December 9th: Joe Cool by Lilibet

As he slowly began waking up, Starsky had a hard time deciding where he was. Or how he had gotten there. As he became more conscious, he detected a large weight across his chest and another one across his legs.

Oh God! Why does this keep happening? And only when we’re here, but never at my place?

“Hutch! Get off of me, you big oaf! How the hell did we end up in bed together?”

Hutch stirred, but only snuggled closer to Starsky, pulling him tighter.

“HUTCH! Come on. Move it!” Starsky pushed Hutch off and over to the other side of the bed. Maybe he pushed a little more than he intended; Hutch rolled off and onto the floor with a thud.

Now fully awake, Hutch jumped up. “What the hell, Starsky! And what the hell are you doing in my bed?”

Blinking rapidly to try to focus his eyes, Starsky thought he saw a smile flash across Hutch’s face. But it was gone in a flash so he dismissed that absurdity.

“You tell me, Hutch! The last thing I remember is drinking some eggnog and watching the Charlie Brown Christmas special. The next thing I know I’m waking up in your bed feeling like my mouth is full of cotton balls. What exactly is in that eggnog you make?”

The bed dipped with Hutch’s weight as he sat back on the bed, one leg bent and tucked under the other, facing Starsky. “It’s an old Hutchinson family recipe. My parents used to make it for their Christmas parties when I was little. I can remember the music, dancing, and laughing seemed to go on all night long, well after I’d gone to bed. They were really swingin’.”

Starsky rolled his eyes. “Who ever heard of homemade eggnog? Can’t you just buy it in the carton like the rest of us?”

Realizing what Hutch had just said, he bolted upright in bed. “Wait! Are you telling me the renowned Dr. and Mrs. Hutchinson are swingers? Is that how everyone survives the boring, Duluth winters stuck inside? They’re all swinging with each other?” Starsky nearly fell out of bed laughing at the image he had conjured in his head.

Hutch chortled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Starsk. I think you’re still drunk.” He ran a hand down his face, stopping to rub his eyes before looking back at Starsky. “Maybe that third pitcher of eggnog was a mistake. I don’t remember anything after Snoopy decorated his dog house, but I had the weirdest dream. We were working night shifts and Christmas Eve was one call after another. But each time we arrived at the scene…”

Starsky interrupted, “Someone had already beaten us there?”

“Yeah. The perps were already subdued and…”

“The witnesses kept saying they’d seen a white dog?”

“Yeah. And that the dog was flying…”

“A red dog house?”

They both stared at each other before saying at the same time, “With a white stripe?”

Almost not wanting to hear the answer, Hutch asked anyway, “Starsk, are you trying to say you had the same dream?”

“Hutch, that’s about as ludicrous as us always ending up naked in your bed together when we get drunk!”

Starsky bit his lip as he thought about what he just said. Hutch had gotten up and was pulling up a pair of worn BCPD Academy sweatpants. Trying not to watch too closely, he asked the question that had been niggling him since he woke up.

“Hutch, why do we always end up naked in your bed after drinking? Drinking fru-fru drinks you’ve mixed up for us?”

“Now who’s being ludicrous? We cannot have had the same dream. And it’s not my fault you can’t hold your liquor!”

Starsky thought he saw the grin flash on Hutch’s face again, but he was now moving around the room looking for a shirt so it was hard to tell. But he knew he was on to something, so kept prodding.

“I don’t get it. This never happens when we’re at my place drinking beer. But this seems to happen more and more when we’re here. You keep pouring booze into your blender with God knows what else and then we end up in bed together. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing it on purpose.”

“What are you, some kind of detective?”

Starsky threw a pillow at the back of Hutch’s head. “I’m being serious! Answer my question!”

Hutch flopped back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “OK, OK. Let’s see, it was some raw eggs, sugar, milk and cream. Bourbon, rum, and brandy. Oh, and nutmeg.”

“That wasn’t the question, idiot!” He threw the other pillow at Hutch’s head and this time definitely saw a smile on the blond’s face, even though he was looking at him upside down. “The question was why do we… WAIT! You’ve been feeding me raw eggs? No wonder we’re having the same dream about Snoopy driving my car! You’ve given us somalia!”

“Salmonella. And no I haven’t.”

“Whatever!” Exasperated, Starsky searched around for something else to throw at Hutch. Finding nothing, he sighed and looked back at his partner. Hutch now had his head tilted back, gazing back at him. Starsky had never seen his eyes bluer.

Quicker than a hunting cheetah, Starsky pounced and had Hutch pinned to the bed with no room for escape. Hutch yelped and started to squirm.

“Unh-uh! You’re not going anywhere, Blondie, until you tell me the truth!”

“Th-th-th-there’s n-n-n-othing to t-t-tell.”

“Baloney! You’ve been scheming and getting me snockered for years!”

They were at a standoff. Hutch had gone tight-lipped and wasn’t saying anything, and Starsky wasn’t moving. Starsky knew it was time to finally make his move. He lost all his bravado, but not his grip before going on.

“It’s OK, Hutch. I know how you feel. I’ve been asking Santa for my very own Big Blond Blintz for years.”

The terrified look on Hutch’s face morphed into a gentle, but confused smile. “But how do you explain us having the same dream?”

“Easy. Even in our dreams it’s Me and Thee, Babe. Merry Christmas, Hutch!”

“Happy Hanukkah, Starsk.”

Author’s Note: I am not an artist. But last December when my daughter suggested a painting day on my birthday this was the result. It’s tiny (4″x6″) and it still took me over two hours. But I loved the end result and it’s been calling out for a story to go along with it ever since.

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