In Need of Minor TLC

Starsky’s found something to restore.

Inspired by two things on the bRomance list:

1. Twenty Minute fic challenge using the words bill and sandy
2. An ad a member posted of a hutch with the words: Sturdy Hutch in need of minor TLC.

“You think I can make it look as good as new?” Starsky asked Bill, their just down the road neighbor.

“Never gonna be like it was when it was new, but it’ll do. It’ll do.” Bill ran a loving hand over the fine grained wood of the hutch. “Got good bones, it does. They don’t make ’em like this any more.”

“Guess they don’t.” Starsky stood back with his arms crossed over his chest—something he hadn’t been able to do without pain a few weeks ago. “I appreciate your helping me with this.”

“Gets me out of Sandy’s hair.” Bill laughed. “She’s always complaining I’m underfoot, need to find something to do with myself now that I’m retired.”

Starsky looked around Bill’s workshop—sanders, paints, varnishes, drop-cloths—all ready and waiting for the restoration job. “You ever do one of these before?”

“Nope,” Bill said. “Rocking chairs, a kitchen table, bookshelves. But something this big? Nope. But you gotta learn sometime right?”

Starsky nodded and thought this job might take longer than he thought.

“Hutch’s birthday is coming up in August,” Starsky said. “I’d like to get it done by then.”

Bill just nodded. “You come here an hour or so each day and we’ll have it done.”

Starsky shook Bill’s hand, gave a wave to Sandy in the garden, and walked back towards the house he and Hutch now shared.

He thought of the sign he’d seen on their neighbor Lucy’s garage just two days before—Sturdy hutch in need of minor TLC. He figured it was fate when she offered it to him for just twenty dollars. Sure it was banged up, a few scuffs here and there where the wood needed to be filled in. The hinges needed to be fixed—rusty and a bit crooked.

But his Hutch would love it—Starsky knew it the moment he saw it. He pictured it filled with some of the knick knacks Hutch always managed to find at swap meets, packets of seeds stuck in the little cubbyholes, and maybe some of Starsky’s grandma’s china could go in it too.

Starsky went into their house, whistling and filled with happiness at the thought of making Hutch happy.

He heard Hutch’s car pull into the driveway right on the dot of five thirty. Traffic must have been light.

“That you, Jenny?” Starsky called out as he heard Hutch open the door. He laughed.

“Sorry,” Hutch said. “Just me.”

Starsky heard the door slam and the slow tread of Hutch’s footsteps towards the bedroom. Uh oh—the day must have been a bad one.

“Babe?” Starsky turned down the burner on the stove and went in search of Hutch.

Hutch was on the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, one foot firmly planted on the floor.

“Babe?” Starsky asked again. This time much quieter. “You got a headache?”

Hutch rolled his head from side to side. “No. Just…one of those days. You know?”

Starsky eased himself to the bed. “Yeah. I know.” He rested a hand on Hutch’s belly. “You want to talk about it?”

“No.” Sharp. Pained.

Sturdy Hutch in need of minor TLC. Starsky rubbed his hand in a slow circle as Hutch’s breath slowed and evened out. He bent and kissed Hutch at the junction of shoulder and neck. Hutch tasted of salt.

“I don’t think I can tonight,” Hutch murmured.

“You don’t have to,” Starsky told him. “Just wanted you to know.”

“Huh? Know what?” Hutch dropped his arm from his eyes and turned to face Starsky, his blue eyes filled with hurt and despair

Hutch might not be able to tell him this minute, but Starsky would bet his last dollar that before the night was over, Hutch would bare his soul, purge whatever inhumanity he’d witnessed into his partner’s patient waiting.

“That I love you.” Starsky kept his gaze fixed on Hutch and saw a small bit of the despair fade away.

“I know that, Starsk. I carry that with me every day.” Hutch planted a small soft kiss on Starsky’s knuckles.

Starsky smiled. “You got time for a shower before supper’s ready.”

“Mmmhmm.” Hutch’s eyes drifted closed.

“Or a nap.” Starsky got up from the bed and unfolded the throw from the bottom of the bed. Hutch didn’t even twitch as Starsky covered him with it.

Maybe his Hutch’s hinges were a bit rusty too. Lord knew his own were since the shooting. Scuffs they both had galore. But they were still here, still going, and that was good enough for Starsky.