Thanks to all who reviewed on chapter 7. It really means a lot to me to know that you're actually enjoying my writing. Jeanine… let me tell you that without your constant feedback this whole story never would have happened.

After all the heavy emotional stuff in the previous chapters I decided some light hearted chit chat was in order, so no warnings for this chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 8

Two wallets, one purse and an apple, no credit cards, no valuables he could sell. Sitting in the sleazy bar, Stef eyed the results of yesterday's work. It was barely enough to keep him going through the next day. It wouldn't last a week. He sighed and leaned back in the wooden chair to eye the man sitting in front of him, who was patiently waiting for his answer.

When Will had been around things were easier. Between the both of them they always managed to scrape up enough money and food to last them through the week. Lately, with the murders going on, the cops were tightening their nets. It had become damn difficult for an honest thief to make a living.

He hadn't eaten properly for days now. Yesterday, he was about to get lucky when he'd spotted a busload of tourists prowling through the city. But, of course, then he'd suddenly found himself in that cat and mouse situation with those two cops.

God, he'd gotten so careless. That's twice they almost caught him! Must be the lack of food, he thought wryly.

After that little escapade, the tourists were long gone and the evening had left him with nothing but the few bucks he'd lifted from a rich place earlier in the week, now safely tucked away in his pockets.

This deal however could change his luck.

Stef remembered the first time Marcel had come up to him, right after Will had died. He was twelve years old at the time. The man had sat him down at this very table and had spoken softly to him. "You can't join us just yet, you're too young."

"I'm more than a match for most of you. Give me a chance," he had hissed.

But Marcel had shaken his head.

"We have our standards Stef, sixteen, no younger."

Stef had opened his mouth to object, but was firmly interrupted. "The Guild won't be far away, we'll keep an eye on you, protect you, until you're old enough."

His thoughts wandered on until just a minute ago when Marcel had suddenly appeared out of no where. "We think you're ready. All you have to do is help me bring in those two cops. If you pass this test, you're in. You know what that means Stef."

Yes, he knew what it meant.

Closing his eyes Stef tried to make sense of his inner turmoil. The Guild, the Thieves Guild, it was a dream come true. All his troubles would be over. The Guild supplied its members with everything they needed, provided you handed over your 'findings' in return.

With an effort Stef focussed on his surroundings again, looking the man straight in the eye. He was no longer the innocent child he had been just a few years back. He'd seen things happening on the streets that no boy of his age should ever have to see. He'd developed a sixth sense for it, and it was screaming at him now.

Something in Marcel's face bothered him. The man picked up on his hesitation and tried to persuade him. "You want to live on the streets all you're life? I can't handle two cops by myself, I need your help."

"What'll happen to them?"

"Does it matter?"

Stef ignored the question. "They get killed?"

"The Guild won't let a cop walk out of their headquarters in one piece, I can tell you that."

"Whatever happened to a thief's honor?

"Stef," Marcel had sounded condescending. "That code died ages ago. Times have changed. The Guild had to change with it… We grew up. Sometimes killing is necessary."

Necessary… He hated that word. Stef believed in creating his own luck… his own rules… and killing had never been a part of that. Yes, last night he had been willing to kill the cop on the roof. But that was self-preservation, and he'd been relieved there wasn't any blood on his hands. Premeditated murder was something else, entirely. One of the few things he'd come to admire about The Guild was the fact that they never resorted to murder. Their expertise had never made that… necessary.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that gaining some food should be his top priority at the moment. Despite the change in morals of the modern day Guild, this was still the break Stef needed, the chance he'd been waiting for. But was it worth it? Selling out these two lives?

A small voice, probably Will's, kept telling him no, that the price was too high. A thought suddenly occurred to him, making a shiver run up his spine. The dead tenant I stumbled on a few days ago! "Last month's murders?"

Marcel just shrugged. "It was necessary."

There was that word again. Stef couldn't hide his discomfort. Those two cops… they reminded him of something. Something he lost ages ago.

"Your … hesitation… to get rid of those two is… commendable, but misplaced. The cops didn't hesitate when they killed Will, did they? No, they shot him in cold blood. And what for? Stealing apples?" Marcel lowered his voice, "Don't tell me you've forgotten what it felt like to watch him die?"

Stef hissed back in a voice as cold as Marcel's, "No, never."

"If you won't do it for me, or for yourself, then do it for Will. You owe him at least that much. Get even with those cops; I know you've wanted to for years."

Stef didn't speak as he pondered over the words. He's right; the cops had destroyed his life. So what the hell was he doing trying to protect two of them?

Marcel stood up and leaned in over the table to whisper urgently. "You know that the Guild won't ask you again, Stef. Don't throw this chance away. Help me get those two cops off my back, and you'll earn your place within our ranks."

Stef looked up into Marcel's blue eyes and cleared his dry throat, Knowing that the answer he was about to give would change his life forever.

The talk last night had done him good. Starsky had slept dreamlessly for over eight hours, feeling quite refreshed as he'd woken up. But the anger was still there, he felt it lingering, slumbering beneath a thin layer of tight control as he opened the heavy hospital door to his partner's room late in the morning of the next day.

Hutch sat on the hospital bed. The doc had declared him fit and ready to go as long as the blond would take it easy for a few days.

Starsky thought of their conversation the previous night. What if his partner was right? Was the anger really about disappointment? After all, his first words had been: 'what took you so long?'

However, at the time he also remembered wanting to take them back immediately as he could vividly imagine the hell Hutch had gone through in trying to find him. If anyone was to blame for the dreams and anger he was experiencing it was Simon, and the helplessness he'd felt at the time. But not Hutch, never Hutch.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the blond holding out a demanding hand, palm up.

"You heard the doc," Starsky tried against his better judgement, "you're supposed to keep calm this week."

"Starsk," apparently Hutch had no intention of letting neither the Doc nor Starsky mother hen him to death.

Starsky sighed quite audibly. Having anticipated his partner's no nonsense attitude he'd brought the blond's gun and holster. Without further comment he handed it over to him.

Hutch moved his arm stiffly as he tried to fasten the holster, making the brunet feel even guiltier about this whole situation. However, the discomfort disappeared as soon as his partner announced they were going to take the palm bush with them.

"There's no way, I'm going to put that thing in my car. Forget it."

The blond absentmindedly rubbed his injured arm. "Oh, come on. I talked to the nurses and they're only to happy to get rid of the thing." He continued a bit more subdued, "Besides, you gave it to me buddy. I'm not leaving without it."

Gaping at his partner, Starsky was well aware of the little vendetta Hutch had going right now for knocking him out cold. Silently Starsky studied the plant... the ten foot tall plant. "It's never gonna fit! How 'm I supposed to transport that thing, and you, at the same time? I'm tellin' ya-" He halted midway when he noticed Hutch's lack of response. His partner just sat on the bed watching him, silently accepting the rejection, giving in far too easily.

He looked at Hutch, his face betraying the whole myriad of complex emotions that he'd come to love in the blond man. Starsky didn't like the change in the blond's behaviour, the signs that the pressure was beginning to get to him, and he hated the fact that he was to blame for it. "All right, but you better make sure the upholstery stays intact or you're touring the streets on foot in the future, blondie."

Hutch smiled and jumped on the bed. "You take the pot, I'll take the top."

The pot was wrapped in plastic so it wouldn't leave soil all over the place during transport.

Muttering, Starsky lifted it, while Hutch carefully folded the top leaves and tucked them under his uninjured arm.

"Hey, hey!" Hutch exclaimed as his partner roughly tried to push both the plant and him forwards. "Be careful! You'll bruise the leaves."

"If this thing sheds more than one leaf in my car, I swear I'm gonna do a whole lot more than just bruise the leaves… And it's probably gonna involve a hedge trimmer."

"Sssssshhhh," Hutch warned him.

Startled at the urgency in his partner's voice, Starsky looked around, only to look utterly annoyed when his partner had started to soothe the plant, stroking its leaves. "He didn't mean it."

"Hutch, so help me-"

Hutch grinned. "Move it buddy, or are you gonna stay rooted to the floor like that?"

Grudgingly Starsky manoeuvred the heavy pot, with the plant, and Hutch, out of the room.

"I can't see a damn thing!" Chagrined Starsky looked into the rear view mirror as they were leaving the hospital parking lot. All he saw was jungle.

They'd moved the passenger's seat slightly forwards, putting the pot snugly on the floor, jammed between the back- and front seat. It made Hutch's position a bit cramped, but he didn't seem to mind. Thankfully the soft long leaves of the palm bush were quite bendable, filling up the entire interior of the Torino.

How he'd let Hutch talk him into such a ridiculous plan, was a mystery to him. What ever happened to him not even allowing his partner throwing so much as a paper cup on the car floor?

Hutch carefully cleared a path from the rear view mirror to the rear window.

"better?"

"T'riffic," he replied, angrily wiping off a leaf that insisted on resting itself on his shoulder. He glanced in the side view mirror as he turned onto the busy street. "Now I've only got every other line of sight to worry about." He glanced at his right. "And will ya warn me for any foot soldiers when I want to make a right turn? I'm liable to run right over them with half of Central Park's foliage blocking my view."

"Yeah, yeah," Hutch looked around in appreciation. "I must admit though, that I'm a little surprised it actually fits in here, Starsk. Your car's bigger than I thought. Maybe in the future I can use it to-"

"Dream on, blondie. After this our debts are settled."

Grinning, Hutch looked at him through a mass of leaves hanging between them, feigning innocence. "Debts?"

Starsky shot him a death glare.

"Okay, okay… I hear ya."

Starsky, all but convinced, turned his head to the road again. "Come on huh? I feel guilty enough at it is. Can we just forget about this whole thing and let's go eat somewhere? There's this real nice place-"

The look on his partner's face spoke volumes for his thoughts, crushing the brunet's hope that the blond might have forgotten about the diet. "Well," Starsky continued sadly, "you can't blame a man for tryin'."

Hutch smiled and slapped him on the knee. "You're forgiven, partner. You're forgiven."

TBC.