The Thief

149

Starsky’s depressed post Sweet Revenge–Hutch does his best to cheer him up. An answer to the Twenty Minute Fic Challenge using the words : Bail and Steal

 

This is unadulterated sappy fluff. Teeth rotting fluff and sap.

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Hutch opened the door to Starsky’s hospital room and grinned.

“You’re still sitting up. That’s great.”

Uh oh—the glare Hutch received for the comment was one that was becoming more and more frequent over the past few weeks.

“Yeah.” Starsky turned his attention back to looking out the window at the parking lot. His next words were muttered so low Hutch doubted he was meant to hear them. “For being in what may as well be a prison.”

Hutch couldn’t ignore it, try as he might. He pulled the visitor’s chair right up beside Starsky’s recliner. “Babe.”

Starsky looked at him—dull-eyed, weary, and oh so sad. “I’m tired of being here.” He gestured to his chest, his abdomen. “I just want it all to go away.”

Hutch felt his throat tighten at Starsky’s words. He wanted it to go away too. He wanted his partner, his lover, his friend by his side. “I know.”

“The whole world is out there. People living their lives and never realizing how lucky they are.” Starsky didn’t even look at Hutch, but kept his eyes on the cars coming and going on the lot. His voice caught as he continued. “I’m stuck. You know, like someone who can’t even afford bail to get out of lock-up.”

“You’ve come so far, Starsk,” Hutch said, falling back into his latest job of cheerleader and optimist. “Last week, you would’ve been in bed by this time. The week before that, you weren’t even out of bed for more than a few minutes at a time.”

“I know. I know. I get the whole “miracle patient” speech every time there are rounds of new medical or nursing students.” Starsky finally turned his face to Hutch. “I miss you.”

Hutch swallowed at the raw despair on Starsky’s face. “Oh babe.”

Starsky’s eyes were reddened. He’d been crying earlier, Hutch was sure of it.

He covered Starsky’s thin hand with his own, looked down at the bruises left from now-gone IVs.

Hutch leaned in close. “How about I break you outta this joint?”

“Ha ha.” Starsky’s voice was flat.

“C’mon.” Hutch got up, retrieved the wheelchair from the corner. “I have an idea.”

“Really?” Starsky leaned into Hutch as he stood and then sat in the chair.

Hutch grabbed the blanket, covered Starsky’s legs and wheeled him out the door.

One of the nurses smiled and waved at them as they got to the elevator.

“Where we going?” Starsky tilted his head back and looked up at Hutch, the faintest glimmer of wonder on his face.

Hutch wheeled Starsky out onto the rooftop garden, into the warm summer night.

“When…where did this place come from?” Starsky looked around at the plants growing in wild profusion.

“I didn’t even know about it until a few days ago,” Hutch said. “Some grant the hospital received to make it.”

“It’s…”Starsky went silent as they meandered along the path.

“Beautiful,” Hutch finished for him as they stopped.

But he wasn’t looking at the plants or flowers. All his attention had settled on the man in the wheelchair, the person he loved. He glanced around. A few nurses were sitting on a bench. A couple walked hand in hand. A small group of what Hutch figured was a family surrounded an elderly man in a wheelchair, chattering and laughing.

He bent down to whisper to Starsky. “You should be in jail, you know.”

Starsky looked at him, the pinched look gone momentarily. “Yeah? What’s my crime?”

Hutch smiled, ran a finger over Starsky’s cheekbone, down his nose, across full lips. “You’re a thief. You stole my heart.”

Starsky smiled back and then groaned to Hutch’s alarm. But Starsky shook his head. “That is the worst sappy thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Hutch leaned close, kissed Starsky gently. “Thief of hearts.”

“No more,” Starsky said as they pulled apart to breathe. “Just one heart. Yours.”