A/N: I'm experimenting a bit with writing style. This is an SR story of sorts.
Disclaimer: I don't own Starsky and Hutch or any of its characters.
Summary: Hutch turns the corner.
Turning the Corner (1,2,3,4)
Well, I wonder which song they're gonna play when we go.
I hope it's something quiet and minor and peaceful and slow.
-The '59 Sound, The Gaslight Anthem
The first time he turned the corner, Hutch was seven-years-old. He had gone with his mother into downtown Duluth for Saturday shopping. While she had been getting her hair styled, Donna Hutchinson had given little Kenny an entire dollar to waste at the candy shop just down the way. Delighted to leave the diethanolamine saturated air of the salon, Kenny had turned the corner and stopped right in front of the niftiest shop his seven-year-old eyes had ever beheld. A banner across the store front read WORLD'S LARGEST JAWBREAKERS, ONLY $0.25!!!!. Grammatical gaff aside, Kenny's heart pounded in delight. Always aces at math, he had already calculated that he could buy four of the WORLD'S LARGEST JAWBREAKERS with the crumpled bill clutched in his sweaty palm. As he pushed open the door, a chorus of bells called out his entrance. Their tinkling was the purest sound Kenny had ever heard and it seemed to him that the little bells were just as excited about his sugary soon-to-be purchase as he was. Life was jolly.
"Don't look so ill. It's not everyday you get to buy your best buddy a meal."
This is how it goes: Fumble with the keys. Seal your fate in blood and tar.
The second time Hutch turned the corner, he was twenty-five. He had only been in Bay City for a few months, still trying to make his way as a singer. It wasn't going well. It seemed that the sunny citizens of California weren't feeling so sunny on that particular day. Hutchinson had made a total of twenty-five cents, two candy wrappers, and an old button. He was tired of playing only to earn the remains of whatever was floating around in the bottom of some yahoo's pocket. Music was sustenance to his soul, but it sure as hell wasn't putting food in his physical stomach. A man could only survive for so long doing what he loved, sometimes you just had to take what you could get and live in the in between. Hutchinson smiled as he continued down the street. There was a song in it somewhere.
Lost in his thoughts, Hutchinson didn't heed where he was going. As he followed the sidewalk around the corner, he ran directly into something- warm and soft and sweet. Flushing as red as the strawberries on his grandpa's farm, Hutchinson helped the young woman he had barreled over to her feet. Papers scattered on the California breeze and dotted the asphalt with white sheets. It looked like a mac truck had flattened a few doves. Maybe he should stick to using other people's lyrics. That didn't matter right now though, because Hutchinson got his first good look at exactly whom he had knocked over. And what a look it was. Tall, legs longer than sin, trim waist, well endowed, beautiful eyes, and pouty lips. The best thing Hutchinson had seen since coming to the Golden State. She seemed mad. Hutchinson understood. He picked up one of the flattened doves and handed it to her as a peace offering. He smiled. The beautiful eyes flashed and the pouty lips began to turn upside down. "Hi," she said, "my name's Vanessa." Yes, life was grand.
This is how it goes: scrapes in paint and dents in metal
"Starsky, get down!"
The third time Hutchinson turned the corner, he nearly tripped over a pair of the most outlandish blue Adidas he had ever seen. Startled, Hutchinson looked down and saw one of his fellow recruits sitting with his back against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him, creating denim-clad obstacles in the otherwise deserted hall. "Uh..." Hutchinson said, his unflappable eloquence thrown off by shoes the same color as his eyes. "Sorry, I d-didn't mean t-to-" Stuttering again. He needed to get over that. No criminal was ever going to be intimidated by a stuttering cop. Hutchinson looked down to see how the guy would react to his stilted apology. He needn't have worried. The guy was fast asleep. Hutchinson smiled and a warm flicker flame of affection settled in his chest. It seemed he wasn't the only one not doing things exactly right.
Reaching down, he gently grasped the other man's shoulder and admired the strength he could feel in the bunched muscles. The guy was sturdy, probably good in a fight. He shook the sleeping shoulder slightly. "Hey, buddy," he urged, "hey, wake up." Unexpectedly, the guy's hand shot out and grabbed Hutchinson's wrist in a vice like grip. Despite the other man's smaller hands, Hutchinson could feel the grinding of his radius and ulna. "Woah." He said startled. Below him, the sleeping guy was coming awake. His curly hair stood out errantly, one sable ringlet hugging perfectly the cup of his ear. Hutchinson was surprised to see that the eyes beneath the heavy lids and thick lashes were blue. Very blue, almost violet. Hutchinson had never seen a color like that, at least not surrounding a pupil.
"Uh." The blue-eyed guy said, parroting Hutchinson's earlier sentiment. He released Hutchinson's wrist when he realized it was bone and flesh he was gripping so tightly. "Sorry, it's a reflex," the guy said and shot Hutchinson a sew-saw grin smudged with embarrassment, challenge, goofiness, and amusement all in one. Hutchinson had never felt that many emotions at once in his entire life, and this guy managed it all in one smile. "'I'm Dave, by the way. Dave Starsky." Hutchinson was, if possible, even more intrigued by the man's voice. A definite Manhattan lilt. 'No, not Manhattan,' Hutch decided. Guys like him weren't from Manhattan. Guys like him were from New York.
"Ken Hutchinson." He introduced himself and blue shoes took the offered hand. Hutchinson pulled Starsky to his feet.
"Nice to meet ya, Hutch." Starsky smiled again and mischief glittered in his indigo eyes. Hutch didn't know what to say or how to react. He'd never had a nickname before, not really. What was he supposed to do now? Hutch didn't know, so instead he blurted out the first thing that came to mind:
"Why were you sleeping in the hall?"
He winced. His looks always cut it with the ladies, but when it came to making friends, Hutchinson wasn't so smooth. He was tall and good-looking, cause for resentment before he even said a word. People thought he was aloof. Either that or his sense of humor was all wrong, like watching a duck out of water, awkward and out of place. Starsky just looked at him, took everything in with deep eyes and smiled. It was brighter than the previous one. It was brighter than a lot of things, actually and warmer too.
"Well it's a long story, Blondie."
Two nicknames in one day. Yeah, life wasn't bad.
This is how it goes: Bullets in a body, both metal and flesh. Ratta tat tat. Bang, bang.
"Starsky!"
"STARSKY!"
The fourth time Hutch turned the corner, he was running. With echoes of thunderous violence in his ears, he ran around the Torino's fender. His shoes crunched over bits of shot-up glass. Their sharp edges glinted in the sun and made the afternoon asphalt sparkle brilliantly, like bits of broken stars. Broken stars, broken stars, broken Starsky. What's around the corner? What's around the corner? Turn and find out.
The fourth time Hutch turned the corner, he stopped. And stopped and stopped and stopped.
You know the song, the one they play when you go:
One, two, three.
Bullets in a body, both metal and flesh
Ratta tat tat. Bang, bang.
Scrapes in paint, dents in metal
Yeah, baby get down
Fumble with fate, seal your keys
In blood and tar
Broken stars on the afternoon asphalt
Glitter, glitter, glint, glint
Turn the corner, stop
This is how it goes: chocolate curls cradled in chrome and a line of bullet holes in white and red.
It all points to the End.
And there is nothing left to say.