South Park Fan Fiction ❯ Hostage ❯ Deal or No Deal ( Chapter 1 )

Title: Hostage

Pairing: Christophe/Kyle

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park or the characters.

Warnings: Slash, violence, language.

Summary: Christophe had always kept his life as `ze Mole' separate from his life in South Park. But now they have Kyle and things are getting serious.

AN: And I wanted to say thank you to all those that reviewed. I got a lot of complaints and suggestions about the Prologue and the accent so I went back and changed it. Hopefully you like this chapter better.

 

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Chapter #1: Deal or No Deal

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“Dude, Christophe, it's your turn to do the dishes,” Kyle said upon entering their apartment to find Christophe seated on the couch watching TV, the dishes not done. Still not exactly the tallest boy around, Kyle had gained some height since the fourth grade. He now came up to almost Christophe's chin. His Jew-fro had also calmed considerably and his red hair now hung in curls in front of his green eyes. His skin was smooth, spotted in freckles, and the awkwardness of puberty had left leaving him lithe and graceful. “I'm not your maid,” he continued irritably, “and my mom's coming over in half an hour.”

“I did zem last week,” Chritophe replied easily, busy clicking through the channels. Christophe himself had shot up to a nice 6'1' but still otherwise looked the same. Same dark brown hair, same almost golden brown eyes, and still a chain smoker, but puberty had left him with some rather persistent stubble that would not leave his face.

“No you didn't,” Kyle said, looking irritated at Christophe's inability to remember, “You were in Australia last week, remember? There was that thing with the daughter of that guy?”

“No.” Christophe was sure and shook his head, eyes still glued on the screen. “Zat was ze week before.”

“No, it wasn't. That was last week. I remember `cause I had that Chem. test that week, remember? The one I nearly died studying for?” A dark expression crossing his face, Kyle muttered, to no one really, “I hate Chem.”

But Christophe was looking like he might just remember this, finally turning to face him. “An' you nearly kicked me out of ze apartment when I left?”

Kyle looked properly embarrassed. “Well I was angry.”

“Yes,” Christophe said dryly, giving him a droll look, “I remember.”

“Oh shut up,” Kyle said mildly before going over to their couch to begin tidying things up, ignoring the fact that Christophe was blocking his way, “Like you always get angry over important things,” he said, bending over to pick the couch pillows up from where Christophe had thrown them on the floor and put them back on the couch.

“When was ze last time I got zat upset over a mere test?” Christophe asked, eyes following his movements but not helping in the least.

Kyle snorted, gently fixing the position of the pillows so they were lying perfectly aligned. “When was the last time you actually studied for a test?”

“I studied for zat French Revolution test two weeks ago,” Christophe protested.

“Only because it was about France,” Kyle said, not looking at him as he leaned over and started to pick up the stray bits of paper and fast food wrappers from their coffee table. Arms full of trash, he turned to look behind him at Christophe, whose eyes quickly flicked away from watching Kyle's ass to his face, and gave him a truly irritated look. “And will you help me out here? I'm not your maid.”

“Yes. So you've said,” Christophe said, ignoring him and going back to the TV.

“And I'll say it again,” Kyle said, clearly annoyed at this, before turning and heading for the trash can. “I'll say it as many times as I need to before it finally sinks into your fucking thick skull.” He opened the trash can and let the trash he held fall into the can.

“'ey!” Flicking a glance in Kyle's direction and just noticing what he was doing, Christophe jumped up from his seat and went over there. “Wot if we needed zat stuff?”

Kyle looked at him, incredulous. “What would we need it for? It was trash.”

Christophe looked serious, eyes intent on the trash can. “I think I `ad my notes from my last mission in zere.”

“What?” Kyle turned to look at the trash can. “Why would you keep those in a pile of trash?”

“Zat was not trash,” Christophe said as he came closer and began to paw through the trash. “Zat was my lunch.”

Kyle turned to look at him but didn't look sorry. “You were done with it. It was trash.”

Christophe made a derisive noise in the back of his throat but didn't look up from his search.

“Can't you just write new notes?” Kyle asked, looking annoyed as Christophe kept searching. “Don't you have them all typed up somewhere? Why aren't they on your computer?”

Christophe shot him an irritated look at the questions but said nothing and went back to the trash. Finally he found what he was looking for. Pulling it out, Christophe brushed away stray bits of chip and then looked around for something to clean off the ketchup stain. Putting his notes down on the kitchen counter, he gently dabbed at the ketchup with a napkin.

Kyle made a face at the paper. “It's dirty. Make a new one.”

Christophe shook his head, focused on his task. “I only need ze one.”

“But it's dirty.”

Christophe shot him a silencing look. “An' whose fault was zat?”

“Yours,” Kyle said bluntly and then turned and went back into the living room. “Now come on. You have to help me clean. My mom's coming over in a little bit.”

Christophe shook his head again, carefully folding his notes and putting them in his back pocket. “I still `ave some work to do.”

“What work?” Kyle asked, turning to him with an obviously disbelieving look on his face. “You were just watching TV.”

“I was taking a break,” Christophe said, leaning against the kitchen counter as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked over at Kyle. “I have a meeting wit' a possible client in `alf an `our.”

Kyle looked curious. “Where's the meeting?”

Christophe shot him a warning look. “You know I cannot tell you zat.”

“Fine,” Kyle said, letting it go and turning away to bend over to pick up some stray trash from the floor, “Just asking. When do you need to leave?” Looking back up at Christophe as he asked.

Christophe looked at his watch before answering, “Fifteen minutes.”

“Then do you think you could finish up the dishes before you go? It's still your turn.”

“Oui,” Christophe said, smiling as he approached and leaned over to press a soft kiss to Kyle's lips. “Just for you, mon chéri.”

Pushing him away, Kyle rolled his eyes and went to clean off the top of the TV.

 

 

Christophe studied the faces of the three men seated across from him at the table. They were seated at the local Raisins and had finally gotten down to business after the leader had gotten his requested buffalo wings.

“An' zis uzzer organization,” Christophe began, narrowing his eyes at the men with a serious frown, “zis one in China—Wot is zere name?” From the moment he had entered the restaurant and seen his contacts he had been having a bad feeling. His research had told him they were from a charity organization but something about these men didn't sit quite right with him. Maybe it was the dark clothes and dark appearances; maybe it was the way they had found the only shady corner in the restaurant to sit in, Christophe didn't know what it was but something about them was wrong. The Raisins girls only fueled his suspicions. They had been giving their table a wide berth the entire night.

“We can't tell you that,” the man to the right said, scowling. The man himself was unkempt with a few days worth of stubble accumulated on his face. His clothes were dark but clearly expensive and at odds with his rough appearance. “We're not at liberty to say,” he continued with a dark expression, “I'm sure you understand.”

“Then zis package,” Christophe tried, “Can you tell me wot it is, or is zat privileged information as well?”

The man on the left nodded. “I'm afraid that too is privileged.” This man was the more stereotypical business man, wearing a pressed suit and tie, his hair neatly gelled back. His beady eyes stared out of his plain face and focused on Christophe as he answered.

Christophe's frown deepened. “Zen wot can you tell me?”

“All we can tell you we have already told you,” the scruffy man on the right said before leaning forward intently, expression intense. “And now you have to answer. Will you help us?”

“We are willing to pay quite a generous sum,” the business man put in. The leader, who had not spoken the entire night other than to whisper his request for buffalo wings into the ear of the business man, still said nothing, merely watching Christophe with his expressionless eyes. To tell the truth it was quite unnerving to be the object of that blank gaze. To watch as the man neatly ate his buffalo wings and stared.

Christophe looked away to check his surroundings. No one had noticed them in the corner, the Raisins girls still giving their table a wide berth when they weren't refilling drinks. Everything seemed peaceful. A group of high-school boys sat in the middle of the restaurant, shouting boisterously at the waitresses and laughing at how supposedly clever they were. A family of four sat on the opposite side of the restaurant, the two little kids screaming and climbing all over their parents, who merely sat there and let them, smiling and looking a little frazzled around the edges. Other than that there was the lone man sitting at the counter and the restaurant was empty. It was a Tuesday night after all.

Finally Christophe looked back at the three men, who were still watching him intently. “How can I retrieve zis package for you when I don't even know wot it is?” Christophe asked, “I will not be able to find it.”

“You will know what it is. It's quite clearly marked,” the business man said, smiling a practiced smile.

Christophe stared at them, eyes moving from the smiling business man to the expressionless leader slowly biting into his newest buffalo wing to the scowling man on the right and thought. Did he really want to be involved in this? It was against his policy to go on any jobs that he didn't have full information on. It kept him from getting killed by any nasty surprises. Plus this all just felt wrong. He had a sneaking suspicion that what they wanted him to retrieve would not be something Kyle would approve of him getting.

“'ow much are you willing to pay?” he asked suspiciously.

“1.5 million,” the business man said.

Which was a lot of money and Kyle's birthday was coming up. It would be nice to get him something special.

But that also proved just how desperate to get this package these people were. If they were willing to offer that much just to retrieve it, how much could the package itself be worth? How dangerous could it be?

Still . . . 1.5 million. It was tempting. Christophe sat back and watched the three men watch him, debating with himself. Was that much money worth it if Kyle disapproved? Kyle didn't have to find out. Christophe just had to say it was classified. Kyle would understand.

But he had also made Kyle a promise to stay safe and mostly legal and Christophe didn't go back on his promises.

Finally Christophe shook his head. “No. I cannot take zis job.”

“What?” the scruffy man asked, expression darkening even further. The business man's practiced smile seemed to falter. The leader paused mid-bite, looking at him, then slowly started again, chewing sedately.

Christophe looked at them. “I don't take jobs wit' zis much unknown.”

The boss paused in his eating to lean over and whisper something in the business man's ear.

“Oh,” the business man said, seeming to understand and his smile strengthened again, “You want more money. How does 2 million sound?”

“No.”

“2.5 then,” the business man said, looking unruffled, “But I'm afraid that is our final offer.”

“No,” Christophe said, beginning to look annoyed. “I jus' won't do it. An' I'm afraid zat is my final offer.”

“Well I'm afraid you don't really have much of a choice,” the scruffy man said darkly, suddenly smiling fiercely as though he had been waiting for this all night, “We wouldn't want your little boyfriend to be hurt now, would we?”

Shit. They knew about Kyle. They must have been watching him. Suddenly much more serious, Christophe jumped up from his seat and slammed his hands down on the table, scowling angrily at the scruffy man. The sound echoed in the noisy restaurant and everything froze, the high-school boys, the family of four, the lone man at the counter, and the Raisins girls all turning to stare at the four men seated in the shady corner. “What `ave you done t' `im?” Christophe snarled, ignoring the sudden silence.

“Oh,” the scruffy man said, still smiling and looking almost demented, “Nothing yet.” He brought up his arm and pulled back his coat sleeve to show Christophe his watch. “But I just push one little button and our team is ready to take him out.”

Christophe stared intently at the watch and clenched his jaw. What could he do?

Seeing this, the business man smiled a smile that looked much more genuine but a lot more sadistic. “Have you changed your mind, Mr. Mole?” The leader still showed no expression, chewing his buffalo wing sedately. He was down to two now, the one in his hands and the one on his plate.

Christophe said nothing, eyes flickering from the watch, between the three men, and to the door. Could he get home in time?

Obviously sensing his thoughts, the scruffy man said, “You'll never be able to get back there in time. Why don't you just play along?”

“Yes,” the business man said, still smiling that almost sadistic smile, “We don't want to cause any trouble. We just want our package. You can do that for us, can't you?”

So Christophe had been right to think that these men were up to no good. Now would he throw away all morals and help them? Kyle was in danger. Surely Kyle would understand the necessity, right?

Wouldn't he?

Thinking this, Christophe knew the answer. No, he wouldn't. Kyle wouldn't place his own life above the lives of others. And whatever these men wanted could not be good. At the very least Kyle would tell them to go to hell just for the principle of the thing.

And Christophe could probably get home in time. And he did have their security system hooked up. Nothing could get through that.

So Christophe straightened and began to smile fiercely, before saying slowly and clearly, “Go to `ell,” punching the scruffy man straight in his smug face, and bolting for the door. He needed to get home before Kyle could be hurt.

 

 

Meanwhile . . .

“Bubee!”

“Mom! Stop it!”

“But I missed you!”

“Mom!” Kyle struggled in his mom's hold, trying desperately to escape the kisses she was raining down upon his face.

“Here. Let me look at you.” Finally Sheila Broflovski had finished and took a step back to take her son in, her hands still holding his arms. She obviously didn't like what she saw. “You're so thin! You're not eating. I can tell. A mother always can.”

“Mom!” Kyle protested, looking embarrassed. “I'm eating just fine. Really.”

“Nonsense,” Sheila tutted, “Here. You go sit on the couch. I'll go make you something to eat.”

“But Mom! I already ate.”

“Well you obviously didn't eat enough. You're skin and bones. You need some meat on you.”

Kyle sighed heavily at this, but went to go sit on the couch nevertheless, knowing it was useless to try to protest any further. Sheila went into the small kitchen and began to look through the refrigerator in search of something to cook. Not finding anything healthy there, she went on to the cupboards.

“Kyle,” she finally said, now going through the last of the cupboards and still not finding anything healthy, “When was the last time you went shopping? There's barely anything but junk in here.” Finally turning away from the cupboards, she turned to her son and gave him a look.

Kyle shifted on the couch uneasily. He knew there was something he should have done before she came over. “Um . . .”

“Don't `um' me, young man. You haven't been eating this junk, have you?” By her tone it was clear that he had better say no or he was in for it.

“I've just been really busy with school lately and haven't had the time to go shopping,” Kyle said, looking up at his mom, wanting her to believe him and not make this into some huge deal. “And Christophe's been really busy with his job so he hasn't really had the time to go either.”

“Oh,” Sheila said, sounding disapproving, “That boy. It's him, isn't it?”

“Huh?” Kyle looked confused.

“That Christophe,” his mom clarified. “He's the reason you're so unhealthy. Why if you were still living at home this never would've happened.”

“Mom.”

“Now you know I have no problem with the fact that you want to live on your own. It shows independence which is good. But you know a good Jewish girl would be able to take care of you.”

“Mom. I don't need taking care of.”

Sheila ignored him, like always. “That Christophe boy. He's always running off on his dangerous missions and whatnot. Always leaving you here home alone. Don't you want someone that would stay with you and take care of you?”

“No, Mom,” Kyle said, starting to sound irritated. They seemed to get into this fight every time they saw each other nowadays. “I love Christophe.”

“But you could love a good Jewish girl just as much. If not more!”

“Mom. I don't think so. Besides,” he said, “I don't even know any good Jewish girls.” And that was a mistake.

Sheila looked excited and came closer to sit down on the couch with him. “Oh I met one the other day. Her name is Kathy and she's just the sweetest thing. You'll love her.”

“Mom,” Kyle said, sounding exasperated. “I'm not going to break up with Christophe. Really. I'm not.”

“But if you'd just give Kathy a try. I'm sure you would be happy.”

“I'm happy right now,” Kyle tried to tell her, but she wasn't listening again. She was staring off into space with a dreamy expression.

“We could have the wedding down by Starks Pond in the summer time. And there would be flowers and music and you would look so handsome in your little tuxedo. And then there would be grandchildren and—

“Mom!” Kyle interrupted. “I'm gay. I'm dating a guy. I'm in love with a guy. There will be no grandchildren unless I someday decide to adopt. Go bug Ike if you really want them so much.”

Sheila turned to him earnestly. “But that can be fixed. If you'd only just go on one date with this girl.”

“Mom. I don't want it to be fixed. I'm happy. Why can't you understand that?”

“Oh Kyle. You're so young. You don't know what you want.”

Kyle stared at his mom disbelievingly. Had she really just said that? Did she hear how condescending she sounded?

Sheila continued, looking at him in concern, “I just don't want you to mess up your life permanently because of some little phase.”

Kyle sighed. “Christophe is not some phase, Mom. We've been together for three and a half years.”

“So it's been a long phase. That doesn't mean you can't still break out of it. Why I remember when your father was young. He had this long hair, down to his shoulders. I kept telling him to cut it, but he just wouldn't. He loved that hair. But it was just a phase and he finally grew out of it.”

“Christophe is not hair!”

“Oh I know that, bubee, and I'm sure he has . . .” Sheila trailed off uncertainly before going back to what she was saying, “well . . . I'm sure he has at least one good quality.” Kyle covered his face with a hand. She just couldn't give Christophe any credit at all, could she? “But the point is,” Sheila continued, “that just because he has that one good quality that doesn't mean you should give up your life for him.”

“Okay, first of all, Christophe has more than one good quality. He has a lot of good qualities. You just don't want to see them. And secondly, I'm not giving up my life for him. I still have a perfectly fine life.”

“How?” Sheila demanded, “Look at you! You're unhealthy. You're alone almost all of the time.”

“No I'm not!”

“That boy is always leaving you here alone to satisfy that crazy adrenaline addiction of his. And he smokes, Kyle. Smokes! You'll die of lung cancer by the time you're thirty if you stay with him.”

“He goes away for his job,” Kyle countered, “a job he loves and does well at, and he doesn't smoke around me. He's very careful about that.” Kyle was trying to stay patient but it was getting hard. He knew his mom was only like this because she cared and that was the only reason he put up with it and continued to see her.

“This apartment smells of smoke,” Sheila said, not giving up. Then she looked suspicious. “You're not smoking, are you, Kyle?”

“No!” Kyle denied.

“Because if you are I—

“I'm not smoking, Mom,” Kyle said, “I don't have a death wish.” Because he would die if his mom ever found out. Long before the lung cancer could set in.

“Well, you'd better not be, young man. Because if I ever find out you—

“Wait, Mom,” Kyle interrupted, thinking he'd heard something, “Be quiet.” He tilted his head and tried to listen.

“Don't tell me to be quiet!” Sheila said angrily. “Why I should—

“No, Mom. Really,” Kyle interrupted again. “Don't you hear that?” It was a soft clicking sound. Click-Click-Click-Thud-Click

“That clicking sound?” his mom asked, hearing it now.

“Yeah. What do you think it is?”

Sheila waved it off, not thinking anything of it. “Probably the people upstairs.”

“No,” Kyle said slowly, “I think it's coming from the front door.” Click-Click-Click-Thud-Click. He frowned and looked over at the door. What was that?

Click-Click-Thud and then an unnerving silence. Deciding to see what it was, Kyle stood up.

“Kyle?” Sheila asked, obviously wondering what he was up to.

“Shh,” he said, waving a hand at her to be silent, “I'm gonna go see what that is.” Sheila nodded understandingly and watched him move.

Something telling him to be cautious, Kyle moved for the front door slowly, step by step. Finally, he reached it and reached out a hand to the doorknob. He turned it slowly then paused at the last bit and suddenly flung open the door. Nothing was there.

“What is it?” his mom asked, having followed him out into the foyer.

He turned to answer her with a shrug. “Nothing. Must have been—

“Kyle!” Sheila screeched and Kyle felt himself be grabbed. An arm wrapped tightly around his waist, a hand roughly covering his mouth, he was yanked back against a warm body. Starting to struggle, the arms tightened around him and he was held closer.

The hand covering his mouth tilting his head, he felt the warm breath of another person on his neck and a dark voice whispered roughly in his ear, “Don't move or we kill the fat woman.”

Kyle stilled, beginning to sweat. Who was this guy?

 

 

TBC?