Take Care

Hutch is recovering from an illness. Starsky is not happy.

Part of the After Series- set Post Sweet Revenge where Hutch is a police lieutenant (for now) and Starsky is going to college to get a degree.

Author’s Note: An answer to a “gruff and rough” caretaker challenge. But of course I couldn’t keep away from a bit of mushiness.

The banging of pots and pans woke Hutch from his half doze. The slamming of a cupboard door had him sitting up.

“Star…” Okay, so yelling, hell, talking above much more than a whisper wasn’t going to happen either. He closed his eyes and gathered his strength to get to his feet.

As Hutch approached the kitchen, hanging onto any furniture or walls along the way, he could hear Starsky’s ongoing monologue.

“Go to the doctor, I said. You’re getting sick, I said. But who am I to listen to? No, I’ll be fine, he says. I’m not sick, he says. Damn pneumonia.”

“Starsky.” Hutch pulled out a chair at the table and plopped down into it with relief.

Starsky whirled, a pot lid held in one hand. “What the hell are you doing up? You’re supposed to be resting on the couch.”

“I heard you.” Hutch tried to suppress the cough he felt building. It didn’t work. He grabbed one of the tissues he kept stashed in his bathrobe pocket and held it to his mouth as he coughed harshly.

A glass of water appeared in front of him and he took a grateful sip once the attack subsided. “Thanks.”

Starsky grunted and then stood over Hutch, tapping his foot.

“What?”

“What do you mean what? Get back to the couch. Supper isn’t ready yet.”

“Knock it off, Starsk. I’m never gonna get well if all I do is lie around all day. The doctor said…”

“You mean the doctor who you only went to when your temperature was up at 104? The one who reminded you your lungs are nothing to fool around with? That doctor?” Starsky took a deep breath and continued. “Or what about me? I don’t even think I need to say I told you so…but I told you so. I told you you were getting sick. I told you you were working too hard. But what do I know?”

“Starsky.” It didn’t work. “Starsky!”

“Go back to the couch. And if you faint along the way, I’m not picking you up either.”

Hutch sighed. Sometimes you just couldn’t reason with the man. At least when Hutch got mad, his temper burned bright and hot in a flare of energy. Starsky, though. When Starsky got in one of his moods, he sulked and aged his anger like a fine wine.

He got up and started back towards his nest on the sofa—only to have Starsky come beside him and place a gentle, steadying hand on his elbow.

“You scared me,” Starsky murmured, barely loud enough for Hutch to hear.

Starsky pressed lips to his forehead when he stretched out under the blankets once more. “No fever.” He sat down, rested one hip against Hutch’s side.

The phone rang, jolting Hutch out of his descent into slumber.

“Hi Lillian. Yes, he’s on the mend.”

Hutch fought the blankets to sit up, but Starsky held him down with one hand to his shoulder.

“She’s my mom,” Hutch said.

Starsky stuck his tongue out at him and continued. “Oh you know. He’s all whiny and is at that ‘I don’t feel so sick anymore and am bored out of my skull’ phase.”

“I am not whiny.” Hutch reached for the phone. “Mom, he won’t let me talk to you.”

“She says to be quiet and let her talk to me,” Starsky said. “Classes are going great. Got straight As on my mid-terms.”

There was silence as Starsky listened to his mom and then a chuckle. “I know. I know. He’ll be back to work before we know it.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m a kid,” Hutch said. “And let me talk to my mom.”

Starsky handed him the receiver.

“You listen to Davey,” his mom said. “Do you want me to come out there?”

Heaven forbid, Hutch thought. “No. No, Mom. The doctor said I can start back to work on Monday as long as I take it easy.”

“Kenny,” she said and then fell quiet.

“I know, Mom.” Hutch ignored the sudden prickle in his eyes. “I’m good. I am. I have Starsky.”

“Dad and I love you,” she said and cleared her throat. “Now you go to sleep and let me talk to Davey again.”

Starsky took the phone from his outstretched hand, and Hutch pulled the blanket close. Starsky’s hand rested on his chest, right over his heart.

“I’ll tell him, Lillian and bye. Yes, yes. I’ll do that. Bye. I love you, too.”

He heard the click of the receiver being placed back. Starsky shifted his weight, and he ran his fingers through Hutch’s hair.

“She loves you and said Kissy and Frank and Jessie send their love too,” Starsky said, low and soothing. “And that if you get too whiny, I should buy you a coloring book. She said you went through a whole bunch when you had chicken pox.”

Hutch managed a small laugh. “Do I get a box of 64 crayons?”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m sorry,” Hutch said, because it seemed important that Starsky know.

“You didn’t get sick on purpose,” Starsky said. “I know that. I’ll be here. Go to sleep.”

And Hutch did.