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Hutch was having a hard time hiding a smirk as he looked up from the report and caught the furrow of concentration knitting his partner's eyebrows together.
"Having a hard time remembering how to do it there, Starsk? Want me to show you Mickey's hands again?"
"Funny," Starsky shot him a withering look from his usual backwards perch on a chair. "Have you know there are no Mickey Mouse hands on this baby." His enthusiasm took over instantly as he came round to Hutch's side and, not for the first time that morning, waggled his wrist under Hutch's nose.
"See this?" Hutch had to move the wrist down so that he could actually focus on the 'this' in question. "This is a chronometer," he said the word slowly, clearly practised, "shows how far underwater I am. And this," he adjusted some indeterminable dial, "tells you the time on... uh, three continents." With a 'whatja-think-of-that-then' flourish, he looked up, beaming.
"Well, that'll certainly come in handy for all that deep-sea diving we end up doing in Japan."
"Scoff away, Hutchinson, but I tell you, this three-hundred dollar beauty just might save our lives one day."
Hutch batted his partner's hand away and made to stand. "I still can't believe you gave some guy off the street three hundred and sixty bucks for it."
"Three hundred," corrected Starsky proudly, "had to do a little haggling. 'Sides, he's a friend of Huggy's."
Hutch gave up. Nothing was going to dent his partner's good humor that day. "Quit drooling over it, Starsk. Dobey's waiting."
He watched as Starsky lovingly smoothed an invisible hair of the face of it. What was the saying, he mused, you can take the boy out of Brooklyn, but not Brooklyn out the boy? Starsky could be such a cliché at times...
Starsky opened the door for his partner with another happy flourish. "In the words of a bard, Blondie, 'what a falling off was there'."
...then again, he could just up and surprise the hell out of you.