Red Zebra

by Allie

At first sight of the seed catalogs, Starsky went into wary mode.

"Hutch…" warned Starsky, walking into the kitchen and putting down the bag of groceries he'd been carrying.

"I'm just looking, Starsk." Hutch's voice was mild as he turned another page, graying-blond head bent over the catalog.

Starsky stared at him, one brow rising. "Sure, Hutch. Well, what is it this time?" He walked up to his friend and peered over Hutch's shoulder. "Tomatoes. Humph. Well, at least you can eat them. Or throw them at annoying neighbors."

Hutch glanced up and gave him a sheepish smile. "I haven't ordered anything yet. I was just looking."

"I know, I know. You were 'just looking,' but somehow every spring, there's all these extra seeds and plants, things you'd never order any other time of the year but winter." He punctuated these words by starting to put away the groceries, competently unpacking bread, canned foods, and fresh vegetables.

"You buy vegetables, Starsk," said Hutch. "Why shouldn't we grow them?"

Starsky's diet had grown increasingly healthy in the years since he almost died. Sometimes, nowadays, he was the one telling Hutch to eat healthier.

"Because 'we' always turns out to be 'me!' With your bad back, I end up doin' all the digging, weeding, hoeing and fertilizing—and I'm gettin' too old for it! Can't you just focus on your houseplants?"

Hutch turned another page, not taking his eyes off the catalog, pretending not to hear.

"You can't fool me, Blintz. You know I'm right." Starsky unpacked a sack of apples and started putting them in the fruit bowl.

Shortly after Starsky was almost killed, they've moved in together to save bills and so Hutch could look after Starsky better. They'd never really found the need for separate places since. And after Hutch's back surgery, they'd been once again grateful to have a ground-floor apartment.

The lawn space in the back wasn't big, but it was big enough for two retired cops to argue every year amiably over whether to have a garden or not.

"You know we'll only end up gettin' a bunch of weird squash and stuff, and then you won't want to eat it," pointed out Starsky.

"That's not true," protested Hutch. "I ate the eggplant last year."

"Yeah, once." Starsky shuddered at the memory. "It didn't taste like eggs at all!"

"Okay, so maybe we shouldn't grow eggplant this year," muttered Hutch, shoulders slumping a bit. He turned another page, and blinked. "Starsk…" he said quietly.

"Don't slouch," said Starsky, walking over, giving him a light swat on the arm. "What is it?"

Mutely, Hutch pointed to the picture of an honest-to-goodness striped tomato in the gardening catalog—and its caption underneath: RED ZEBRA TOMATO.

They turned to look at one another, Hutch with an awed, freaked-out look, Starsky blinking and blank.

Then, slowly, a smile spread on his face. He ruffled Hutch's hair and slung an arm around his friend's broad shoulders. "Okay, pal. I guess we have to grow those!"

"At least three," agreed Hutch, leaning against Starsky and laughing.