The Present

True to his word, Starsky was packed and ready. Scorning airport food, he persuaded his partner to stop in local pizza place, buying a loaded supreme pizza and digging in with enjoyment, though he kept an eye on his partner, who was toying with a salad and tea, making little progress.

"Come on, Blondie, you haven't been eating in days. And don't give me that protein shake packed with who knows what nonsense. You're gonna turn into a skeleton right in front of me. Eat this piece of pizza." Starsky shoved a large slice over to Hutch.

"You're gonna gain fifty pounds if you keep eating like that. Seven slices of pizza!"

"You forgot the garlic bread."

"Hey, I like garlic bread! You didn't even leave me one slice!"

"We can always order more,"" Starsky teased as he stuffed the last piece of garlic bread into his mouth.

"You expect me to eat six slices of garlic bread?"

"Better for you than just eating rabbit food. Come on, partner, eat some of the pizza."

Hutch picked up a piece with distaste. "It's dripping with grease and loaded with meat. A little is fine, but . . ."

"Well, don't blame me when I have to scrape you off the floor when you pass out."

Both burst into laughter, the familiar bantering lifting their spirits.

Starsky lifted his mug of beer in the air and bumped Hutch's glass a little to enthusiastically, causing the beer to slosh on the table and over Hutch's salad. Hutch raised his eyebrows, implying that maybe this was accidental and Starsky responded by widening his eyes in innocence.

Hutch kept nervously looking at his watch with dread and shutting his bright blue eyes, seeming a desire to get it over with.

Starsky, without seeming to, noticed everything, the nervous tells his partner was exhibiting.

Hutch began to ramble, another nervous tell, as if talking would keep his mind off the coming funeral. "Carlton had utter disdain for me learning to play the guitar, play the piano, and writing and singing. He complained loudly about both interfering with his studies. He said he knew I would always be a sissy. One time he said that too many times, and Mickey demanded to learn to play the drums. Ingrid bought her some and she always seem to practice when Carlton was in the house. I don't think she ever tried to learn, it was to annoy him, but since Ingrid had bought the piano, guitar and drums, Mother and Father didn't feel as if they could argue. Judith had taken piano lesson, as well as singing and dancing. Mickey was to follow in her footsteps but never cared to except when helping me play or sing. You ever wander why some people have so much natural talent and others struggle? Judith won Miss Minnesota when she was twenty and competed in Miss America. She placed second. THAT to Mother and Father was a failure. Joshua placed first in the National Skiing Trials but crashed at the Olympics in a training run. They expected a gold medal. He made the Olympics, for Pete's sake, and that wasn't good enough. Carlton made it to the NFL and played four seasons, but never won the Super Bowl, and that wasn't good enough. And that was just in our family, not in Uncle Frederick and Aunt Eunice's brood, or Uncle Brandon and Aunt Jennifer's family. Three Hutchinson boys. Ingrid had one daughter, Lena. Lena was so beautiful, just like her mother. She died when she was a teenager. That is where Mickey gets part of her real name – Marcellena Ingrid. Marcel for Grandfather; Lena in honor of Aunt Lena, and Ingrid for Grandmother Ingrid. Of course naming her that didn't help, except for the blonde hair and blue eyes and Nordic look, she wasn't anything like either of them."

"Buddy," Starsky tried to interrupt.

"All Hutchinsons are supposed to be the most successful; Judith the beauty queen; our cousin Juliet the ballerina; our cousin Rosamond was the actress in the family."

"Blondie, we need to make that flight. Come on, you can ramble in the car," Starsky said kindly.

"I don't ramble, I never ramble, that's you not me." Hutch protested. He maintained silence for the fifteen-mile drive to the airport. After parking the car, and unloading the luggage, only keeping a briefcase apiece; they went to wait.

"Hey, buddy, I gotta go to the can."

"Yeah, yeah, probably those three mugs of beer you drank."

"Well I got you here without a scratch, right?"

It wasn't the need to urinate, but the unsettling of his stomach that caused Hutch to head to the bathroom when Starsky was heading back, handing over the two briefcases to hold. Starksy stayed close to listen and heard retching sounds. Starsky sighed. He bought a bottle of 7-up and pulled out a pill.

Hutch came back, wiping his mouth with his hand and sitting down a bit shakily.

"Okay, buddy, don't fight me on this, here is a 7-up and a valium; take it; it will help you relax. You're never liked flying that much anyway."

Hutch opened his mouth to protest, but Starsky shoved the small pill in Hutch's mouth and gave him the 7-up to down it. Hutch didn't protest.

"Getting the flu?" Starsky put his hand over his friend's forehead. "You feel hot.".

"No flu. Maybe a tiny cold," Hutch mumbled. He shut his eyes and leaned back in the seat.

Ten minutes later, Starsky was shaking him. "Time to board, buddy. You can rest when we get seated. About five hours to get there."

Fifteen minutes in the air, and Hutch's head bobbed to the side and he stilled. Starsky pulled his partner's head towards his right shoulder. "What the hell happened in that family, Blondie?"

Soft snores were his answer.