Paula Wilshe

"Applesauce?" Starsky regarded his partner with a look of affectionate bemusement.

Hutch blinked sleepy eyes and nodded his head. "Yeah," he answered, his voice strained and raspy. He raised one eloquent eyebrow, conveying both the truth and perhaps a slight self-consciousness regarding his request. He nodded again for emphasis. "Cold applesauce," he amended, raising the other eyebrow in an attempt to look convincingly pathetic. The gesture was unnecessary. He already looked miserable.

Starsky leaned forward and stroked the still feverish forehead gently. "Let me get this straight," he said fondly. "Judith says you're well enough to eat anything in the world you want to eat, I tell you I'll go to the ends of the earth to get whatever you think would taste good to you, and you're askin' for applesauce?"

Hutch smiled slightly. "Yeah, but remember, cold, not like the lukewarm stuff they--" he turned his head to the other side of the pillow as a harsh, croupy cough rattled its way through his body.

Starsky immediately sat on the edge of the bed, hauling Hutch upright by the closest arm. "That sounds a little better," he appraised.

"It ought to," Hutch got out between coughs. "I've been practicing for a week and a half." Finished, he leaned his head on Starsky's shoulder for a moment before sitting up straighter. "Man," he breathed softly, "that still hurts like hell."

"I know it does," Starsky agreed sympathetically. "You still got a ways to go." He rubbed his hand back and forth across Hutch's back, and the blond closed his eyes and nodded, a tiny sigh barely audible in the room.

"I feel like I'll never—"

"You will," Starsky assured him, pausing in the light massage to squeeze a pajama-covered shoulder. "You'll be out in a couple of days, and in a couple weeks it's Christmas, and—"

Hutch smiled ruefully. "How can it be after Thanksgiving already?" he asked. "I feel like it's still October. I never even got to have turkey."

"You've been a little busy," Starsky soothed. "Listen, I talked to your sister last night, she needed to know there's no way we can—"

"I was really looking forward to going," Hutch told him sadly. "I miss her and the kids a lot. You don’t think in a week or so we could--"

"I think you’re going to need some good recuperating time," Starsky told him firmly. "Something like this—it takes a lot to get your strength back, and your immune system is going to be screwy for a while. Hopping halfway across the country and trying to keep up with the kids, especially over the holidays is just—"

Hutch sighed heavily. "You’re right, I know you’re right. Maybe we could make a little turkey, huh? Just the two of us?"

"Absolutely. And as far as your sister goes, I promised her we'd come for a visit as soon as you're feeling up to it, and she's just so glad you're doing better that she said it was okay." He smiled. "She's a good girl," he added. "I talked to her almost every day for the last two weeks."

"I don't think I like that," Hutch answered darkly. "You two together are never anything but trouble."

"I know," Starsky said proudly. "You're right. Oh, and your nephew says he hopes your cold is better."

"My cold, huh?" Hutch's eyes twinkled. "Well, I guess to a four year old mind--or is that what she told him?"

"I don't know but, hey, he's quite the expert," Starsky informed the blond seriously, although his eyes were twinkling merrily. "Had one himself two weeks ago, so he had all kinds of suggestions for you."

"What kind of suggestions?"

"Really practical stuff. Let's see, you might have avoided all this if you'd always wear a jacket outside, which he knows you don't—"

"But we live in California!" Hutch interrupted.

Starsky continued as if Hutch had not spoken. "Getting the proper rest is important, you have to stop getting to bed so late—"

"—which to him is anything after eight o'clock...."

"Don't interrupt." Starsky tapped him lightly on the cheek. "This is important. Never, ever go to bed with your hair wet. He also doesn't think you eat balanced meals, and failing that, since you're sick already, I got a five-minute lecture on how to freeze orange juice into ice pops because they will cure you when nothing else will."

"Why didn't Judith think of that, I wonder?" Hutch mused.

"Oh, and there was something about certain cartoons possibly containing healing powers, but your sister grabbed the phone away from him just about then."

"Terrific," Hutch grinned, just the thought of his nephew sparking an interest in life that Starsky had missed over the last couple of weeks. "Hopefully he'll forget all that by the time we get out there, huh?" He lowered his eyes and raised them again. "Did, um," he began hesitantly, "my sister mention my parents?"

Starsky smiled sympathetically. "No, partner, she didn't. They haven't called, or—?"

"No," Hutch answered shortly, then he covered his face with both hands and coughed again. "I'm sorry. Why don't you go home and get some sleep? Or go see a movie, or just go relax somewhere?"

"You trying to get rid of me?"

"I can think of a lot of things that would be a lot more fun than sitting here listening to me hack up a lung." He smiled, then coughed again, bracing one hand against his chest as if that might make the pain somewhat less. "You know?"

Starsky reached over and soothed the furrowed brow once again, letting his thumb trail gently across a blond eyebrow, and smiling as Hutch closed his eyes and gratefully accepted the gesture. His first thought had been that Hutch was going to shut down at the mention of his parents, as he often used to do. He realized, however, that his partner was good at compartmentalizing, and had merely pushed the thought of the elder Hutchinsons from his mind as quickly as dry leaves could blow across a sidewalk--for his own sake, not to hide any of his feelings from Starsky, just simply because he was out of emotional reserve with which to cope.

"How do you know there are more fun things?" Starsky teased. "Maybe this is where I want to be. It's not every day I get to talk about anything I want for as long as I want 'cause you don't have the wind to yell at me."

Hutch grinned, wheezed out a short chuckle, then sobered, reaching out to squeeze Starsky's arm. "Look, partner," he said softly. "I know what you've been through, I know how hard you---" His voice trailed off and he shook his head slowly. "You did everything there was to do and more, and I...." He raised sad eyes to meet those of his partner. "But as much as I hate to believe it, it's gonna take me a while to get back to normal, and...and it's pretty much just you and me, and...." He shrugged. "You're gonna be the one who has to do all the...." He blinked helplessly. "And I...."

Starsky's heart broke, and he dared not speak, lest the catch in his voice convey something that Hutch might mistake for pity. It wasn't pity at all. It was more of an overwhelming empathy that at times washed over the dark haired man like soaking summer rain. He felt helpless now, days of trying to find the means to the antibodies, a task so consuming that he'd given up nearly all normal functions of life to accomplish it—he hadn't slept, he hadn't eaten.

Once that was a certainty, after a brief period of rejoicing, there were days of vigil, waiting for Hutch to turn the corner, and now.... Now he felt fidgety, incapable of relaxing unless he was in the presence of his partner. He had Hutch nearly back, but the reality had sunk in regarding just how debilitating the virus had been. He felt like a caged lion, pacing back and forth, but getting nowhere.

Other than offer his presence and reassurance, there was absolutely nothing he could do to make the situation any better, to make Hutch heal faster. As long as he was at the hospital, offering support and reassurance, he was fine. Home? Home was not a terrific place to be right now, it was an empty, cold apartment. Home was wherever Hutch was. With a pang of something indefinable he realized that this was not a new state of affairs, but was something that had grown and flourished with the friendship, the partnership, with the privilege of having become extended family to one another.

He wished he could explain that to Hutch without sounding silly. I don't feel safe unless I'm here. No, that wouldn't do. Hutch had enough to worry about just trying to get better without inflicting his own separation issues upon him. "Hutch," he said, instead. "You know how it is with us. How it's always been with us. Don't start churnin' about stuff that we don't have any control over, and stuff that wouldn't change even if we did."

"What?" Hutch's brow furrowed as he struggled to make sense of Starsky's words.

Starsky gave him a lopsided grin and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he admitted, as both men laughed softly. Feeling somewhat lighter, he patted Hutch's shoulder. "You really want me to go?"

"It's not that I want you to go," Hutch explained. "But it's—I'm gonna sleep, and I'd sleep a lot better if I knew you were somewhere sleeping too. Besides that ridiculous chair, I mean," he added, pointing to the plastic atrocity beside the bed. "And, um," he tugged Starsky closer by his sleeve. "I honestly wasn’t kidding about the applesauce." He smiled sheepishly. "My throat hurts a lot from the cough." He put his hand up and massaged his neck lightly to illustrate the point, a shy smile making him look like a weary little boy.

"Okay, okay," Starsky gave in. "I'll go. I'll stop at Von's on the way home and get your

fix, your wish is my command. Listen, I'm also gonna stop by your place and water the plants and pick up the mail on the way home. Is there anything else you need?"

Hutch thought for a moment, then rubbed his eyes sleepily. "No, I don't think so."

"Okay," Starsky said again. "I'll be back tonight." He tucked the blanket around Hutch's shoulder, smiling as Hutch nestled into the warmth, and for no other reason, other than that it seemed the thing to do, leaned down and dropped a light kiss on a warm temple. "You sleep, babe," he whispered.

~*~*~*~

"David!" Edith Dobey's delighted smile greeted Starsky as she held open the door to allow him entrance. "I'm so glad to see you! How's he doing today?" She pulled him into the foyer, enveloping him in a warm hug.

"Better," Starsky said quietly into her shoulder. "He's better every day, it's just, he's—"

"I know, sweetheart," Edith said, nodding in understanding. "He's been through a lot, and it's going to take some time for him to bounce back." She ran a hand up and down his arm. "But it's hard to see him struggling so, isn't it?"

"It sure is," Starsky breathed, straightening up. "It's like there's nothing I can do for him, other than be there, and that doesn't seem like enough right now. To me."

"I think it's plenty," Edith declared. "And I know that Hutch feels the same."

"He kicked me out," Starsky told her with a wry grin.

"No!" Edith's eyes twinkled. "He didn't!"

"Yeah, can you believe it?" It felt good to tease and joke a little bit, and Starsky began to relax in a way he'd not been able to for days. His smile softened. "No, honestly, he was going to take a nap, and he's got it in his head that I'm not sleeping, so...."

"Whatever gave him that idea?" Edith asked, taking in tired facial lines, and charcoal smudges rimming dark blue eyes. "But you're not sleeping," she added. "You're here."

"Yeah, I know, but," Starsky told her, "I've got some errands to run. I'm gonna water plants and pick up mail, and he wanted some applesauce, so I've got to stop at the store on the way back tonight, and—"

"Applesauce?"

"Yeah," Starsky told her, shrugging his shoulders. "It's the only thing he wants."

Edith took hold of Starsky's sleeve. "Then that's exactly what he'll have," she said. "Come on."

The Dobey kitchen was clearly the hub of activity for the day, there were canisters and utensils and fruits and vegetables lining the counters. Starsky looked around, then sniffed the air appreciatively. "What's all this?" he asked.

"In case you haven’t had a chance to look at the calendar," Edith answered, "Christmas is only a couple of weeks away, and somehow I'm hosting all of Harold's side plus my own family this year, so I’m getting a head start with some of the cooking and baking that I can freeze ahead of time. I'm glad you're here," she added, squeezing his shoulder. "I need someone to taste test." She urged Starsky down into a chair at the kitchen table and before he knew it small dishes and bits of this and that began to appear in front of him.

He hadn't realized that he'd been hungry at all, and yet he couldn't remember when he had last eaten, and he couldn't remember when anything had ever tasted so good.

Edith kept up a busy patter as she rolled out pie dough, chopped up apples, peeled potatoes, vegetables, and casually placed a steady stream of tasty samples in front of Starsky, under the guise of asking for his opinion. "This needs more pepper, don’t you think?" Before long, he was full and content, and he found himself slicing and coring a basket of apples as if he'd done it all his life.

~*~*~*~

"Has he been asleep since I left?" Starsky asked incredulously. "It's been—" he checked his watch. "Four hours!"

"I know," the nurse agreed with a smile. "It's the first really good peaceful sleep he's gotten. We were all tiptoeing in the hallway; nobody wanted him to wake up. You look a lot better. Did you get some rest?"

"In a manner of speaking," Starsky told her, smiling broadly. "Okay if I go in? I’ll be quiet."

"Starsk?" Hutch’s head had turned on the pillow and his eyes fluttered open as if he sensed his partner’s presence outside his door. "That you?" The voice was hoarse, but sure, and his eyes blinked slowly in the dim light of the room.

"Right here, Blondie," Starsky said, flashing a grin at the nurse before striding into the room. "How you feeling?"

"Better, I think," Hutch said, struggling to sit up. He pushed back the mass of bangs from his forehead and yawned hard. "How long was I out?"

"Hours," Starsky told him, pushing a pillow behind his back. "You needed it."

Hutch smiled at him. "So did you. Did you catch a nap?"

"I did," Starsky assured him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and rested the back of his hand against first Hutch’s cheek, then his forehead. "I think your fever’s down some more."

Hutch nodded. "Good." He shook his head. "I slept so long I feel dopey."

"Better than feeling Dobey," Starsky told him philosophically.

Hutch considered for a moment. "You have a point," he agreed.

"You want to stay sitting up?" At Hutch’s nod, Starsky stood up and cranked the bed to a level that looked comfortable, then shook and punched at the pillows for a few seconds before tucking them carefully behind his partner once more. "How’s that?"

Hutch leaned back and sighed. "That’s wonderful," he said sincerely. He pulled his knees up and shifted slightly in the bed, patting the empty space twice with his hand. "All yours," he offered.

Without hesitation, Starsky handed Hutch the brown paper bag he carried and with a, "Hold this," climbed onto the empty half of the bed, sprawling across the middle and foot of it. Once he was settled, Hutch let his own legs drift over to rest against him—for comfort, partly, but more than that, for the warm and secure contact he'd so missed during the days when he'd been isolated behind the glass. Starsky squeezed his ankle affectionately and allowed himself to relax for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Hutch rattled the paper bag at him. "What's in here?" he asked. "Present for me?"

"Present?" Starsky asked with a grin. "Why would I bring you a present?"

"Because I'm sick?" Hutch coughed dramatically to prove the point. "Real sick," he added. He leaned forward with an emphatic nod. "Miserably sick."

"Oh." Starsky nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess you are." He shrugged. "Well, then, yeah, in that case, I guess it's a present for you." He smiled hugely. "Big, dumb blintz."

Hutch returned the grin and opened the bag, his expression changing instantaneously to unbridled joy as he lifted out the Tupperware container and spoon. "Applesauce!" he exclaimed. "You really brought it!" He reached out and squeezed Starsky's wrist. "This is so great," he said, "because I really wanted it, and because I was asleep and I think I missed dinner. Thank you."

"Well," Starsky stretched, pleased with himself, "don't thank me till you taste it. It could be awful. I could have screwed something up."

Hutch began to peel the lid from the container. "How could you possibly screw something up?" he asked, clearly distracted by his task. "How hard is it to unscrew a jar lid and—oh my God." He looked up at Starsky, incredulous. "Did you make this?"

"Sure did," Starsky answered proudly.

"Oh, Starss," he breathed gratefully. He leaned down and sniffed the applesauce, closing his eyes in utter bliss. "That smells just like my grandmother's—every fall she used to make it, I swear, there'd be vats of it all over her house, and my sister and I used to go help her, and the whole house would smell of it." He dipped the spoon in and slowly put it in his mouth. "Ohhh...that tastes so good." He pulled up another spoonful. "The only other person I've ever known who makes it is—" he looked up in surprise. "Edith. You went to the Dobeys?"

"So I had a little help," Starsky admitted.

"But...I thought you were going home to get some sleep."

"I was," Starsky began. "But I just...I was going to get it at the store, and I have no idea what possessed me to stop there first, it's just that...since you've been here, I'm kind of..." he waved a futile hand, "I just didn't want to go home, especially. It's dumb. I can't explain it."

Hutch looked at him seriously. "You don't have to," he said. "I get it. And it's not dumb."

Starsky shrugged. "So I stopped in there, and she was doin' all this cooking and baking and stuff for Christmas, and she started feedin' me little bits of this, and little bits of that, and I sort of started talking...and before I knew it I was peelin' apples. Does it really taste okay to you?"

"It's amazing," Hutch told him sincerely. He blinked quickly. "You're amazing."

Starsky frowned. "It's applesauce, Hutch, let's not get carried away."

"That's not what I meant," Hutch retorted, swatting at him ineffectually. "Hey, um, Judith was here right after you left."

"Yeah? What'd she have to say?"

"She made a deal with me." He took another mouthful, swallowing gratefully.

"What kind of deal?" Starsky asked, swallowing a yawn.

Hutch handed him one of the pillows from the head of the bed. "I'm cranked up," he said, "I don't need two of these. She said I could go home the day after tomorrow, with two contingencies."

"Which are?"

"I had to promise that I'd find someone to stay with me for a week or so, till I can manage a little better." He raised expectant eyebrows at Starsky, and grimaced.

"That's a given," his partner answered. "I already took some clothes and stuff over to your place."

"Figured," Hutch said quietly. He smiled. "Thanks."

"What's the other?" Starsky asked with an acknowledging nod.

"She needs us to drop her off at the airport on the way home."

"I think we can handle that," Starsky told him, his grin widening. "Home, huh?" He yawned again.

"I'm guessing even my couch is better than the series of plastic chairs you've slept on over the last couple of weeks though, right?" Hutch offered. "Starsk, you should have gone home and gotten some sleep."

Starsky waved him quiet. "Don't," he said. "This is where I am, this is where I wanted to be. Okay?"

"Okay," Hutch said, after a moment or two. "I guess I'd be the same way." He shifted more toward the side of the bed. "At least come up here where you can stretch out, huh? We can watch a little t.v. or something."

"That's the best invitation I've had all day," Starsky agreed, hopping off the bed and re-situating himself next to his partner. He tugged at the blankets. "You gonna hog all these?" he asked.

Hutch pulled the covers over both of them, then nodded toward the television. "So what's on?" He set the empty applesauce container on the bedside table. "Thank you again for that," he said quietly.

"My pleasure."

The two settled comfortably, shoulder to shoulder, facing the evening ahead much as they faced most of the days and events of their lives. Hutch handed Starsky the corded remote and he flipped through the channels thoughtfully. Suddenly his face lit up as James Stewart's face filled the screen, and Christmas music welled up in the background. "Hey!" he yelled. "It's A Wonderful Life!"

Hutch's face split into a joyous grin, and he reached over and ruffled Starsky's curls gently. "You know what, partner?" he said. "It sure is."

The End