Starsky let himself in, whistling in anticipation “Hutch? Are you ready? The party at Hug’s starts in one hour.” He slumped on Hutch’s couch, put on his reading glasses and grabbed the newspaper. He listened to the noises from the bathroom. Nothing.

“Hutch? Get ready!”

“Just a sec!” Starsky heard Hutch’s muffled voice. More time passed.

“We’re late!” Starsky put the paper aside when he heard a loud desperate cry from the bathroom.

“Hutch?” In the blink of an eye, Starsky was at the bathroom door and yanked it open, drawing his gun.

Wide-eyed, Hutch stood in front of the mirror. His hair was raven black!

“What…?” Starsky stood rooted to the spot.

“I only used a new hair product,” Hutch stuttered, his pale skin a stark contrast to the black hair.

The sight was so overwhelming that Starsky burst out laughing. “Oh Hutch, that’s simply - ha-ha-ha!” He held his side, trying to catch his breath.

“Is that schadenfreude?” Hutch asked sourly, looking for the package of the new hair product.

“It’s only because you’re always trying new products to save what little hair you have. What did you buy this time, huh?”

Hutch checked the label and snorted, “No wonder. This one dyes your hair pitch black! I never bought this!” Hutch looked at Starsky, questioningly, and Starsky gaped.

“It could be possible that I bought it…” Starsky admitted.

“I’m all ears.” Was there also schadenfreude in Hutch’s voice?

Starsky winced. “It’s to cover my first few grey hairs. And I hid it here, so the ladies shouldn’t see it at my place.”

“And I took the wrong package. Forget the party!” Hutch looked defeated.

“We could say the dye job is for the next undercover assignment.” Starsky ruffled Hutch’s black hair. Hutch leaned into the caress, relaxing.

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