December 17th- Making Spirits Bright by babs

Hutch didn’t dare move as Starsky shifted in his sleep. He lay on his side, just watching Starsky breathe. He’d become so accustomed to the waves of his partner’s breathing over the past seven months that he would be able to tell the moment that Starsky had slipped into deep sleep.

Light from a street lamp filtered in, silvering Starsky’s hair, painting the lean curve of his arm, his hip, his leg.

Too thin, Hutch thought. He closed his eyes for moment and let the gratitude that Starsky was here — no matter that he still needed a cane, still needed more rest than usual — alive. Tomorrow was going to be the best Christmas Hutch could make for him.

Starsky sighed once and his breathing deepened, slowed. Hutch pressed a kiss to a warm shoulder and slipped out of bed, dressed in his jeans and flannel shirt. It was testament to how exhausted Starsky had been that he hadn’t noticed Hutch never changed out of the clothes he wore to work.

Hutch took a deep breath as he closed the door. He had a lot to get done before Starsky woke up.

He quickly ran over the mental list he had and started unloading all the supplies he’d gathered over the past few weeks. Most had been stored at Huggy’s. He hadn’t wanted any questions from Starsky as to why he had garland and Christmas lights in his backseat when he dropped him off at therapy or a doctor’s appointment.

Six trips, and everything was in the house — including the cooler with cookie dough he’d kept frozen at the Dobeys’ house.

He started the coffee maker and added an extra scoop to the filter — caffeine was going to be necessary to get everything done.

He grabbed a chair and tape, and the first bag with the Christmas lights. Two cups of coffee later, the lights had been strung along doorways and across the mantle.

Hutch took a break to walk into the bedroom. He told himself it was just to make sure Starsky was still sound asleep. He knew it was really the need to check in. To remind himself that they’d come so far, to let the overwhelming love he felt for Starsky fill his heart and wash over him.

He went back to his work, feeling a bit more energized. Sure, Starsky had said that this year he didn’t care about celebrating Christmas. That statement alone had sent ripples of anxiety coursing through Hutch. Since when had Starsky not wanted to celebrate a holiday?

Because of me, Hutch thought. That had been the reason. The overtime hours, the house, Starsky’s long recovery. Starsky was willing to give it up for Hutch’s sake — and if that hadn’t said love, Hutch didn’t know what did.

Of course, some of that overtime had been spent at the Dobey’s house with Edith — preparing the cookie dough and planning Christmas dinner. Some of it had been shopping for presents for Starsky — new clothes that would fit him better, model ships, books. Hutch didn’t care — he’d decided euphoric sentimentalism was going to be his new catch phrase.

He started in on the garland, hanging it with wild abandon throughout the living room and outlining the windows. Candles were placed on windowsills and every available surface. Some old cardboard decorations he’d found on a day he and Starsky ventured to a flea market were hung on walls and on each window. He centered the wreath Rosie had made on the front door. Cheery red stick-on bows and little bells brightened the dark wood.

He finally put up the tree. He’d had to wait until the last minute to buy it, and unfortunately the selection hadn’t been the greatest. But it was a tree and well, if one side of it was a bit sparse, that could face the wall. He’d had to use Starsky’s kitchen shears to chop some off the top, which made the tree even more lopsided, so he had room to put the Christmas angel. His mom had sent him a box of decorations he and his sister had made during their childhood. He smiled at the salt dough ornaments — a snowman with only one eye, the reindeer painted a bright blue, a blob of something he thought might be holly. There were wooden ones too — all painted with the enthusiasm only excited children could muster. He chuckled at the wobbly KH painted on the back of some. Obviously he wanted to make sure his parents knew which ones were his.

He looked at the clock as he checked the lights one more time, surprised to see it was already six a.m. He placed the presents for Starsky under the tree. He smiled at the thought of Starsky donning the jeans at a size that would hug his legs, his ass, at the image of Starsky wearing the red shirt he’d found — soft cotton and silky to the touch. He could imagine them sitting at the table in the evening, Starsky patiently doing the rigging on the model ship while he pretended to read a book and watched Starsky’s nimble fingers tie off string.

Put on another pot of coffee, preheat the oven, and he’d be able to bake the cookies after he took a shower.

He yawned as the hot water pounded on his shoulders and heard Starsky come into the bathroom to pee.

“What’re you doin’ up so early?” Starsky asked while Hutch dried himself off.

Hutch shrugged. “Just woke up early I guess.” He tried to keep himself from smiling. “Why don’t you go back to bed while I make us breakfast?”

Starsky leaned in for a kiss. “Mmm…you smell good. All piney like.”

“Piney?” Hutch asked, returning the kiss and adding in a nuzzle to Starsky’s neck. “That would be odd considering my soap is supposed to smell like nothing.”

Starsky shrugged and then winced. Mornings were always rough — muscles tightened overnight, aches until he got moving. “Gonna take a shower and get dressed.”

When Starsky grabbed a towel, Hutch reached a hand to his hair and felt a bit of pine sap. He put his hand down quickly as Starsky turned around.

“I’ll have breakfast ready when you’re done,” Hutch said as Starsky started the shower again. “I love you.”

Starsky grinned. “I know. I’m lovable. What can I say? I still got it.”

“Yeah, you do,” Hutch said. He pulled Starsky close, let himself feel warm flesh and whole bone, and bent his head to rest in the juncture of Starsky’s neck and shoulder. Starsky’s pulse was a strong beat against his lips. Alive. He felt like running out into the morning and shouting it to the world. He settled for one more kiss and a swat to Starsky’s ass instead.

He sliced the cookie dough and put the tray in the oven. A memory of childhood Christmases came back. He could picture his mom putting a plate of cookies on the breakfast table along with hot chocolate in mugs, him and his sister squirming, wanting to open their presents but not allowed to even go in the living room until they’d eaten breakfast. Cookies for Christmas morning breakfast had been the Hutchinson family tradition for years.

Maybe, Hutch mused, it was time to start the Starsky/Hutchinson family tradition of cookies for a Christmas morning breakfast, too.

“Hutch?” Starsky’s voice carried into the kitchen. He frowned at the cookie tray. He’d placed them too close together and they’d spread more into blobs of cookie rather than the perfect ones he’d envisioned. They looked burnt. His mom’s ginger snaps never smelled like these. He nearly dropped the tray when he heard Starsky call his name again.

He ran into the living room to see Starsky standing by the sofa. Hutch looked over him quickly. He appeared to be okay.

“Starsk?”

“What’s all this?” Starsky waved a hand at the decorated room.

Hutch looked at him, trying to see the bedecked house through Starsky’s eyes. He noticed the way the garland was half falling off the mantel. That the lights strung around the windows were drooping and the tree’s bare side was still visible. Pine needles scattered on top of brightly wrapped presents and across the floor.  In his haste to get everything done, he’d placed all the decorations clumped on the top branches because the bottom ones were broken.

He took a breath. “I know you said you didn’t want Christmas but I wanted to make it special for you with everything that happened. Is it too much? Did you really mean you didn’t want to celebrate?” A pot of coffee and lack of sleep making him babble on. He stepped towards the tree only to have Starsky grab his wrist.

Starsky’s eyes were sparkling. “It’s beautiful. It’s…I love it. It’s perfect. You stayed up all night to do this? Babe. ”

“The tree was the only one I could find. I ran out of tape when I was hanging the lights and the garland, and….”

Starsky’s lips on his stopped him mid-word.

“Beautiful,” Starsky murmured.

“Beautiful,” Hutch whispered, holding Starsky tightly.

When they came up for air, Starsky grinned. “Only one problem.”

“Yeah?” Hutch told himself his elevated pulse was only because of consuming so many cups of coffee. It didn’t have anything to do with the way Starsky’s kisses both thrilled and humbled him.

“You forgot the mistletoe.” Starsky laughed. He moved towards the tree and the pile of presents.

“No. Breakfast first.” Hutch motioned to the kitchen.

Starsky looked longingly at the presents and sighed.

“I made cookies and hot chocolate,” Hutch said to coax him into breakfast. “An old-fashioned Hutchinson family breakfast before presents.”

“Cookies and hot chocolate, huh?” Starsky asked. “You know what would be really nice? It being Christmas and all.”

“What?” Hutch shifted his weight to accommodate his quickly tightening jeans.

Damn that smug grin of Starsky’s.

“I think we should have breakfast in bed.” Starsky turned and headed back into the bedroom. He stopped and looked back at Hutch.

“And don’t worry about the cookies. I have somethin’ much more delicious for you to eat.”

Hutch nodded and followed Starsky. He was sure Christmas was about to become his favorite holiday.