I know some of you waited a long time for this update. All I can say if you're still with me is thanks for the waiting and for encouraging me to keep writing. Elsa: Dank! Wuemsel: THANKS. And Strut, a big HUG to you. Oh and Jill, thanks for the bush! You all gave me the direction I needed for this chapter.

Chapter 6

A cold draft drifted along the grey stone walls. The assassin tried to ignore the smell that came with it. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw the heavy robed figure taking a sip from the source of that smell. As much as Marcel enjoyed the killings and was an expert at silent assassinations, he could never get used to this.

In the dim candle light of the old abandoned church, he could see the red liquid trickling down the corners of the figure's mouth. The man smacked his lips together before looking down into the empty paper cup. "It's nice, but it's not enough."

Marcel peeped at him from out of the candle lid recess he'd positioned himself in to clean his knife. "Well, it's all you're going to get. It was difficult enough obtaining this much."

"I need a steady source," the voice growled dangerously low.

Aggravated, Marcel stopped rubbing the steal blade with a dirty cloth. "That can only be accomplished by bringing someone in here. It's far too dangerous. The cops are suspicious enough as it is."

"Bring me Stef."

A hiss of warning escaped the killer's mouth. "Stef? I can't do that. You know he's protected."

The man stepped slowly forwards, crushing the paper cup, blood drops splashing on his white robe, staining the elaborate embroidered yellow and black symbols. "Then bring me someone else, assassin, someone who won't succumb to my um… needs in the first week."

Marcel met the cold green eyes with the warm blue ones of his own. "It's suicide. These two cops they put on our trail? They're healthily respected where I come from. They don't make mistakes. If we snatch someone now, it'll only be a matter of time before they track us down."

The light in the green eyes started to dance in anticipation. "They sound… worthy."

A smile tugged at the killer's mouth. "You're asking me to bring you a cop?"

"Or two."

"I'll get right on it." With only a slight rush of fabric Marcel disappeared into the tunnel.

Slowly dark made way for light. The return of his senses coincided with the awareness of a tremendous headache. Moving to shield his eyes against the cold, harsh light surrounding him, Hutch found his arm to be oddly heavy. Squinting, he studied it and to his surprise found his lower right arm wrapped in sturdy, white bandages.

"Hey."

His eyes flew to the source of the familiar voice. Starsky was sitting at his bedside. The deep concern was evident on his face. Hutch tried to reach for him with his bandaged arm but somehow failed halfway through the motion. Starsky caught the faltering hand, hesitantly.

Though not yet coherent enough to utter a single word, the blond sensed something was wrong. He vaguely started to acknowledge his surroundings. He was in a hospital.

Then the whole thing came flooding back to him. However, instead of pulling back, Hutch clenched his partner's hand more tightly in sudden realization. He looked at the ceiling as his blue eyes quietly watered with a single tear.

The sudden show of raw emotion shook Starsky more than any harsh words ever could. He'd expected anger, hurt, perhaps even some bitterness coming from his partner.

Any or all of the above he had anticipated. Knowing Hutch, the blond would never let him hear the end of it and quite frankly Starsky felt like he deserved it. So he'd been ready to face whatever Hutch would throw at him.

But he hadn't expected a reaction like this.

What he saw was a little boy. One that was usually hidden beneath layers of love, sophistication, intelligence and the stern believes of a hardened street cop.

Hutch didn't give his trust easily. Starsky knew that all too well and the brunet's worst fear wasn't some creep named Simon beating the crap out of him, it wasn't the torture and pain he'd undergone. It wasn't even the dreams and consequences his life had been riddled with since then.

It was lying in front of him.

The blond boy that had trusted him couldn't stop the tear anymore than he could stop the setting of the sun.

The bitter truth of his own actions sank in. Starsky was afraid to move. He knew he should. He knew Hutch needed the space, although the blond's hand clung to him with a desperate iron grip. But he couldn't move as he was caught between the love for his partner and the need to protect him.

And in the second that it took for Hutch to regain his senses once more and bury the now hurt little boy deep within him, Starsky made his decision.

Struggling to compose himself Hutch swallowed a couple of times. Slowly the grown-up took control over the little boy again as the small drop of liquid dried on the warm face.

Hutch turned his head to answer his partner. "Hey yourself."

Starsky smiled, but to Hutch's growing concern, the brunet kept his distance. The blond studied him, before pulling him in closer with his right hand. Only then did his partner carefully put his free hand upon Hutch's injured arm.

"Your morning moodiness stinks, Starsk," he said hoarsely.

"Yeah," his partner concurred, but refused to look him in the eye. "How are you feeling?"

Hutch released his partner from his grip and Starsky pulled back a bit. The blond closed his eyes against the pounding headache. "Well, apart from my head feeling like a water-melon, I think I'm gonna live."

Through closed eyes Hutch sensed Starsky moving away. He instantly pinpointed the heart of the matter and muttered, "It's okay, I forgive you."

No answer came.

Mustering enough strength to bring some punch to his words Hutch lifted his head to find his partner staring out the window. "Starsky, will you listen to me?"

Unwillingly, his partner turned and leaned back against the windowsill. The answer came in a far too calm voice. "I could've killed you, Hutch."

For a moment Starsky looked quite vulnerable and lost.

"Buddy, you'd have to hit me a lot harder than that, besides-" he abruptly stopped, when a huge palm bush at the foot of his bed attracted his attention. It entirely covered the small room from floor to ceiling. "Starsky, what is that?" Somehow it didn't feel like it belonged in here.

Starsky followed his gaze and shrugged. "It's a plant. I thought you might like to have someone to talk to when I'm gone; the doc says he wants to keep you overnight, just to be sure."

From previous experiences, Hutch immediately jumped to the right conclusion. "Just a concussion, huh?"

"Yeah," Starsky answered softly. "A slight concussion, a cut through the artery, and a slightly torn ligament in your right wrist. That's gonna hurt for a while, by the way."

Hutch moved his arm in view to look at it, but then his eyes were drawn to the bush again. He looked at it incredulously. "It's huge," he whispered. "Did you haul all that with you in the Torino?"

Starsky turned to face the outside world again. "Not exactly. I stole it from the hallway."

A smile forced itself on Hutch's lips, but his grin immediately sent his headache through the roof, causing his chuckling to end in a moan.

A silence fell in the room, making the blond turn his head towards his partner. "You wanna talk about it?"

Starsky threw a hand in the air. "There's nothing to say. I'm just… I'm tired. I'm sick of all the weirdoes and creeps trying to crawl their way into my system.

Hutch was quiet for a while; then he tried to pull himself up a bit. "Buddy, you love the streets. You love being a cop, making a difference…" He winced as he inadvertently had put some weight onto his bandaged arm, while trying to rest his head on his left hand. "What are you so afraid off?"

The words seemed to trigger something in his partner, for he abruptly turned and marched over to the bed. His voice was slightly high pitched, showing barely contained emotions. "Hutch, I nearly killed you! Isn't that enough?"

"No!" Hutch stated harshly. "No, it's not enough."

"Twice!"

Hutch wanted to say something but his partner moved away again. He closed his mouth, trying to control his own feelings before saying anything more. "So, you're angry and scared… welcome to the club, partner…"

Starsky kept his silence. Hutch could tell the built-up tension was eating his partner again. Taking a deep breath, Hutch got out of bed, carefully putting his feet on the floor. It wasn't so bad. The damage seemed to be quite superficial. He was grateful for that.

He stood up and walked over to his partner.

Starsky turned in anger. "What are you doing? Get back into bed!"

The cotton clogging his head due to the light concussion made it easier for Hutch to ignore his partner's demand, and to just move on instinct, not having to think too much about it. Which was just as well, because right now he wouldn't be able to count to ten if he wanted to. He reached out and grabbed his partner's arm. Starsky shook himself loose.

"Starsk…"

Starsky met his eyes. "Don't you get it partner?" He stated softly. "One punch in the right place? One hit in the neck, in the right place…and you're gone. And I came this close."

"Starsky you didn't do all of that… You didn't-,"

"DAMMIT, DON'T YOU GET IT!" In an uncontrolled bout of anger Starsky grabbed a piece of pottery from the windowsill, smashing it onto the floor into a thousand pieces.

Flinching, Hutch covered his face with his left arm in reflex. He took a step back. His partner stared at him as the blond tried to recover from his reaction to Starsky's sudden outburst.

"Yes, I can kill ya, just like that. Old Uncle Sam taught me that…" He stepped over to Hutch. Inches from his face Hutch met his partner's eyes as Starsky stated coldly, "And I'd rather quit the force and walk away from you now, before I'd ever let that happen." The brunet tore himself away and marched out of the room, leaving his partner to take a shaking breath.

Tbc