A big warm thank you to all you readers and reviewers, to my two proof readers, and my beta. HUGS

Warning: angst dream alert.

(24 october) A note to all you wonderful readers: chapter 11 of Liquids is coming soon.

Chapter 10

Once again Starsky was in the church.

The altar was there, Simon's goons were there. Only this time… he was one of them.

The chanting pushed him forwards, into the middle of their holy circle. With the followers all around him, he drew the small knife from beneath his black robe. The steel glinted in the candle light.

"Simon, Simon, Simon…"

Hutch watched him as Starsky stepped closer to the altar. "Starsky… don't do this." His voice sounded hoarse, shaking with fear.

As in his previous dreams Hutch was lying on his back on the altar, his arms tied down along either side of it… no ropes this time, but chains. The image made him scream, but his dream itself just felt numb. As much as Starsky wanted to stop himself, he couldn't. He lowered his eyes. This just had to be done.

"You don't have to do this… come on… let me go?" Hutch pulled on his chains, the rattling echoing through the church.

"Starsk… Please? I don't like it here." The voice had turned into a little boy's one.

Starsky looked up. It wasn't a boy; it was still Hutch lying there. He heard himself speak. "I can't help you… I never could."

Hutch looked at him, hope fading in his eyes. He turned his head away to stare up at the distant arches of the ceiling. Then he closed his eyes, accepting the inevitable.

Starsky stepped forwards and locked his hand around his partner's upper arm. He felt Hutch stiffen, the muscles tensing beneath his iron grip. He lifted the knife and slowly cut the artery in the lower arm. The blond arched his back in pain.

The brunet let him go, stepping back from the altar.

Hutch turned his head to look at him with sad eyes. The hurt blond boy was back, the shattered trust clearly written on his face.

The knife dropped forgotten on the floor where a pool of blood now began to from, all he could do was stare at it, the chanting ringing in his ear.

He could see his partner's lips moving, but couldn't hear him speak. He took a step forwards, bending down to listen to the blond, who was rapidly loosing the fight to stay awake.

"I… forgive… you…I… forgive…"

The mantra hit him like a hammer in the chest. Starsky froze, and could only watch, as his partner slowly bled to death.

Somehow waking up became a struggle. Opening his eyes was hard, as was taking control over his own muscles. He was getting rapidly exhausted with the effort of just trying to move. Slowly Starsky managed to open up his eyes. Blinking, he tried to figure out what was going on. Dream images blending into horrific reality as he was shocked to find himself in a church, lying on an altar… chained.

"HUUUUUTCH!"

His panicked scream echoed through the dark recesses and off the distant bare walls. He heard footsteps enclosing, but immediately knew it wasn't his partner. Fear gripped his heart. This was still a dream. It had to be… Even though he did feel awfully cold, the freezing air seeming to seep right through his bones.

"You think your partner will come to get you?"

As crazy as it sounded, the chillingly, soft voice cleared some of the cob webs from his fogged mind. Starsky blinked again as a bald man dressed in elaborate white robes swam in his vision.

The man leaned in to whisper something, blowing a foul breath in the brunet's face. "Because I'm counting on that."

Starsky managed to sit up slightly, gripping the man by his red stained robe. "You touch my partner, you…" He intended to say a whole lot more, but was overcome with a wave of dizziness and had to lie down again. Recalling the shadowed assailant at the beach, Starsky's mind cleared completely, "What the hell did you do to me?"

In all the time he'd been on this liquid diet he'd never felt as weak as he did now. Dizzy, he tried to focus again and found that the church he was in was nothing like the one in his dreams.

This church was clearly being restored, large wooden ramps covering most of the otherwise bare stone walls. There were candles, but there were no icons of any kind. The benches that were there seemed old, dusty, looking like they hadn't been used in ages. In the distance he could make out the old carcass of an organ, seemingly floating above the entrance doors.

The man smiled. "I guess you don't feel too well, huh?" He pulled back, holding up a paper cup. "Don't worry; it will only get worse during the next few days."

Starsky, at a loss as to what the man meant just stared at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I was right," the man muttered more to himself than to Starsky. "You're a very worthy source… very potent. This is unlike the inferior quality I've been getting lately." He looked down into the cup, proceeding to take another sip.

Nausea started to take over the brunet as he looked at the man's face and saw red drops of blood trickling down the corners of his mouth. Oh, God. His eyes became wide as he quickly studied his own arm, finding a fresh needle mark that obviously betrayed the story. Correction, this isn't a dream, it's a nightmare. "You sick son of a bitch," he croaked wearily.

"On the contrary, I'm quite healthy now, thanks to you."

Starsky sat up straight, or at least he tried to within the confinements of the chains. "You let me up and you'll find out how unhealthy I can make you!"

"Now, now, don't get upset. Conserve your strength. After all, I might need it." Spotting a shadow moving in one of the corners the man gave him a bemused evil grin. "Marcel over there has been a good… provider."

With a grunt the Detective sank back onto the altar, trying to keep his thoughts together, while shooting worried glances at the priest's associate. Studying the black clothed man, the same one who'd caught him, his trained mind easily put two and two together. So you're the one doing all the killings, so preacher boy here can have a decent meal?

How long had this been going on? For that matter, how many times could the priest tap his blood before he would succumb to the excessive blood loss? It probably would take no more than a couple of days. "And after me, who's next?"

The preacher's smile, showing red rimmed teeth sent a shiver up his spine. Hutch. The silent answer released the familiar anger he'd so come to fear. He welcomed it, welcomed the consuming rage that swept through him to release itself in one bitter thought. Over my dead body, he'll be.

"I told you not to worry my friend. I can't 'use' your partner. Which makes him kind of superfluous, wouldn't you agree? Fortunately, Marcel's an expert in dealing with all things superfluous."

The sudden tightening of chains caused the priest to take a step back as Starsky strained his muscles again, the indigo eyes shooting purple fire at the bloodthirsty priest. Laughing, the priest moved away to confer with his associate. "See you for diner, Detective."

Starsky's eyes followed him like a hawk. Fatigue ruthlessly conquered his anger, forcing his powerless struggle to slowly dwindle down to nothing. He could only hope Hutch wouldn't be foolish enough to come after him on his own.

"I can get you in, just you, no one else. No wires, no other cops… no guns."

Hutch studied the brown-eyed kid suspiciously. Expecting to have to turn half the town upside down in order to find him, he'd entered The Pits, ready to knock some sense into Huggy. But the man had just nodded and stepped aside, to reveal the kid sitting in a corner booth.

"Just don't arrest him, he didn't do it." Huggy had whispered urgently.

Intelligent eyes looked back at him, as Hutch spoke up. "You want me to go in with no backup what so ever? Why should I trust you?" He'd assessed quite quickly that Huggy had been right, human knowledge and detective instincts told him that Stef wasn't responsible for the murders. But it didn't mean that he wasn't involved; there was no telling what his intentions were.

Stef sat back. "Because if you don't, you'll never see your partner alive again."

Hutch leaned in, attempting to intimidate him, but could see it didn't make much of an impression on the boy. Stef turned out to be remarkably streetwise for a kid his age. "We're just a couple of cops to you… the deal stinks."

"Let's just say I owe someone, big time. A very, very close friend of mine... and believe me, if I wanted to harm you, you'd be dead already."

The calmly stated words, coupled with the fact that Stef hadn't so much as lifted a finger as he said it, made Hutch suddenly realize this wasn't a kid he was talking to. This was an equal.

"You're asking a lot."

"I'm offering a lot."

Hutch leaned back. Gauging his options the blond knew he really didn't have much of a choice, not if he wanted to have his partner back in one piece. He knew the ones responsible for the kidnapping weren't just some crazy folk, like Simon's had been. These were professionals, with a well-run organization behind them. He needed the kid's knowledge to get him in.

Lowering his guard slightly, Hutch bit his lip. Starsky hadn't been in top shape to begin with. The thought of him going through the kidnap and torture scene again made his blood boil. I will NEVER leave you alone, you hear me! Those had been his words and he had meant them. He still meant them.

"Okay, I'm in."

"Stef's going to bring Hutchinson in, Fifth, you know that!" Marcel's voice echoed through the main cave, located not too far from the church. How he hated this. But before he could make his move he had to make sure the rest of the Guild wouldn't stand in his way.

Fifth Avenue calmly sat back to look at him. "D' you think I don't know that? I'm just saying that there's more than one way to solve this crisis."

Marcel's lowered voice desperately tried to convince him of the contrary. "If we're not careful he'll lead the cop straight to the den. It'll destroy us. The boy has become a liability."

He leaned in, putting both his hands down on the wooden table, "You're the Guild's leader, Fifth. Decisions like these are part of the job if the Guild is to survive."

Loosing some of his dignified posture Fifth Avenue lowered the cigarette he was holding as he spoke up in warning. "Are you saying you want my job, Marcel?"

Another shadow moved in the corner.

Yes, I want your job. The way you run the Guild makes me puke. But now is not the time. There are too many witnesses around, not to mention your notorious buddy over there in the corner. I'll be dead before I could even blink. But if I ever catch you alone… "No, no of course not, I'm just concerned, that's all."

"Stef is still under our protection, whether he wants to join us or not. It makes no difference." Fifth Avenue fell silent for a while. "But the cop is a whole other matter; you might be right about him. All right, if Hutchinson gets too close, you know what you have to do."

Marcel smiled. "You can count on me boss."

Tbc