I’ve always considered myself to be an observant person. My husband is a captain with the Bay City Police Department and, bless his heart, he often tells me I’d make a good detective.
But not as good, apparently, as someone else in my family…
It was early December 1975, and I was getting ready to take my six-year-old daughter to the mall to see Santa.
“Do you know what you’re going to ask for this year, Rosie?” Continue reading “December 23rd- Detective Dobey by m. butterfly”
Author’s Note: Part II of The Plague from an outsider’s viewpoint. This piece was inspired by the 9/25/20 Friday Fiction Prompt on the Starsky&Hutch Fans&FanFiction FaceBook page. The prompt sentence is underlined, below.
I’d never felt more helpless or useless, two things I didn’t like at all. My life had been dedicated to being in control — of everything and everyone — at all times. But ever since Captain Harold Dobey called and told me and my wife that our son could be dying, I’d been completely out of my depth.
I had refused to allow Margaret to accompany me but caught the first flight and had spent the last few days at Lincoln Hospital, not bothering to check into a hotel. I’d not spoken to anyone in authority, or made demands of the staff, as I would normally have done. I had such a sense of impotence, I attempted to remain invisible. Instead of threatening, verbally abusing those who were busily going about their jobs, or insisting on information they may not have had, I mingled with the families of others struck down by some sort of… plague. How such a thing could happen, in this day and age of miracle drugs, was something I couldn’t comprehend. Why was Kenneth in critical condition in an isolation ward? Continue reading “December 21st- Watching Events Unfold by DPPatricks”
“Hurry up, Starsk! The show’s about to start.” Continue reading “December 21st- Another Bite by MHE Priest”
Starsky finished flipping through facebook, and closed his laptop with a sigh.
“I don’t know why you bother,” Hutch said, putting his book down to glance at his husband. Hutch himself avoided computers, and especially Facebook, as much as possible.
“Hey, most of the time it’s fun!” Starsky objected. “I get to see what’s up with everyone.”
“Then what are you complaining about now?”
“Who said I was complainin’?”
“Well it sounded like you were complaining. What was all that sighing about, then?”
Starsky sighed again. “It’s gettin’ very disharmonious. Lotta’ fightin’ and disagreein’.”
“It’s election season, what do you expect?” Hutch said without sympathy.
“And all the news about the pandemic is bad,” Starsky went on, ignoring him. “It’s taking so long to make a vaccine, I thought they could do something as quickly as they did with the Bay City virus back in the ’70s. I’m gettin’ tired of lockdown!”
Hutch sighed at that himself. “I know, I am too. But we’re old, now, Starsk. We’re in the vulnerable age group, and besides that, you’re missing part of a lung which makes you even more vulnerable.”
“Well, it all makes for depressing reading, that’s all I’m sayin’,” Starsky growled.
“Then stop reading it and do something more enjoyable.”
“I did stop reading it, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He gave a sudden, brilliant smile. “And do you have any suggestions for something better to do?”
“I think I might,” Hutch said, smiling in his turn. “Want to come over here, and we can discuss it?”
Starsky moved across the room and into his husband’s welcoming embrace.
“Cakes have such a terrible habit of turning out bad just when you especially want them to be good.”
— Anne of Green Gables, Lucy Maud Montgomery
“Buttermilk, buttermilk,” Hutch muttered under his breath as he scanned the grocery’s cold case shelves. “Buttermilk, where are you?”
A half-stifled giggle made him turn his head. A woman was watching him, head cocked and eyebrow raised.
“Buttermilk? You don’t look like the buttermilk-drinking type,” she said. Her tone was teasing, but her flirty smile and the assessing gleam in her eyes clearly telegraphed her interest.
Hutch gave her a polite smile and noncommittal shrug, then turned back to resume his search, but the woman was undeterred by his lack of response. She moved closer, and Hutch caught a whiff of Shalimar. Continue reading “December 18th- A Piece of Cake by hardboiledbaby”
The little Christmas tree sparkled bravely at the door of the Dismas Centre. Inside, there was a murmur of voices.
“Ready?”
Hutch shivered. “Can’t do this”
“You can. Go round the back — wait for the signal. I’ll be out front. We’ve gone over it.”
“I know, but…”
“Go!”
“But…”
Starsky pushed him towards the back door, swallowing his own apprehension. This operation just couldn’t go wrong — too much depended on it.
Inside, the murmuring stilled. Silence for too long — Starsky’s heart sank. Then, soaring sweet and true came the sound he was waiting for.
“Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht….”
Starsky smiled.
Okay, let me begin by saying that, technically, not every time can be Continue reading “December 15th- Five Times Starsky and I Banged Each Other and One Time We Didn’t by Daisy Morgan”
One look at Hutch as he came through the door and Starsky rapidly rewrote his plans for the evening.
“Oh babe — did he walk?”
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ll run you a bath. Do you want tea or wine?”
“It’s OK– I’ll just have a quick shower.” Continue reading “December 14th- A Spotty Christmas by Curlew”
Author’s Note: This is an excerpt from a story I am currently writing. Hutch had a daughter, Amelia, with a woman he briefly knew, but the mother killed herself shortly after the birth of the baby. This is when Starsky and Hutch found their love for each other. With the child and Starsky in his life, Hutch needed to find a new place to live and he and Starsky decided to buy a house together near his old place on the canals. They raise the child together. Even outwardly Amelia is both their daughter: She’s got Hutch’s blond hair and Starsky’s curls. Starsky is the one who has been able to calm the little girl down from day one. This chapter starts a few days before Christmas Day.
“Hey there, what’s for dinner?”
Starsky walked in the door of the Venice bungalow and threw his jacket over the hook behind the door.
“Daddy!” The curly haired blonde 4-year-old came running from the kitchen. Continue reading “December 13th- Christmas 1985 by KiraBerlin”
Author’s Note: This gen story comes from a current real life personal experience of the author’s which fit with the 10/31/20 Friday Fiction Prompt on the Starsky&Hutch Fans&FanFiction FaceBook page. The prompt sentence is underlined, below.
December, 2020
“Didn’t mean to wake you, Starsk.”
“Wasn’t asleep.”
“Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“What you see is what you get.”
“I didn’t hear you run to the bathroom, so the chicken broth and rice must have stayed down.”
“So far.” Continue reading “December 12th – A Better Outlook by DPPatricks”