It was Starsky's shoes that made Hutch realize that he'd fallen in love. Which sounded ridiculous in his head, but that didn't make it any less true.
Their first morning at the academy, David Michael Starsky ("Nice to meet ya, Hutch! Call me Starsky. This guy's John Colby—looks like we're roommates.") had complained about jogging in his battered canvas shoes, saying it was like running barefoot on hot cement. The newly-dubbed Hutch offered to let Starsky try his sneakers, but Starsky adamantly refused, saying there was no need to find something else that he might like better, since these were what he'd be wearing on the street when he made it to detective, not fancy sneakers or the high-heeled boots Hutch had arrived in at their dorm room the evening before.
Besides, Starsky said with a grin, he was only complaining because it was the way he'd been raised. It was his job to find fault with everything, including leggy blonds he'd just met. He winked and confided that it also worked to get a girl if he said his feet needed rubbing. Then he smirked and said he bet could still outrun Hutch, even with blisters.
Hutch grinned back and punched Starsky lightly on the shoulder. He took off running towards the end of the track, feeling his grin widen into a true smile—something which had been all too rare in his life lately—as Starsky laughingly scrambled to catch up.
Before they parted for their first day in uniform with their respective training officers, Starsky groaned about the regulation footwear ("They're jackboots, Hutch!"), and said the next few years had better go by quickly or he'd have calluses instead of arches.
That evening they collapsed on the couch in Starsky's apartment, soaking their feet, drinking a few beers and laughing like idiots over their first day on the streets. Hutch told the story of writing his first traffic ticket, enjoying the relaxed grin on his friend's face and the full body laugh that burst out at his red-faced confession that he'd tripped over his own feet on the way to the driver's door.
It had taken a while to realize Starsky's feet were in his lap and he was rubbing them with one hand while gesturing with the beer bottle in the other. But Starsky didn't seem bothered by it, so Hutch shrugged mentally and continued as Starsky recounted his day, savoring the way the other man was sinking bonelessly against the arm of the couch.
That was the first of many nights he'd sacked out at Starsky's apartment, much to his wife's loud displeasure. Despite the fact that Hutch knew he'd face Vanessa's anger when he ran home to change uniforms the next day, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving the warm, safe haven of Starsky's apartment, far away from arguments with Vanessa over his job, the lack of money and how plebeian their life was.
Starsky was so willing to share everything he had and everything he was without demanding anything in return, and it made him feel more centered and alive than he'd felt in a very long time.
Looking back, Hutch wondered if he hadn't fallen a little bit in love the first time he'd rubbed Dave Starsky's feet.
The night before they started working their new beat as detectives, Hutch gave Starsky a new pair of shoes, bright blue with three white stripes on the side.
They'd spent the previous weekend with their current girlfriends, goofing off at the beach one day and walking down to the park near Hutch's bungalow for a picnic the next. On the walk back, they'd passed a store with advertisements for a brand new shoe made specifically for running. Starsky's face lit up at the display in the window, but a small grimace had appeared as he spotted the price tag, and he'd allowed Karen to divert his attention to the dress in the other window.
Hutch hadn't missed the longing look Starsky threw over his shoulder as they continued on to Hutch's place. He knew his friend's penchant for dressing in blue, and the bright sneakers fit his personality perfectly.
The following Monday, Starsky's legendary shoe size written on a scrap of paper ("You know what they say about men with big feet, right, Hutch?"), he made a quick trip back to the store. He bought a pair after talking the saleswoman into letting him exchange them next week if they didn't fit correctly, explaining that they were a gift for his best friend and using his warmest smile to express his gratitude to the beautiful brunette.
With a light step, he took the shoes home and carefully wrapped them in cheerful paper before hiding the box on the top shelf of his closet, one of the few places Starsky didn't regularly invade when he came over.
The delighted smile on Starsky's face when he ripped open the package made it worth the effort, but what made Hutch the happiest was the spontaneous hug Starsky bestowed upon him after putting them on. He returned the hug gratefully, hanging on tight until Starsky suggested that they go for a quick run to try them out. Hutch responded with a smile that it was the middle of the night. Starsky shrugged and grinned wider before darting for the front door ("Last one to the park's a rotten egg!"), leaving a laughing Hutch scrambling to follow this time.
Hutch got Starsky another pair for his birthday every year after that, in the same color and style, with the same message scrawled in the card: Just making sure you can keep up, buddy.
It was a comforting ritual in the middle of their hectic and dangerous lives, a landmark that proved they'd made it through another year alive and intact. The only thing that changed in six years was the wrapping paper.
A month before Starsky's birthday, in the seventh year of their partnership, Hutch spent days trying to find a new pair, only to have a salesman finally tell him they weren't being made any more. For the next two weeks he tried to find a store that had a pair left in the right size and color, but he eventually had to admit defeat.
He let Starsky in on the demise of his favorite shoes so that Hutch could take him shopping for a different pair to replace them. Starsky finally settled on a comfortable pair of loafers right before lunch. He jokingly made absolutely sure they fit well ("If I don't, I'll have blisters for the rest of our lives!"), before enthusiastically hugging Hutch in the middle of the store, much to the amusement of the sales clerks.
Hutch returned the hug firmly, surreptitiously leaning his head on his partner's broad shoulder for a moment before hustling Starsky up to the cash register to pay for the new shoes and then out into the sunshine to find lunch.
The last remaining pair of scuffed Adidas were carefully stashed in Starsky's closet, to be brought out only on very special occasions. ("They're my lucky shoes, Hutch, so I'm only gonna wear 'em when we need the extra help.")
Hutch threw clean clothes and shoes for Starsky into a duffel bag before speeding all the way to the hospital to spring him after six long weeks recovering from Gunther's hit. He couldn't wait to take Starsky back to his partner's cheerfully cluttered apartment, and had taken the day off from work to get Starsky settled.
When Starsky pulled his dress shoes out of the duffel with a perplexed look on his face ("What, you couldn't find my lucky shoes so you brought instruments of torture instead?"), Hutch sat down abruptly on the hospital bed, unable to explain why he couldn't stop shaking. A sob tried to burst its way out of his chest as Starsky pulled him close, only to be stifled in Starsky's warm shoulder. Soothing hands ran up and down his back, petting his hair and hugging him tight, as if Starsky'd drag Hutch inside him if he could.
When Hutch was able to form semi-coherent sentences, he stammered out the feelings that had nearly overwhelmed him when he thought Starsky was going to die. How he thought he'd never see Starsky's bright smile or hear his wicked laugh, how they'd never argue again or have entire conversations without words. How he felt nothing but a gaping emptiness at the thought of never hugging Starsky again, and a bottomless regret for never telling Starsky how much he loved him and wanted to be with him always.
Starsky tightened his arms to draw Hutch closer ("I love you, too, dummy."), before placing a hand under Hutch's chin to raise his mouth to meet Starsky's own.
Loving me with my shoes off
means loving my long brown legs,
sweet dears, as good as spoons;
and my feet, those two children
let out to play naked.
Mock me all you want, wenches, it's finished! Bwahahahahaha! Ha! *snicker* *vbg* Thanks to Lyrebird for medical consultations at the drop of a hat, Rose for her always valuable input, and De, Tir and Mer for mocking. ;)
For Veronica, because she's the bestest best friend a gal could have, plus she sends me sweet potato tortilla chips ;), and she gives good (outstanding, marvelous, fabulous!) beta. *vbg* Thanks so much, m'dear.
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