Thanks to all the usual suspects!

Chapter 15

The old rusty sewer pipes beneath the church creaked and moaned when its foundation fell away due to the explosion underneath. The aged walls of the pipes were ill equipped against the violent destruction and burst open, spilling out its highly pressurized contents.

Most of the sewer's content had consisted of water, but over the years methane gas, a result of the decomposition of organic materials, had began to pool. The water went down, but the sewer gas was light and went up… through the layers of sand, through the cracks and air vents of the old stone floor and into the church itself. There it began covering the ground in a thin deadly blanket, crawling its way along the perimeter.

All it needed now was a spark.

Hutch scrambled behind the pitch-black iron bars. His hands were covered in dust and stung from the small rocky particles that had embedded themselves in his unprotected flesh. The seclusion he found himself in was quite wide. Partly closed off by the gate and windowless, it formed a little room onto itself. Ignoring his enflamed palms, he backed away against the pedestal, desperately trying to use the thing to get back onto his feet. Feeling sluggish and slow, he had to concentrate hard to get his muscles to cooperate. He groaned in pain when his attempts to move sent his nervous-system into overdrive, his neck hurting like hell.

It was dark; there were no brackets here, no torches inside this niche. The disturbed air, which was mixed with a fungi smell to form a graveyard like odor, felt clammy to his sweat- covered skin, sucking away the warmth his overheated body was producing. It suddenly crossed his mind that this was the perfect place for a murder scene. However, before that thought could take hold, Marcel was upon him.

Propped up against the concrete pedestal of the statue, he frantically tried to avoid the oncoming wooden bar. He lunged sideways, pain shot down his spine, rendering him momentarily paralysed. The weapon splintered into a million pieces when it hit the large granite figure instead.

Moaning, he failed to anticipate Marcel's next move. He should have known the assassin had another knife hidden. Leaning on one of his elbows, all he saw was the glint of steel. Sharp reflexes broke through the numbness of his body, his trembling fist locking onto the knife-holding hand with counter-force. The impact slammed him backwards into the floor, his back colliding hard with the stone, driving the air from his lungs. Marcel took advantage of gravity; leaning in, he pushed. Hutch felt his muscles failing, tiring from the momentary lapse of oxygen and from the instilled pain emanating from his neck down.

Suddenly his hand cramped. Still soar and stiff from having his wrist slashed, his strength gave way. His eyes grew wide as the knife came down. Marcel smiled when resistance faltered and he obviously saw his chance to finish the fight with one quick thrust. Hutch groaned, closing his eyes against the unavoidable outcome.

Stef sat in shock on the balcony situated above the high rise, looking down upon the surreal scene spreading beneath him. Frozen at the sight, he recognised the figure lying in shackles on the altar. Oh my God. There was blood everywhere; on the floor, on a man who looked suspiciously like a priest, and on Marcel who was busy driving the blond into a corner. His eyes drifted nervously from Hutch to Starsky and back to Hutch again.

The stairs to this little concrete balcony, which probably served as a pulpit in the old days, were close to where he'd come in. He'd figured to do a quick survey before putting his own life on the line. No need to go that way, if it wasn't necessary. But the unexpected scenery extinguished any thoughts of getting both men quietly out of here.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? He was pretty sure he could take on the priest. But that would mean losing the blond. Pondering his options, he made a hard decision. He couldn't reach Hutch, not before Marcel would finish him off. He would have to make his way down and run all the way over to the niche Hutch had disappeared in. There wasn't enough time, and besides, he wasn't even sure he could take Marcel. He closed his eyes, not daring to think about the consequences of his decision. The priest it is then. That way, at least one of the cops would make it out alive.

"…Stef…"

Startled by the sound of his own name his eyes locked with the brunet's who's soft words nevertheless echoed through the bows of the church, connecting with a part of his heart that he thought had died along with Will.

"…Help him… Oh God."

Help… your friend? But what about you? The answer was embedded in the helpless plea Starsky shot upwards. Involuntarily Stef shook his head. I can't! They're too far away! But he understood; he understood all too well. Unable to resist the brunet's panicked call, his eyes flicked over to the niche. There was a scaffold close by; one that he could reach from here. He didn't have to go all the way down. With any luck…

He looked down, his eyes growing slightly wide at seeing the priest covering the brunet's eyes with his bony hand, mumbling a few words, which he couldn't hear. When the hand was removed, Starsky was lying still on the altar, no longer seeing anything, no longer moving; quiet, asleep… or even worse. Stef bit his lip, feeling the familiar surge of helplessness wash over him again. Just like when Will…; He halted his thought, transmuting it into bitterness and purpose. I'll get him out… No more hiding… No more watching from a safe position…Your friend won't die… I promise.

Not wasting anymore time, Stef climbed over the balcony and expertly made his way over to some statues. Jumping from head to head using every ounce of balance he could muster, he reached a scaffold. Running across it he jumped to a wide window-recess and from there over to another scaffold set close to the niche. He dropped his backpack on the upper part of the structure and reached inside the pack to get out the only thing that he hoped would do the job.

He climbed partially down the side of the scaffolding and gripped the metal frame with one hand. Carefully, he peered around the corner of the niche. His breath caught at the sight. Marcel had Hutch pinned against a statue and was only seconds away from thrusting the knife clean through his chest.

There was no time to draw a knife, no time for any sophistication. He held on to the scaffolding with one hand and with the other, lit the firecracker. Stef threw it in the direction of the black gate, as he didn't want it to land near the fighting men. He didn't want it to injure the blond. He hoped the firework would distract Marcel enough for Hutch to make a move.

The moment he smelled the foul stench of excrement, Stef realised his mistake.

A painfully loud bang and a red flash made Hutch open his eyes in shock. The black gate flew out of its rusty hinges and crashed into Marcel who was blown forwards. The unconscious assassin landed on top of him, the knife missing his chest by inches, hitting the tiled floor instead, its metallic blade breaking in half with an audible snap.

A tremendously loud explosion followed the first one. Close to the niche, Hutch caught a glimpse of a torch going up in a loud burst. Gripped by fear at suddenly finding himself in the middle of Hell, he tried to get up but couldn't move a muscle. The loud bangs deafened him, making it seem very likely that the church was collapsing around him. A powerful air displacement followed, and at the same time a terrifying whooshing sound increased tenfold; the sound of flammable objects nearby catching fire.

Coughing, Hutch tried once again to move the heavy gate. It didn't budge. The thick, smoke-filled air was hard to breathe, the hot particles scorching his lungs. The secluded niche, and ironically both Marcel and the iron frame of the gate, had protected him from the worse of the explosions. But if he didn't find a way to get this weight off of him, he would be a dead man.

Suddenly a soot-covered face appeared above him, seeming to float in the smoky haze. "Are you all right?"

Hutch frowned. He wouldn't have recognised Stef if it weren't for his voice. "Do… I … look all right!" he bit back, barely getting the words out. He hadn't forgotten the young thief's foul play down in the tunnel system. "Just … get … me … out."

Stef grinned, "I take that as a 'yes' then. C'mon, you push, I pull." He started to pull on the heavy iron frame, "Sorry it took me so long to get here; I fell off of the scaffold." Stef twisted his face in his effort to lift the heavy gate.

Hutch couldn't help but give a satisfying snort, "Hurt… did it?"

The gate scraped the floor, sliding sideways and off Marcel. Stef let go and the heavy thing clattered on the ground. "I guess I deserved that remark," he said, owning up to his mistake in the tunnel system.

Grunting, Hutch rolled the unconscious man off of him. He lay panting for a while, listening to Stef's explanation for the sudden explosion.

"It's sewer gas from the old drainage beneath us! Damn well knocked me off of the scaffold. We have to hurry! Stef urged, "The methane is temporarily gone; instantly used up by the fire; but if I'm right, a larger pool of the stuff is still trapped underground, and that pool is getting bigger! You don't want to be here when the sewer collapses and releases all of it at once, trust me. The whole church will blow up!"

Hutch heard him and tried to roll over to push himself on hands and knees. Grinding his teeth he tried to quell the sheer agony that moving seemed to cause him.

"I thought you said you weren't hurt?" Stef's voice sounded slightly panicking now.

"I'm not…" The air grew thicker, and seemed to get stuck in his lungs. A coughing fit racked his system. "It's something Marcel did…" he said when his lungs momentarily cleared and his eyes stopped watering. Noticing Stef's reached out hand he grabbed it.

"A neck pinch…The trick is to keep moving, the pain'll go away! Hurry! I promised him to keep you alive, Dammit!"

Halfway on his feet Hutch froze, clenching the boy's hand tighter than he planned. "Stef, my partner, did you get him off the altar!" Inwardly, he already knew the answer. If Starsky had been freed, he'd be the one standing in front of him now. Not Stef.

The sudden silence made the bile of true fear rise in his throat. Just a few minutes ago, he thought he'd been dying. He'd been scared, but it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Having Marcel try to kill him? That he could live with… But if Hermes had killed his partner…

Letting go of the hand, Hutch straightened to stagger in the direction of the altar.

"There wasn't enough time," Stef finally spoke, his voice shaking "The priest… he… did something to him… and he just…" Tears clogged the brown eyes, rendering him speechless for a second.

The words and their meaning sank in. Faced with a terrifying scenario, Hutch mercilessly whipped around to grab the boy by his shoulders and rattled him hard. "And you just walked away? You watched and walked away? Just like you did with me down in the tunnels?"

"I had to choose! I couldn't save you both. He wanted me to help you! What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"You shouldn't have given him the choice! Dammit!" Hutch marched out.

Stef's voice sounded behind him, frail and scared, "I understand, I do! But I couldn't refuse his-"

Turning just outside the niche Hutch cut him off, pointing a finger at him, "You don't understand; you can never understand!" He continued in an ice-cold voice, "You should have chosen him."

Not waiting for reaction, he raced over to the altar, noticing that the fire was still localised. Flaming tongues had started to lick on the wooden pews and scaffoldings close by, but hadn't reached the rest of the church yet. Small fires were burning off the low concentration of methane released by the first explosion. The suffocating smoke reached his nostrils and he coughed. Pulling a cloth out of his pocket to cover his mouth he raced towards the high rise where the altar stood, a pocket of silence amidst a blazing world. "Starsk!"

Reaching his pale-faced partner, Hutch shook him carefully. Dread caught his heart in a vice-like grip. Cold, Starsky felt cold to his touch. Dropping the cloth, he leaned in to lay an ear on his partner's chest.

There was a heartbeat.

Then a soft moan that made him sigh with relief. "Come on, buddy," he spoke softly. "I gotta get you out of here." Suddenly, the horror of the situation hit him. Starsky was still chained to the altar. And the priest, the only one with the key, was nowhere to be seen. There was no way he could get the shackles off, no way to unlock the bolts binding Starsky to the concrete slab. Frantically, he looked around for something, anything that would help him free his partner.

"STEF!" he yelled, fighting down the rising panic, hoping that the boy's lock-picking skills could do some good. He looked up to find the young thief racing for the front doors. Stef had to hear him but seemed to ignore his call completely. "STEF!" he yelled in despair, his previous angry behaviour at the boy coming back to him. What the hell was I thinking, telling him he'd never understand! He knows what it's like to lose someone. I had no call to throw his decision, which must have been hard enough to make, back into his face. But it was too late now. He couldn't take it back.The boy was running, and he couldn't blame him. Helplessly, Hutch watched Stef disappear behind a large pillar.

"God, Starsk… I'm so sorry." He bit his lip.

"Hutch… Go." The sound of his partner's voice brought a tear to his already watering vision, soothing the sharp sting the smoke seemed to cause. A set of blue eyes blinked at him. "Go."

All Hutch could do was shake his head. He grabbed onto his partner's chained hand and looked up again. "Sorry, pal," he whispered, making sure Starsky didn't hear him. "But I'm staying put."

Tbc