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Lessons Learned

By

Paula Wilshe

"You've got to be kidding me."

"No." Hutch shook his head. "I'm not."

Starsky peered at him in awe. "You mean to tell me that you've never, not ever in your life, never—"

"Never," Hutch confirmed, wondering why he was beginning to feel self-conscious. "Starsk, is it really that big a deal?"

Starsky thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah," he answered. "It really is."

Hutch shrugged. "It isn't to me," he said. "It's not something I ever—"

Starsky reached over and ran gentle fingers through the day's end tangle of blond hair. He leaned in closer, then gave Hutch's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. "It's just wrong," he said gently. "It's wrong."

Hutch sighed. "I don't really see what you're going to do about it," he said. "I mean, I'm all grown up, I'm a big boy now—stop it," he held up a warning finger against Starsky's lecherous leer, "and I seem to have gotten by without being in a situation where it was required. Why mess with that?"

"Why?" Starsky's eyes grew wide.

"Why?" Hutch repeated.

"Well, because, well…." Starsky pushed exasperated hands through the air when words failed him. "You're not getting any younger, you know," he finally sputtered.

Hutch grinned and pulled Starsky into a half embrace, half wrestling hold. "I'm not getting older," he said with a laugh, "I'm getting better. Like the commercial says. You of all people should know that."

"You think so, huh?" Starsky teased. He flopped back against the couch cushions. "And here I thought I was livin' with some old stuffed-shirt fuddy-duddy."

"A what?’ Hutch's eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline. "You're older than me, partner."

"Chronologically, maybe," Starsky answered with a snort.

Hutch shook his head. "I still don't see why it upsets you so much," he said. "Do you know why it upsets you?"

"Well," Starsky mused, "Kind of."

Hutch moved closer and bumped his shoulder up against Starsky's. "Why?" he prodded.

"It's just…." Starsky's tone softened. "Well, I mean, you know, I love your folks and all,"

"But…?" Hutch said, his tone amused.

"But nothin'," Starsky assured him. "I love 'em, you know that. I always have fun when we go to visit them, and they're always real nice when they come here. In fact," he squeezed Hutch's knee, "they couldn't have been nicer or better when you told them—"

"They were pretty cool about it, you're right." Hutch agreed with a nod.

"But it's always like—"

"Like what?"

"They're so clean, Hutch."

"Clean? What the hell does that mean?"

"They're just—" Starsky searched for words that would not come. "Just---you know—"

"No, I don't know," Hutch replied, now thoroughly confused.

"Um…well, I mean, you're almost forty years old."

"So?"

"And every time we're with them," Starsky paused, "it's like…'Ken, don't spill that on your tie,' 'Kenny, be careful, I just cleaned the floor,' 'Kenneth don't leave your sneakers there.'" He shrugged helplessly. "Like that."

Hutch shook his head. "So they're neat. So what?"

"I just have this feeling," Starsky explained, "that the way they are now is the way they've always been, even when you were a little boy."

"I'll say it again," Hutch said. "So what?"

"It's bad enough when you're a forty year old adult."

"Thirty nine."

"Okay, thirty nine year old adult. But—did they do that stuff to you when you were a kid?"

Hutch shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Starsk, it was a long time ago, I don't remember."

Starsky reached over and rubbed the back of Hutch's neck lightly. "I just sometimes get the impression…that you were always a grown up, that you were never a kid."

"Oh." Hutch blinked thoughtfully. "I think I was a kid."

"Yeah, you were a kid," Starsky agreed, "but you didn't do kid stuff."

"I did kid stuff," Hutch objected. "As long as it wasn't too messy or dangerous or screw with my allergies or something."

"Hutch, Hutch, Hutch," Starsky intoned. "All kid stuff is messy or dangerous or screws with your allergies. That's the rule of being a kid, don't you get that?"

"Oh." He cast an amused glance at Starsky. "Well there isn't a whole lot you're gonna do about it now," he offered. "Seeing's as I'm thirty nine years old, as you've so helpfully pointed out."

"Ah," Starsky held up a finger. "But that's where you're wrong, my boy!"

~*~*~*~

"This is—this is—this is—gross," Hutch said flatly.

"No it's not, not at all," Starsky assured him. He looked up and down the nearly deserted beach for a spot that seemed satisfactory. "Bring it here," he told his partner, moving closer to the water.

Hutch moved toward him, his expression one of distaste. "I don't really like the way it feels," he complained. "It's…. squishy."

"Of course it's squishy," Starsky retorted, "It's supposed to be squishy, how else are you going to make a water balloon?"

"But I still don't get the point of the—"

"Feel it, Hutch," Starsky instructed. "Move it from hand to hand, feel how much give there is to the balloon, know by the feel of it how much squeezing it would take to pop."

"You're joking, right?"

"I am absolutely not joking." Starsky took hold of Hutch's empty left hand and placed it on the top of the green balloon he held in his right. "The feel is very important. It's how you figure out if it's right for whatever you need the trajectory to be."

"Trajectory?"

"Trajectory."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "What did I do to deserve this? I eat my vegetables, I make the bed every day, I—"

"Stop thinking of it as a punishment," Starsky ordered. "It isn't." He pressed Hutch's hands against the balloon. "Knead it."

"No I don't."

"Don't what?"

"I don't need it." Hutch tried to pass the balloon back to his partner, but Starsky pushed it away.

"Oh for Chrissakes. Knead it. With a K."

"Like bread?"

"Yeah, like that."

Hutch pressed his lips together and pushed at the balloon with his thumbs. A muffled pop and the resultant spray of water to his face told him he had used a bit much oomph. He looked at Starsky, water dripping from his bangs, eyelashes, nose, and moustache. "I hope you're happy," he said darkly, snaking his tongue out to catch an errant trickle.

"Blissfully," Starsky said breezily. "And this is fun too." He reached into the pillowcase he had brought for another balloon. "Blue this time, okay? Matches your eyes," he added with a wink. "Here you go."

"No."

"Yes," Starsky returned firmly.

"Fine." Hutch accepted the new balloon with his right hand, his left wiping away the lingering drizzles of water on his face. "If I intimately get to know my rubber friend here, can we go home?"

"Absolutely."

"Fine." Hutch was silent for a moment as he regarded the blue balloon thoughtfully. "It's looser than the other one, isn't it?" he finally observed.

"Good," Starsky nodded in approval. "You're right. I've found over the years that different colored balloons feel different when they're filled with water. Green is the easiest to pop, and red is the hardest. Yellow is pretty tight too. Blue is a good all around water balloon. It's sturdy, but pliable."

"It kind of is," Hutch agreed, shifting it from palm to palm. He looked up. "I like the feel of this one better."

"Good," Starsky said with a smile. "It's important to feel comfortable with it, to have some give and take with it."

"I do," Hutch replied. "It feels good."

"Terrific!" Starsky approved. "Let's try some basic tossing, then, okay?"

Hutch nodded.

"Now you don't want to lob it hard," Starsky told him patiently. "Easy does it. We're not trying to burst the thing right now, we're just getting a feeling for how it flies."

"Okay." Hutch tossed the balloon underhand to his partner, who caught it gently and easily.

"Good," Starsky praised him. "Very important what you just did there, you let your arm give with it a little bit. It's really tempting to—"

"Yeah, it is, isn't it," Hutch's voice was slightly more animated. "I mean, you want to really hurl the thing, but it's kind of like…I don't know, tossing eggs or something. That little bit of give is your buffer so you don't get splattered."

"Exactly." Starsky noticed the telltale furrow between Hutch's brows grow deeper. "What's wrong?"

"I'm starting to sound like you," Hutch said slowly. "I find it disturbing."

"Don't let it," Starsky replied. "Embrace it. Now come on, get ready, I'm gonna toss this back."

Hutch stood still as Starsky gently threw the balloon back toward him. His tall frame moved forward, knees slightly bent, and he caught the balloon easily. "Got it," he grinned.

"Good job. Let's do it again."

The two tossed the balloon back and forth several times, moving along the beach as they did, closer to the water, then further away, their concentration unbroken by the breaking waves, or the seagulls hovering in close in case the balloon harbored some delectable treat.

"Getting the hang of this," Hutch puffed slightly.

"You're doing great. One more and we'll call it a day, all right?" Starsky held the balloon aloft.

"Okay," Hutch agreed. "Why don't we pick up lunch on the way home, then?"

Starsky tossed the balloon toward his partner, and as Hutch moved toward its anticipated landing spot, he skidded slightly in the sand. Knowing he had to make up the precious time quickly, he dove toward the balloon, planning a tuck and roll on the sand. He did not realize, however, how close he was to the water's edge, and his launch placed him soundly in the surf, a wave covering his head immediately, followed by another, and then another. As he lay sputtering and coughing, half in and half out of the water, he held the intact water filled balloon up in the air in triumph. "Got it!" he shouted, between waves.

~*~*~*~

"That's it, that's it!" Starsky encouraged. "Little to the left."

"Your left or my left?" Hutch called down from the window of his apartment.

"Yours." Starsky toed the chalk circle he had made on the sidewalk. "You're trying for the middle, but even though you're right over it, you've got to account for the breeze, and the velocity of the air flow."

"I hated physics," Hutch commented, as he moved the balloon from hand to hand in preparation for the drop.

"I loved it," Starsky said. "It was the first subject in high school that I figured I could use in real life."

"For things like this?"

"Absolutely." Starsky moved back and leaned against the Torino, which was parked along the curbside. "You gonna stand there all day and chat, or you gonna throw that thing?"

Hutch ran a hand through his hair. "I'm gonna throw it," he said. "I just want to be ready."

"Mentally prepared, huh?" Starsky asked with a grin.

Hutch gave him a dark look. "Yeah, something like that." He leaned out the window a bit further. "Now shut up and let me aim." He paused in intense concentration, then, a moment later, pitched the balloon up, out, and slightly to the left. Seconds later it landed with a resounding splat just off the center of the circle Starsky had drawn. "Yes!" he yelled, fist in the air. "Perfect!"

Starsky pushed himself off the Torino, clapping his hands and laughing. "You got it, Blintz, I'm proud of you!"

"Thanks!" Hutch's cheeks were flushed with the thrill of success. "Wow, almost dead center on the first try! I'm gonna try another one, all right?" And he disappeared inside the window to procure another balloon.

Starsky shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I've created a monster," he commented to no one in particular.

~*~*~*~

"If you don't do something about your other half," Huggy Bear warned, toweling off his face and hair, "I will."

"What happened?" Starsky asked, trying to smother the laughter which struggled to break free at the sight of the dripping wet man.

"Your partner happened," Huggy told him darkly. "Minding my own business, taking care of my own business at my own establishment. Your partner was here earlier when he picked up your lunch. He said you were meeting him out the back door and left."

"I didn't meet him around the back door," Starsky replied. "I met him out front."

"Figures. So an hour later, I go out to put the garbage in the can, and whomp! Some huge red balloon comes toppling off the doorjamb, and voila! The Bear is soaked."

"Red was a good choice," Starsky told him. "Short drop from the doorway."

"What?"

"I said, um," Starsky shrugged helplessly. "You know he was probably just trying to have a little fun."

"That don't make me dry now, does it?"

Starsky pulled the towel from Huggy's hands and patted ineffectively at his friend's face. "No, Hug, it doesn't." He snapped the towel playfully at Huggy's midsection. "I'll speak to him about it," he promised.

"Don't 'speak to him about it,'" Huggy mimicked. "Tell him to knock it the hell off. It's the third time this week."

Starsky burst into a laugh. "Okay, okay," he relented, although his voice lacked conviction.

~*~*~*~

"Hey, Captain," Starsky greeted his superior as he breezed through the squad room doors. Noting the older man's dour expression, he stopped short. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"Where's Hutchinson?"

"Down in Records," Starsky told him. "Looking up stuff for a lead we got on the Steiner case. Why?"

"I don't know what's gotten into him," the Captain returned in an angry voice. "He used to be a fairly respectable, responsible boy and suddenly…." He raised his hands palms up. "I think he's gone over the edge, Starsky, and I'm concerned." His tone grew confidential. "Come in here." He pointed to his office, then stalked through the doorway, Starsky on his heels. Dobey sat down heavily. "I need to know what's going on with him."

"What do you mean?" Starsky asked, puzzled.

"Is he under some kind of stress?" The Captain squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "You two having some kind of, uh, you know, partner problems?"

Starsky shook his head. "No, Cap'n, everything's fine."

"Something going on with his family?"

"No."

"How about money? He having some kind of money trouble?"

"No, Captain, nothing like that." Starsky leaned forward in his chair. "Why are you asking me this stuff? What's wrong? What's he done?"

"This, for starters," Dobey reached in a desk drawer and pulled out a tattered, broken yellow balloon. "It was rigged in the men's room yesterday, and Minnie said she saw him coming out of there a few minutes before I um, came into unfortunate contact with it."

Starsky bit his lip. "Uh, well, you know, that doesn't mean he's necessarily having a breakdown, Captain. Maybe he was just trying to have a little fun?"

"From you I would expect it, Starsky," the Captain replied. "From Hutchinson? Never. Not his style. They found one outside the cafeteria, one fell down from the doorway in Supply, and there was one stuck over the door to the police garage." He banged a fist on the desk. "All different colors. Now I want some answers, Starsky!"

"I could be wrong, of course, Captain," Starsky said smoothly, "and of course, I know nothing about this, it's not something he's discussed with me. But you know, he is turning forty soon, and…."

"So are you."

"Yeah, that's true, but, you know, I don't think it bothers me as much as it bothers Hutch. He's got a real thing about getting older, going gray, losing his hair, whatever." Starsky ran a hand down his face in order to buy himself a moment so that he wouldn't break down in hysterics. "Maybe that's all it is. Trying to hang on to his childhood."

"You don't think there's some deep psychological reason we should be concerned about? You think he's just…playing?"

"I'd bet my life on it, Captain," Starsky said firmly. He smirked. "You know Hutch, he's just a big kid, always has been."

Dobey looked at him strangely. "Big kid, huh?"

"Yeah, big kid," he repeated. He rose from the chair and moved toward the doorway. "That all, Cap'n?"

"That's it," Dobey growled, "but there are a whole bunch of folks in this station who'd like nothing better than to get a little revenge on him. You'd better tell your partner to watch his back."

"Will do, Captain." Starsky grinned and left the office.

~*~*~*~

"Starsky!" Dobey poked his head through the office door to the squad room. "Perkins just called. Hutchinson's on his way up."

Starsky rose from his chair slowly. "You really sure you want to do this, Captain?" His eyes traveled slowly up to the jamb above Dobey's office door."

"Damn right I want to do this. "Hutchinson's gonna act like a kid, he's gonna be punished like a kid. Give him a taste of his own medicine." He chuckled evilly.

"Yeah, but you know what Hutch's temper's like, and I really don't think—"

"Shut up, Starsky, this is my ball game now," Dobey ordered, shaking a finger at him. "I'm closing the door. When he comes in, you tell him I want him in here right away."

"Uh uh," Starsky said, shaking his head. "Not me. I have to ride home with him today."

"Chicken."

"Damn right."

"Hey," Hutch greeted him a few moments later, as he came through the squad room door. He handed Starsky a Styrofoam container. "Here you go," he offered.

"What's this?" Starsky looked down.

"Hot chocolate. With marshmallows. I thought the coffee up here—" Hutch indicated the pot on the side of the room, "was particularly raunchy this morning."

"Wow, thanks," Starsky answered, peeling the lid off the cup. "You want a sip?"

"Sure." Hutch reached for the cup, but passed it back quickly as the telephone on his desk began a jangling in-house ring. "Hutchinson." He looked puzzled for a moment, then said, "Okay," into the receiver, and hung it up slowly. "That was weird." He looked back at Starsky.

"What?"

"Dobey. He needs to talk to me about a personal matter. What the hell does that mean?"

Starsky could feel a self-conscious flush work its way up his neck. "Hutch, I—"

"Hold that thought," Hutch told him, moving toward the door. "I won't be long."

"Yeah, but Hutch, maybe you oughta—"

"Starsk," Hutch said benevolently, reaching for the doorknob. "It'll keep. I won't be long." He opened the door, and immediately yelped in surprise as a cascade of water rained down on him from several overfilled-to-bursting water balloons packed into the bucket perched over the door. "Wha—" he spluttered as the balloons broke on impact.

"Ah, Hutchinson," Captain Dobey rose from his desk. "How nice of you to join me."

Hutch shook his head sending a fresh shower of droplets in every direction. He blinked rapidly to clear the water from his eyes. "Captain, what the—"

Starsky rose from his chair and moved cautiously closer, noting as he did so that a spate of Hutch's previous victims were crowding in behind him, all wearing evil smiles borne of vengeful justice.

Dobey indicated their presence with a wave of his hand. "I'd say that the punishment fits the crime in this case, wouldn't you, Hutchinson?"

Hutch turned around slowly, silently, drenched and dripping, his expression changing as he processed quickly through a wide range of emotions. After an eternity, his eyes fastened squarely on his partner, and for once, Starsky was unable to read the message there.

"You knew about this, I presume," Hutch said wetly.

"Well, uh…"

Hutch ran both hands down his face, chasing water from his eyes, then shook his head again, sending a spray of droplets in every direction from the water that clung to the unruly blond hair. Slowly, very slowly, his eyes began to glint with amusement, and a huge, sunny smile started to form.

"There is nothing funny about this," Dobey stormed. "You wipe that smile off your face right now. I am appalled at your behavior over the last few days."

"Yes, Captain, appalled," Hutch echoed, smiling more broadly.

"This is the kind of behavior I might expect from your partner," he continued, his expression darkening in direct proportion to the expansion of the Hutchinson grin. "This—this—this—immaturity, this—"

"Immaturity," Hutch repeated, nodding in agreement. "Childishness too," he suggested, blinking blissfully.

"Yes, childishness, and don't put words in my mouth," ordered Dobey.

"Yes, sir."

"I have never seen more immature behavior in my life!"

"No, sir."

"-- and I'm warning you right now—" Dobey waved a beefy finger in Hutch's direction.

"Yes, sir?"

"You'd better grow up, and grow up fast!"

"Yes, sir!" Hutch saluted him crisply, then turned on his heel, laughing delightedly. He grabbed Starsky's sleeve and tugged him toward the door. "Come on, partner," he sang out, and headed for the door.

Starsky followed behind, looking back over his shoulder as Dobey continued to rant at them. "Uh, Hutch? Uh, Cap?"

"Just a total lack of regard for the workplace, this is—where the hell do you two think you're going? You get back here and clean up this mess! Hutchinson! Starsky!" As the pair disappeared around the doorway and into the hall, Dobey silently gazed at the burst balloons and puddles of water that were everywhere in his immediate vicinity. He looked up at the personnel still standing open mouthed at the rapid departure of the precinct's two top detectives. He looked back down at the devastation on the floor and shook his head in exasperation. "Damn kids," he huffed, and moved back inside, closing the door with a slam.

THE END