Little Things, Big Things
It's the little things that Starsky notices.
Hutch likes to go first.
At least, he likes to go first into risky situations. Starsky notices. Always, its one hand on the trigger, ready to protect, the other hand hovering behind ready to grab or pull. Always to defend Starsky.
Hutch doesn't mind going last.
Whenever they eat out, Hutch lets him go first. Whenever they order in, Hutch asks him what he wants on the pizza first, and then he orders. Always last, at least when it matters.
Hutch is an ass.
He argues with Starsky about little things. Every little thing. "No Starsk, it's pronounced 'La-go-see.'" "See Starsky, I told you. The body is 70% water." It's annoying. It's infuriating. It's all the arguments Starsky didn't get to have with his real brother after his dad died. It's the little things and it's perfect.
It's the little things that Hutch ignores.
Starsky likes trivia.
The really weird stuff, too. Everyday, it seems, he's telling Hutch about the longest hotdog eaten by an Asian during a thunderstorm or about the guy who got arrested on Decatur Street in New Orleans because he broke one of Louisiana's oldest laws about riding an over-sized bicycle with a live rooster taped to the handle bars or "hey, Hutch, did ya know that... .003% of all car accidents in Canada involve a moose or that more people die from vending machine accidents than shark attacks each year? Did ya know?" It's the pointless things and it drastically tries his patience.
Starsky doesn't mind making a mess.
Starsky doesn't mind making a mess at Hutch's place. Sure, he flips out when Hutch forgets and leaves one Nutri-Bar wrapper in the Torino's back seat or if Hutch accidentally knocks over one of Starsky's kitschy apartment "adornments." He can't stand the mess. But if it's Hutch's stuff, Starsky doesn't mind. Not at all. How many precious, fragile plants have fallen victim to Starsky's carelessness? It's the hypocritical things and somedays, Hutch doesn't know what to do.
Starsky is an ass.
Every time Hutch can't stop it and nothing happens anyway, he feels betrayed. Starsky charged into traffic without looking. Starsky pushed him out of the way. Starsky put down his gun. Starsky stopped, stepped, blocked, protected and most of the time he's okay. Every time potential disaster turns into a little thing, it opens the Door to What If? and Not this Time. It's the little things that chip away at his Walls and Starsky's already circled seven times.
It's the big things that Starsky overlooks.
Hutch doesn't fit.
He doesn't fit. Not with Starsky, anyway. That's what Everyone says. They count the ways: Jew. WASP. Curly. Flat Iron. Dark. Light. Passionate. Aloof. Chili Cheese Onion Burger, extra grease. Cob Salad, hold the dressing. Little things. Big things. It goes on. And he doesn't understand why Everyone is so confused, because he can see underneath all the dirt and down there with the worms, their roots are all grown into each other.
Hutch thinks.
Too much. Starsky sees it. He watches the thoughts go through Hutch's head and physically manifest themselves in bowed shoulders and furrowed brows. He wants to tell Hutch to stop. Just stop. It's worked for Starsky these past couple of years. Every time the shadows get too dark and the gloom too familiar, he just stops. Goes for a drive. The beach. A book. Anything. But Hutch thinks. And sometimes Starsky worries that one day Hutch will think himself into a hole. And sometimes Starsky thinks he won't be able to dig him out.
Hutch doesn't get it.
Christmas. Hanukkah. Holidays. Hutch can't understand why Starsky celebrates. Starsky knows why Hutch doesn't. Too many disappointments as a kid in a big house full of things that weren't happiness. Yeah, Starsky gets it. But Hutch doesn't. Starsky wishes he would because it's one of the big things, the ones he overlooks. Maybe if Hutch knew that it wasn't about the gifts, maybe. If he knew that the holidays were the last time Starsky had a whole family, maybe. But Starsky can't say it right and so he gets Hutch an ant farm and hopes he understands.
It's the big things that Hutch admires.
Starsky doesn't fit.
Into any category Hutchinson ever had for people. Before Hutchinson met Starsky, he filed all people into two categories: those who wanted something from him and those who would eventually want something from him. His dad had taught him that early on, yes sir. Hutchinson knew what to expect from people or what not to expect. And that was unconditionality. Everything came with or for a price. Kenneth Hutchinson knew that. Then he met David Michael Starsky. And then he became Hutch. And honestly, Hutch has no idea where to fit Starsky except into every part of his life.
Starsky thinks.
Differently than most people. Hutch can't really describe it. Starsky's mind is something that must be seen in action, not relayed second hand. He watches it work everyday. Twirling behind eyes the color of Starsky, because Hutch doesn't know anything else in the world that shade of blue. It's a big thing, one of the things that Hutch admires. And he can't figure it out. Exactly. It's the most beautiful, unsolvable thing Hutch has ever tried to understand and it's perfect.
Starsky doesn't get it.
He doesn't. He doesn't seem to understand that after twelve years as a police officer, you're supposed to be jaded and corrupt. Angry at the world. Bitter at the cosmos. Hutch feels it, niggling at his cerebellum. The frustration, the pointlessness, the weariness. Starsky seems immune. He's been shot, poisoned, kidnapped, robbed. Yet. Still. He just flashes a solar flare smile and moves forward. Hutch doesn't get it. But sometimes, when it niggles hard enough to let the shadows loose, Starsky novas into the darkness and Hutch can see again beneath the dirt all the way down to their tangled roots.
