A World Filled with Dragons

Starsky’s shot. Hutch is seeing dragons.

Author’s Note: On the 44th anniversary of the airing of Sweet Revenge.

His ears still ringing with the barrage of gunshot, Hutch skidded around the front of the Torino. Why hadn’t Starsky replied? He came to a stop, unable to move. Somehow his mouth formed his partner’s, his best friend’s name.

“Starsky?”

And then the dragons came.

The first dragon was pure white, so dazzling it blinded him to everything happening. It breathed ice, not fire, into his soul. He welcomed it into his heart. He embraced the cold, didn’t allow himself to feel the terror that threatened to take his sanity, forced himself to not remember Starsky’s smile, the bouncy way he’d gone to the car.

Why hadn’t Starsky listened? They were partners, damn it. Partners listened to each other. They knew each other’s thoughts, could anticipate what the other would do. Except…

He didn’t know Starsky’s thoughts now, and he didn’t know why Starsky hadn’t listened. He sat by the bed, on the edge of the chair, afraid, so afraid as the dragon’s breath continued to fill him with cold emptiness. He lifted his hand—he barely recognized it as his own—let it fall back into his lap. Was there an ice dragon in Starsky too? There were no words—how could he ever have words at a time like this? So he sat silent while the machine breathed for Starsky and found comfort in the void of ice and frost.

The second dragon came in blazing—bright orange and fiery. It grew larger with every flaming breath. It followed Hutch into the parking garage, echoed the roar of his gun with its own. The sting of flame licked his wrist and he welcomed the reminder of duty to Starsky. He bore himself on its wings as he searched each lead, allowed the fire to melt the ice around his heart, willed that same blazing energy to go to Starsky, to kindle whatever life remained. It lent him its voice, fueled his body to keep going when he felt as if he could no longer move.

He sat alone in the squad room, ping pong ball in hand as he called Dobey at the hospital.

Dragon fire burned in him, fuel for the battle ahead—he could feel it in his hands, in the way he gripped the steering wheel as he sped towards the hospital and Starsky.

Live. Live. Live. Starsky, damn it. Don’t you leave me.

The last remnant of ice melted as he ran through the doors, only fire in his heart now. He skidded to a stop by Dobey and Huggy, to find Starsky’s doctor shocked and smiling.

The flame dragon gave a final roar and disappeared.

A dragon appeared in a whirlwind—misty and gossamer—whispered secrets and truths. He listened. It wound around him, entwined his soul with Starsky’s. He sat on the other bed and talked, finally knowing Starsky heard him even if no one else believed.

He grabbed the nurse, spun her around, looked at Starsky’s beloved face, and felt as though he could speed through the air on the dragon’s back.

“I love you. Starsk. I love you,” he said when the doctors and nurses left them alone for a few precious moments.

Starsky smiled and nodded, still too tired to speak. But Hutch knew—and he knew Starsky knew.

The ice dragon had slowed time to a near standstill—but the dragon of the whirlwind made it speed by—and Hutch sat in an airplane on the way to San Francisco and James Gunther.

He looked out the window and saw dragon wisps floating by with each passing mile.

It was like any one of the hundreds of arrests he and Starsky had done over the years before they were partners and once they were. The San Francisco cops allowed him the honor of placing James Gunther in the back of a patrol car, and one of them, an older fatherly figure, drove him back to the airport, silent for the long drive.

“Get back to your partner,” Lieutenant Stone told him as they pulled up to the terminal. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hutch said. He shook Mike Stone’s hand and let the whirlwind dragon carry him through security and onto the plane. Dobey met him at LAX, and Hutch’s mouth went dry.

No. No. The feeling of assurance the dragon had given him, the buoyancy of air, left him. He felt as though his knees would give way, as though he forgot how to breathe.

But Dobey didn’t have bad news about Starsky. He spoke to Hutch on the way to Bay City, telling him of developments, of finding Jenny Brown, of FBI agents on their way to bring James Gunther to Bay City, and other agencies Hutch never heard of, all scrambling for their piece of Gunther too.

Still caught up in the tumult of the whirlwind, Hutch met with the chief of police and people whose names he wouldn’t remember ever again. Dobey remained by his side throughout.

He lost track of time—and the need to see Starsky, to touch his hand, to gaze upon the beloved face grew urgent.

“You need to rest, Ken,” Dobey said.

“I need Starsky.” Hutch raised his finger, surprised to see it tremoring.

“We’ll go. And then I’m taking you home.” Dobey held the door open. “My home. Edith wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“Me? Nothing happened to me.” His voice broke. He coughed to hide it.

The nurses weren’t overly happy to see Hutch at whatever godawful hour it was, and of course, Starsky slept. But they allowed him five minutes. Five precious minutes. Hutch spent the time drinking in the beauty of Starsky’s face. He stroked his hand, rested his fingers on Starsky’s curls, and bent to give him a gentle kiss on the lips.

Starsky smiled in his sleep, and the gossamer dragon dissolved as if it had never been.

Hutch didn’t put up a fuss as Dobey drove him to his house. The sky held the merest hints of purple, rose, and gold in the east.

“Ken.” Edith enveloped him in a hug as he walked up to the door. “Oh Ken.”

He told himself he allowed Edith to mother him because it made Edith feel good. But it felt nice to be cared for, after days of fear and worry and hope.

She made him pancakes, spread some of her homemade jam on toast, and gave him a glass of milk. The food filled his belly, Edith and Dobey, Cal and Rosie when they woke up to go to school, filled his heart.

Dobey gave Edith a kiss, the kids hugged Hutch, and then the house grew quiet.

Edith handed him some towels, showed him to the bathroom, and told him to take his time.

Of course the water dragon would come to him in the shower. By this time, Hutch felt no surprise. Blue and sinuous, it reminded him of the ocean and the joy he felt looking out to sea—amazed by something so big and seemingly endless. The water dragon tasted of salt—it touched his lips, flooded his eyes with tears. He shivered as a deeper cold—the cold of Lake Superior—filled him. Even turning the water the hottest it could go didn’t take away the chill. But the dragon leapt then, dolphin like, sheer exuberance. It reminded him of Starsky and made him smile.

Starsky’s alive. I love him. He loves me.

He scrubbed himself clean, washed off the stink and pollution of Gunther and all that had happened, dried his eyes as well as his body.

He sank into the guest room bed, listened to the bird song from the open window as he closed his eyes. He let his breath slow—thought of waves on the shore, never-ending, ebb and flow, and dreamed of sunshine and tropical breezes and Starsky by his side. The water dragon rode the waves and, with each one, brought Hutch peace. By the time he woke the next morning, the water dragon was gone. He whistled as he dressed—the first dawn of a new chapter in life.

Hutch sat by Starsky’s bed and rubbed his gritty eyes.

“He’ll be okay,” the doctors said. “The antibiotics are working.”

At least Starsky was only hooked up to a couple of IVs and a catheter. Still, Hutch’s heart pounded at the memory of coming to the hospital a week previous and seeing Starsky being wheeled out of his room on a gurney surrounded by nurses and two doctors.

Starsky came out of surgery two hours later, and the doctor explained to a terrified Hutch a piece of metal missed in that first life saving surgery had caused an infection. Starsky would recover from it, the surgeon assured. But it had set his road to recovery back a bit.

So Hutch sat by Starsky’s bed, guarding, on alert as Starsky slept.

Until he saw the dragon come in and wrap itself around Starsky. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. The water dragon disappeared weeks ago.

This dragon was small—smaller than any of the others—brown, non-descript except for its brilliant blue eyes. Eyes the exact shade of Starsky’s although these were clear and bright, undulled by fever or pain.

“Hello,” Hutch whispered. He stretched out his hand, placed it on the warm scales, and felt the power thrumming underneath his fingers.

He swore he could smell freshly turned earth, the forest in spring, green and growing things. The air felt fresher, the way it did after a rain storm.

Hutch breathed deeply. The dragon sighed at his touch—as if it breathed with him.

“Starsk. Babe, I’m here,” he said when the silence became too loud.

He closed his eyes. Just a minute, he reminded himself, but he kept his hand on the dragon’s back.

“Hutch?”

Hutch straightened so quickly he almost fell out of the chair. “Starsk?”

He drank in the clearer eyes—now the color the dragon’s had been, and the sight of Starsky sitting up in the bed.

Starsky smiled at him—that familiar crooked grin that could make Hutch’s heart overflow with love. “You been here all this time?”

Hutch nodded. “Didn’t want to leave you.”

“I was dreaming,” Starsky said. “Seems like all of this just been a dream.”

“Yeah?” Hutch moved his hand from Starsky’s chest—right where the dragon had been—down to Starsky’s hand.

Starsky’s fingers curled around his with more strength than he’d had since the shooting.

“I dreamed of dragons,” Starsky said, his voice soft. “So many dragons.”

Hutch lifted his other hand and stroked back tangled curls.

“You rode one of them. It was all gold and fire and you were its knight.”

Hutch sat still and silent, closed his eyes so Starsky couldn’t see the emotion.

“And when it left, you told me you loved me,” Starsky continued. He paused to take a breath. “Open your eyes, Hutch, and look at me.”

When Hutch obeyed, because it was Starsky who asked, and Starsky deserved the truth, his breath caught in his throat. What he saw shining back in Starsky’s eyes held promise and love and a future brighter than any he imagined he ever would have or deserved.

“You do, don’t you?” Starsky whispered.

It sent a shiver down Hutch’s spine, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, goosebumps appear on his arms.

“Yeah. Yes, Starsk, I do.”

Starsky’s smile grew wider. “Good. That’s good. ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I feel the same.”

“You love me back?” Hutch didn’t know his voice could still squeak.

“Of course I do, ya dumb blond. Now…we gotta do something about it.”

“We do?” Hutch leaned in closer. “What ya got in mind, Gordo?”

“Remember when you told me I wasn’t a good kisser?” Starsky whispered. “I think maybe you should teach me what you think a good kiss is.”

Hutch laughed then—the first laugh in what felt like forever. “I don’t know if kissing is an approved medical treatment.”

“Didn’t your mom ever kiss…never mind…stupid question…anyway, I approve it. ‘Sides, while you were snoring away—you really gotta get that checked, maybe you got a devious septum or something—the doc came in and said I get to start PT tomorrow. Not that I’m exactly looking forward to it but…mmmph.”

Hutch sat on the edge of the bed, smug. “That’s what a good kiss is. Just so you know. When you’re ready to practice on me.”

Starsky frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know. I might need a lot of tutoring. Think you’re up for it?”

“I think I can handle it. But I think one kiss might be enough excitement for now.”

Starsky nodded, but he kept a light grip on Hutch’s hand. “Look. The sun’s setting.”

Hutch put his arm gently over Starsky’s shoulders. “Beautiful.”

“You are,” Starsky said.

“Thought you wanted to watch the sunset,” Hutch’s cheeks felt hot under Starsky’s gaze.

“I am. I’m watching it in your eyes.”

Hutch felt even warmer.

Starsky let out a small cry as the sun continued its downward path. Hutch went instantly on alert.

“What’s wrong? You need the nurse? You hurt yourself?”

“Look!” Starsky’s voice rose with excitement. “You see them? Hutch, d’ya see them?”

Hutch looked out the window. In the distance, high in the purple blue of twilight, far above the city, two creatures flew, twisting, turning, tumbling together only to rise together even higher than before.

“You think they’re real?” Starsky whispered.

Hutch looked from the dragons to Starsky. “I don’t know how or why they came. I know they’re real.”

“Good,” Starsky said. “I want to live in a world with magical creatures—even if we don’t get to see them.”

“I want to live in a world with you,” Hutch said. “No matter what our future holds.”

“Me too.” Starsky yawned. “Maybe we can go hunt Bigfoot after I get outta here.”

“Anything you want, Starsk. Anything you want.”

Hutch watched as Starsky closed his eyes and his breath deepened into sleep. He wished Starsky dreams of dragons and magic.

Chapter End Note: Inspired by a FB thread where one took the first line of a novel, then added “And then the dragons came.” And why not write a Starsky and Hutch fic with the same theme!