This story is my version of how Bloodbath could have ended… It starts at the last scene which occurs in Dobey’s office…….

The web of cracks spiraling over the ceiling remained unchanged, yet he studied them as if searching.

"Begin at the end means start where you finished." Hutch repeated, staring up into the darkness of Dobey’s office, fingers laced behind his head. "His words are clues, and so are the words in that tape. We’ve just gotta find the key."

He was exhausted, withered with fatigue. Yet sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.

Hutch pressed his fingers over his reddened eyes. It had been nearly 24 hours since his partner had been nabbed from right under his nose, and Hutch could feel the panic rising in his throat like acid. He knew Simon Marcus was a dangerous man. The body count was up to nine already.

He tried to ignore the fear that was roaring in his ears, but its constant presence was bearing down with insistence. Reality said that Hutch was starting to panic; he could literally feel it crawling up his very limbs, skittering across his skin. Every clue turned up a dead end. Time was running out. And yet he knew someone was counting on him. Waiting for him.

"I got nada. Zip. Zilch. Nothing." Huggy said, slamming down the phone in exasperation.

"Why don’t you just say ‘nothing.’ We get your message!" Dobey barked.

Hutch knew it was pushing Dobey’s buttons to have Hug come in on a case in such a proactive way, but he was beyond desperate now. Facts and phobias were flashing before his eyes as he fought back the dread that had his stomach rolling. The sickly, inverted cross inscribed on the foreheads of those wackos. The impending sentencing of Simon Marcus, just two hours away now. His partner’s badge, now resting in Hutch’s front shirt pocket. Nine body bags so far. The mind numbing chants. The name scrawled on the mirror. His name. In blood.

Starsky.

Hutch shook away the images that were encroaching deeper into his brain, and fought to regain his concentration. Closing his eyes, he placed his hand over his pocket, fingering the cold metal of Starsky’s shield. Please… Just let me find him in time. Suddenly it hit him.

"Synonyms."

"Say what?" Hug said.

"That’s when one word means the same as another word. You just said a synonym for the word ‘nothing.’"

Hutch slapped down the play button again, and Marcus’s voice echoed throughout the room for the hundredth time. His words hung in the air, colored with nuances that held the answers they were frantic to find. Hutch stopped the recording, disgust dancing across his face at that voice, again reminded that Starsky’s very life was tied up somewhere in the twisted puzzles spoken by that punk.

The three men began tossing the words around the room, searching for hidden meaning in every utterance of a deranged man who held all the cards.

Granite. Ebony. King of the forest. Temple. Polaris. Where only the faithful keep the flame ………..

Stoney Black. Rex Woods. And Starsky? How does it all fit?

Huggy’s eyes lit up with the first thing resembling hope all morning. "Wait a minute – the old zoo. Stony and Rex used to cook up junk, and they had a traveling lab at the old civic zoo."

Hutch snapped his chin up, alive again. "Cap’n, that’s where they’ve got Starsky, at the old zoo."

The two cops sprung to their feet towards the doorway. Suddenly Hutch froze, clutching Dobey’s arm. "Hold a second, Cap’n," he said, staring for a moment at the empty wall. Dobey waited. "If we charge in there like the Calvary on a mission, those freaks are liable to make the hit on Starsk before we can reach him."

"What’re ya saying, Hutchinson?" Dobey grunted out of the corner of his mouth, anxious to get out the door.

Hutch faced his boss, looking him square in the eye. "Let me go in alone. Give me one hour. I’ll find where they’ve got him, Cap’n, and I’ll …"

"Not on your life, Hutchinson! I’ve already got one detective out there with his tail on the line! Ain’t no way in hell I’m gonna make it two!"

Hutch clasped Dobey on each shoulder, his eyes sharp, pleading. The gesture wasn’t lost on Dobey. "Just listen, Cap’n, I’m beggin’ you. It’s the best shot we got."

Dobey’s face was gruff, but his eyes were clearly pained. He always put procedure first, yet these two guys had an inherent instinct that couldn’t be denied. Dobey had come to trust in it more than he liked to admit. Yet he knew he cared too much. As much of a pain as Starsky and Hutch were, he could feel in his very soul they were good men trying to get the job done for all the right reasons, no matter how many times they broke the rules. Dobey knew their iron strength came from their fierce devotion – to each other. And they were the best cops he had.

"Alright," he said, begrudgingly. "One hour. ONE! And then I’m there. No funny stuff, you understand? Bring him back."

"Thanks, Cap’n," Hutch whispered, slapping Dobey’s shoulder as he bolted from the room.

"And for God’s sake, be careful!" Dobey bellowed. He turned and looked at Huggy still propped on the windowsill, then sighed deeply, rubbing his head.

With the Torino tucked behind a clump of trees at the backside of the zoo, Hutch took off, crouching as he sprinted silently towards the caverns. Voices. Quickly he ducked behind an overgrown bush, cautiously peeking around the side.

About twenty yards in front of him, Hutch saw a sort of makeshift platform in the middle of a clearing. In front of it were two, robed men, digging through a wooden chest. Hutch flinched slightly when a third man approached them, and he strained to hear their words.

"He’s almost ready," the third man said. He was smiling, and yet that grin held such evil that Hutch actually closed his eyes for a moment, shaking away the uneasiness creeping up his spine. "Shouldn’t be long, now. We just need to wait for him a little longer. He’ll be here. Let’s roast us some pig, shall we, boys?"

Hutch knew he had no time to waste, and had better move fast. He paused for a brief moment. Wait? Wait for who? Didn’t matter – it bought him some time.

He hastily scanned the caverns, and was on the move again. Hang on, partner. Almost there. Just hold on a little longer…

Hutch circled the biggest cave on the far end of the clearing, spotting torches poking out of the gravel on either side of the rocky entrance. He leaned back, feeling the cold of the stone at his back. Drawing his weapon, he listened. Nothing. Without a sound, he crept forward and peered into the emptiness, straining to hear. A muffled sound, heavily muted. Or was it? Hutch raised his gun. Absently, his left hand found his chest and laid to rest on Starsky’s badge. I’m here, buddy. Now where are you? There it was again. Barely audible, but was that a groan? A cry for help?

Without missing a beat Hutch swiftly stooped through the entrance, his senses heightened in the darkness. He deftly crossed through the first passageway, stopping occasionally to listen. The sound again seeped through the walls like a beacon, and it was getting closer. Around the next corner a flame burned, illuminating the entrance to a wide crevice. Louder now, echoing, and there was no mistaking it. It was Starsky. He was alive.

Hutch wasn’t satisfied yet. He needed an eyeful of his buddy. Glancing about, he pounced into the stone room and froze, his pistol glistening in the flicker of flames encircling the parameters. His sweeping gaze took in the entirety of his surroundings, then zeroed in on the wall directly in front of him. All at once, he felt the blood drain from his face, and thought for a moment his knees would give way.

Oh my god.

It was Starsky. Even in the shadowy light of the torches, Hutch knew. Starsky’s hands were bound by a heavy cord and shackled above his head to the wall by a crude, wooden hook. His knees were curled up to his chest under the black robe that draped over his body. His head hung down on his chest, lifeless and still, his mouth open. Blood trailed down one side of his face from the gash on his forehead. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, and a burn the size of a quarter covered his temple. Even from across the dimly lit room, Hutch could see that Starsky’s forearms were bruised and bleeding, seemingly from the beatings he attempted to ward off. Attempted, and failed.

Without knowing how, Hutch found himself at his partner’s side. He fell to his knees in the dirt in front of him, laid one hand gently on Starsky’s chest and ran the other swiftly down his ribs to search for wounds, his eyebrows knotting at the stillness of the room, and of his partner.

"Starsk. Starsk, I’m here. I’m here. Come on, buddy," His words came in short, breathy spurts as he ran his hands over Starsky’s head and arms, looking for injuries that weren’t apparent in the glow of the torches that taunted from around the room. Hutch gingerly placed his hand over the dried blood on Starsky’s forehead, supporting his head gently with his other hand, and pulled open an eyelid. Glazed and shot through with red, the once vibrant blue of Starsky’s eye was murky and dark. And unmoving.

"Starsky, come on man." Hutch’s voice was high with panic. "It’s me, partner. I’m here. Talk to me."

Suddenly Starsky’s body lurched forward, and a deep groan tore from his cracked lips. Hutch grabbed for his arm to settle him, feeling relief wash over him in a cool rush.

"Shhhh, there you go, buddy. Damn it, you’re gonna be okay now, you hear me?"

Starsky’s head rolled back on the wall and his swollen eyes peeked open, unfocused. Hutch pulled Starsky’s face towards him, willing him to concentrate. He had obviously been drugged, and subjected to God knows what kind of torture. The anger rose hot in Hutch’s chest as he watched Starsky try to speak. His voice trailed off, weak and thin. Hutch squinted, trying to make out the words.

"What is it, buddy? Come on, now. Let’s get you outta here."

Hutch paused for just a moment, letting his fingers come to rest on the dark mop of curls that were damp with sweat. I’m sorry. Damn it, I’m so sorry. I tried to get here sooner… I fought like hell to find you …

Starsky’s eyes rolled back in his head as his mumbling intensified. The words were raspy and unintelligible, and Hutch doubted that Starsky was even really talking to him, even really aware of his presence. Hutch scanned the room and doorway again quickly, and scrambled to his feet. Now was not the time to try and carry on a conversation. He had to get Starsky out of here now before he was discovered. His hands worked the fraying rope quickly. He couldn’t help but notice that Starsky’s fingers were bloody and swollen, and fury filled him again. Someday, Simon Marcus. I promise you …..

The rope pulled loose, and Starsky crumpled like a rag to the ground. Hutch dropped down next to him, pulling Starsky onto his chest. Hutch was breathing fast and starting to feel a bit frantic as the reality of his situation engulfed him. The car. His eyes darted to the doorway. I could go back and… Like hell. Can’t leave him alone for another damn second in this hell hole. Think, Hutchinson! Think!

He looked down at Starsky’s ashen face bobbing on his shoulder, and tried again to focus on his partner’s delirious, drug-induced ramblings. He was repeating something. Not a phrase, really, but maybe just a word. The cadence was familiar, only for the life of him Hutch could not place why.

"Steady now, Starsk. Take it easy."

Hutch rested his hand on Starsky’s neck and pressed him in closer, trying to steady him, attempting to somehow draw from the strength that dwelled somewhere within the broken body of his partner. If they were gonna get out of this one, it was all up to him. The walls were closing in, and Hutch felt a sudden wave of loneliness so strong he nearly choked.

"What am I gonna do, buddy?" he said, more to himself than to Starsky, as he squinted into the near darkness for another way out. He wished to God he had his partner's quick instincts to work with right now. "Those flakes’ll be back soon…."

All at once, Hutch was on his feet and moving. He grabbed Starsky from under his arms and yanked him up swiftly, catching Starsky’s arm deftly over his shoulder. Starsky grimaced under the mask of pain, slurring something, and stumbled to get footing. Hutch kept speaking quietly to him, coaxing him through, telling him to leave this one to him. But he knew his words were falling on uncomprehending ears.

"Hello, Detective Hutchinson."

Hutch froze. Slowly he turned his eyes from Starsky, dread engulfing him. There in the doorway, wearing a wicked smile, stood Sonny Parker. His black robes were tied with rope at his waist, and the vulgar inverted cross was strangely illuminated in the glow of the torch he held. He was Simon’s right hand man, second in command. The First Apostle of Simone, they called him. And he was a twisted bastard.

In his right hand the barrel of a gun caught the light of the flames. Hutch quickly glanced down at it. Starsky’s.

Hutch pulled Starsky closer to him instinctively, and felt the blood flood his face. This was the man taking orders from Simon Marcus, and passing them on to his loyal goons. This was the man who had carried out the unspeakable beatings brought down on his partner, his partner who was now scarcely clinging to life.

"Simone dreamed you would come."

"Parker," Hutch whispered, scarcely audible in the stillness of the room. His voice was deep and steady now, and laced with cyanide. "If it’s the last thing I do, Parker, you and your two-bit punk of a leader will pay for this. So help me….."

Starsky stiffened, and Hutch tore his eyes away from Parker to search his partner’s blood-stained face. Starsky’s eyes were slits, yet they were opened, and focusing clearly on Parker. His sway had steadied a bit, and the mumbling had stopped. Starsky blinked several times, his eyes threatening to roll back into nothingness. He was fighting to gain some control, to convey some message.

"Attaboy, partner. I’m here now. Come on, Starsk. Come back to me, buddy." Hutch tightened his grip around Starsky’s waist.

Parker’s wicked smile snaked across his face.

Starsky leaned forward, seeming to not have heard Hutch. He squinted again at Parker, who was now looking back at him with great amusement.

"Yes, Detective Starsky? Was there something you wished to say?" Parker said through his wretched grin.

Again Starsky swayed, and Hutch tightened his grip. Starsky’s eyes never left Parker. His lips slowly parted, and Hutch thought with dread that he would begin babbling nonsense again, reminding him of the extent of Starsky’s injuries.

But this time, although his footing was shaky, Starsky spoke slowly and clearly, his voice barely above a whisper. His glazed eyes glistened intently at Parker, who was now happily lingering in the moment. Hutch focused intensely on his partner, waiting. Nothing could have prepared him.

Raspy at first, and then stronger, the word he spoke was finally clear.

"Simone… Simone…. Simone."

Hutch stumbled back, the wind knocked out of him by this sharp, shocking blow. Throughout the lonely expanse of the caverns, the laughter echoed, taunting. But it’s presence was lost on Hutch.

Still supporting the weight of his friend, Hutch brought his face within touching distance from Starsky’s bobbing head, disbelieving. "Starsky!" he yelled with desperation. Starsky blinked slowly, seemingly unaffected by anything but the pain. "Don’t you give in on me, buddy! Don’t you …"

Hutch’s eyes blazed such hatred as he glared back at Parker that Parker flinched. He regained control quickly.

"We’ve been expecting you, Hutchinson," Parker scoffed as he stepped closer. "Your devotion is touching. Sweet, really. And conveniently predictable."

Hutch shot him a look of sheer rage, his breath coming fast through gritted teeth. His voice rumbled from his chest. "What the hell did you…"

"You see," Parker continued, "He called for you quite a lot in the beginning." He paused, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. "Or shall I say he screamed for you. Pleaded for you. It was quite a beautiful thing. Pity you weren’t here."

"You son of a …." Hutch lurched forward in a blind fury. Parker cocked the gun in an instant, grabbed Starsky by the throat and pressed the cold steel to his forehead. A small sound escaped weakly from Starsky’s lips.

"No, no, Detective. I think you should reconsider that," Parker said, beaming. Hutch fought back the fingers of fury tightening on his throat and squeezed his eyes shut. Somewhere inside he could hear a voice screaming to him that losing it now would not rescue him or his partner. Regrettably, the voice was drowned out by Starsky’s screams echoing relentlessly through his brain, calling his name in agony over and over.

"Now don’t look so forlorn, Detective," Parker soothed. "Your name was, shall we say, brought up less frequently as our sessions wore on. Soon he just stopped discussing you altogether. So you see, you mustn’t fret."

Hutch’s eyes drilled a hole into the ground at Parker’s feet as the words hung in the air between them. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so helpless, so thoroughly beaten. His thoughts were now firing at random, without a trace of control left. The weight of Starsky over his shoulders was the last comfort he could grasp. It steadied him; reminded him what he was fighting for, even though he had failed his best friend.

Parker kept the barrel of the gun pressed firmly to Starsky’s head and violently grabbed a handful of dark curls. Hutch tensed, but didn’t dare make a move.

"You know," Parker said with an easy smile, yanking Starsky off Hutch’s shoulder by his hair, "You have to give the ol’ boy credit. He fought like hell." Starsky fell hard to his knees, dangling mid-air by his scalp. Hutch cringed and felt the sharp sting rising in his throat again. "He’s a feisty little bastard, isn’t he?"

Parker laughed out loud as he tossed Starsky effortlessly against the stone wall. Hutch flinched, trying desperately to monitor Starsky’s condition from across the room. Starsky’s hands were visibly trembling now. His eyes were open, but glazed and fixed on the blank wall of rock. The delirious mumblings had started again, but much to Hutch’s regret, this time he had no problem making out the content.

The words bled out slowly as Hutch battled to regain power. His voice sounded strangled. "So this is victory to you, huh Parker? You kidnap a police officer, you torture him, drug him, beat him senseless till his brains are soup, and then you brainwash him. You must be real proud."

"In truth, Detective Hutchinson, you are the one who should be proud. We were willing to be cooperative. We were willing to release your partner, quite unharmed, back into your capable hands." Parker’s smile slowly melted off his face. "We only had one requirement. The release of Simone Marcus. And on this, and so many other counts, you failed, Detective!" Parker shouted, stabbing a finger in Hutch’s face.

Hutch pressed his lips together tightly and glanced away towards Starsky. His breath caught. Starsky was still slouched against the stone wall, but was now sitting up straighter and holding his head up. Hutch felt a chill run through him as he realized that, for the first time since he had been discovered shackled to the wall, Starsky was staring right at him. Or through him, more accurately.

"Starsk?" Hutch called to him, hopeful.

"I wouldn’t bother with that, Detective," Parker grinned as he paced in front of Hutch.

"You see, your partner began to just accept our little meetings after a while." Parker couldn’t conceal his enjoyment at these revelations. "That’s when he fell silent altogether. And as you now know, since then we have had a meeting of the minds."

Hutch searched his partner’s vacant expression for a moment more, shuddering with despair that could no longer resist transparency. Hard and fast the knots overtook Hutch’s gut, turning and tightening. The pale blue of his eyes formed cold lasers, piercing Parker.

"Yes, it took some doing. But eventually we broke that willful spirit. We always do, you know." Parker lingered for a long moment in front of Hutch, pressing in close. His breath was hot on Hutch’s face. "And remember that as a loyal follower of Simone, your Detective Starsky will do anything we ask." He bore in closer, spitting his next word through a clenched sneer. "Anything."

Hatred, alive and raw, mingled openly with the sweat glistening across Hutch’s brow.

"It’s a pity he is of very little use to us anymore. You see, he has only received one assignment, after which he will be quite disposable." He stopped pacing and looked at Hutch, smiling. "But its completion could just be his ticket to freedom."

Hutch brought his hands to his face, pushing clenched fists deep into his eyes. The room was pressing in heavily, the torches silently mocking. His mind was careening out of control. He needed to focus.

Hutch heard gravel shift, and snapped his eyes up to take in Parker. The wicked smirk Hutch had come to know was replaced by something different. Something satisfied, yet anticipating …

Hutch fought the pounding that resonated in his brain and turned suddenly to glance at his partner. Ice cold terror shot through him. He was gone.

Hutch spun to his left, absorbing the corners of the room and berating himself. His mental break had left Starsky vulnerable again. Panic made its way swiftly over Hutch’s skin and abruptly squeezed his windpipe. He shifted suddenly towards Parker. Sick son of a bitch. A sound behind him captured his attention, and Hutch leapt around with frantic yet surprising agility. All at once he found himself staring directly into Starsky’s bloodshot blues. Relief flooded his chest as Hutch reached out his hands to grab Starsky. And not let go of him again.

It was then that he noticed the sharp rock that Starsky had suspended shakily over his left shoulder. What the…

Before Hutch could block the blow, Starsky let loose an agonized cry as he swung the unlikely weapon down hard on Hutch’s forehead. The blinding flash of light that followed dwindled quickly to a dull flicker. And then there was blackness.

Engulfed in a sea of distant voices, Hutch stumbled blindly, trying to find his way. The passageway was cloaked in darkness, the air so thick that breathing was difficult. He was aware of a dull throbbing sensation and tried to focus, seeing only wavering shadows. Danger loomed heavily, weighting his limbs; movement was maddeningly deliberate.

Without warning the swarming darkness shifted, and Hutch strained at the light that was filtering through. The voices were encroaching closer, marching heavily through his skull. Sharp pricks of pain found raw nerves, engulfing him as daylight fell over his eyes. With enormous effort, Hutch squinted as fear gnawed openly at his gut. The sun stabbed in painfully, causing a wave of sickness. Through the pulsating blur, Hutch focused on a dark form looming before him. The figure shot quickly into focus. Relief flooded him as the face of his best friend manifested itself before him. Hutch tried to speak, but his voice croaked in his throat. He settled on a weak smile.

The voices abruptly intruded again, snapping Hutch’s senses into the present. His hands felt tingly and numb, and there was a sharp pain radiating between his shoulder blades. He tried to shift, glancing up. With horror, Hutch absorbed the sight of his purple hands bound over his head, suspending him from a tree with thick twine. He bare feet were grazing the wooden floor of the platform he had witnessed upon first approaching the caverns. He shook off the web of haziness, coming fully to his senses.

To his left stood a robed disciple of Simone, head bowed and chanting. A heavy, linked chain was suspended from his hands. On his right was yet another follower assuming the same position, this one clutching a wooden club. Hiding behind the dark hood, the third man rocked back and forth, the cleaver catching the sun’s reflection.

Before him stood Starsky. He was standing silently amid the chants, his eyes boring into Hutch. For the first time Hutch could see him fully in the intense sunlight. His injuries looked even more brutal than before. Purplish welts and crusted blood covered his face; a hazed look of sickness clouded his empty expression. The dagger he held trembled slightly in his fist.

"Hey, buddy," Hutch attempted, trying desperately to choke back the terror that had seized him. Starsky responded with a step forward. His olive skin was shot ghost white; dark, wet curls matted his forehead. He looked as if he could barely stay vertical.

"Starsk. Talk to me. Starsk…" Hutch’s voice was starting to betray him. He swallowed hard, beckoning to his partner with his eyes as the chanting rose an octave.

No one knew the physical power, the raw strength behind Starsky’s compact physique better than Hutch, even in this weakened state. He had witnessed the unbridled fury and seen countless men fall under it’s power. It had saved his hide more times than he could count. And it appeared certain he was now about to be on the receiving end. Starsky moved forward, his eyebrows knitting precariously, laced with rage that boiled just below the surface. Hutch knew the look well, and flinched under it’s sting. It’s me, man. Don’t do this. Come on back, buddy.

Blinking with unseeing eyes, Starsky leaned in.

"S’all over for you," he said in a voice raw from his screams. "Time’s up. You lose."

"Starsky. Starsk, look at me! Come on, buddy,"

"I’ll give you one minute to say bye bye, punk, and then it’s curtains."

The robed figures pressed in closer, their chanting picking up speed. Starsky’s eyes rolled back, his head bobbing for just an instant as he stumbled to the side. Hutch grimaced. His voice shot up a level as Starsky looked ready to lose consciousness all together.

"Starsk! Y’all right? Come on, man. Take it easy."

Starsky blinked long and slow, his gaze falling on Hutch once again. "Shut up, scum!" He spat with renewed venom.

"That’s it. That’s it. Hang in there, partner. I’m right here with you, man. Same as always. Right down to the wire. You hear me, Starsky?" Hutch struggled to stay on top of his emotions. Sheer fear and helplessness were combining forces inside him, burning his lungs with every ragged breath. The ache manifesting itself in his arms and shoulders was beyond description. He was gonna talk Starsky down. It was their only hope.

All at once, Starsky appeared enraged, blood flooding his beaten face. He charged towards Hutch, stopping until their foreheads struck each other hard. Starsky’s fingers were on Hutch’s neck, squeezing. Hutch’s breath caught in his throat.

"You listen to me," Starsky snapped. "You may as well accept that this is the way it’s goin’ down. You asked for it, ya earned it, and you’re gonna be dancin’ with the devil before the game’s up, you got that?"

Starsky’s eyes were alive with rage, pressing into Hutch’s fearful expression. Hutch’s voice was a whisper, raspy with exhaustion and hope. He stared pleadingly back at Starsky. "It’s me, partner. It’s me. You know that, don’t ya? Can’t you feel it? It’s all wrong, Starsk. S’all wrong. You don’t want to do this. Come on back, I’m beggin’ you."

Starsky pushed away from him abruptly.

"Simone dreamed you would die," came his vacant response.

Hutch gave in. Starsky had been swallowed too deeply into this demonic world to be reached in a matter of a minute or two. The beatings had been too bloody, and lasted too long. Burns and clubs and mind-numbing drugs, with a healthy dose of starvation and sleep deprivation intermingled in between. And finally the brainwashing. Hutch knew Starsky had shut down in self-preservation. He was in there, but couldn’t be coaxed out from under the mountain of hell he’d endured.

Hutch now took him in anew, seeing only the broken man before him, his best friend. Affection and acceptance bathed his weary body. Starsky was breathing hard, his right hand absently fingering the blisters on his temple as if they were a mere annoyance. Shakily, he raised the knife and tried to keep his footing. Hutch knew as soon as he made that first stroke, the others would converge down on him, finishing him off. So this was it.

"I forgive you, Starsk," Hutch shouted suddenly, willing his partner to listen to this, if nothing else. "Do you hear me? I forgive you! So when these goons dump you in an alley somewhere and you make it back to the land of the living, just remember that. Don’t crawl into that dark hole and torture yourself, do you hear me? This isn’t your fault, Starsky! I know that! It is not your fault!"

Starsky’s expression was empty, and he stared at Hutch as if he were insane. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly, then grimacing at the pain the movement had inflicted. Slowly his eyes rolled open again, and he silently took in Hutch without losing his grip on the knife he still held steadily overhead. He blinked again.

Hutch’s voice was still insistent, but was dying into a soft ember of emotion. "I love ya, buddy. Please. Don’t forget. Always remember, my friend. It’ll always be you and me, partner…"

It felt as if rodents were gnawing away at his flesh. The weight of the boulder planted on his brain bore down with crushing persistency. Icy fingers gripped his consciousness, tossing all clarity down a rotting sewer.

Starsky was beyond pain. He was beyond fear. His brain had taken him to a place where he could cope. He’d been happy to oblige; letting go as sweet blackness engulfed him. It was in this dark pit that he now resided, knees pulled tightly to his chest. The walls were heavy as steel, impenetrable.

Except something was chipping away at the armor. Starsky dug his chin deeper into his chest in an effort to block the offending intrusion. The cool silence soothed him.

There it was again, clearer this time. It wasn’t a burning club, not a hypodermic. It was a voice calling to him, from a hollow cave it seemed. Starsky pressed his fists over his ears and shivered a little, recoiling as a dagger of sunlight struck his weary eyelids. But the sun felt warm. Comforting, somehow. He raised his head. The words were running together and splitting apart, yet there was order there. Something he was supposed to understand.

All at once, he wanted out. This safe house of solitude had suddenly transformed into a snake pit, and the floor shifted below his feet like quicksand, threatening to claim him permanently if he didn’t claw his way out. How the hell did I get here? And how do I … That voice. Something deep inside him had awakened enough to tell him the voice was his key to escape.

Starsky stood very still, calling on all the strength he could muster to break down the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly, then grimacing at the pain the movement had inflicted. Pain. It was back, and it was accompanied by a chorus of voices, rolling into his consciousness like approaching thunder. Waves of color throbbed before him, replacing the shadows. Instinctively he felt wisps of danger returning, and the hair on the back of his neck raised in protest. Yet someone was with him this time. The voice was gentle, coaxing. Safe. It penetrated the final strands of darkness.

Starsky blinked. The fog was lifting, pulling images into focus. All at once, it was clear.

Hutch.

The sight of him nearly choked Starsky with raw emotion. Confusion was the first to claim him as pain wrapped its arms heavily around his chest. He had waited so long. He never doubted Hutch would find him, or die trying. But why was Hutch’s face so desperate now that he was here? Why did he look ready to lie down?

Starsky froze as the scene beyond Hutch’s pleading expression converged on his senses. The robes, that mind-numbing mantra resonating with insistence, the ropes binding Hutch like an animal waiting for the slaughter.

The dagger.

Starsky’s fingers flew open as if he had been burned, momentarily releasing his grip on the weapon. Yet he snatched it back quickly from the air before it could slip to the ground, wincing visibly as clarity found him at last.

Hutch’s words abruptly stopped as he soaked in the last movement from Starsky. Did he just now notice the freaks in the robes? Starsky’s eyes were darting so furiously that Hutch thought again that he may pass out. He saw that Starsky had almost lost his grip on the knife, but had recovered it quickly.

Then Starsky’s weary eyes raised up slowly, meeting Hutch’s gaze with undeniable affection.

Hutch stared back, disbelieving. Oh my god.

Starsky raised one eyebrow slightly, his breath accelerated. He fixed his eyes heavily on Hutch, offering a ghost of a nod. S’ okay, buddy. A spark glimmered in his eyes, a small tug at a corner of his mouth. Hutch struggled as the forceful waves of relief threatened to break him in two. His breath escaped him, and he closed his eyes.

A single voice rose up from the rest, impatient. "Simone dreamed you would be weak, cop. But we will make you strong."

Starsky’s look strayed sideways towards the thug, then darted back to Hutch. Their eyes locked, feeding each other, safe at last in each other’s protective gaze. Starsky gripped the knife tightly, raising it up a notch. And suddenly Hutch understood.

"Don’t do it, man!" Hutched shrieked.

"Shut up, you filthy pig," Starsky’s voice cracked, shaking his head as the words reverberated in his skull.

"Enough," came the evil growl of the disciple. "Do it, cop. Cut him."

Starsky broke their connection for a moment to glance up at the rope that bound Hutch by the wrists, then quickly resumed their silent conversation.

The chanting reached a shrill and feverish pitch. The robes were pressing in, demanding blood. Though Hutch’s face was starting to swarm in front of him, Starsky reached for a last fragment of strength. All at once he swung the dagger. His aim was true as the blade found the small space directly between Hutch’s wrists as Hutch pulled the rope taut. Starsky threw the last of his strength into one violent tug. In an instant, Hutch was free.

Once grounded, Hutch lunged at the closest disciple and delivered a blinding blow just in time to see Starsky sink to his knees. Black movement flashed before him. Hutch wasted no time grabbing the hand wielding the cleaver, smacking it several times against the platform’s supporting bars until the weapon broke free, dropping over the edge into the brush. He delivered two quick crunches to the gut, then glanced past the goon to take in Starsky’s dazed appearance, shocked to see him take down the club man with a swift leg sweep. One final cuff to the jaw sent the black robe careening off the platform.

In the distance, the sirens wailed. Starsky was now on his back, losing his battle with consciousness and dodging a wooden club that kept falling inches short of his skull. Hutch tackled the assailant from behind and pounded his final waves of frustration into the creep’s face until he fell still.

Hutch scrambled frantically over the motionless body and plunged to his knees at his partner’s side. Starsky’s eyes were wild and searching, and his body lurched in response to Hutch’s hand on his chest.

"Take it easy, buddy. It’s over… it’s all over," Hutch whispered hoarsely as he slid his hand behind Starsky’s neck and eased him into his lap. Starsky visibly let go and leaned back into Hutch, feeling the knots unravel inside his chest. Safe for the first time in an eternity. Starsky felt Hutch’s arms envelop him protectively as the screeching tires echoed against the caverns, and sensed that all was not right with his partner. He opened his eyes and tipped his head back to search Hutch’s anxious expression, feeling the soothing cool of Hutch’s hand against his fevered cheek.

"S’matter?" Starsky’s cracked lips formed the words, but they were barely audible. Hutch’s expression was despondent, yet his eyes held that hint of a smile and reflected nothing but unadulterated relief. He waved off the query, but squeezed his arms tighter around Starsky in response.

"You really know how to hurt a guy," Hutch said with a soft smile, motioning to the ropes dangling overhead. A small chuckle escaped from Starsky’s lips, followed quickly by a grimace as he clutched firmly onto Hutch’s arm. Hutch pressed his cheek against the matted curls until the pain eased.

Starsky looked up pointedly at Hutch with piercing blue eyes laced with moisture. His expression revealed the exhaustion threatening to topple him, yet it was losing a battle with the pain that kept Starsky staggering on this side of consciousness. But the glimmer still shone in his eyes, bathed in pure affection, glowing with gratitude.

"Y’always were a bad sport," Starsky grinned weakly, his voice breaking. Hutch replied with a laughing smile, radiant. Just then he glanced up to see Dobey, complete with an army of troops, converging on the site and taking in the scene before him as the sirens screamed. Dobey’s face was knotted with concern, and he bellowed at some uniform behind him, summoning an ambulance immediately on the scene.

Hutch released a relieved breath and glanced back down at his partner. Starsky’s eyes were closed and his mouth hung open. Hutch started. "Starsk?" he said with more force than he intended.

"M’okay, Mom," Starsky replied, eyes still closed but mouth curving into a smile just before his body gave in, slipping deep into merciful blackness.

END

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