Sometimes you need an outside view on your story to get the whole thing clear in your head. Two good friends and a couple of glasses of Sangria in Spain sure did it! Here's chapter 13. Enjoy…

Chapter 13

"Stef."

An immaculately dressed man in an expensive blue shirt, bow tie and moustache stepped out of the left hand corridor. "Fifth Avenue?" Stef said, taken aback by the sudden appearance. "W… what are you… doing… here… I… I mean…" He'd met Fifth once, a very long time ago. It was shortly after he'd lost his father –his mother had already died at his birth- and he and Will had fled the foster home they'd been assigned to.

Marcel, who'd been Will's friend back then, had introduced them to Fifth in the same bar that Stef still chose for his meetings. That was when he first learned about the Guild. Fifth was the one who had proceeded to teach Will a few tricks of the trade, enough for him to survive on the streets. Will in turn, had taught his younger brother once Stef was old enough. Word had it that Avenue was the Guild's leader, but no one knew for sure.

"You seem startled," Fifth said, walking up to him. "I thought you wanted to see me?"

Stef pursed his lips together, recovering quickly from the initial surprise. "No… not really."

"You brought in the cop, did you?"

He hesitated. He could simply say 'yes', and Fifth would accept him into the Guild without further word.

"It…was wrong," he said, instead.

"Wrong?" Fifth repeated.

Something inside him burst at hearing the slightly condescending tone. Dammit, he wasn't a little boy anymore! "Yes, wrong." He bit back, his eyes locking defiantly with Fifth's. "Killing is wrong! You told me…" He stopped to draw in a breath, taking the moment to calm down. "You told me," he hissed, more in control, "that the Guild does not kill. You held this entire speech about codes and morals… Well, some joke that turned out to be-."

"That code still applies, Stef," Fifth interrupted him.

Stef fell abruptly silent, staring at the man as if he'd just told him cow grew wings at night. "What?" he asked, hoping he'd misheard.

"We don't kill. We never have. Thief's honor and all that, you know."

He felt as if someone had pulled a rug from underneath him. Solid ground suddenly turned into the sucking contents of a swamp. Everything he'd done up till now… Everything Marcel had told him! "But… but Marcel…"

The man's face turned grim, "Marcel had an agenda of his own. We suspected for a long time that he was the one responsible for the murders the cops blame us for, but we had no prove. We waited, hoping he would make a mistake. And now he has." Fifth looked at him expectantly.

Stef was at a loss for words, forced by those penetrating eyes, he began to put two and two together. The young thief looked up in shock.

Fifth nodded and simply stated, "Yes, he used you. And that was one mistake; the other was kidnapping two cops. That is something I can't allow."

"He's my friend! For Christ's sake, he was Will's friend!" He sunk to the ground to sit down in utter shock.

Fifth's voice softened a bit. "Tell me, he promised you Guild membership, did he?"

Stef nodded numbly. God, he'd been so stupid. Not only had he placed his trust in the one person who didn't deserve it, but he also helped in getting those cops killed. "But I didn't want it. The membership I mean." he sighed, staring at the opposite wall. "Not at that price. That's why I turned back just now… I wanted to see if I could prevent further… consequences."

The tall man towering over him showed a soft smile beneath his moustache, "Stef, not many people would have had the courage to turn back at this point. I've been watching you. If you had continued to go into the left hand tunnel, if you hadn't turned around…?"

Stef looked at him questioningly.

Fifth continued, "Then the Guild would have been out of your reach forever. But as it stands now, you made the right decision. You turned back trying to correct a mistake you made, and thus facing the consequences of your actions. You passed the test. Congratulations, you're in."

Stef stared at him in utter astonishment.

"Don't just sit there with your mouth open," Fifth grinned. "Come on, get up. We got us a couple of cops to save."

Starsky felt both furious and incredibly drained. He tried to get rid of the feeling that he was about to die. Anger at the whole situation, anger he hadn't felt since Bellamy had poisoned him was the only thing keeping him awake now. That and Hutch, who sat worriedly with his back against the cold stone of the altar.

Although he couldn't see him Starsky knew he was following the whereabouts of both the priest and Marcel through cold blue eyes. Hutch shouldn't be here… dammit, he should've done the smart thing and stay away. He closed his eyes. That wasn't fair. He knew that if the situation had been reversed, he'd done exactly the same. "Hutch?" he whispered.

"Yeah," the answer came in the cold voice that Starsky had expected.

"You didn't… by any chance… tell the Cap… where you were going, did you?"

A short silence followed, and then, "I told Huggy. Don't worry… in about twenty hours he'll come to the rescue."

"Twenty hours?"

"Yup."

"Boy, you sure … know… how to cheer a guy up."

Approaching footsteps alerted him that both Marcel and Hermes were heading towards them. Their captor's expressions were unreadable, making them all the more deadly. Hutch quickly stood up, placing himself in front of the culprits. Starsky noticed Hermes was heading for the intravenous contraption: the IV and a hooked up bottle standing on a card that caught the escaping blood. Goosebumps appeared on his skin, his sweating intensified, they better not try and take Hutch's blood next.

Hermes picked up the needle, cleaned it, and held it up. His movements were stopped by the blond's icy stare. He turned his look at Starsky, and smiled. "Don't worry, Mister Starsky. As I said before: I can't use your blond friend."

"You have something to say then talk to me." Hutch said in a voice Starsky hardly recognised.

Marcel stepped forwards to face the blond. "Step aside."

"Don't feel like it."

"Hutch," Starsky warned, noticing the deadly look in the assassin's eyes…He'd seen that look before… in Nam. But Hutch ignored him, his temper ruling his actions. A rising panic took hold of him, knowing that when his partner got like this he couldn't stop him. Normally he'd let Hutch take charge right about now. But nothing seemed to be normal, making Starsky's out of control fears kick in once again. His hand shot out to grab the blond's arm to hold it in what must be a painful grip. "Hutch!"

Violently, Hutch tried to shrug himself loose. However, the ever deepening fear only made Starsky lock his fingers tighter around the straining muscles.

The blond whipped around, his eyes showing an anger Starsky hadn't seen in there for a long time. "What!" Hutch's expression softened as he apparently picked up on the warning in the brunet's eyes. Starsky let go of his arm.

"Your partner is wise." Marcel spoke to the blond.

It looked like the assassin hadn't moved, but Starsky knew better. The change was subtle, but there.

Marcel continued calmly to Hutch, "Now step aside, please."

"Do it," Starsky whispered, trying to control his anxiety.

Bewildered Hutch looked at him.

Starsky gave him a slight nod.

Biting his lip in resignation, the blond stepped back to let the priest hook up the IV to Starsky's arm.

Marcel left to stand back in the shadows again.

"What the hell was that all about!" Hutch hissed angrily at him.

"He was about to kill you."

"Come on, Starsk. Don't be ridiculous-"

The blood started to drain out of him through the IV and into a bottle standing on a metal wheeled contraption next to the altar. His partner reached for the needle now lodged in Starsky's arm.

"Dammit, Hutch!" anxiously he pulled away from his partner, who shot him a bitter look. Starsky knew the blond was close to loosing his patience… But he couldn't let Hutch take over… not now… Ever rising anxiety, caused by his weakening state as the blood kept dripping into the bottle, wouldn't let him. His low voice was bereft of all emotion except anger as he tried to counter his partner's stubbornness. "I've seen it in Nam. People like Marcel, trained assassins; they have ways to end your life in a split second. You don't see them coming. If you happen to work with them, all you'll notice is a slight change in there posture, pupils narrowing, that sort of thing… before they go for the kill."

The priest laughed, "Well done, Mister Starsky, another minute and that's exactly what I instructed Marcel to do. You just saved your partner's life, but it won't do you any good."

Starsky turned his attention to the priest.

Hermes studied him for a moment. "You're far too worked up. It's time to lay your fears to rest once and for all." He motioned for Marcel to move in again. He leaned in and with one move of the hand, released the bolt holding Hutch's chain in place. He turned to the blond. "Fair is fair detective Hutchinson. You need at least a fighting chance."

"NO!" Starsky leaped with an unnatural speed, propelled by the need to protect his partner's life, the chains barely restrained him as he went for the priest. The fear triumphantly turned into a red gaze of anger.

Hermes jumped backwards, but was too late. Starsky grabbed him by the robe, pulled him in and started choking him with the chains that still bound him to the altar. The priest's face turned a deep red as he desperately tried to take in some air. But Starsky only tightened his grip on the cold steel locked around the neck. He didn't hear anything anymore. He didn't hear the warning Marcel shouted at Hutch. He didn't see the moment of indecision on his partner's face. All he saw was the red blur; all he felt was the instinct to protect his partner.

"Starsk… Let go."

No. Not a chance in hell. He had enough of this… He wouldn't restrain himself like he had done with Prudholm. Back then he'd lowered his gun when Hutch's voice had made him realise what he was doing. Not this time. He couldn't afford to back down now. He let the rage take over, and felt its hot tentacles trying to consume him. There would be no compromises. No bargaining… just the kill. He'd sworn to never use the tactics he'd learned in Nam again, but now it was a price he was willing to pay. They would both get out… alive. No matter what the cost.

Just a few more seconds and the chain within his white knuckled fingers would do its job.

Unexpectedly, the blond's hands locked themselves around his fists.

"Get off!" he grunted at his partner. But Hutch kept his hands locked, trying to pry the priest from his grip. The anger reached boiling point. He didn't know how it happened, he didn't know how to stop it… but he lost all sense of reason. And the line he ones crossed, became easier to cross a second time. He released one hand from the chain, moving it quickly to close itself viciously around the blond's still bandaged wrist.

Hutch flinched. Opening his mouth in a silent pain filled scream, he didn't budge under Starsky's tightening grip. "Damn you, Starsk," he said hoarse, "I won't let you do this. You're NOT a killer. YOU'RE… NOT… A KILLER!"

Unable to feel anything but the burning rage deep inside him, not even Hutch's panicked voice got through to him. Hutch changed tactics and started pulling on the chain, thereby slackening the iron around the priest's neck. The brunet gave an angry cry when the man squirmed free to stand gaspingly to the side. With hate filled blue eyes, Starsky whipped around, ready to lash out at his partner. The killing rage needed an outlet, and this was it.

Desperately, Hutch tried to hold him off, unable to back down because Starsky still had his wrist in a vice-like grip, "Starsky!"

Starsky stopped himself… Just in time. Shaking with hard to control rage, he let go of his partner. Sitting very still for a moment, the brunet tried to catch his breath, his eyes carrying a haunted look. He snapped his head up to look at Hutch and spat at him, punctuating every word, "Why… did… you... stop... me?"

Then he felt it: a slight change in Hutch's stance, a shift in his demeanour. Hutch raised one finger towards him and he could see the veil of cold anger draping itself over his partner.

The draining effect of the IV, which despite the struggle was still lodged in his arm, suddenly caught up with him. He took a deep breath as the adrenaline slowly began seeping away from his body. He'd used up all his strength, everything he had left, and along with his body, his spirit collapsed. He watched his partner in despair, his voice quivering slightly. "Hutch, you can't… beat a guy… like him."

Hutch voice was determined; anger still very much a part of it, though it wasn't directed at him. "If you hadn't let go of Hermes, Marcel would've killed you first." His voice grew softer, "Don't worry… you know me. Nine lives… remember?"

Starsky lay back down again, the room swimming in front of him, "Right."

Hutch leaned in, staring straight into his eyes for a moment, before turning his attention to the needle, pulling it gently from his arm. The blond looked up again for a second.

"Hutch…don't…," Starsky whispered. He knew it was already too late. Too many fluids had been taken and he felt his body shutting down on him, "don't…"

Trust me. The words were spoken in silent, taking only a fraction of a second. But it was enough time for Starsky to suddenly realise what Hutch was planning. He reached out, NO, DON'T!

But Hutch had already turned around. He grabbed hold of the entire contraption and slammed it backwards into Marcel, who stood unsuspectingly to the side. He slummed backwards as the card collided hard with his body, the bottle on top of it breaking into a million pieces, splattering blood all over the assassin's face, hands and clothing.

Recovering quickly, the man smiled. "You want a fight, Hutchinson?" You got it.

Tbc.