In honor of tomorrow night's Academy Awards (and the equally prestigious Dobey Awards <g>), I thought I would offer this little humorous slice of life....
Comments about this story can be sent to PWilshe@aol.com 

And The Nominees Are...

By

Paula Wilshe

   "Ow!"

   "Hold still."

   "Ow! Hutch, come on!"

   Hutch batted Starsky's hand away from his face.  "Starsk, keep your hand away from there, I can't see what I'm doing."

   "What are you doing?" Starsky asked peevishly.

   "I'm trying to clean out these scratches, dummy," Hutch said.  "Now keep still."

   "I can't believe he slugged me."

   Hutch leaned in closer to inspect the bruises and scratches that decorated the side of Starsky's face.  "Believe it, babe," he said.  "This looks really nasty."

   "It hurts."

   "I'll bet it does.  What the hell were you thinking, anyhow?"

   Starsky fixed him with a baleful eye.  "I don't know," he sighed, "he pissed me off."

   "Obviously," Hutch chuckled.  He leaned in and gave Starsky a light kiss on the ear.  "Man, this is the only place I can kiss you," he said.  "Your nose, your cheek, your eye, your lip..."  He shook his head.  "All my usual places are damaged."

   "Don't rub it in," Starsky said.  "I feel bad enough already." 

   "Aw," Hutch wrapped an arm around Starsky's shoulder and squeezed briefly. 

   Starsky leaned into him and yawned tiredly. 

   "You okay?" Hutch asked him.

   "Yeah," Starsky stifled another yawn against Hutch's shoulder.  "Fighting wears me out."

   Hutch squeezed him lightly again, then placed two fingers under Starsky's chin and tilted his head back for easier access.  He picked up the warm washcloth he'd placed on the sink and started gently dabbing at the dried blood on his partner's cheek.  "He got you good, Starsk, what if it's a head injury or something?"

   Starsky squeezed his eyes shut, both to blot out the pain, and to try to stifle another yawn.  "Not a...."  He yawned again.  "Not a head in'jry, Hutsh."

   "Then why are you so sleepy all of a sudden?"  Hutch crouched down in front of his partner.  "Look at me, Starsk," he said sharply.

   "What?" Starsky blinked a few times and leaned forward, nose to nose with the blond.  "Whaddya want me to look at?  You're gorgeous.  You're always gorgeous.  Can we get this over with so I can crash?"

   Hutch looked at him a minute more, then sighed.  "Okay, I guess you're all right.  It just worries me, I'm always afraid."

   Starsky squeezed his hand.  "Don't be.  I'm fine.  But Thompson's not gonna be fine, I can promise you that. Jerk."  He pulled away sharply.  "Ow, Hutch, that really hurts."

   "I know," Hutch soothed.  "I'm sorry, but I've got to get it clean. God knows where he's been."

   "See, he just really pissed me off," Starsky began.  "Gatherin' everyone around the squad room and askin' us all what our reasons were for not nominating him for Detective of the Year."

   "I know."

   "Can you believe that?  That's just shameless self promotion, that's all that is...."

   "I know."

   "What kinda jerk asks everybody something like that? He's the most egocentric idiot I've ever met in my whole life."

   "I know."

   "Only thing he should get nominated for was 'Greatest Number of Doughnuts Consumed By A Detective."

   "I'll bet he'd win too," Hutch offered mildly.  "Guy must weigh 350."  He picked up a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a cotton ball.  "This is gonna sting, kiddo, I'm sorry.

   "I can take it," Starsky assured him, bracing himself against the sink.  "I'm tough."

   "Yeah, you're tough," Hutch grinned.  "You were really scrappin' there on the floor."

   "Ow!!"

   "I know, I know, I'm sorry," Hutch said, his jaw clenched.  "Almost done."

   "Ow....I just couldn't believe he came after me like that, you know?  And then he said...."

   "I heard what he said." Hutch stepped back to inspect his handiwork.  "I think that's as good as it's gonna get, Starsk."

   "He said a lotta stuff that wasn't real nice, Hutch."

   "I heard what he said."

   "He said stuff about you."

   A smile tugged at the corner of Hutch's mouth.  "And you defended my honor."

   "Fuckin' right I did," Starsky said vehemently, although the effect was lost as he dropped his head down and succumbed to a massive yawn.

   "Well, Prince Charming," Hutch grinned, "I think we'd better get you off to bed before you fall off of here and crack your head on the tub."

   "Yeah, okay," Starsky went to rub his eyes but stopped abruptly.  "Oops, that'd hurt."

   "That'd hurt," Hutch echoed.  "Come on."  He put his hand under Starsky's arm and guided him to his feet.  "To bed, brave knight."

   "You're makin' fun of me," Starsky complained.

   "No," Hutch said.  "Really? I'm not."  He pushed Starsky toward the bedroom.  "I was real proud of you, Starsk, the guy's a bully."

   Starsky sank into bed with a sigh and a stretch that vibrated him from his toes to his curls.  Hutch reached down and covered him tenderly.

   "Hey?" Starsky asked through sleepy eyes.

   "Yeah, Starsk, what?"

   "Feels better, thank you."

   "You're welcome," Hutch answered.  "I'm gonna go get some ice for that eye, and I'll stay here and read while you go to sleep, if that won't bother you."

   "Okay," Starsky turned himself on his uninjured side.  He settled himself comfortably as Hutch tangled long fingers through his curls.

   "You are something else, Starsk."

   "I'm should win an award this year anyhow," Starsky told him.  "Already did, in fact."

   "Oh yeah?" Hutch asked.  "What's that?"

   "Best partner," Starsky offered with a sleepy smile.

   "Oh no," Hutch told him lightly.  "I've got that one sewn up."

   Starsky opened one eye.  "You wanna fight about it?" he asked, bringing a loose fist from under the covers.

   "Nope," Hutch told him.  "Maybe it'll be a tie this year, how about that?"

   "I could live with that," Starsky smiled.  "Hurry up and get the ice, will ya?  I wanna cuddle."

   Hutch shook his head.  "My hero," he said with a laugh.

   "Jerk," Starsky grinned, closing his eyes.

THE END