed to magically appear on their desk overnight.

Half an hour later, he looked at the clock again. Nine-forty-five and still no sign of Hutch. Now he was starting to worry. All their current open cases were minor, time consuming but mostly trivial, and he didn’t think any homicidal maniacs they had put away had been recently released and were out looking for revenge. Then again, he thought, looking at the stack of folders on their desk, with their luck someone had been and it was buried in the paperwork.

He was just getting up to go ask Dobey if he’d heard from Hutch, when he stormed in, pushing a young red-headed teenager in front of him. Starsky smiled, relief flooding through him at the sight of his partner.

“Sit there and don’t move,” Hutch said, pointing at the chair next to their desk. “I swear, Starsky, sometimes I think the universe is out to get me. Went to grab some granola for breakfast, whole damn shelf came down. Then this idiot rear-ends me on the way to work.”

“You okay?” Starsky asked, frantically scanning Hutch for damage.

“I’m fine, not even bruised. Just pissed.”

“Is the car totaled? Although I’m not sure how you could tell.”

“Very funny. Crumpled the trunk into the back seat so I’m pretty sure it is. Between booking him,” Hutch said, glaring at their surprisingly quiet arrestee, “and the insurance company, the paperwork’s going to take forever.”

So, car hunting on their next day off, spark plugs the one after. No wonder he never got anything done on his car, the way Hutch kept burning through squashes. But he’d happily give up a day off to go car shopping with his partner, which beat visiting him in the hospital any time. And given the day they’d both had so far, Starsky was almost happy they were stuck inside pushing papers. Maybe that would get them through the next fourteen hours in one piece.

Unfortunately, paperwork only took them through lunch. Starsky half-expected Hutch to choke on his salad and kept looking at him until Hutch finally asked, “What? This day’s been weird enough without you being weird, too. Well, weirder than usual anyway.”

Starsky thought about telling his partner but he was afraid of jinxing things even more than they already had been, so he just shook his head. “Tell you later.”

They settled in for an afternoon of boredom when Dobey poked his head out of his office. “Starsky, Hutchinson, disturbance at 3101 Figueroa. Officers on the scene requested you two, so get out there.” He disappeared again and Hutch chuckled.

“What’s so funny,” Starsky asked, shrugging his jacket over his holster.

“Dobey,” Hutch answered as he did the same, “reminds me of a prairie dog when he does that.”

Starsky laughed, too, “You’re terrible.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

The Vagabond Inn was a two-story motel with an outdoor pool that didn’t look much different from all the other two-story motels in the area but at least it was clean, no needles on the ground and not much other trash either. Except for a group of bystanders gathered around one end of the pool, it was quiet when they got there.

“Hey, Mindy, what’s up?” Starsky asked as he approached the officer on the scene. “Looks like you guys have everything under control.”

“Motel clerk called because this guy was trying to break into a room,” Mindy Sanchez said as she slid her pen and notebook back in her uniform pocket. At five foot nothing she barely met the height requirements but she was smart and funny, often doing a stand-up comic routine at the LAPD’s annual children’s fundraiser. Starsky and Hutch had worked with her several times over the years, most recently during a string of gas station break ins. “Picked the wrong room and wound up being sat on by a 300-pound occupant. My partner, Rick’s, getting the victim’s,” Mindy laughed, “statement now. Called the suspect in, name’s Gary Daley, to run priors and it came up with a flag that you guys were looking for him.”

“Thanks. We’ve been looking for Gary,” Hutch told her. “He’s supposed to have information about the Morrison case. Says he knows the guy who sold Morrie the drugs but then he blew as soon as he got bail.”

“He only got out yesterday. Gary never was very bright,” Starsky added.

“Apparently neither is my partner,” Mindy said. “Damn it, Rick, I told you to put him in the backseat. And why the hell isn’t he in handcuffs?”

As she asked her partner this, Gary made a beeline for the open gate in the pool fence that lead toward the street, pushing Rick Crosby into the crowd of looky-loos in the process. Gary’s left hand was still cuffed but his right hand was loose and he tossed a lounge chair behind him as he ran. Today was Rick Crosby’s third day on the street and quite possibly his last once Mindy got finished with him.

Knowing instinctively where his partner was heading, Starsky went left as Hutch went right and vaulted over the chair.

Starsky had known it from the second they’d pulled up; one of them was going to wind up in that damn pool. He’d been wrong, both of them did, along with their suspect. Trapping Gary between them, Starsky went for his legs at the same time Hutch went for his chest and all three of them cannonballed into the water. He hoped all of the onlookers had gotten soaked.

Starsky surfaced, looking for his partner and found him with an arm around Gary’s neck, yelling his name. “Starsk!”  

He could hear the fear in his partner’s voice and, desperately gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him, was finally able to reply. “I’m all right, I’m fine. You okay? You got him?” he asked in a rush.

“I’m okay, and yeah, I got him.” Starsky could hear the disgust in his partner’s voice and swam over to help Hutch push Gary toward Mindy and her waiting handcuffs. They then helped each other out of the pool.

Hutch rummaged around in Starsky’s trunk. “Didn’t you used to have some towels in here?”

“Used to, yeah,” Starsky said, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to get some of the water out. “Forgot to replace them the last time we got drenched, after that kid got us with the water balloons.” The ten-year-old had been trying to defend his dad who was being arrested. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so sad.

After wringing out their clothes as best they could, they climbed dripping wet into Starsky’s car.

“Remember the last time we wound up in a swimming pool?” Hutch asked.

“Yeah. Took ages to get the chorine out of that sweater. Don’t see any handy laundromats around this time, though.”

“At least it’s warm; last time it was the middle of the night and it was freezing,” Hutch said, and then he continued, looking over at Starsky and smiling, which made Starsky smile back. “I figure any day we both get to drive back together is a good one.” Sometimes Hutch’s philosophizing wasn’t all that bad.

They unrolled the windows and were mostly dry by the time they got back to headquarters, just in time to see Mindy bringing in Gary, while chewing out Rick in the process. They wouldn’t get to interview him until Monday at the earliest, after his next judicial hearing.

“Eight more hours to go,” Starsky mumbled as he got out of the car.

“Hmmm,” Hutch said, distracted by his still damp shoes. It wasn’t really a question but Starsky answered him anyway.

“I said, it’s only four, plenty of time to go do some more paperwork.”

“The glamorous life of a California cop,” Hutch said. “Got more callouses from the typewriter then from my gun.”

“Nah, it’s all from that guitar of yours,” Starsky said but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen before the end of the day.

The worst injury either of them suffered was a paper cut but Starsky’s attempts at getting sympathy from Hutch fell on deaf ears. That didn’t keep Starsky from jumping at every dropped pen or groan of the old building’s ancient air conditioning.

He leapt a mile when Hutch put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, babe,” Hutch said. “You’d tell me if there was anything wrong, right?”

“‘Course I would,” Starsky tried to reassure him, after a quick glance at the clock. Five-thirty, quitting time and only six and a half hours to go. They should be safe off shift but history said otherwise and Starsky wasn’t willing to relax yet.

“It’s just, you seem off, even for you. Like you’re worried about something and afraid to tell me.”

“Nothing important. Tell you later, promise.” No way he was jinxing this now. Figuring it was safer to change the subject, Starsky asked, “You got any plans for tonight?” It was Friday but Starsky still hoped that Hutch was free.

“Not a thing, been too busy to call anyone up. We haven’t been bowling for a while; could go over to the Desert Flower and throw a few games.”

“I think I’d just rather have a quiet night, get pizza and some beers, and go back to your place. You can beat me at Scrabble,” Starsky offered instead, glad that Hutch hadn’t already made other plans. He just knew that he didn’t want to let Hutch out of his sight if he could help it and home was probably the safest place to be.

Hutch did beat him at Scrabble twice, but Starsky took two out of three in backgammon and figured that was good enough. It was late and Starsky knew he should get going but he wasn’t quite ready to get up yet.

“Hutch, do you know what today is?”

“August fifth,” Hutch answered, and then looked at the clock on the mantel from his perch in his chair. “Sixth now actually. Not your birthday or mine or our anniversary.” That was in April and every year they always celebrated the day they’d been officially sent out on the streets as a team. Hutch sounded as tired as Starsky felt but it was one of those good kinds of tired, after a good week’s work that they’d survived together.

Their conversation was slow and comfortable, with lots of the pauses that good friends have without feeling the need to fill the space.

Finally feeling it was safe to let his partner know what he’d been thinking all day, Starsky said, “You know, this is the first time in all the years we’ve been working together that we managed to get through an entire year without one of us being seriously hurt. I kept waiting for something bad to happen but for once….” He let out a soft sigh and continued, “Donnie sliced you with that broken bottle last August 5^th; I swear I thought you were going to bleed out in my arms right there in the street.”

High on heroin, their suspect had cut Hutch during a struggle just as Starsky had come around the corner and tackled him. He couldn’t risk a shot with the two of them so close and had been terrified that Donnie’d nicked an artery. Help had come in time and Hutch had been fine after a transfusion and a week’s worth of rest. Starsky still shivered when he thought of it; they’d both come so close to being killed too many times over the years.

He found himself looking over at Hutch, who was looking up at the ceiling, probably thinking over the last year. After a while, he looked back at Starsky and smiled. “You know, I hadn’t realized it but you’re right. Can see why that was bothering you today, waiting for something bad to happen. But we survived.” He held out his beer bottle for a toast and Starsky reached across the couch to clink his against it. Both drank deeply.

“You do realize that means that we’re probably going to get shot tomorrow,” Hutch said, and Starsky smiled. Typical Hutch, but he couldn’t say that it hadn’t crossed his own mind, either.

“We’re off tomorrow, Hutch. Going wreck hunting to replace that car of yours, remember?”

“Since when did that matter?” Another few minutes passed before he asked, “Been a good run, you and me. You think we should get out?”

The way Hutch asked it–not are you done but are we done–warmed Starsky from the inside. He thought for a long minute, pretty sure that Hutch wasn’t quite ready to move on yet but he knew he’d resign in an instant if he’d thought Starsky had had enough.

“No. Think we’ve got a couple of more years left in us yet. We’re still damn good at the job. Gives us a chance to figure out what we want to do next, if we want to take the exams or do something different.”

Starsky knew whatever they decided, they’d do it together. And that was enough for today.