Originally written for: 15 minute fiction
Then worked on a bit more.
Playing Waiter
by Allie
"Room service!" Starsky called, opening the bedroom door and walking in. He carried a tray as if he thought he was a fancy waiter, holding it high, with a kitchen towel draped over his other arm. He grinned at Hutch, and pulled the door shut behind him with one of his feet. He seemed to bounce a little on his feet, naturally buoyant. He grinned at Hutch.
Hutch, with the covers pulled up to his chest, tugged them higher, to his chin, and glared at Starsky through squinted eyes. He felt like his eyes had been glued shut by sleep. His throat was dry and his whole body ached.
"Go away."
Starsky gave him a big, soapy smile. "That's my grumpy Hutch! You must be feeling better if you have the energy to be grumpy with me."
"You can play waiter when I'm feeling better. Come back tomorrow," Hutch growled, grimacing at the pain in his throat from talking.
Starsky shook his head. "Nope, can't. It's time for your antibiotic. Wash it down with some orange juice—and toast if you're up for it. Either way, this pill is going in that mouth." He held up the tray, which Hutch now noticed held a bottle of pills, a glass of each of water and orange juice, and some dry toast.
Hutch grimaced, but snaked an arm out, freeing it from the entangling bedclothes.
He had a vague recollection of Starsky helping him when he felt so deathly ill last night, but right now he didn't have the energy for gratitude.
He just wanted to sleep. His whole body felt tired and achy, as if he'd run a marathon, or been beaten up. Starsky's good cheer seemed like an offense to nature.
Though he hadn't seemed overly cheerful last night. He'd been as solicitous and quiet as could be, taking Hutch to the doctor, sitting up with him, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking quietly, till Hutch could keep down some liquids and eventually fall asleep.
Come to think of it, he'd probably stayed overnight, too. Probably hadn't got much sleep on the couch. Right now Hutch felt too awful to care about his buddy's rest, but he knew most of the time he would care.
Scowling darkly, he reached for the medicine that Starsky lowered for him to get. If he took it, maybe Starsky would leave him alone in peace.
He drank as much of the orange juice as he could under Starsky's watchful, eager gaze. Starsky gave a nod of satisfaction and put the tray and the now-mostly-empty glass down on the side table.
Instead of leaving, Starsky made the edge of the bed dip as he sat down on it. "How you feeling today? Need help to get to the bathroom?" He looked solicitously at Hutch, smiling down at him.
"I'm fine go away," said Hutch, trying to pull the cover up over his face. Instead, Starsky's hand got between the sheet and his forehead somehow. Starsky felt Hutch's forehead like a mother checking for a temperature.
Hutch growled. (It hurt his throat.) He grimaced, and considered taking a vengeful bite at Starsky's wrist. That would take too much energy, though. So instead, he squirmed down as low as he could get and shut his eyes, trying to shut out the annoying partner who wouldn't leave him alone.
"Don't worry, Hutch. I won't go anywhere," said Starsky, in a voice that sounded like it was meant to be reassuring. "I'll be here all day!"
"That's what I'm afraid of," muttered Hutch.
"Aw, Hutch, I know! But you'll want me round later when you're bored or need help. And in a few days you'll be glad I was here. This is just the Grumpy Phase. Or 'Hutch in a mean mood,' as I like to call it. But it means you're feeling better, so it's a good sign. You were like a rag doll last night, Hutch—no fight in you." He patted Hutch's knee through the sheet. "So cheer up. It only gets better from here!"
