Work Text:
Luckily, when the key to his front door was noisily inserted Starsky had nothing more valuable in his hands to drop than a dirty serving spoon. The door banged open on its hinges a second later and he turned from the sink in time to catch the rather ungainly entrance of his partner.
"Hey!" Drying his hands on the dish-towel slung over his shoulder, Starsky took a step forward. "Caught me in a domestic moment there, Hutch. What can I...?" His grin faltered. Something was amiss. Hutch's breathing was audible and his eyes seemed a little unfocused. Starsky narrowed his. No blood, no sign of injury, but a large, dishevelled blond was still filling up his doorway. Starsky's eyes flicked to the wall clock -- 3pm. Not exactly the end of a working day.
"Uh... Hutch?"
"Yeah?" Cautious. As if Hutch were just noticing his surroundings.
"You okay?" Starsky had a notion to ease himself nearer the door to prevent Hutch from bolting. Like he suddenly had a big, awkward gazelle in his living-room, one he had to soothe into settling.
Hutch ran a hand through his hair and finally looked straight ahead. "What? Yeah. You?"
"In the pink, partner. In the pink."
"Well. Okay then."
They both paused, each looking uncertainly at the other.
"You wanna tell me why I'm droppin' spoons in my sink at three o'clock in the afternoon? I mean, not that I ain't thrilled but..." He let it hang as his hand went out in a kind of wouldja-fill-in-the-rest-for-me gesture.
Hutch let out a mild chuckle. He bent his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, then gestured to the small bag he had yet to put down.
"I brought you ice-cream. Raspberry ripple, I think."
Not really the explanation Starsky was looking for, but the tension in his partner was abating, and the sheepish tone was all he needed to hear to know that whatever it was would come out soon enough.
"Then come on in." He headed back to the kitchen area to get bowls as Hutch took a seat at Starsky's small table. "You wanna root beer to go--?"
"I saw the Torino today."
Starsky stopped, root beer forgotten. "Yeah?" Merle had finished it early then. Starsky had been told to swing by Saturday.
"Yeah." Hutch was busy with some spot on the formica of the table, his back to his partner. His voice was low. "Merle wanted to show it to me first, thought I'd be pleased." A grunt escaped. "Those idiots in Central had it parked in the same place, Starsk." He shook his head, "Can you believe that? The same goddamn place." His voice roughened, "as if walking through that garage every day isn't enough." He seemed to rouse himself. "Anyway, there it was, in all its candy-apple glory and I just... I wasn't ready, y'know, nobody told me and it just--"
"’S okay." Starsky's hands, one on each shoulder cut him off. He had come up quickly behind his partner as soon as he realized where this was going. "I know." He said quietly. And he did. When Hutch's lungs had been declared clear enough, what was it he had rushed round with for a 7am breakfast? Something Hutch couldn't even eat probably. It wasn't the breakfast just like it wasn't the ice-cream. It was that bad dreams and flashbacks were a bitch, and sometimes you just had to see for yourself.
He looked down at the bowed head and felt a rush of compassion. He squeezed his fingers into the shoulders. "Feel that, Hutch?" His tone was soft but strong. "It's real, partner. I'm real." He paused and waited for Hutch to dip his head in acknowledgment. "All you gotta do is fly that desk for five more days." He leaned down, his voice almost a whisper. "You keep the faith for those five days, you hear?" Hutch nodded. "Then I promise, it all gets better." Starsky straightened, moved a hand from a shoulder and ruffled Hutch’s hair.
"Hey!"
"What?" Starsky was already away and grinning. "Still need bowls and spoons, don't we?"
As Hutch was easing out the door some twenty minutes later, sanity and equilibrium restored, a voice from the sofa hailed him.
"If you miss me like that again, think you could miss me with something chocolatey?"
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