This was written for the Me and Thee List "Liver" challenge. Unusually for me, this is actually gen!

I don't own Starsky or Hutch and I'm not making any money.

Chopped Liver

Hutch shifted in the uncomfortable chair in the dentist's waiting room. After losing the wrong one in the struggle over Vic Rankin, Starsky had finally admitted the need to go to the dentist and have his toothache looked at, and the dentist had diagnosed an impacted wisdom tooth. It needed to come out, it needed to be done under general anesthesia, and that meant Starsky needed someone to drive him home afterwards and stay with him. And that meant Hutch. They'd been there for quite awhile now, and Hutch was getting bored. Dentist's offices had the worst magazines.

Finally the dentist's pretty assistant appeared at the door to the waiting room, with one hand on the shoulder of a slightly unsteady Starsky. He had a huge grin on his face, and seemed to be feeling no pain, in any meaning of the phrase.

"Mr. Hutchinson?" the assistant said in a perky voice. "Mr. Starsky is ready to go home now."

Starsky waved drunkenly. "Hi, Hutch!" he slurred. "They took my tooth out 'n it doesn't hurt any more!"

Hutch took over holding Starsky's shoulder.

"Is he supposed to be this groggy?" he asked dubiously. Starsky swayed and leaned bonelessly against him. Hutch steadied him with an arm around his waist.

"Dr. Robinson says that he's having a little bit of an atypical reaction, but not to worry, it's not serious. Just take him home, give him something like a milkshake to coat his stomach, let him sleep it off, and he'll be fine. He'll want to eat soft foods for a few days, and then come back in a week to have the stitches out." She handed Hutch a slip of paper. "And this is a prescription for painkillers for the next few days."

"Hear that? I get to have a milkshake, Hutch!" Starsky giggled. "I want chocolate! You're gonna' buy me a chocolate milkshake, right?"

"OK, Buddy, let's get you home." Hutch sighed. "We'll stop at an ice-cream place on the way. I'll get you a chocolate shake." He could see right now he was in for a long afternoon. A stoned, babbling Starsky could try the patience of a far more saintly person than Hutch. On the other hand, maybe he'd simply pass out. Hutch could only hope.

Unfortunately, that hope was not realized. Starsky chattered cheerfully and pointlessly all the way to the Cosmic Cow get his milkshake and after, pausing only long enough to take happy sips from the straw. Hutch shuddered a little when he started pulling the straw out of the shake and licking and sucking off the thick brown fluid.

"Ya' ever think about what a chocolate milkshake looks like, Hutch?" Starsky asked seriously. Then he answered himself before Hutch could respond. "It looks like chopped liver, that's what."

That was a little disturbing, Hutch thought, but not as bad as what Starsky could have come up with. "I guess it does a little bit at that, Buddy. Tastes better, though, doesn't it?"

Starsky slurped another mouthful of milkshake. "Well, nothing tastes as good as chocolate," he said seriously and thoughtfully, "But chopped liver is pretty good too. It's not like that desiccated powdered stuff you put in your breakfast."

They had reached Starsky's apartment by then. Hutch piloted him up the stairs and into the bedroom. "OK, Starsk, let's get you into bed."

Starsky giggled. "Oh you sweet-talker! My mamma warned me there'd be boys like you."

"I'm sure she did," Hutch murmured, easing Starsky out of his shirt. "You're going to have to help me with the jeans, Starsk."

Starsky was less incapacitated than Hutch had been afraid, and had no trouble pulling off his own jeans. He slid under the covers, then looked up at Hutch with suspiciously bright and alert eyes. "You aren't going to leave me in here all alone, are you, Hutch?"

"Well, I was going to go sit in the living room and watch some TV. The dentist said I should let you sleep this off, remember?"

Starsky pouted. "But I'm not tired. I don't wanta' be left alone. What am I, chopped liver?"

"Um, what's that, Starsky?" It sounded like Starsky had just compared himself to chopped liver.

Starsky looked annoyed. "Chopped liver, Hutch. Didn't you ever hear the expression, 'what am I, chopped liver?'"

"Um, no, babe, sorry." Hutch shook his head. Since Starsky obviously wasn't going to let him go, he pulled up a chair beside the bed and settled down.

"It means, am I worthless?" Starsky explained. "But I don't understand why it means that, because chopped liver isn't worthless. Chopped liver is really good. It's like... Jewish soul food."

Hutch smiled weakly. "I thought that was chicken soup. But no, Babe, you are certainly not worthless. Right now, though, I think it would be a good idea if you tried to go to sleep."

Starsky shook his head vigorously. "Chicken soup is Jewish penicillin, Hutch, you should know that. 'Cause it cures anything. But chopped liver is soul food. Chopped liver is chicken liver, you know. Not the kind of liver that comes from cows. That's disgusting stuff. My pop used ta' like it though. Ma would make it with fried onions. I wouldn't eat any of the liver. But I'd eat the onions, they were good."

Hutch nodded. He started to say something, but Starsky went right on.

"You know what that reminds me of? When I was little, Ma used to read to me and Nicky, and she read us the Rootabaga Stories. You ever read the Rootabaga Stories?"

Hutch shook his head. "Don't think so, Starsk. Heard of them, though, by Carl Sandburg, right?" Looked like the only thing to do was humor him.

Starsky shrugged. "Don't remember who, but they were very..." he paused as though searching for a word "What'm I thinkin' of? Like the guy who painted the limp watches, you know who I mean, Hutch?"

Hutch blinked. "Um, limp watches? You mean Salvador Dali?" Now what the hell was Starsky getting at?

Starsky looked owlishly thoughtful. "Yeah, I think so. Dali... deli... hey, sounds like somewhere you'd get chopped liver, right? But anyway, what kinda' painting did he do?"

"Surrealistic?" Hutch suggested.

Starsky nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, that sounds right. So anyway, those Rootabaga Stories were really surrealistic. But that's not what I was gonna' say... what was I gonna' say, Hutch? "

Hutch just shrugged helplessly.

"Some friend you are," Starsky grumbled. "Can't even tell me what I was gonna' say... Oh that was it, yeah. Liver and onions, right. See, one of the places in the Rootabaga Stories was the Village of Liver-and-Onions. So thinking about my pop eating liver and onions made me think of the Rootabaga Stories, see?"

Hutch nodded, relieved that it actually did make sense. Starsky-sense, at any rate. Stoned Starsky-sense.

"Hey, Hutch, what is a rootabaga, anyway?"

"Well, it's spelled differently, but a rutabaga is a type of turnip. Big one. My mother used to cook them with potatoes sometimes."

Starsky made a face. "Sounds kinda' bland to me. Glad my mom never made me eat that."

Hutch shrugged. "Wasn't so bad as that, Starsk."

Starsky was on a roll again. "My ma did used to try to make me eat liver sometimes though. When she made it for my pop. But I'd always manage to get rid of it when she wasn't looking. But I did like liverwurst, though. Liverwurst is made from liver, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So I wonder why it tastes so much better?" Starsky said thoughtfully. "Hey, ya' know what else liver makes me think of?"

Hutch shook his head. "No idea, partner."

"My grandma. The one who used to live over the Italian restaurant. You know why it makes me think of her? 'Cause she always was giving us kids cod-liver oil. Now that's nasty, Hutch."

Hutch nodded sympathetically. He'd been given cod-liver oil once or twice as a boy, too.

"I wonder why it all tastes so different?" Starsky went on. "I mean, it's all liver, after all. So why does cod-liver oil and cow liver taste so much worse than liverwurst or chopped liver?"

Hutch started to say something, but Starsky went right on. "Course, I know what it is that makes chopped liver taste good. You have to put schmaltz in it. That's what makes it taste good. You know what schmaltz is, Hutch?"

"Uh... I thought it just meant sentimental... you know, soapy..." Hutch was a little bewildered now.

"Naw, that's just a whattayoucall 'em, an idiom. What it really means is chicken fat. Ya' gotta' put in extra chicken fat. 'Course, the other's true, too... cause schmaltz is all about love, and ya' gotta' put love into it, too. That's why my ma could make such good chicken liver." Starsky smiled lopsidedly and yawned.

Hutch wondered if he was finally going to fall asleep. "You're getting a little schmaltzy there yourself, Starsk," he said affectionately.

"Maybe a little, but it's all about the liver, ya' know?" Starsky yawned. "Liver, liver... Hutch, if a shopper is someone who shops, and a driver is someone who drives, how come a liver isn't someone who lives?"

Oh boy, he was starting on really weird tangents now. Hopefully he'd be passing out soon before Hutch was forced to throttle him. "Well, different verbs take different forms..." he started, but Starsky kept on going.

"I mean, of course I know you aren't going to live without your liver, so in a way, someone with a liver is a live-er, right?" Starsky snickered a little at his own joke.

"Starsk, I really think you should try to get some sleep now." Hutch smiled. "I think you're getting a little loopy." Actually, he was kind of cute like this, Hutch had to admit. In an annoying sort of way.

"Liver, liver... lover. The liver is for love... wasn't that what people thought once? That the emotions were in the liver? I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere... those old Roman guys, and Greeks and them. 'Cause there was so much blood in the liver they thought it was the most important organ." Starsky was on a roll now, Hutch could tell.

"Um yeah, I guess..." he tried to break in.

"So you see," Starsky went on seriously, oblivious to Hutch's amusement, "That means if you love someone, you have to give them liver, like my mom gave Pop liver and onions or my grandma gave us cod liver oil. You know almost the only thing my Aunt Rose can cook is chopped liver? She makes it really good. I think 'cause she's got love..." Starsky yawned again. His eyes closed. And then, just like that, he was asleep.

Hutch tucked the covers around him carefully and quietly slipped out of the room.

Once in the living room he gave a sigh of relief and sat down thinking for a few minutes. Then he started looking through the stuff Starsky had by his telephone, soon unearthing his address book.

He made a few calls, taking notes on the first one, then sat down to wait. Starsky was still sleeping when he checked on him.

Pretty soon Huggy Bear was at the door.

"So how is Curly doing?" he asked when Hutch let him in.

"He's asleep finally. I called the dentist, he may sleep the rest of the day and through the night. But I want to stay here just in case anything happens." He pulled out some money. "Here, if you can just do some shopping, I have a list right here. And can you get this prescription filled?"

"You have to ask?" Huggy asked. "I'll get it right back."

After Huggy had returned and left again, Hutch started working in the kitchen. Starsky kept sleeping.

For the rest of the day he stayed in, quietly watching TV for the most part. Starsky showed no signs of waking up. Hutch made himself a sandwich for dinner, and watched the late show. Finally he fell asleep on the couch.

The next morning Starsky was still asleep. Finally, though, around noon Hutch heard him shuffle out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. He was there for quite awhile.

"Hey, sleeping beauty" Hutch said cheerfully when he was out again. "How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad" Starsky muttered. "But my mouth hurts."

Hutch held up the bottle of painkillers. "Huggy got these filled for you. Come take a couple." He poured Starsky some water. "So how much of yesterday do you remember?"

Starsky made a face. "Unfortunately, all of it. Ugh, that's embarrassing. Going on like that... you should have just told me to shut up, partner."

"Actually, it was kind of interesting, in a strange sort of way. I wouldn't have ever thought of the connection between liver and love." He grinned.

Starsky winced. "It made perfect sense at the time."

"Well, never mind about it now. Come and get some food. You have to be starving."

Starsky put his hand up to his mouth. "Don't think there's much I can eat, Hutch."

"Don't worry about it, Starsk. The dentist said you would need soft food for awhile so I made something special."

"Aw hey! You didn't need to do that, Hutch." His face took on a look of suspicion suddenly. "It isn't one of those disgusting things you drink for breakfast, is it?"

"What, with the desiccated liver in it?" Hutch laughed. "No, no, wouldn't dream of it, Babe." He settled Starsky at the table, and turned to the refrigerator.

"Actually," he went on, "I started thinking what soft food there was that I was pretty sure you'd like, and... it was really pretty obvious. But I didn't know a recipe, so I had to call an expert."

"Hutch! You didn't...?"

Hutch pulled a bowl out of the refrigerator, and set it down in front of him. "Yup, I did. Here you go, Starsk. Aunt Rose's best chopped liver."