Chapter 17

Starsky/Quade tried hard to keep his body from shaking. He hated snakes, God, he hated them so damned much and now here was one making itself at home in his lap.

If that fucking Hunt hadn't left him with his zipper wide open – if he'd had the family jewels protected inside his clothing – then maybe, just maybe Quade might have felt a little more comfortable having the reptile crawl all over him…..or maybe not. The snake's cool, sun-warmed body slithered up his thigh, its small lidless eyes bright as a button shining from a delicate and deadly diamond shaped head. Quade couldn't take his eyes off of the small forked tongue that darted out of the snake's mouth as it tasted the air above his blood soaked crotch. What did he smell like? Was he going to be a tasty lunch for the sinuous beast? Or would the snake consider him just another place to rest?

Shit!

What if the snake decided that his lap was the ideal place to stay for the night? Could he, Quade, keep still long enough for him not to startle the reptile into biting him? Already the brunet's shoulders and arms burned with a tension that refused to let up. He had a crick in his neck from keeping it as still as possible and his head pounded with the stress. All thoughts of retribution against Ray Hunt were gone, replaced by the terror and horror of the current situation. Even breathing was becoming an issue and Quade felt that even the smallest intake of air would alert the snake into thinking that he could well become dinner.

The snake continued to move. Its whole body was now on Quade's lap, its weight pressing the brunet down into the ground like a pile driver although the reptile could have weighed no more than a few ounces. The small tongue flicked once again and this time it touched the blood on Quade's limp cock. His flesh crept and despite himself, the centre of his body twitched as though it had a life of its own and was trying to get away. The snake stopped for a moment, watching….tasting….listening?

Go away. I'm not food. I don't taste good. There's better lunches than me. Please just get the fuck away. Quade thought the mantra over and again in his head as he stared at the beast on his lap. This was his worst nightmare come true. Beads of sweat beaded across his body and again that forked tongue flicked out and – oh my god it was drinking his sweat! Quade's throat constricted and he gave a small yip of fear.

The snake stopped again and this time its eyes seemed to fix on the brunet's indigo blue eyes. Man and snake stared at each other and for an eternity it seemed as though Quade could will the beast to leave him alone by sheer thought alone.

His muscles were beginning to protest now. Quade had held himself stiff and so utterly motionless for so long that lactic acid had started to build up and a small tremor was beginning to resonate in his arms. The snake picked up on the tiny movement, its body uncurling slightly as its eyes fixed on the blood covered morsel in front of it.

The tremor turned into an all out shake as Quade's rebellious muscles started to vibrate with the effort of holding still. It was all the impetus the snake needed. The reptile had been curious. It had smelled the coppery tang of the blood and that alone had lured the snake into coming to take a look. At first it had merely been curiosity. The snake disliked carrion and although this body smelled of fresh blood, there was no movement to excite it. Now that had changed. This wasn't a dead body which meant that the fresh meat would make a tasty snack.

Quade watched in desperation and horror. It happened as if in slow motion and there was nothing he could do to stop the snake now as it brought it's beautiful and deadly head back, it's mouth gaping wide as it started the downwards arc for the first strike. The brunet closed his eyes and waited for the first sharp stick of the fangs in his flesh. Would the poison hurt? Would it kill him instantly or would he suffer for a while first?

Oddly the thought of the pain didn't really bother him so much as the thought that he would never get to finish off Ray Hunt and avenge Chris' death.

Relaxing into the inevitable, Quade let his head fall back against the tree trunk waiting for death. No use fighting it. Guns he could deal with, car crashes he seemed to be able to recover from but here on this damned island with no medical facilities even he would never survive a snake bite.

It never came.

The expected excruciating kiss of the snake never happened. Instead Quade felt a rush of air by the side of him and suddenly the weight of the serpent in his lap had gone. The brunet opened his eyes in disbelief in time to see his captor, Ray Hunt standing and throwing the snake by its tail bodily out into the trees.

From the frying pan into the fire Ethan, that's' what just happened. He took care of the snake just so as he could finish you himself. Terrific!

But this was an adversary Quade understood and now that the fear of the snake was beginning to melt away, he turned the full force of defiant indigo blue eyes onto his captor, expecting at least a face full of fist for starters.

That never came either. It must be an evening of surprises, Quade thought to himself and braced his back against the tree as, wonder of wonders, Hunt crouched down next to him and looked into his eyes.

'Are you OK Starsk?' Hunt's voice sounded shaken but not angry. What the hell was going on?

Quade gathered the remaining spit in his mouth and swilled it over his bone dry lips. 'What?'

'I asked if you were ok.'

'I'm just great.'

'Did it bite you?' Hutch reached towards Starsky's injured body, but Quade/Starsky moved his leg, shielding the centre of his body as best he could. The movement caused a small pain noise in the back of the brunet's throat.

'I was only gonna check' Hutch muttered.

'Uh huh, and have another go at the splinter? I don't think so Pal. Cut me loose and we finish this here and now.'

'We don't need to finish anythin' Starsky. We've been played.'

'What did you just call me?'

'Starsk. Starsky. That's your name. It's…. It's a long story and I don't understand most of it yet either but you're David Starsky and I'm Hutch. Remember?'

Quade shook his head, looking at Hunt…..Hutch? as though the blond man had lost his mind. 'No.'

Hutch shook his head. 'It's too hard to explain and we don't have time. There are some men on the island who want us dead. We need to go.'

'Nice try Hunt. Wanna confuse the bleeding man huh? You got me where you want me. Either cut me loose and make it a fair fight or finish me now. I'm tired of playing this game.'

Hutch sighed. 'It's no game Starsk. This is for real and so are the two men with the big guns who're gonna come looking for us pretty soon. We need to get outa here now.'

'Then cut me loose' Starsky's voice was intent and low but there was something in those familiar blue eyes that stopped Hutch's hand short of the bonds. He looked down at his partner, knife hovering over the rope around Starsky's wrists.

'You don't trust me do ya? You don't remember a damned thing.'

'I remember enough' Starsky replied carefully.

'Enough for what? To jump me the minute I cut you free? Starsk, for God's sake I can't explain now coz there isn't time and I don't understand all of it yet, but I do know I don't wanna die on this stinkin' island either at their hands or yours. I wanna cut you a deal. Ok?'

Starsky blew out a breath through his nose in that oh so familiar way that sent a fist clutching around Hutch's heart. What the blond wouldn't have given at that moment for his partner to look up and give that lopsided grin. Instead, cold indigo eyes met his. The silence stretched into eternity but finally Starsky broke it.

'Go on.'

'I cut you free and you behave. We work together to get off of this place and then we sit down and talk.'

The brunet considered for a moment. 'Cut me loose and we'll get of the island. After that all options are open.'

Hutch shook his head sadly but sawed through the ropes binding his partner to the tree. As the last fibres parted Starsky's arms dropped uselessly to his side and with a low groan he started to try to massage his wrists. Hutch reached out and would have taken one to rub but Starsky snatched it away with an angry look.

'Don't touch me.'

Hutch backed off and sat back on his heels. He held up his hands in surrender. 'Ok, ok. I was just tryin' to help.'

'I don't need your brand of help Pal. It was you who strung me up here remember?'

'And for that I'm sorry. Look, apparently we've both been played….'

'You said that already. All I remember is a car crash and a hospital.'

'Me too' Hutch nodded. 'Same crash, same hospital. We need answers and when we get back to the mainland we can get them, but right now we gotta get movin'.' The blond stood and held out a hand to help Starsky up. The brunet ignored it but when he tried to move the centre of his body the pain threatened to overwhelm him and he let out a strangled scream.

Immediately Hutch was on his knees again, his large firm hand over Starsky's mouth to silence the noise. Angry eyes stared at him over the top of his fingers but Starsky made no attempt to remove the hand. Instead the brunet closed his eyes and Hutch could feel his buddy breathing deep past the pain to recover his composure.

'You ok?' Hutch hissed. An angry nod answered him and slowly he took away his hand leaving Starsky panting slightly. 'We've gotta take out the splinter before you try to move again. It's gonna cause more damage to leave it in than take it out.'

'S not a splinter. It's a fuckin' tree trunk' Starsky mumbled, his hands cupped around the centre of his body.

'Let me look.'

The curly headed man shook his head. 'Who d'ya think you are? Dr Zhivago? You got it there in the first place…..remember? I can fix it.'

'I can help' Hutch said as gently as he could. The feelings of anger – at himself – threatened to overwhelm him. The feelings of wanting – needing – to help the smaller man were even stronger and to have his help cast aside so coldly sent a spear through his heart.

'You can get the fuck away from me. I said I can do this' Starsky hissed angrily. As Hutch watched from a distance, Starsky opened the blood soaked shorts and stared at the large wooden splinter still embedded in his scrotum. It seemed to be off centre and from what he could feel it had not pierced anything vital. Only the skin seemed to be affected but that was bad enough and the brunet's hand trembled as he gently took a hold of the tip of the wood. Even that gentle pressure sent spikes of agony through his body and Starsky breathed deeply and loudly through his teeth as he closed his eyes and mentally counted to three. On the third count he pulled but the splinter was slick and slippery with blood and did not come away from the flesh. Starsky swallowed down the scream that threatened to spill from his lips and leaned his head back against the tree. The pain was the most intense he'd ever remembered feeling and it sent him dizzy and nauseous so that he had to close his eyes and concentrate on bringing his stomach under control.

As he lay panting wildly he felt a gentle hand on the centre of his body and before he could protest further a low voice whispered "I'm sorry Starsk" into his ear. Starsky was just about to protest when the splinter was pulled forcibly from his flesh and the hand fell back into place across his mouth.

Hutch felt the sweat start to flow across his buddy's skin and he felt the breath coming quick across the back of the knuckles of the hand he'd placed over Starsky's mouth to stop the shriek that would inevitable follow the splinter's extraction. The blond waited for a moment until Starsky had regained some of his composure and then he removed his hand again.

'Am I supposed to thank you?' Starsky hissed.

'I'm sorry Starsk. I couldn't stand watching you hurt yourself.'

Heatedly the brunet snorted. 'Save the hearts and flowers. It don't' cut it with me Pal. And quit calling me Starsk, the name is Quade. Ethan Quade.'

Hutch shook his head. 'Sure I'll leave you alone. I won't touch you again, I promise, but as for your name, it is, and always has been Dave Starsky an' I won't call you anythin' else.'

Starsky hesitated a moment. Something about what the blond man had said seemed to strike a chord, but he didn't have time to analyse that right now. Instead, he shrugged. 'You talk like we know each other.'

Hutch nodded. 'You could say that.'

'I don't know anything about you Hunt. Other than that you're a drug running murderer.'

'Hutch. Not Hunt' Hutch said patiently ignoring the comment. 'And yes, we do know each other. We're cops. We're partners and we have been for a long time.'

'I don't think so.'

'"I've done my homework for 7 years pal. I know how, where, when you eat, walk, sleep, talk, I know who you know, what you know, and how you know it and there aint no hidin' behind that." You once told me that and now you're telling me you don't remember a damned thing?' Hutch's voice held a touch of frustration to it and also a wistful edge that Starsky didn't understand. Instead the brunet stared coldly at his so-called partner.

'Pretty speech. Save it for the ladies huh? I don't have to like you to know we need to work together to get out of here. Just cut the crap, shut the fuck up and let's start walkin' huh?' Unsteadily Starsky managed to get to his feet. The centre of his body smarted like hell and his ankle had stiffened and swollen.

Together the two men gathered up all their belongings and started to walk out of the clearing.

Once partners and the best of friends now the only thing in common was that they both walked bow legged and as though they'd lost their horse!