The Conception

 

Hutch blinked.  Then he blinked again, focusing on Starsky’s hand in front of his nose, fingers snapping.

 

“What?” he asked finally.

 

“Come back, little Sheba, come back,” said Starsky, grinning.

 

Hutch grimaced.  “Very funny.”

 

Starsky reached under the dash and helped himself to the thermos of coffee.  Sitting up, he waved his hand at the house across the street.  “Donny Brook could have strolled up to the front door with a marching band in tow, and you wouldn’t have seen a thing.”

 

“Donald Buchowski,” said Hutch, tapping the steering wheel.  “Could not have walked past us without me seeing him.”

 

“Pull the other one, it plays Jingle Bells.”  Starsky poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup.  “You got a girl I don’t know about?”

 

“When would I have time for a girl?” asked Hutch.  They’d been working the last three weeks without break, trying to track down a bank robber.  Finally they had a suspect, an ex-con called Donny Brook, no... Buchowski.  Hutch shook his head, briefly confused.

 

It was almost too much to hope that Donny might choose to visit his ex-wife and kid today, but it was all they had.  Huggy had sworn up one side and down the other that Donald was the kind of guy who’d want to share the loot with his family.  Even ex-family.

 

Starsky drained his cup and tossed it in the back seat.

 

“Hey,” began Hutch.

 

Starsky raised his eyebrows.

 

Hutch saw himself doing exactly the same thing in Starsky’s car, cups piling up in the back.  He shrugged.  One cup in his own back seat was probably fair payback.

 

Starsky got himself a new cup.

 

“Now wait a minute,” said Hutch.  “Why couldn’t you reuse your old one?”

 

“I thought I was finished,” said Starsky, innocently.  “If it’s not a girl, then what’s got you so...?”  He waved a hand at Hutch.  “Out to lunch?”

 

Hutch leaned against the door, his chin propped on his hand.  He thought about last night’s dream.  A strange, baffling dream, following close on the heels of a number of other strange dreams.  Last night’s had been the clearest, though.  “I think I’m pregnant,” he said, still half inside the dream itself.

 

“What?” said Starsky.

 

“What, what?” asked Hutch.

 

“Did you say... pregnant?”

 

“Huh?”

 

Starsky snapped his fingers again.  “Hutch!”

 

“Oh,” said Hutch, dragging himself back to the present.  “Yeah.  Pregnant.” 

 

Starsky folded his hand over his mouth and stared at Hutch.  His index finger was resting against the side of his nose.

 

How adorable, thought Hutch.

 

“You mean metaphorically,” said Starsky, finally.

 

“Well, the dreams I’ve been having lately are pretty literal,” said Hutch.  “But yes, I’m assuming it’s a metaphor.”

 

“So you’ve been dreaming you’re pregnant?” asked Starsky.  “You mean, you’re dreaming you’re a woman?”

 

“Nope, I’m still a guy.”

 

“How does that work?  How does the baby get out?”  Starsky dragged his hand down his face.  “How does it even get in there in the first place?”

 

Hutch raised an eyebrow.  “It was just a dream, Starsky.  I don’t have to worry about any of that.”

 

“Right,” said Starsky, regarding him intently.  “Just a dream.”

 

*

 

 

The First Trimester

 

Thanks to the flip of a coin, Hutch drove again on Tuesday.  Starsky got into the car with a thin paperback book in his hand.  He stopped briefly to appreciate the sight of Hutch backlit by the morning sun, and then opened the book.

 

“Pregnant,” he said.  “Dreaming you’re pregnant is symbolic of a growing or developing aspect of your life.  You may be unaware of the potential for a new direction, a new idea, a new project or a new goal.”

 

Hutch glanced over.

 

Starsky held up the book so he could see the cover.  It was pink with little fluffy clouds. 

 

“The Dream Dictionary?” asked Hutch.

 

“Yeah,” said Starsky.  “I picked it up last night.  Do you know that when I dream about sex, it really means I haven’t had enough sex lately and I’m repressing my libido?”

 

“God forbid you should repress your libido,” said Hutch.  He pulled onto the street in front of Donny’s ex’s house.

 

“If we don’t find this guy soon,” said Starsky.  “I think my libido’s going to shrivel up and die.”  Certainly it was throwing some very weird things his way at night, stuff almost as bizarre as Hutch dreaming he was pregnant.

 

Hutch pulled the car over to the curb and killed the ignition.  “I think I felt the baby kicking last night,” he said.  “Have you ever thought about what it must be like for women?  Walking around with another human being inside of them?”

 

“No...,” said Starsky, slowly.

 

“Just imagine,” said Hutch, thoughtfully.  “This whole other person.  And it’s part of you, but at the same time it’s completely separate.  You can feel it, but you’ve got no idea what it’s thinking.”

 

Starsky stared at Hutch’s stomach.  It looked flat.  Kind of nice, actually.  Starsky reached over and patted Hutch, lightly.  “Dunno, I don’t feel anything.”

 

Hutch grabbed his wrist and moved his hand back over to his own lap.  “Of course not, it’s just a dream.”

 

“Yeah,” said Starsky.  He looked at the book again.  “What we’ve got to do is figure out exactly what you’re pregnant with.”

 

“No one ever knows what they’re going to get until it arrives,” said Hutch.

 

Starsky brushed him off.  “I think they have machines that can look inside you, but that’s not what I mean.  I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl.  I just want to know if it’s the solution to this case, or something bigger.”

 

“Hmm,” said Hutch.  “It could definitely be the case.”

 

Starsky was less convinced.  “We have cases all the time.  What’s special about this one?”  If anything, this case was simpler than most.  Boring, even.

 

“I don’t know.”  Hutch looked out the window, thoughtfully.  “But what else could it be?”

 

“Something inside you, maybe.”  Starsky winced.  That brought back his own dream from last night vividly.  And yet, it raised some intriguing questions.  “Do pregnant people ever get to have sex?” asked Starsky.  “How does that work?”  The angles seemed difficult.

 

“People who work twelve hour shifts seven days a week, metaphorically pregnant or not, never have sex,” said Hutch, grimly.

 

“I guess not,” said Starsky.  He picked up his book again and re-read the section on sex.  Apparently dreaming about someone of your own gender didn’t necessarily mean you really wanted to have sex with them.

 

He glanced at Hutch, who was back to staring out the window.

 

Starsky read the passage again.  For some reason the words ‘not necessarily’ kept jumping out at him.

 

*

 

 

The Second Trimester

 

“So, how far along are you today?” asked Starsky, as Hutch climbed into the car on Wednesday morning.

 

Starsky, having finally won the coin toss, had immediately chosen to drive his own car.  Hutch had his doubts as to how successful they’d be with the Torino parked directly across from Donny’s ex’s house, but it was Starsky’s call to make.  The coin toss was sacrosanct.  All decisions final, and no appeal.

 

Hutch’s stomach lurched unhappily as Starsky took the corner at speed.  He closed his eyes and groaned.

 

“I would have thought you’d be past morning sickness by now,” said Starsky.

 

Hutch cracked one eye open and glared at him.  “Starsky, it’s a metaphor.  Met-a-phor.  That means I’m not actually having a baby.”

 

“I’ve been doing some more reading,” said Starsky.  “Did you know that pregnancy comes in trimesters?  So, if you tell me your symptoms, I might be able to tell you what trimester you’re in.”

 

Hutch covered his ears.  “I’m not listening to you.”  He regretted telling Starsky about his dreams.  He’d expected curiosity, and some teasing.  What he hadn’t expected was Starsky’s enthusiastic adoption of the entire concept.

 

Starsky pulled sharply up to sidewalk, his left front tire bouncing up onto the curb.  Hutch’s stomach contracted sharply and he burped.

 

“Ah hah,” said Starsky.  “Gas is definitely a common problem in the later months.  You could be getting close!”

 

“I’m going to shoot the next encyclopedia salesman who comes to your door,” said Hutch.

 

“The Encyclopedia Britannica was one of the best investments I’ve ever made,” said Starsky.  “It’s a reference library for the whole family.  And the way you’re going, my family might be expanding any old day now.”

 

“I’m not having a baby!” shouted Hutch.

 

“No,” said Starsky.  “You’re having an idea.  And I think I might even know what it’s going to be.”

 

Hutch stared at Starsky, but his partner wasn’t looking at him.  He was staring straight out the front of the car, half-smiling.

 

The expression on Starsky’s face was odd.  Hutch frowned trying to figure it out.  It wasn’t smug, though he certainly did look pleased with himself.

 

A sharp rap on the window brought Hutch out of his reverie and he was startled to see an officer in a blue uniform leaning over to stare at him.

 

Hutch rolled down the window.  “Yes?”  He vaguely recognized the man as someone he’d seen at the precinct barbeque, but he couldn’t quite remember his name.  Frank... Frank, something.

 

“We got a call about a couple of suspicious characters,” began the officer, his tone formal.

 

“Hey, Frankie,” interrupted Starsky, leaning across Hutch.  “We’re on stakeout.”

 

“Oh, my apologies, Sergeant Starsky,” said Officer Frankowitz.  “I didn’t see you there.”

 

Hutch leaned back against the seat.  Starsky’s arm was braced across his thighs and his shoulder was pressing into his chest.  He felt warm, and he smelled like sandalwood.  “Uh, you’re drawing attention to us.”

 

Frankowitz stepped back and straightened his cap.  “I’d say you’re drawing attention all by yourselves, in that car.  But hey, that’s what they give you the fancy badge for.”  Waving, he left.

 

Starsky let his forehead drop onto the edge of the passenger side door.  “Okay,” he said.  “Go ahead and say it.”

 

“Say what?”  Hutch’s voice cracked.  He was experiencing some very disconcerting sensations in his lower stomach.  Heat and tingling and all sorts of feelings he did not normally associate with Starsky.

 

Starsky braced his hand on Hutch’s thigh and pushed himself up.  “Say you told me so!  I admit it, okay?  My car is too pretty for this kind of stake out.”

 

“Okay,” managed Hutch.  “I told you so.”  He was afraid to move.  Starsky was only a few inches away and he could see everything, from the mole on his cheek to the individual hairs on his chin.

 

Starsky frowned at him for a moment, and then glanced down at Hutch’s lap.  His eyebrows shot up.  “Man,” he said, moving back over to his side of the car.  “It’s been awhile for you, too, huh?”

 

Hutch mentally backpedaled, trying to regain his balance.  “You said you knew what I was dreaming about.”

 

“I’m getting more certain all the time,” said Starsky, grinning.

 

“Are you going to tell me?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Starsky had that look on his face again, the same one that had puzzled Hutch earlier.  But now, as he examined his partner, a light clicked on in the back of Hutch’s mind.

 

Starsky looked like an expectant father.

 

*

 

 

The Third Trimester

 

Even though Starsky had won the toss again, he gave in to the inevitable and drove Hutch’s car, instead of the Torino.

 

“You know,” Starsky said.  “They never told us about this sort of thing at the Academy.  They let us think it would be escorting little old ladies across the street, interspersed with the occasional gunfight.  They didn’t tell us we’d be sitting in cars for days on end.”

 

The door of the house across the street opened and Hutch sat up.  But it was just Donny’s ex coming out to pick up her newspaper.

 

“Tell me about last night’s dream,” said Starsky.

 

“I think I ate something I shouldn’t have,” said Hutch, queasily.  “My stomach was cramping all night.  I didn’t get any sleep.”

 

“Labor pains!” said Starsky, brightly.

 

“Food poisoning,” said Hutch.

 

“Lots of women get the two mixed up.”  Starsky slapped the steering wheel excitedly.  He’d figured out what was going on yesterday and the extraordinarily graphic dream he’d had last night just served to confirm that he was right.  Now all he had to do was wait for Hutch to clue in.

 

Hutch glowered at him.  “Last time I checked, I’m not a woman.”

 

“Everyone’s got a part of them that’s the opposite of what they got between their legs.  It’s, uh, like your other half.”

 

Hutch inclined his head thoughtfully.  “So you’re saying I’ve been getting in touch with my feminine side.”

 

“Sure,” said Starsky.  “That’s part of it.  But you’re still going to have to have that baby.”

 

Hutch frowned.

 

“Idea.  Baby idea,” clarified Starsky, quickly.  “A beautiful bouncing baby idea.”  He patted Hutch’s thigh.

 

Hutch pulled his leg out of reach.

 

It occurred to Starsky, looking at the strain on Hutch’s face, that he might be able to hurry this gestation along.  He twisted to look into the rear of the car.  “Hey,” said Starsky.  “What have you got back here?”

 

“Huh?”

 

Starsky pushed himself up and leaned over the back of his seat.  He deliberately let his ass crowd Hutch up against the passenger side door.  “Is that a cuckoo clock?”

 

“It’s supposed to look like a Swiss Chalet,” said Hutch, sounding half smothered.

 

Starsky felt Hutch’s hand land on the inside of his thigh, only to be snatched away again a fraction of a second later.  Sighing internally, he kept up the patter.  “What comes out of the little house, then?  A bird?”

 

“A Swiss maid,” said Hutch, helplessly.  “Starsk...”

 

Starsky’s jeans were getting tighter by the moment.  He rocked against the edge of the seat, under the guise of trying to see further into the back of the car.  “What else have you got here?”

 

“Starsk!”

 

The urgency in Hutch’s voice drove all thought of sex from Starsky’s mind.  He slid hurriedly back into his seat, hardly noticing as the back of his head banged against the roof of the car.

 

Hutch was already opening his door.  “I just saw someone climb over the neighbor’s fence.”

 

Starsky fumbled with the handle of the door.  “That’s got to be Donny!”

 

*

 

 

The Happy Event

 

Starsky and Hutch shambled into Dobey’s office just before nine Friday morning.  Starsky had a black eye and Hutch was limping.

 

“Go home,” said Dobey.  He signing another form and tossing it onto the right hand pile.

 

“Captain?” asked Hutch, puzzled.

 

Dobey put his pen down.  “Didn’t you hear me?  Go home!”

 

Starsky tugged on Hutch’s arm, obviously eager to make his escape while the going was good.  Hutch, however, wasn’t sure he’d heard Dobey correctly.

 

“Captain,” said Hutch.  “We still haven’t finished the last of the paperwork on the Donny Brook, I mean Buchowski, affair.  There’s, uh, there’s still his confession to, uh...” he ground to a halt, unable to remember the word he needed.

 

“You’re no good to me dead on your feet,” said Dobey.  “Go home.  Another day in the lockup won’t do Donny Brook any harm.”

 

“Transcribe!” said Hutch, pleased to have finally found the word he wanted.

 

Dobey stared at him.

 

“Thank you, Cap!” said Starsky, taking a firm grip on Hutch’s arm.  “We’re going home now.”

 

Hutch found himself hustled past his desk with barely enough time to grab his jacket.  Before he knew quite how it had happened, he was in the Torino, and Starsky was driving.

 

Hutch glanced out the window at the swiftly passing streets.  “We’re going to your place first?” he asked, recognizing the neighborhood.

 

“First and last,” said Starsky.  “I figure we have to do something special with our first night off in almost a month.”

 

Hutch groaned.  “I’m not up to going out tonight.”  He couldn’t think of anything less attractive at the moment than making the rounds of the clubs.

 

“That’s not what I had in mind,” said Starsky.

 

“Pizza and a movie?”  That sounded a bit better to Hutch.

 

“Sure, we can definitely fit that in,” said Starsky.  And then, inexplicably, he blushed.

 

Hutch tried to decode Starsky’s expression.  “What did you have in mind?”

 

Starsky answered his question with another one.  “What did you dream last night?”

 

“I can’t remember,” said Hutch.  After chasing Donny over Hell’s half acre, otherwise known as a Bay City suburban development liberally strewn with privacy fences and territorial dogs, they’d been stuck at the precinct until three in the morning.  Hutch hadn’t slept so much as he’d simply passed out.

 

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Starsky, as he pulled up in front of his place.  He turned off the ignition, but then reached up to grab the steering wheel again, as if for comfort.

 

Hutch looked at Starsky’s knuckles turning white, and at the muscle jumping in his cheek, and wondered what was making him so tense.

 

Starsky took a deep shaking breath, and then said, “Maybe I’m mistaken, but I’m going to try something.”  Letting go of the wheel, he turned to look at Hutch.  “If it’s not what you want then just tell me and I’ll drive you home.  I’ll never say another word about it.”

 

“Wha –”

 

Starsky’s mouth collided with his, cutting him off.

 

Oh, thought Hutch, astonished.  And then, he thought ‘oh’ in a completely different way.  Starsky started to pull back, but Hutch wrapped his hands around the back of his head and held on.  This felt right.  It felt good.  It felt like something that shouldn’t ever end.

 

But of course it had to end.  And a moment later, Starsky was staring at him with a sloppy grin on his face.

 

“Did I get it right?” he asked, though it was obvious he already knew the answer.

 

Hutch blinked.  “Hey!  I remember what I dreamed last night.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I had twins,” said Hutch.  “One blond and one brunet.”  He hoped this meant the dreams were over.

 

Starsky laughed.  “C’mon, let’s get out of this car before we get arrested for public indecency.”

 

Hutch couldn’t exit the car fast enough.

 

Halfway up the stairs to his apartment, though, Starsky suddenly stopped humming ‘Havin’ my baby’ and said, “Wait, if you gave birth to both you and me, does that mean this is incest?”

 

Hutch shoved him forward.  “Move!”

 

In the doorway, Starsky stopped again.  “And if you’re the one who did all the birthing and stuff, does that make you the girl?”

 

Hutch pushed him into the hallway and pulled the door closed.  Pinning Starsky against the wall, he held up his index finger.  “If you say one more thing –.”

 

Starsky licked Hutch’s finger.

 

Hutch gaped at him, speechless.

 

“I’ve been having dreams, too,” said Starsky.  “X-rated ones.  Want me to tell you about them?”

 

~end~