Title: Anger Management


Author: Elizabeth Helena


Series: Starsky & Hutch


Rating: PG or T, I guess. I'm only warning away the kiddies, because they should never learn how screwed up adults can be on the inside. How would we rule them with an iron fist if they did?


Codes: Written as S & H Gen, but if you're desperate it could be interpreted as S/H. I'm easy. And I've heard rumours that so's ... er, never mind.


Spoilers: Set in late season three. There are Dobey-size spoilers for first season's "Captain Dobey, You're Dead!," and season three's "Hutchinson for Murder One" and "Partners." I believe that the spoilers for "Pariah," and "Starsky's Lady" are much more Huggy-size, but I could be wrong.


Disclaimer: It's candy-apple red, not tom-- I mean, I don't own either the dead sexy David Michael Starsky nor his pretty boy partner Kenneth Hutchinson, who really ought to stick to pastels. I don't care what Rebelcat's husband says, black turtlenecks make Hutch look all washed out and ... ah, where was I?


Warning: Okay, I admit that I like Starsky more than his partner in crime, but this isn't a Hutch-bashing fic, honest. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm probably a lot more like Hutchinson which could be why I'm more attracted to Starsky. Especially when he gets all sweaty and intense, and then ... ahem, never mind.


Summary: Hutch isn't normal, but at least he's aware of this.


Dedicated to: Rebelcat, who was the one who instigated this story by showing me "Captain Dobey,You're Dead!" (aka "the really ugly male guest star episode"), and then wondering aloud what the heck Hutch was up to with his merciless teasing of Starsky for being left-handed.


Further thanks to: Morgan Logan, for I was also inspired by her "daily assignment" listed at the end of her delicious "Touch" to not have Hutch speak. Also, Charlotte Frost, for I was reading the prologue of her brilliant Hutch Whumpin' story (to paraphrase RC) "Compassion's Heart," when all of the above inspirations ganged up and whumped me on the side of the head with this vignette.


Beta: The other half of the weekly Starsky & Hutch Hen Party, and my main dealer in all things S & H, Rebelcat. Remember, boys and girls, the first episode is always free ....


Feedback: Other than insisting that Hutch is a Winter when he's clearly a Spring (Starsky's probably a Summer), feedback is extremely welcome. I can be reached at elizabeth loves her thesaurus @ (no spaces) or on whatever list this story's turned up on (no telling).


Archiving: If Acidqueen doesn't say, "Who the hell is 'Starsky & Hutch,' and is this why you still haven't finished that 'torture Kai Winn' DS9 story you promised me?," this story will likely be found at: http://www.memory


Quote that begins the Dobey-sized spoilers, adding ten pounds for



Starsky: You're sure it had nothin' to do with last night?

Hutch: Yeah, I'm sure. I've been meaning to give that to you for some time now.

Starsky: Madame Olga's Self-Help Programme to Become Right-Handed?

Hutch: Starsky, if your best friend can't tell you, who can? Sooner or later you got to realize that this whole world was designed for right-handed people. You're just out of step.

Starsky: I do alright.

Hutch: Aren't you a little tired of doing just alright?


"Captain Dobey, You're Dead," Starsky & Hutch






Anger Management



Hutch planned these things in advance, in meticulous detail.


Furthermore, he always ensured that there were at least two schemes ready for immediate use. During the hell surrounding Vanessa's death, Hutch had gotten away with having no fall-back scenario, but it had made him nervous. Especially as convincingly faking amnesia required an appropriate context that just couldn't be guaranteed in advance. As it turned out, Hutch hadn't needed it just then, but he still preferred to have at least two plans of attack prepared, just in case.


He was most proud of the one he privately referred to as the left-handed campaign. The book, "Madame Olga's Self-Help Program to Become Right-Handed," had lain in wait in his desk drawer for months, while Hutch had gathered up suitable anecdotes, redrafting them in his mind until they were perfect. Once begun, the production had unfolded like an award-winning Broadway play; there hadn't been a single missed cue, and every line was delivered faultlessly.




"When I was a kid my cub scout group was on the Maxy Malone show," Hutch said, beginning phase two of the offensive.


"Maxy Malone show?" Starsky was like an excited kid. "Hey I remember him, he was that little midget, right?"


"Yeah, you know something about him."




"He was left-handed too."


"There, ya see." Starsky smiled.


"Yeah." Hutch was patient, knowing it was much better to wait for openings than force them.


"I used to watch his show everyday." Starsky reminisced. "Hey, what ever happened to him?"


"He was arrested."


"For what?"


Hutch savoured his victory. "I don't know, my mother never let me read that part of the story."




Even the unexpected discovery that Captain Dobey's five year old daughter Rosie was left-handed hadn't soured the plan. In fact, this revelation had allowed Hutch to wrap up the campaign on a warm note. If he still believed in God, he would have interpreted this unforeseen gift as sign that he had chosen the right path.


God was an uncertainty, but all of this plotting was absolutely necessary. Hutch needed to know how to act when he was not just pissed off with Starsky but genuinely angry.


Hutch knew this wasn't normal. Other people didn't need to painstakingly strategize, they just reacted. Starsky was like that; he'd bash a piece of furniture, or occasionally his partner, when he had it coming. But when his fury exploded, it was always safely, with no lasting damage. Hutch knew that he hadn't prevented his friend from shooting Prudholm, the psychotic who'd attacked Starsky by murdering cops and then later his girlfriend. Both times his partner had stopped himself, and that ability to harness his rage awed Hutch.


When in the throes of self-pity, Hutch would tell himself that it was probably easy for people who'd been raised in an environment where anger could be safely expressed. By the time they grew up, they automatically knew how to behave like civilized human beings. Too often on the streets, Hutch had seen what happened when people who hadn't been properly socialized just let themselves react. And there had been too many times when his own capacity for rage had scared the hell out of him.


So, Hutch formulated subtle campaigns of tormenting Starsky. Off-balancing his partner just enough to prick the man's conscience or make Starsky doubt himself, but pulling back before permanent harm was done. Letting his own anger bleed out over the course of the practical joke, until it was safely drained away.


It wasn't normal, but it was better than risking letting the vicious, irrational beast within him run wild.


For losing Starsky was a price he wasn't willing to pay.


So Hutch planned. And felt safe for now.


- end -