Christmas Pig-out
"You still watching that?"
Hutch moved Starsky's feet from the couch and sat down. Starsky made a sound halfway between a groan and a growl at the intrusion. He scrunched to his side of the couch, making room for Hutch to sit. Starsky glanced once at Hutch to see what he was eating—a piece of fruit cake, while sipping eggnog. (Hutch had a little eggnog mustache on his upper lip.) Then Starsky's attention immediately went back to the TV.
"No man is a failure, who has friends," said the TV, and the cast of "It's a Wonderful Life" began to sing Auld Lang Synge.
"Hmph. You watch that every year," mumbled Hutch around fruitcake. He brushed some crumbs off his lap, and then offered his eggnog glass, half empty, to Starsky.
Starsky shook his head and waved him away. He was singing along in a quiet voice, singing the words (or close to the words) of the famous tune. He leaned further forward, eyes plastered to the screen, and watched intently until the movie ended. Then he glanced back to Hutch in a distracted manner. "I'll take that now." He held a hand out for the eggnog glass.
Hutch gave him a goofy grin and put the empty glass in his hand. Starsky looked into it, and then glared at him. "You've got some on your face, Blondie."
Still grinning a little, Hutch took a swift swipe at his mouth with his shirtsleeve. Starsky rolled his eyes. He turned back to the TV and watched the credits roll.
"Your favorite movie, eh, Starsk?" Hutch nudged him, and Starsky didn't respond at first.
"Hm? Wazzat, Hutch?"
"Bet you wish they'd run it all year round."
"Oh, no. It's a tradition. Like you can't have roasted turkey every day of the year, you can't have 'It's a Wonderful Life' every day, either." He smiled.
"I'll bet you'd like that." Hutch gave Starsky a wicked smirk.
"What?" Starsky's eyes narrowed.
"Turkey every day. Bet you'd stuff your face till your cheeks were fat as a greedy squirrel's, and get so fat you couldn't stuff yourself into your jeans."
Starsky punched him in the arm.
"Ow." Hutch rubbed it, and laughed.
"You're in fine spirits, ain't ya, Hutch?" Starsky quit frowning and gave him a small smile. "Did you leave any of that fruitcake for me? I'm surprised you're eating it."
"It's got fruit in it," said Hutch, in rather superior tones, but with a slightly guilty look. "Besides, everyone splurges on the holidays, and I hardly think you can lecture me on my diet…"
Starsky got up, dusting off his own pants (Hutch had been pretty sloppy with the crumbs), and raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Consider yourself un-lectured." He strutted out to the kitchen, cut himself a piece, and took a big bite.
"Y'know, Hutch."
"You're talkin' with your mouth full, partner." Hutch grinned. "Just so you know."
"Wha' happen'd t' no lectures?" said Starsky, somewhat indistinctly.
"Okay." Hutch nodded. "Go on." He waved an encouraging hand, and then crossed his arms, assuming a "listening" pose.
Starsky swallowed his last bite. "It ain't just friends, or lots of friends." He sat down on a chair opposite Hutch, putting his feet on the coffee table. "'Cuz not everybody has a million friends like Jimmy Stewart's character, and even the people who do, they couldn't all give money like that, to bail someone out." He crossed his own arms, mirroring Hutch's pose. "It's having a few good friends. Maybe even just one. And family. It's his family he wanted to live for, not his friends." He paused and blinked. "But sometimes it's both. Friends can become like family, and family can be friends." He sobered a moment, looking down at the ground, feeling solemn and regretful. "Sometimes."
Hutch gave him a sympathetic look, as if he knew exactly what Starsky were referring to.
"Anyway, I just wanted to say…I know you don't like that movie much, Hutch, and if it's because you haven't got millions of friends with big bucks to bail you out in an emergency…well I just want to say, you've still got me, and Huggy, and Dobey, and other people who care lots about you. We aren't rich and there aren't tons of us, but we're here, and that's the point of the movie—not how many, not how big your life is, but the…the depth of it. And you got some depth, so don't worry, Blintz."
Hutch stared at him, and then remembered to shut his mouth. He shook his head slowly. "Sometimes you amaze me, buddy. What makes you think I was applying that…that particular life lesson from this movie to my life?"
Starsky grinned at him. "Because it's only the end you hate! You love the rest. I've seen you watching it, and you only leave for the end. The end's the happiest part, so that don't make sense, unless you have some particular reason."
Hutch just grinned and shook his head. "Having fun psychoanalyzing me, buddy?" He got up from his seat and walked back to the kitchen, but on the way past, he gave Starsky's arm a friendly pat.
Starsky sat for a moment, looking towards the kitchen, listening to the rattles and clinks as Hutch raided the refrigerator.
Hutch returned with a piece of pumpkin pie slathered in spray whipped topping. He cast Starsky a defiant glance and sat down again. He dug into the piece of pie, taking a giant forkful that contained almost half of it, and ate it in one bite. He chewed with abandon, ignorant of, or perhaps ignoring, the whipped topping he now wore on his upper lip and moustache.
Starsky grinned at him. "And you always eat like a pig on the holidays and then go on a crash diet afterwards." Starsky jumped up and plopped down next to Hutch on the couch, snuggling up to him. Hutch grimaced, and pulled his pie and fork out of reach, turning away to keep them all to himself. "You're such a greedy pig." Starsky wrapped his arms around Hutch's middle and gave him a warm squeeze, leaning against his back for a moment.
Then he let go and sat up. "All right, bud. You've got it. We won't talk about holiday angst, and I'll help ya pig out." He gave Hutch a bright smile, and then trotted out to the kitchen.
"Bring the rest of the whipped cream," said Hutch, indistinctly.
Starsky brought it, and the rest of the pie, still in the pie pan. "But if you ever want to talk about why you hate Christmas so much…"
"I don't."
Starsky looked at him, weighing the unexpected note of firmness in his voice.
"Ah, Starsk, you know how it is." He raised a hand, grimacing. "It's just such a big deal, with more bad memories than good. Rushing around, getting depressed, having Christmas be about things instead of people…." He shook his head. "It's just not my favorite time of year. That doesn't mean there's something horribly wrong. And yes, I like to eat some pie around Christmastime. Big deal."
"And eggnog and rice pudding and turkey and gravy and fruitcake and—"
"All right! So I pig out. At least let me do it in peace."
"Peace on Earth," said Starsky, raising his fork as if in salute. Then he licked it.
Hutch glared at him, and reached for the pie tin. "At least share, you hog."
"Boy, you're a grouch. Hog yourself," said Starsky mildly. He handed the pie over without hesitation. The two of them passed it back and forth, taking forkfuls from either side of the dwindling orange chunk, squirting on whipped topping at intervals. They neared the center, and then the last chunk, and Starsky held up a hand, offering it to Hutch, while Hutch gestured for him to take it. They looked at each other a second, then laughed, and both stabbed a fork towards that last piece.
Starsky got it first.
"Pig," said Hutch, smiling in a friendly way.
Starsky chewed, and smiled. "Merry Christmas to you too, Blintz."