Meatloaf

Not a good night for meatloaf.

A little something I came up with while watching Death Ride. Thanks to Kimberly for Beta reading.

A mess, a complete mess. That was the only word that appeared to be in Hutch’s lexicon as he swept his eyes over the living room floor. The couch cushions were scattered around the room, a coffee cup and some of its contents lay innocently on the rug, and right next to the bathroom door lay a nasty puddle of vomit.

Instead of going anywhere near the mess, Hutch went over to the window and opened it as wide as possible in a vain attempt to filter out some of the smell. A few squirts of air freshener helped a little, but he knew he couldn’t bask in the heavy scent for long. He stared at the puddle by the bathroom, knowing that soon he would have to venture over it into the small room it guarded.

The retching sounds had stopped for now, but Hutch knew it wouldn’t be long before they started up again. Now was the best time to move, when things were quiet.

Maneuvering around the vomit was not as hard as Hutch first thought, but he swore a small trickle hit his shoe. He didn’t take the time to acknowledge it, instead pushing open the door just enough to see inside. There he found his partner sitting next to the toilet, sweat running down his pale and nearly transparent face like condensation on a window.

“Don’t…suppose you have any…cyanide?” Starsky croaked. “I hate slow miserable deaths.”

“Would you stop it with the dying jokes?” Hutch said as he sat down next to Starsky on the cold tile floor.

“I know what dying feels like. Trust me, I’m dying.”

“You have food poisoning and we both now why.” Hutch flung an arm around his miserable partner and pulled him close to his chest. “I warned you. I can’t count how many years I’ve been warning you. I told you something wasn’t right about that meatloaf.”

Starsky made a weak attempt at trying to get away from Hutch’s warm arms. Ever since the first complaints of nausea had come spewing from Starsky’s lips, no pun intended, Hutch had been on a rampage of ‘I told you so.’

“Well, next time how about doing something practical instead of giving me the lecture?” He struggled desperately against Hutch’s strong hold and his partner released him. Starsky retched into the toilet again while Hutch kept a hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. Dry, painful heaving was about all Starsky could manage at that point, but when he was done he flushed the toilet and feel limply into Hutch’s waiting arms.

“Think you’re done for now?” Hutch asked while running a hand down the side of his partner’s face.

“That’s for my stomach to decide.”

Hutch kissed the top of Starsky’s head and tightened his hold. “Come one, let’s get you to bed.”

With little help from Starsky, Hutch managed to get his sick partner off the bathroom floor and half way to the bedroom before they had to stop. Starsky pressed his hand against his mouth and fought a silent battle with his innards for a moment. Finally, Starsky took a deep breath and relaxed a little.

“You ready to make it the rest of the way?” Hutch asked.

Starsky nodded and they managed to get over to the bed without any further stops. He deposited his partner on to the bed and started to undress him. It was something he had done so often in the past that it came as second nature, having lived and loved this man for years now.

It had been a stressful day, waking up to the sounds of Starsky puking and then convincing him to go to the doctor. The place had been packed and it took over two hours before anyone saw them.

Once the doctor gave them the diagnosis and given instructions, they had been off on their way home, but of course by then the roads were packed with people coming home from work. Being stuck in a car for over an hour, with the smell of vomit hanging in the air and the sounds of retching assaulting his ears, had nearly drove him insane, but things had gotten slightly better once they got home. Starsky had ran straight for the bathroom, not getting there in time and then spending the rest of the evening throwing up anything he could possibly have left.

Hutch just wanted to slip between the sheets, curl up next to Starsky and rest, but he couldn’t. He had to take care of Starsky, clean up the living room, make everything okay again. Tucking the blankets around Starsky, Hutch took a moment to smooth the sweaty curls away from his lover’s forehead before turning back to the bomb site.

**************

The sunlight was too bright and the sounds too loud. It had been two days since the food poisoning and Starsky was still feeling terrible, but he forced himself up onto shaky legs. He couldn’t stand lying in bed any longer and the smell of bacon wafting through the air was awakening his appetite.

Finally making it to the kitchen, he slumped himself down on the chair and rested his head on the table.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

Hutch was standing at the breakfast bar mixing something in his blender, which made Starsky groan.

“Would you turn down the morning cheer? I’m not in the mood,” Starsky grumbled.

“I made you some breakfast. Think you can eat?”

Starsky sniffed the air, the bacon enticing his senses and even making his empty belly rumble.

“Sure, dish it up.”

Hutch smiled and placed a glass of orange juice on the table, followed by a bowl of cereal. Starsky looked down at the bowl and poked the contents with a spoon.

“What gives? This looks like something a horse would eat.”

Hutch laughed while serving up the bacon for himself and poured some cereal into his own bowl. “This is your new healthy start to the day, cereal with fruit and juice.”

Starsky pushed the bowl away and eyed the food on Hutch’s plate. “Why can’t I have the bacon?”

“Because for the next couple of days you’re gonna follow the diet I set and you’re not going to complain about it.”

Starsky leaned over the table to look Hutch square in the eyes. “And what if I refuse? What you gonna do, force feed me?”

Hutch smiled, in just the way that made Starsky shiver, sometimes with delight and sometimes with fear.

“I’ll just have to go with Plan B,” Hutch said, popping a mouthful of cereal into his mouth.

“What’s Plan B?” Starsky asked nervously.

“Blackmail. The guys at work would love to hear how that cast iron stomach of yours finally gave out.”

“You wouldn’t,” Starsky growled.

“Oh, I would. Now eat your cereal.”

The tension in Starsky’s neck relaxed a little and he calmed down, but he still eyed the food as if it was a bowl of acid.

“A couple of days, right? After that I can eat what I want?”

“Of course, but the next time you get food poisoning the stories are coming out.”

Starsky muttered a few choice words under his breath as he picked up the spoon and forced it to his lips. Getting his mouth to open was a different challenge. In his mind, he told himself over and over that it was something sweet. With that thought rolling around in his mind, he opened his mouth and shoveled the contents inside.

Hutch smiled. “Good boy.”