Comments about this story can be sent to qeshet@hotmail.com 

Raven Morgan Leigh

   The alarm went off with that annoying shrill ring that made Starsky, still deeply ensconced in the depths of sleep, want to throw the offending gadget through the nearest window. He restrained himself, and silenced it with a satisfying slap.

   The clock had held up fairly well up till now, but this time Starsky distinctly felt the crunch of tortured plastic under his palm.

   "Shit," he muttered, rolling over to catch a couple more minutes sleep. Feeling a little chilly, he reached down to pull up the coverlet.

   Red.

   That wasn't right.

   On the sheets, on the blanket.

   Why is my hand stinging?

   "Shit!" Wide-awake now, Starsky sat bolt upright in bed and stared at his hand, which was now beginning to throb badly. His left hand was gashed badly, and blood poured from the wound, trailing down his arm, staining the sheets, pooling on his thigh.

   Clutching his wounded hand to his chest, he dashed for the living room where his partner was nearly cocooned in blankets, still asleep on the couch.

   Starsky skirted the new glass-topped coffee table in front of the couch and tried to wake his partner. "Hutch?" he croaked. Prodding the big blonde's figure with one foot. "Hutch?" Starsky tried again, prodding harder. " C'mon, Hutch. I need some help, here, " he said plaintively, putting just a little more force behind his next bout of foot-prodding.

   Maybe it was a bit too much.

   Hutch jumped, and promptly rolled off the couch---

   There was a resounding crash and a muffled shout as Hutch's face smashed through the glass tabletop. He slumped face down, with most of his upper torso draped over the wooden frame.

   Deathly still.

   "Hutch! Hutch! You okay?"

   Trapped in the wreckage of shattered wood and broken glass, Hutch, still nearly mummified by blankets, moaned and tried to move.

   One-handed, Starsky managed to get hold of the blankets surrounding Hutch and haul him up and out of the bloody mess. He managed to get his partner back onto the couch, sitting with his head wobbling feebly, disoriented and angry. He was bleeding badly from a cut above his right eye. Other than that and a few minor scratches, he seemed to be more or less intact. " What... what the hell?" Hutch managed to ask, warily touching a hand to the wound and drawing back quickly in pain.

   "Oh, Hutch..." Starsky moaned, " I'm sorry, I didn't think you were gonna fall--"

   Hutch was slowly waking up, and his gaze sharpened as he fixed on Starsky, still clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. " What happened to you?"

   Starsky gave Hutch a sheepish grin. " I had a little accident with the alarm clock this mornin'. I was coming to you to help me bandage it."

   Hutch quickly, as always went into mother-hen mode. " You're bleeding pretty badly, there partner," he said, momentarily forgetting his own woes. C'mon, let's get you bandaged up, okay?"

   He managed to get himself unfurled from the encumbering blankets, and, with Starsky's help got up off the couch.

   He took a step. " Ouch!" He exclaimed. " Aw, dammit." He stared down at the inch-long shard of glass embedded in his big toe. Bending down, he pulled it out and dropped it into the pile of glass and wood in the center of the ruined coffee table.

   Together, the two partners made it to the bathroom.

   Starsky perched on the lidded toilet while Hutch cleaned up his lacerations quickly (as blood was now getting into his eyes, and he needed to be able to see in order to bandage Starsky.)

   After slapping a Band-Aid on his big toe, he turned to his friend, who was beginning to look a little green.

   " Hey, babe... I'm not so sure you shouldn't go to the hospital. This might need stitches, " Hutch said, noting Starsky's color. His glance went to the trail of blood leading from the living room to Starsky, who was still bleeding.

   "Ahh, I think I'll be okay, Hutch, " Starsky said faintly. " Just make it stop bleeding, will ya?" He batted his eyelashes and looked as pitiful as possible.

   Hutch snorted in amusement as he fetched the bandages and antiseptic from the bathroom cabinet. If Starsky was well enough to try one of his patented- guaranteed -to - throw-Hutch's-nursemaiding-instincts-into-overdrive tactics, he probably didn't need to go to the hospital.

   Starsky stood, and Hutch steadied him, holding his partner's wounded hand over the sink, so that he could wash out the cut. After the blood had been cleaned away, Hutch could see that the cut wasn't nearly as bad as he'd thought, but then Starsky had always been a bleeder. He let Starsky squeeze his free hand for comfort, as he poured peroxide over the wound.

   Starsky howled in agony.

   "Babe, what's wrong? It's only peroxide, it shouldn't hurt that much--", Hutch exclaimed, startled by Starsky's reaction.

   " Arrgh, it burns, Hutch!" Starsky moaned.

   " Maybe your peroxide's old." Hutch murmured worriedly, and took a look at the bottle he'd pulled from the cabinet earlier.

   Starsky's howls had dwindled to whimpering, and he clutched at Hutch's knee reflexively with his good hand.

   Hutch focused on the brown plastic bottle, reading the words. He blinked. That couldn't be right.

   The bottle read KODAK HC 110 DEVELOPER.

   Not Hydrogen Peroxide.

   A terrible suspicion began to worm its way into Hutch's brain.

   " Uhhh...Starsky? Do you keep film developer in your medicine cabinet?"

   " Uh...yeah, " Starsky ground out, 'Why?" Realization dawned, and he moaned, "Oh, no. "

********

   Seconds later, they were standing over the sink, once again washing out Starsky's cut with cool water. After a few minutes, Starsky felt better, and Hutch simply found the Neosporin and treated the cut. He wrapped Starsky's hand in gauze and found the tape, pulling off enough to secure the bandage. He dragged the tape over the serrated metal edge of the dispenser and--

   "Damn!" Hutch swore, as his thumb began to bleed.

********

   After Hutch finished bandaging his own thumb and Starsky's hand, the two of them hobbled into the kitchen.

   Starsky, who was still feeling guilty over Hutch's various hurts, decided to make his friend a huge breakfast. Toast, juice, milk, Captain Crunch.. sure, Hutch'd like that.

   He steered his partner towards a chair with his good hand. " C'mon.. sit down. I'll make us some breakfast."

   Hutch plopped onto the chair. It wobbled a little, and then steadied. Old, Starsky thought. Need to replace those things...

   Starsky moved over to the refrigerator, opened it and began scanning the shelves for anything edible. Ah, here we go, he thought jubilantly, as he spied bread-- not entirely molded, and hmmn.. oranges without fur; cool...and milk! Good. Now for the cereal.

   Hutch shifted a bit in his chair, and it groaned, threateningly.

   " Hutch, be careful about that--" Starsky warned, but obviously not in time.

   CRASH!

   "--Chair."

   Hutch, for the second time that morning was sprawled among the remnants of one of Starsky's pieces of furniture. And he was not happy.

********

   Finally most of their breakfast was made, and Hutch was comfortably seated in another, sturdier chair. He munched semi-contentedly on Captain Crunch and half an orange.

   Starsky was still waiting for the toast, and stood, next to the toaster, waiting.

   And waiting.

   Hutch lifted his head, sniffing. "Starsk?"

   "Shit! " Starsky cursed as smoke began to pour from the toaster. " Damned thing's stuck! " He grabbed a fork and stuck it into the slot to try to fish out the bread. He wriggled it around, and -----

   PPPZZZZZZBBBHHHZZZPPPT!!!!!!

   Starsky pulled the fork out of the toaster, and watched dazedly as his friend, his partner, doubled over, laughing hysterically.

   " Wha'ssofunny?" Starsky managed, though his lips felt fused together.

   " You look like Leo Sayers! Angela Davis!!! The Jackson Five!! All on ONE HEAD!!!" Hutch snorted, and lapsed again into peals of laughter, which turned into coughing.

   Thick, black, foul-smelling smoke was now making it hard to breathe in the house.

   Hutch burst into action. He reached to unplug the toaster and ----

   PPPZZZZZZBBBHHHZZZPPPT!!!!!!

   Hutch sat on the floor, holding the plug. Starsky pulled on Hutch's arm, and together, they were able to unplug the toaster. The fell back onto the floor and lay there gasping for a few moments. Hoisting himself up, Starsky finally looked at his partner for a long moment. Then, he began to snicker.

   " Wha'ssofunny?" Hutch managed, though his lips felt fused together.

   "Wha'ssofunnyaboutgettingelectrocuted? Somefreindyouare."

   "You look like Art GARFUNKEL!!!!!" Starsky sputtered, and laughing, fell backwards, onto the floor.

   C R A C K ! ! ! !

   "SHIT!!!"

THE END