June 10th- Tendency To Jam Part 1 by mvernet

Note: This fic was inspired by reading the Starsky and Hutch Compendium by K. Hanna Korossy. This wonderful and thorough work mentioned that Starsky’s Smith and Wesson had a tendency to jam.

It’s been said by some wise old soul that a gun chooses the cop rather than the other way around. Starsky knew why he chose the Smith & Wesson 59, 9 millimeter automatic. His father, who had also been a cop, carried a Smith & Wesson 39. He had many memories of his father lecturing him on how that gun was a tool and not a toy, followed by threats of what Pop would do to his hide if he ever messed with it. He remembered how he watch with fascination as his father would clean the weapon until it gleamed, then set it in the locked metal box. The smell of gun oil still brought Starsky back to a time of safety, comfort, love, and the feeling of being held in his Pop’s strong arms.

He had many a discussion with Hutch and his brother cops about their firearm choices. Debates about pros and cons of each type were a preferred topic of bored policemen everywhere. Squad room walls heard endless conversations about the cannons that might be too heavy to raise quickly in a firefight or the smaller caliber automatics that had a tendency to jam.

No cop wants to wield his weapon, but having it nearby, just an instinctive grasp away, was a great comfort when dark, filthy alleys turned deadly and fear gripped the heart. Most cops silently thanked the heavens for their piece when the hefty weight they carried saved lives. They paid their respects by caring and cleaning their quiet partner regularly. It was practically a holy ritual for most. The smell of the gun oil, the rhythmic whisks of the barrel brush, the smooth sound of the polishing cloth, all tended to realign in their minds the somber reality of the job and why it was necessary.

Starsky kept his gun cleaning kit under the sink in a tattered and stained shoebox left over from when his beloved Adidas were squeaky new. He had given Hutch a beautiful tooled leather, monogrammed cleaning kit for his thirtieth birthday. But unless Hutch returned the favor someday, it was beyond him to spend that kind of money on himself.

Starsky was sitting at his kitchen table, cleaning his gun on a Sunday night, as was his habit, when Hutch opened his front door just enough to stick his head through.

“Knock, knock.”

Starsky barely looked up from his polishing. His partner at his door was as natural as his hair curling in the rain. “Hey, Hutch. I thought ya had a hot date tonight?”

Hutch sauntered in. That he was still in the casual Hawaiian shirt and jeans he’d worn since Friday spoke volumes to Starsky. As did his lack of holster and slightly tipsy upper lip curl. But it was impolite to read body language, dirty laundry, or your partner’s mind without permission.

“Cancelled.”

Starsky looked up to scan his partner’s face for signs of heartache. Satisfied that Hutch was either feeling sorry for himself or simply bored, he returned to his cleaning. He could easily deal with either or both those problems as soon as his task was complete. “Her loss, partner.”

Hutch wandered to the fridge and took out a single beer, but didn’t offer Starsky one. Starsky never drank before or during the cleaning of his gun.

Hutch walked to the table and flicked a finger at a torn bit of cardboard on the old shoebox with a smile. “Guess you’ll be needing something new to keep your supplies in, huh?”

Starsky smirked, knowing a present was in his future. Hutch had a tendency to ignore birthdays, especially his own, and had a definite disdain for traditional holidays. Starsky didn’t mind. The blond literally showered him with gifts both full of meaning and full of bologna simply because it was sunny out after raining for three days or because he won a football pool. Not to mention the thousands of dollars in dimes, quarters, coffee, and candy bars Hutch had supplied him with over the course of their friendship, while expecting nothing in return.

Hutch walked to the couch and sat heavily with a soft sigh. Starsky flashed him a concerned look as Hutch fell limply back on the couch cushions and downed his beer. Starsky grimaced slightly. Hutch was thinking again, probably about past failures in the love department and definitely feeling sorry for himself.

Starsky forced his mind and his hand to slow down. The last part of his ritual was the most important. A visual inspection of his gun. He checked all moving parts, listening carefully to the well-oiled clicks and snicks. He knew by heart the sounds that meant all was in order.

Finally finished and satisfied, Starsky put his cleaning supplies away and turned all his attention to the forlorn lump inhabiting his couch.

Starsky braved the heat from his patio grill and a California July for the sake of two steaks. Thankfully, his apartment had air conditioning and even his country boy partner was content to eat the fire-seared t-bones in electronically controlled comfort. Hutch whipped up a tomato, basil, and mozzarella salad dripping with homemade vinaigrette. Starsky had to admit it was tasty and a cool complement to his grill-striped beauties.

Feeling sated and comfortable with each other’s company, they decided on a game of chess. Half way through the relaxing game, the chessmen were left to stare each other down as the partners talked.

“Starsk, I just can’t do it anymore. The girl who cancelled, ummm. Shit!”

“Wha’? Wassa madda?” Starsky looked up from the chessboard, his head resting lazily on his hand.

“I can’t remember her name, Starsk! That’s what I mean. I can remember a suspect’s name from a case three years ago, but the name of the girl I met on the beach and was planning on banging tonight? Zip, nadda, can’t recall. What the hell is that about?”

“Hutch. Give yourself a break. Obviously, the girl meant nothing to you or…”

“Nothing, yeah. Nothing. She meant nothing, and if I had screwed her into the mattress tonight, that would have meant nothing. Does that even sound like me?”

Starsky sat up straighter. “No, babe. That’s not you at all. But you’ve been through so much heartache. The beach babe was just for sex. You knew that, she knew that, too. It will take someone really special to open up that big blond heart again. I for one think you’re worth a little effort. Take it slow, blondie. Someday, someone will know you are worth fighting for.”

Hutch suddenly found the floor very interesting as he slowly nodded. He composed himself and looked up. “Starsk, sometimes I… I wish…”

Starsky felt something odd happening. Like something was tugging at his heart and making it dance in his chest. Hutch was so beguiling; his blue eyes held the essence of all the heartbroken love songs ever written. His whisper of a smile tore a hole right to Starsky’s dancing heart and joined it for a tango.

“Wadda ya wish, babe? Tell me.”

Hutch tilted his head and looked away. “It’s really stupid.”

“Hey. If it’s somethin’ you want, it ain’t stupid. Just think of me as your wicked godfather.”

Hutch smirked. “Wicked godfather, huh?”

“Well, I sure ain’t your fairy godmother. Now tell me your wish.”

Hutch found that fascinating spot on the floor again and Starsky waited.

“Sometimes I wish I could have that once in a lifetime, really special, shout your love from the rooftops, give all you got, kind of love… with you.”

Starsky’s eyes widened and his dancing heart fell to the floor in shock. He swallowed and opened his mouth a few times to speak, but nothing came out but an awkward, “Hutch?”

Hutch slowly raised his head and looked at Starsky briefly before quickly backpedaling. “Yeah, crazy, huh? If only… what ifs. Th-they drive you nuts, right? I mean, I’m a man, you’re a… you’re not a…”

“Hutch.”

Hutch stood and held both hands in front of him as he made his way to the door. “Don’t mind me, Starsk. I gotta go. I… I.need to clean my gun too, and my kit… you know… it’s at my place, so I’ll go. There. Yeah. See you tomorrow, buddy. Thanks for dinner.”

Hutch bolted for the door and slammed it behind him.

Starsky still hadn’t moved. “Aw, Hutch….”

Starsky was at Hutch’s place bright and early the next day. He had thought long and hard about what Hutch’s wish would mean to them both. He had to come to grips with a lot of things from his past.

The women he knew he loved in his life, even Terry if he dared to admit it, never came close to the love he felt for Hutch. He always knew if things had been different and Terry was just his casual girlfriend and she forced him to choose between herself and Hutch, she would have lost. But he remembered the reality of Terry and Hutch with a smile. Hutch had stood by him, never demanding anything for himself, content to be second best, to be just his partner. Isn’t that real love, especially if secretly Hutch was hurting and wanting more?

By the time late last night turned into early this morning, he found a peace within him that was followed quickly by an overwhelming joy. Hutch could be his. He could hold that beautiful blond heart in his hands and pour his brimming love all over its tender wounds.

And guaranteed, Hutch would do the same for him.

Starsky didn’t know how they would do it, but he wanted it done. He knew his partner would think it to death, but Starsky was determined to give it a try. He’d give his skittish Hutch all the time he needed and he’d take his clues from him.

Starsky sipped on his hot coffee and popped half a donut into his mouth. He glanced down at the second coffee and blueberry muffin he’d bought for Hutch. It was going to be a good day. He honked his horn three times in quick succession, the partner’s signal for all’s well but move your ass.

Hutch scrambled out of his apartment, his eyes bleary and his golden hair going in eight directions at once. He was wearing his shoulder holster over a green tee shirt in deference to the summer weather. He was struggling to pull on a light cotton shirt to hide his Magnum from public display, but his struggles were in vain since his shirt was upside down. When he reached the Torino, he was frustrated and red faced and threw the offending shirt through the open window at his grinning and well-groomed partner.

“Mornin’, Hutch! Beautiful day isn’t it?”

Hutch glared at Starsky. They were dressed similarly as often happened. Starsky had on a wrinkle free yellow tee shirt under a lightweight, pinstriped button-down shirt. But that’s where the similarity ended. Where Hutch already looked frazzled and fried, Starsky looked cool and confident.

Hutch muttered. “Beautiful,” in his most sarcastic tone.

Starsky just grinned wider. “I bought ya coffee and a muffin, partner.”

Hutch spotted the white bag with his favorite bakery’s logo on it waiting for him. He took it in hand and pulled out the lidded coffee cup, stopping a moment to inhale the aroma of the freshly baked blueberry muffin. He aimed half a smile Starsky’s way. “Thanks, buddy. Smells delicious.”

Starsky pulled away from the curb with a simple, “You’re welcome.”

Hutch remained quiet on the ride in and sat silently through Dobey’s Monday morning briefing. Starsky was willing to let Hutch have his awkward silence for a while. But the more he watched his suffering partner, the more he knew he wanted to be the one to end that suffering.

The conversation, he knew, would be like crossing a minefield. Each step would hold the danger of destroying their friendship. But Starsky felt if their relationship was strong enough to move on from caring friends to a lifelong commitment, they had to attempt to face the battlefield to make it through to the other side. In other words, he had to get Hutch to talk.

Dobey had given Starsky and Hutch a file from an incident that had happened early Sunday morning. It looked like a case of domestic abuse gone wrong. A battered woman had fought back against her abusive husband and shot him. The neighbors had all agreed that although the incident was a tragedy, they were not surprised. The murdered man, Greg Hastings, was disliked by all and would be mourned by none.

There were two strange things about the crime. The first was that the wife, Connie, had no new bruises at the scene; there was, however, plenty of evidence of past abuse. The second was that the murder weapon was nowhere to be found. Connie Hastings, now in custody, claimed that she couldn’t remember what happened to it after she shot her husband. She was too distraught. The officers at the scene never found the gun.

Starsky and Hutch had agreed they should revisit the scene and interview the neighbors themselves. Their radar told them something was off about the situation. Hutch was still reading the neighbors’ statements intently when Starsky tapped him on the shoulder.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s get lunch then go visit the crime scene.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Hutch mumbled.

Starsky sighed. “Then you can watch me eat and make nasty comments. That’s like sustenance to people like you.”

“People like me?” Hutch bristled.

“Yeah. Grumpy, dumb blond partners.” Starsky lowered his voice. “Hutch, enough already. We need to talk. Let’s go to lunch.”

Hutch hung his head. “Sorry, Starsk. Yeah. I…I’m coming.”

Starsky ruffled Hutch’s hair that still looked a little off its game. “It’s okay, Hutch. I promise.”

Starsky sprung for two sodas and two chili dogs at a local drive-up . One with the works and one naked except for the bun. He figured the Torino in the middle of a busy lunchtime crowd was the best place to talk without interruption. He parked the car in a sliver of shade from a derelict building. Hutch set his hot dog on the warm dash, not intending to actually eat it. He did take the soda can gratefully, popped it open and downed half before Starsky managed to get into the car.

Starsky took a large bite out of his dog, wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, and turned towards his partner. “Hutch. I been thinking about your wish.”

Hutch interrupted immediately. “Starsk, I was just feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean what you said?” Starsky looked right into Hutch’s eyes daring him to lie to him.

Hutch folded. “No. I meant it. But it’s just a fantasy. I mean what could be better than having you as a partner, a real partner in everything. I already love you with all I’ve got. I trust you implicitly. And you would rather die than hurt me. You know all that. It would be… a nice life, Starsk.”

Starsky did his best to act cool while fireworks were going off in his brain. He took another leisurely bite of his chili dog, stopping to lick some sauce off his fingers, knowing Hutch was probably holding his breath waiting for an answer.

“It’s a good wish, blondie. I like the idea of makin’ all your wishes come true. Makes me feel kinda magical. Let’s do it.”

Hutch did stop breathing at that point. His eyes grew wide, his mouth twitched, and he almost dropped his soda, but Starsky grabbed for it and put it down. He took Hutch’s hand.

“Hutch. It’s all right, babe. I’m not shitin’ ya. I love you and I trust you, too. We can figure this out. We’ll go slow. I mean, it’s me and thee. We’ll… experiment together. Now breathe, babe, breathe.”

Starsky held Hutch’s hand and waited until the color came back to Hutch’s cheeks. “Hutch, I gotta know. You ever been with a man before?”

Hutch looked down and shook his head; the power of speech had not returned yet.

“Me neither. That’s probably good. We can explore together. And we’ll start tonight.”

Hutch looked up slowly and smiled. The smile was sweet, sincere, and devastatingly sexy all at the same time. “O… Okay, Starsk.” Hutch picked up his naked hot dog and took a huge bite. “Mmmmmm.”

Starsky was now the one rendered speechless.

Starsky and Hutch knew it was very bad form to be grinning at a crime scene. But they were both high on the thought that tonight Starsky would make Hutch’s wish come true. But until then, they decided to split up, to search the crime scene more efficiently and keep themselves from groping each other in the empty house. Starsky took the upstairs and Hutch downstairs.

Hutch was carefully going over the kitchen when a tall, mournful-looking man appeared in the doorway.

“Um… excuse me, Officer? I’m the landlord, Mr. Stevens,” he introduced himself. “I wonder if you could tell me when you might be done? I… I don’t want to impede your investigation in any way. It was a terrible, terrible thing that happened. I was just wondering.”

Hutch gave a tiny shrug. “I understand, Mr. Stevens, but I can’t give you an exact date. I will make a note to personally inform you when you can clean up. That shouldn’t be too long.”

Stevens gave a timid smile and nodded. “I’d appreciate it. What are you looking for anyway? Maybe I could help.”

Stevens took a few steps towards Hutch who was standing in front of the refrigerator where he’d been getting ready to take a look inside the upper freezer section.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stevens. You shouldn’t enter a crime scene. We don’t want your fingerprints all over everything. Thank you, but I really need you to wait outside until the scene is properly processed. You understand,” Hutch explained respectfully but firmly.

“Sure, Officer. I understand. Thank you. I’ll just be going.” Stevens retreated toward the door and Hutch turned back to the freezer. He began to rearrange the contents so he could see all the way into the back. He grabbed an open, half gallon ice cream box and was surprised by the weight. Unless the Rocky Road had started using real rocks, he found the gun.

“Close the freezer door, Officer. Then raise your hands and turn around.” The timid landlord had turned into a tiger.

Hutch felt a shiver run down his back caused by more than the freezer’s icy smoke. He closed the door slowly, raised his cold hands and turned. Stevens had a gun aimed at him dead center. Hutch was nervous but he knew he had a secret weapon. Stevens didn’t know Starsky was in the house.

Hutch decided to take a calculated risk. “So, I take it the murder weapon is in the freezer. But how would you know? And why would you care?”

Stevens looked frightened at Hutch’s guess and almost remorseful. That’s when Hutch instinctively realized that this might be a case of a good man gone bad. “You must have known Connie pretty well. What her husband did to her was a shame.”

“Hastings wasn’t a man. He was a monster. He made Connie’s life hell. Everyone hated him. No one will mourn him. Can you imagine that?” Steven’s face contorted in pain “To live your whole life being such a bastard that in your death no one would mourn? What is a life like that worth? As an officer of the law, your funeral will be packed with mourners. That’s the way to live. I’m sorry to have to take yours, but I love Connie and soon she’ll be released and we’ll go away together.”

Starsky had started down the stairs when he heard voices. Hutch was having a conversation with someone and, though he didn’t hear the words, he couldn’t mistake Hutch’s “move along, nothing to be seen here,” official tone.

But then Hutch’s tone changed. He was in trouble. Starsky reached for his gun.

Hutch strained to hear his partner’s footsteps. At the same time, adrenaline made him lightheaded. He had to keep Stevens distracted. “Connie struck me as a gentle lady who had reached the end of her rope. She admitted to killing her husband after he abused her,” Hutch told him.

Stevens grew frantic. He pointed to himself, but kept the gun aimed at Hutch. “Connie was going to leave Hastings for me, but she was afraid to confront him. She asked me to kill Hastings before he could hurt her anymore. What kind of man would I be if I said no?”

Stevens squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them they blazed with desperation. “Then Connie said it would be better if she took the blame. She would claim self-defense and never serve time. She took my gun from my hand after I shot him and shoved it into a box of ice cream in the freezer. She told me to get it out later and get rid of it so it couldn’t be traced to me. But you ruined everything. See, I just bought this gun on the street. It’s untraceable.”

“Stevens. Listen to me. No gun is untraceable. You don’t want to kill me, I know it. Besides, lots of people know where I am right now.”

That was Starsky’s cue. He moved out of the shadows, hands steady, gun raised and pointed at Stevens. “Yeah. Like his partner. Drop the gun. Now.“

Stevens jerked around and came face to face with Starsky. Starsky could see him sweating in the July heat and saw terror flash across his features. It was clear Stevens didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t a hardened killer. All he wanted was a life with Connie. And love makes you not think straight.

Then Stevens turned back to Hutch and put his finger on the trigger.

Starsky had no choice. He fired his gun.

Nothing happened. His gun jammed!

Stevens pulled the trigger and Hutch grunted and fell.

 Starsky aimed at Stevens a second time. Again his gun misfired.

Stevens smiled and turned his gun on Starsky. It seemed as if he didn’t care if he lived or died. Then he closed his eyes.

Then the roar of Hutch’s Magnum filled the room. It was Stevens’ turn to fall to the floor, a bullet in his heart.

Hutch was alive! And since Hutch was alive, Starsky wanted to live, too.

With a frustrated cry, Starsky threw his useless gun across the room and ran to Hutch’s side.

“Starssk. Starsk,“ Hutch moaned through his pain.

“Hutch. Oh, God. Hutch.” Starsky ran his hands over Hutch’s body, hardly believing that he was still breathing.

Click here to read Part 2.