With a Thankful Heart

Summary: Hutch is having a rough time for the first Thanksgiving post Sweet Revenge.

A/N: Early this morning the song Thankful Heart from The Muppet Christmas Carol popped into my head and although it’s a Christmas song, well it has a good message for us to carry all year long.

With a loving guarantee that even if we part, I will hold you close in a thankful heart.
—Paul Williams

The house smelled of roasted turkey, cinnamon and cloves, and the bayberry candles his mom always sent him around the holiday season. Hutch looked around the detritus remaining from their Thanksgiving Feast.

Dishes piled in the sink—the roasting pan he hated to scrub, his best dishes, the silverware strewn haphazardly on the counter. Discarded lids from the Tupperware he thought all matched but didn’t. The dish towel stained with gravy from when he’d accidentally poured too much into the dish and it spilled over. At least the left-overs were stuffed in the fridge or given to guests to take home.

He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and thought longingly of sitting down and ignoring the mess until morning. But that roasting pan was still going to be there tomorrow and even worse to wash then.

He shifted dishes, organized them in piles on the counter and table, and started to fill the sink with hot water. He squirted in the Palmolive—and smiled sadly when he remembered Starsky kidding him about using it.

“You gotta keep your hands nice and pretty, Hutch?”

“Wouldn’t want to give you any reason to complain when they’re on you, would I?”

He stared at the bubbles until he realized the sink was near to overflowing and quickly turned the faucet off. He put in the glassware and started to wash them, his mind elsewhere.

He was tired—and Thanksgiving, even surrounded by friends had drained him dry. Sometimes it was all too much. Emotions battering him when all he wanted was to breathe and not feel. He lost himself in washing the dishes, a task he did because he needed to, not because he enjoyed it.

Thanks. Giving. Had he forgotten what all that meant? The darkening sky didn’t help his mood. He took in a breath, then another deeper, shuddering one and felt like his heart would shatter.

“Hutch? Babe?”

Once again strong arms pulled him into an embrace, a chin rested on his shoulder, and then warm lips touched his neck in a gentle kiss.

“Hey.” Starsky put his hands on Hutch’s shoulder, turned him. “What’s going on?”

Hutch shook his head, unable to put all he felt into words. Overwhelming joy/fear/need/want/love.

“Oh, Hutch.” Starsky’s voice cracked, and Hutch wanted to fix that too.

“I…” He finally looked at Starsky, at the beloved face, still thin from the shooting.

Starsky was smiling though, and his eyes were too.

Hutch took a deep breath as he looked into those smiling eyes. And then another and another. Grounded, surrounded, surrendered into that unwavering gaze.

“So much to be thankful for,” he finally said.

Starsky pulled him close, kissed his forehead, his nose, his lips. “So much.”

Hutch didn’t know how much time passed as they stood together, the way they belonged, a minute maybe or an eternity. But time passed and his world righted.

“C’mon, let’s get this all cleaned up,” Starsky said after another quick kiss. “I’ll even scrub the roasting pan. I love you that much.”

Hutch’s laugh bubbled up and out and went all the way down to his toes. He tossed the dishcloth in Starsky’s direction and began to live again with a thankful heart.