Title: Matched Set 


Author: Elizabeth Helena


Series: Starsky & Hutch


Rating: PG or T, I guess, because I imply that drugs can be fun.


Codes: Written as S & H gen, but hey, read it however you like. Be warned, however, that if you're looking for hot man-on-man sex here, you'll be disappointed.


Warning: If you're looking for angst, you'll also be disappointed as this story is 90% angst-free. I had to include the 10%, otherwise no one would believe I wrote it.


Spoilers: Set at no specific time, but probably takes place late season three. Nonetheless, strongest spoilers are for season one's "The Fix," even though that episode taught me as a kid not so much to say no to drugs, as to say no to dating a mobster's ex.


Disclaimer: I swear I have not nor would I ever sell this story to purchase recreational drugs. But then I'm still rebelling against my acid-droppin', hard drinkin' motorcycle momma. Damn, I over-shared again, didn't I?


Summary: Hutch figures out how to end the Cold War. Starsky helps.


Dedication: To my ex-gentleman friend, ol' turkey breath, who displayed amazing tolerance when I originally formulated Hutch's theory under the influence of some lovely prescription medication. Good times, good times.


Beta: Rebelcat who was kind enough to read early drafts, despite her ongoing disappointment that all I ever want to do is torture Hutch instead of getting him some hot man-on-man sex. But at least I haven't followed through with my threat to write Hutch/Simonetti. :-)


Feedback/Critique: As long as I've taken my medication first, bring it on. Oops, that reminds me ... I can be reached popping pills at elizabeth loves her thesaurus @ (no spaces) or on whatever list I've posted this on (no space cadets).


Archiving: Hopefully at my website, which does contain stories with hot man-on-man sex, or so I've been told. Unfortunately for the S/Hers, it's all trek so far. Still, Picard is awfully cute in his leather posing pouch at:



"We shall find peace. We shall hear angels. We shall see the sky

sparkling with diamonds."

Anton Chekhov





Matched Set



Sitting by the hospital bed, Starsky noticed that Hutch had finally woken up. His partner's eyes were a bit unfocussed, but Starsky was just happy to see Hutch conscious again.


"Hey, partner, how you feelin'?"


"Good." Hutch took a slow, deep breath and smiled. "Really good."


Starsky had to grin. Due to an assortment of post-operative drugs, his partner was feeling no pain in every sense of the phrase.


Later, when Hutch came down a bit, Starsky knew that his partner would begin to worry about this medication induced high. Ever since Forest, Hutch acted like he couldn't be trusted around anything stronger than cough medicine. Starsky had never been able to convince him otherwise, so it was nice to just watch his partner enjoy the ride.


Still, that didn't meant he wasn't going to take advantage of the situation. Starsky waved his left hand in front of Hutch's face, and asked, "How many fingers am I holdin' up?"


"Just the cute ones."


Oh man, this is priceless. "Now Hutch, everyone knows you're the cute one."


Hutch was already floating elsewhere. "Where's my guitar?"


"At home, pal. You can play it later, when you're feelin' better."


"But I want to play it now, Starsk."


Starsky knew better than to give in to his partner's cajolement. Hutch would kill him if he let him play his baby under the influence of anything other than wine or beer. "Later, I promise."


A melodramatic sigh. "Want to celebrate."


"Me too." Starsky gave his partner's arm a gentle squeeze.


Ducked another one, pal, and they're getting scarier all the time. Maybe we should quit, he thought, become stunt men or male strippers. Starsky knew this urge would pass, but right now, sitting beside a hospital bed yet again, these weren't just amusing images, but damn tempting ones.


"You figure out how to create world peace too?" Hutch asked.


Whoa, what's this? "Not so's I noticed."


A beatific smile. "I have."


Starsky wished he had a tape recorder or a witness. Huggy was never going to believe this one. Curious despite himself, he prompted, "So, what is it?"


"Hmmmm?" Hutch was staring up at the pattern that the sunlight was making on the ceiling.


"How're you gonna bring about world peace, pal?"


"Office supplies."


Starsky blinked. "Come again?"


Hutch managed to pull his attention away from the mesmerizing play of light to look at his partner. "Everyone loves office supplies, Starsk. Staplers, paper clips, pens – you know, office supplies."


"Uh huh. Y'know Hutch, maybe you should have a little rest right now."


Hutch became very earnest. "No Starsk, it'll work. Really. Even Communists love office supplies."


"I'm sure they do." Starsky was certain of no such thing, but humouring his stoned out-of-his-gourd partner seemed the safest bet.


"They say it's the number one thing that all people steal, so if we just give everyone enough office supplies -- we'll have world peace."


Starsky couldn't help smiling. "Tell you what, pal, you have a nap, and afterwards we'll call President Carter and let him in on the plan."


"Okay," Hutch agreed with a happy sigh. He closed his eyes, and was out like a light.


His hand still resting on Hutch's arm, Starsky watched him sleep for several minutes, before shaking his head. "You're one of a kind, partner."




Two weeks after being released from the hospital, Hutch was looking forward to getting back to work. Much to his relief, he was now off all medication. In truth, the prescription painkillers hadn't been that bad. Not like the scary post-op drugs they'd had him on, but at least he hadn't embarrassed himself while under their influence. After all, if he had, Starsky would have regaled him with every humiliating detail.


Following his partner into the squad room, Hutch came to a screeching halt. "What the hell?"


On his desk was a brand new stapler, along with several packages of staples, paper clips, pens, and tape, all festooned with garish Christmas bows.


He turned to his partner for an explanation, but the moment he did, Starsky burst into laughter. Bemused, Hutch watched as he lost his struggle to stay upright, and collapsed onto the floor.


Dobey came out of his office to investigate the source of this hilarity, but Hutch could only shrug in confusion.


"Starsky," Dobey barked, "get off the damn floor!"


After two failed attempts, Starsky managed to haul himself up, and perch on the edge of his desk. "Oh man, oh man, oh man," he gasped, breathing heavily.


Hutch lifted his new stapler, its green bow glinting under the fluorescent lights. "Early Christmas, Starsk?"


"C'mon Hutch, everyone loves office supplies."


Bewildered, he watched Starsky lose control again, laughing to the point of tears. Dobey gave up, and slammed his door behind him.


At a loss, Hutch checked for booby traps, then sat down at his newly stocked desk. He shook his head. "You're one of a kind, partner."


Starsky wiped his eyes. "No, I'm not." He grinned at Hutch. "But I like it that way."


- end -