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Observation	By : Athena2693 Category: +S through Z > South Park > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4415 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Observation: Chapter 1
Rating: Oh, I'd say R
Pairing: Let me get back to you on that

Required apology to the makers: I stole them, na na *sticks her tongue out at people* *Gets chased down with pitchforks*

Other notes: Um, my first *posted* South Park fic, not really sure where it's gonna go. Hope everyone's okay with this, because I suck *yay for suckiness!* Rated for, umm, meaniness stuff like depression and cutting. Characters completely out of character *yay again!*

So here ya go.

Chapter 1

It was a cool, dreary autumn day. Rain poured down from thevensvens and formed a mist on the windows of the small apartment. A young teen entered the apartment clad in drab colors, turning to buckle the apartment's lock, all five of them. Once this was set, he began removing various articles of clothing: tattered black coat, cloths holding knives and guns strapped to his body, along with some other equipment, a pair of old doc martens. A wet cigarette landed in a large tin can sitting on the floor and was replaced by a dry tar stick. He walked into the kitchen in a close-fitting wife-beater and camo trousers that were soaked through. He casually twisted the heat on as he passed by, and quickly set to boiling some water.
He had hardly taken a seat at the small bar that served as his kitchen table when a shrill twittery noise sounded through the silent apartment. He set the newspaper aside and picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Is this, The Mole?"
"Who is speaking?"
"This is Gregory."
"Gregory, love, I haven't heard from in in years! Where did you get my number?"
"From a boy at school. You might remember him, Pip? He was speaking of you in social class."
"He spoke my name in a public building," Christophe's eyes flashed angrily.
"Well, not 'The Mole', but he mentioned a French boy named Christophe."
"And what was the circumstance that brought my name into the conversation?"
"Oh, just discussing the idea of Freedom Fries. Some of the boys were looking for a 'Frenchie' to beat on, but being a Brit, Pip was on their side. Unfortunately, they didn't see the difference."
"Give him a good beating?"
"From what I have heard. I only showed up to get some practice tests, I am home schooled now."
"So I have heard. Gregory, it's a pleasure to hear from you, but you wouldn't randomly telephone me after a decade without a reason."
"Are you still working as The Mole?"
"Yes, are you looking for a mercenary? Searching for orisorist, need someone knocked off, a break in?"
"I need an investigator, actually."
"An investigator? You know I'm an hands-on person, Gregory." The kettle began to whistle quietly, gaining in the howling quickly. Christophe stood, grabbed a cloth, and went to the stove.
"What is that sound?"
"Tea kettle. I just got in so I'm making myself a nice hot cup of mint tea," he dropped a tea bag in a mug and poured the steaming water atop it. The water quickly turned a dark brown. Christophe set the pot on a cool burner.
"Anyway, Christophe, I know you prefer to dig and stab, but you're the best I know, I'd really love if you'd take my case."
"Where are you," Christophe looked down at his watch, flashing 6:34.
"At the phone booth downtown."
"I'm in my apartment, 765 Avon Ave., apartment 31C. If you wish, you may come up and have some tea with me and we'll discuss this, but I can't promise anything."
"Either way, I'll get warmed up, won't I? I'll be up soon, thank you Christophe."
"Oh, and Gregory?"
"Yes?"
"Tell anybody my address and you'll wake up with your small intestine in a laundry basket."
"Um, yes, see you soon."
Christophe put on some more water for when Gregory arrived and turned to look through the international news, finding most Americans believed international news consisted of the monkey-look-alike president invading various countries, and closed the paper. The tea began to melt into him, warming him from the inside out. He poured himself another cup and set out some cinnamon rolls. Gregory was soaking wet, golden hair plastered to his head, when he answered the door. Christophe locked in behind him and led him into the kitchen, handing him a mug of hot tea. They sat at the bar, facing each other.
"You look tired," Gregory observed.
"Life does that to you."
"When'd you get this," Gregory reached gin gingerly to touch a scar over a dark eyebrow.
"Few years ago. So what is this mission?"
Gregory sipped from the tea, testing, and dropped in a few sugar cubes from a little basket, then tasted it again. He set the mud aside.
"Do you remember those boys that came to you during the war?"
"The nympho, the fatass, and the momma's boy?"
"Yes."
"You don't easily forget the ones whotenctence you to death, love."
"No, I suppose not."
"What about them?"
"They've kicked one of their boys from their group."
"Really? They seemed so close. Which one did they kick ou

"The Jewish one, what's his name…Kyle, I believe?"
"Yes," Christophe nodded, "That's Kyle. Why did they kick him out?"
"Oh, he came out to them."
"Out of the closet?"
"Yes."
"Americans are bitches. Did you want me to kill these two boys?"
"We can't force them to do what we want," Gregory sipped from his tea, licked the minty liquid from too-soft lips. "It's Kyle I'm worried about."
"Are you?"
"Sources tell me he's bought a gun."
"So he wishes to kill himself, let him."
"Christophe, he's also been buying materials that closely resemble those needed for homemade bombs, and he's been incredibly distant to everyone."
"You don't honestly believe…" Christophe trailed off.
"I'm not going to assume." Gregory ran a hand through golden curls, brushing the still damp locks from his eyes.
"Why do you care about these children?"
"I am a gentleman. Gentlemen don't just stay silent when death is at hand."
"Gregory, you don't give up money that easily, I know you."
"Well, my future is in that school."
"And what should I take that as?"
"Pip. Pip's a junior, I won't let any harm come to my future bonded."
Christophe nodded, a smile touching thin lips. He put out his cigarette and lit another.
"Who am I to come between homoerotic love? That'll be a two hundred for supplies, two hundred for labor. Are you willing to pay?"
"I said I am, Christophe."
"I'll need two hundred now."
"I, I don't have it on me."
"Then no deal." Christophe stood, stretching his tired body, and set his cup in the sink. Gregory followed him with his eyes. They were gorgeous blue, but currently darkened with fear.
"I'ringring it to you tomorrow, I swear."
"I won't start until I get the money, and if I get another deal before, well, first come first serve."
"First thing in the morning, I swear. The bank's closed by now."
"I know. Be here no later then nine. I like to eat breakfast at nine-thirty."
"Is that an invitation?"
"If you wish. Did you tell Pip why you were coming to me?"
"I didn't even tell him I was going to call you."
"Good. The less people who know about the situation, the better."
"I agree. Do you need me for anything?"
"I'll tell you if I do. Head home now, I need to make dinner."
"Have a date?"
"Gregory, look at me. Do I look like I date?" He was leaning against the spotless black kitchen counter, strong, scarred arms crossed across his chest, smoke drifting over messy brown locks like a sinful halo.
"Goodbye, Christophe."
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