by Ellis Murdock

17 November, 2001

"Turkey," Starsky said with a sigh.

"Was that a statement, or should I be offended?" Clearly focused on the challenge of disentangling the clingy plastic wrap enshrouding his turkey sandwich, Hutch didn't even bother to look up.

"I was just thinking out loud."

"Oh." At the next heavy sigh, Hutch stilled his fingers, visibly braced himself, and turned with obvious reluctance to his partner. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about turkeys, that's all." Taking a sip of coffee, Starsky stared thoughtfully out the side window of the car. "Did you know that Ben Franklin wanted the turkey to be the official bird of the United States? Thought it was more regal than the eagle." Amused by his own rhyme, Starsky grinned.

Hutch just rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "As a matter of fact, I did. Every kid who has ever been forced to write a Thanksgiving Day essay in school knows that." Leaning over Starsky in the effort to get a better view of the apartment they were staking out, he peered dejectedly through the binoculars for the third time in half an hour. "Is there any sign of life in there at all?"

"Nope. Looks like he's already gone beddy bye."

Silence descended once again, save for the incessant drumming of Starsky's fingers on the steering wheel, and Hutch returned to liberating his sandwich. The silence didn't last nearly long enough.

"Did you know they can see in color?"

"Who?"

"Turkeys. They can see in color, and they sleep in trees at night. Did'ja know that?"

"I…." Though Hutch's mouth remained open, no other words emerged for some time. "Is there anything even vaguely resembling a point to this conversation? Even a small one?"

Starsky held his response until the sandwich had reached half the distance to Hutch's lips. This was, after all, a fine art, and it had to be played with precision. "I wonder if he had a name."

"Starsky--" Hutch let the sandwich drop unceremoniously into his lap.

"I'm just saying…. Some people say that turkeys are capable of actual affection, bonding, maybe even love—of a sort, anyway."

Glaring defiantly, Hutch made one more stab at his dinner.

"You don't suppose he had a family, do you?" Starsky asked very quietly. "I wonder if they grieved."

Game, set, and match. No matter how much he might want to take a bite, between the conversation and the pair of eyes watching his every move, both knew Hutch's throat would constrict before it got very far.

Drawing a hand wearily across his eyes, there was little left to do but acknowledge defeat. "Fine," Hutch said, handing the sandwich over. "You want it, it's yours."

"You mean you're not gonna eat it?" Both voice and face positively exuded innocence. "Gee, that's awfully nice of you to offer. You see, someone threw my lunch in the garbage today and I'm starving." With no obvious signs of remorse, Starsky launched into the food with gusto. Still, winning the game had been far more the point of the exercise than enjoying the spoils themselves, and a beat later Starsky gently nudged the nearest knee, making the expansive gesture of returning half the sandwich.

Somewhat mollified, if still stinging a bit from the indignity of being bested, Hutch relaxed and accepted with a shrugged smile. Starsky waited until a hand snaked over to reach for the solitary milkshake before moving in for the kill.

"Did'ja know that milk is basically just cow mucus?"

Allowing his head to drop in utter resignation, Hutch placed the cup in the outstretched hand without saying a word.

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