The Last Thing, a south park fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own, as if I would own something like South Park. Shudder It's to twisted for my imagination... but that doesn't mean I don't have fun playing with it. :D

Summary: Crime, Love, Lust and Passion. Just another day in the life of Kyle Broflovski. Slash Written for Twitch and Allan per something a promised to do in January

Author Notes: Squee! I finally finished it! YAY!

Written for Twitch to whom I promised a Kyle/Tweek/Christophe Triangle and Allan who I promised a cross dressing Butters. I hope you both enjoy your fic.

Much thanks to Corrie for BETA'ing it and to Lozza who put up with my whining and complaining.

To everyone else, I hope you enjoy. This will be my final South Park fanfiction.

Me-Ladie

The Last Thing

The last thing he remembered was the sharp crack as the gun was fired; everything seemed to happen in slow-motion. The confusing scents of blood, gunpowder and nicotine would stay with him for a lifetime.

As he watched Christophe's large figure slump to the ground everything began to sink in. His death, his actual feelings towards him, and his boyfriend's proposal. Why to God had he accepted that again?

"Happy birthday to you," a voice sung lightly. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Kyle, happy birthday to you."

Kyle Broflovski groaned and rolled over; once again his dreams had been shattered by his boyfriend, Tweek. Perhaps boyfriend was an overstatement; they had never clearly defined what they had together as a 'relationship', more like friends with a bonus. He felt comfortable with him, he was someone who relaxed him and took him away from the real world.

Kyle looked up at Tweek and glared. "Why wake me up now?" He grumbled, swatting away an unwanted caress. "The one day I get to sleep is you wake me up early."

"I-I'm sorry," Tweek said cheerfully, he was used to his early morning persona. "Gah! I put so much effort into today. I guess the chocolate pancakes I made will go to waste-"

"No, no," Kyle said hastily snatching the pancakes away. "You did well."

As he stuffed his mouth with the chocolaty goodness of the pancakes he looked up at his boyfriend. He had known him since they were twelve; back then he had been short, with messy blond hair and blue eyes. Now he was tall, blond, and had a long thin nose upon which rested a sleek new pair of glasses.

Kyle always wondered what he saw in him. Tall, with curly red hair, dull green eyes and far too skinny, he didn't believe that he was any more handsome or any plainer than other men he had seen, he would call himself average. But Tweek always told him he was the most handsome man he had ever seen, he just called him cute. Kyle always felt that Tweek put more into the relationship than he did; he swallowed his mouthful of pancake and kissed him.

"Thank you," he began, licking his lips. "You're far too good for me."

"Huh?" Tweek said, twitching slightly. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I mean you do so much for me," Kyle began, dragging himself up into a sitting position. "I sometimes feel like I do nothing for you – scratch that – I always feel like I do nothing for you."

"D-don't say that," Tweek said, clasping his chin slightly. "You work harder than anyone I know; your job is your life, I'm a distraction. But one day, when we're older, and if we're still together, we'll be perfect together."

'I can only hope,' he thought to himself, forcing a smile.

The truth was that Tweek was sweet, kind and loving, and though he did love him, he didn't know if he was in love with him. If he wanted a white house with a picket fence and children, Tweek was a safe bet. Sometimes, though, he thought that he didn't want safe, that it wasn't his thing; Kyle wanted something else before he settled down, something better.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

"Damn," he hissed, it was his pager. "Why today?"

Kyle moaned, throwing the covers off, not noticing when they landed in his unfinished breakfast. He got out of bed and searched the bedroom floor for the jeans he was wearing yesterday. He remembered tossing them somewhere as Tweek removed his shirt.

"Aha!" He cried, triumphantly holding the pager in his hand. "Damn… Tweek, I have to go, apparently Ailey's replacement arrived early."

"Okay, have fun at work," he said softly. "Remember, we have reservations at La Place Française at eight."

He smiled at him and quickly dressed. Today would be long, tiresome and boring. His last partner had been shot in the back and had then decided to retire. He had known he'd be getting a new partner soon, but not this soon.

'Ahh well,' he thought, heading out the door. 'That's a detective's lot.'

"Broflovski," Chalmers spat as he walked in the door. "When I page you I want you here immediately, not half an hour afterwards."

"Sorry Captain," Kyle replied sharply. "I bought the minimum requirement of tardy donuts to make up for it."

Kyle held up the large box of fresh donuts and handed them to his wide eyed Chief of Operations. He was easy enough to win over, any bakery treat would do, but the man especially liked donuts. Kyle found that if he squinted even his portly belly looked like a donut.

"Thank you Broflovski," Captain Chalmers cooed, eyeing the donuts. "The reason you were called in today was-"

"My new partner has arrived," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. "I do read the messages you send me."

"Obviously not the entire message," someone with a French accent snickered. "You didn't mention the body found in the dumpster between Razors and KFC."

"Who are you?" Kyle said, raising an eyebrow at the man standing in front of him.

"Kyle Broflovski," Captain Chalmers said grinning. "Meet your new partner Christophe DeLorne. Don't be fooled by his accent, he's been in Paris for the past two years, now he thinks he's a French movie star."

He was tall, roughly 5'11", though not as tall as Tweek who stood at 6'3". His hair was a dirty dark brown colour and his eyes seemed to be a dull brown. His right ear had a circle of earrings; Kyle supposed that he had also had that done in France. He was holding a half smoked cigarette between his teeth that ground as he talked.

"Bonjour," Christophe said, nodding. "So back to the body."

"The victim's name was Jennifer Tillies," Captain Chalmers interjected. "Blonde haired, blue eyed, a singer and a dancer. She was found bound with her tongue removed, similar to the Bexley/Renson cases."

"Bexley/Renson?" Christophe asked.

"Both blonde blue eyed, female," Kyle said, walking over to his desk and sifting through his unsolved case files. "Both talented performers, both found in the dumpster between KFC and Razors." He found the file and handed it to the French guy, eyeing the loop of earrings around his right ear. "Why they ever decided to build a KFC beside Razors is beyond me."

"I believe the KFC was there first," Christophe said, stepping closer. "Though I haven't been in this country long enough to know."

"Broflovski, check out Razors, you've been there before and you know the people," Chalmers began. "Take DeLorne with you, you'll need to get to know each other. And for God's sake, don't let him get shot."

Kyle looked at his new partner and frowned, he didn't like him. He had never really liked smokers, and if Christophe's nicotine stained fingers weren't obvious, the cigarette box peeking from his pocket was. He turned and stalked out of the office, wincing at the sound of his partners footsteps following.

"J'ai besoin de vous, nous devons nous souvenir," Christophe sang, the French rolling easily off of his tongue. "J'ai besoin de vous, la vie pourrait être si brève."

Kyle glared as subtly as he could while driving. Ten minutes with the Frenchman and he was already going insane. He remembered what Captain Chalmers had said;

"Broflovski, check out Razors, you've been there before and you know the people. Take DeLorne with you, you'll need to get to know each other. And for god's sake, don't let him get shot."

It now seemed to Kyle that they might not make it as far as Razors; he was almost ready to pull the gun that was resting lightly on his hip. But Razors was just around the corner and when they were there he could assign him some meaningless task.

"What's wrong?" Christophe asked, noticing his discomfort. "You're looking a bit stressed."

"Oh nothing," Kyle growled. "Just admiring your lovely singing."

"Uh thanks," he said, smirking slightly.

"You know what Ben," Kyle said quietly. "You're as sharp as a beach ball…"

"Uh…" Christophe hesitated, his brow knotting. "Beach balls don't have points…"

"Exactly," Kyle muttered under her breath. "Just be quiet, we're almost there."

He looked over at him; he looked downtrodden and rather pathetic. He smiled slightly and flicked his eyes back to the road, wondering whether the partnership would work out.

"J'ai besoin de vous, nous devons nous souvenir."

It probably wouldn't.

Razors, one of the more notorious nightclubs in the city, praised for its true devotion to catering to all tastes of unusual or bizarre. During the day, however, it was completely different, transformed from the nightclub where you had to wade through increasing amount of unfamiliar substances, to a sleek and sexy jazz bar.

Kyle and Christophe walked into the club, Christophe brushing cigarette ash off his heavily stained trousers, not knowing what they would find. The club was crowded, you could hardly see its wooden panelled walls. The crowd weren't the usual night clubbers, instead a wealthy looking audience listened in awe as an amazingly sultry voice sang from the dimly lit stage.

"That's a lovely dress," Christophe stared at the gorgeous lady singing. "Think I could talk her out of it?"

"Yeah," Kyle muttered, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure he would like it."

The woman singing on stage was Leopold Stotch, alias Sandy. Kyle had gone to high school with him, and his voice had never really broke, poor guy. He was tall with long white blonde hair that reached his shoulders. He wore a strapless blue dress which reached his silver sandalled feet. His eyes were a light crystal blue; he was in every sense of the word beautiful.

When the song finished Kyle nodded at Ben and they began to push their way through the crowd. Leopold seemed to love the copious amounts of applause that he received from the audience; blowing kisses to his adoring fans and curtsying slightly. Kyle flashed his badge at him and beckoned him over.

"Thank you," Leopold said, his voice unnaturally sugary. "You have been a wonderful audience; enjoy the rest of the performances."

Kyle and Christophe watched as he glided down the stairs and over towards them. Kyle looked over at Ben, noticing that his cheeks had flushed pink, he turned towards Leopold.

"Leopold Stotch?" he asked, smiling at him. "I'm Detective Broflovski, and this is Detective DeLorne."

"Yes, call me Sandy," he purred, eyes flicking over Christophe. "What may I do for you officers?"

"We're here to discuss the recent murder of Miss Jennifer Tillies," Kyle said, disappointed that he didn't seem to remember him. "We found her last night –"

"Oh yes, we heard," he frowned slightly, biting his bottom lip. "Poor Jilly, she was so young, so vibrant, an upcoming star," he said bitterly. "She worked days and nights, and not only singing. Men favoured her a little too much for her own good, I guess one just got a bit rough and didn't know what to do with her."

"What do you know about Rebecca Bexley and Tanya Renson?" Christophe asked coolly, reaching into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

"That is a disgusting habit," Sandy said flirtatiously, snatching the cigarette and throwing it away. "Now what is your question?"

"A few months ago another two girls were found in the same situation as Miss Tilles," Kyle stated. "Do you remember much about them?"

"Not, not really," Sandy said, batting his eyelids. "Just that they sung and danced here, both were rather pretty. Both had too much fun with the customers, a lot like Jilly actually. The last thing I remember was them fighting over some man, tall, cropped black hair, good looking. Eyed me once, never went far though." He frowned, biting his lip. "In fact I remember him here with Jilly a few nights ago."

"Do you know this man's name?" Christophe asked. "His address, number, anything that might help us find him?"

"I think his last name was Barton," Sandy said, flipping his luxurious hair. "Jilly's things are still here; maybe she has his number or something."

"Thank you," Kyle said, reaching into his pants and pulling out a slightly bent card. "If you think of anything, please call us."

"I'm glad to be of help," he purred, taking the offered card. "And I will call you if anything comes up."

Kyle rolled his eyes and looked at Christophe who simply looked bewildered. He grabbed his partners hand and began to drag him towards the backrooms, only to be interrupted by Sandy's falsely polite voice.

"It was nice to see you again, Kyle."

"Ick," Kyle muttered, grabbing his nose as they slid into the backrooms.

The backrooms were musty, smelling of sweat and cheap liquor. There were four worn brown dressing tables and another, slightly newer. Each of the dressing tables had a name, Rose, Gwen, Jilly, Jewl and the more pleasant one was Sandy's.

"So where do you know Sandy from?" Christophe asked, walking over to 'Jilly's' dresser.

"We went to school together," Kyle replied, following him. "I think he and I dated the same person at one point."

"At the same time?" Christophe said, pulling on gloves.

"No," Kyle glared. "Completely different times. What is it with you and annoying or personal questions?"

"I get bored," Christophe stated shrugging. "You see, when I found out I was going to be working with you I sat down for five long minutes and wrote a long list of all the questions I was going to ask, just to annoy you."

"Okay…" Kyle muttered, rolling his eyes. "See if you can find an address book, note book, anything that might contain Barton's address."

"I know what I'm doing," Christophe said, glaring at him. "You shouldn't treat people like they're stupid."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do," Christophe stated. "Your partner probably stepped in front of that bullet."

"Why are you such an ass?" Kyle snapped, shoving him away from the dresser. "You have no idea what happened." He pulled opened a drawer, resting inside was a tattered black book. "He didn't step in front of the bullet, he was shot in the back, it could have happened to anyone."

Kyle quickly put on a pair of powdered white gloves and carefully removed the book, admiring the once fine quality that the text must have had. He cautiously checked the cover for anything obvious that may assist in the investigation.

"What's in the book?" Christophe asked, hesitantly stepping towards her. "Anything useful?"

"'Property of Jennifer Tillies,'" Kyle read from the first page. "I think it's a diary."

"We'll take it back with us?" Christophe questioned.

"Yeah," Kyle murmured, tracing a slender finger along elegant text entranced with it. "We will."

"Anything else you want to look at?" Christophe continued. "Or anyone else you think we should interview?"

"The girls and staff who work here," Kyle said, slipping the book into a plastic bag. "The regular customers here. The staff that were on a shift last nigh-."

"What's that?" Christophe interrupted, pointing at a rise in the floor near Sandy's dresser.

He walked towards it slowly, his face was creased; he looked puzzled. When he finally reached the rise he bent down and sniffed the air slightly, gagging at the strange stench that it emitted.

"I think there's something under here," Christophe said loudly, his face screwed up. "And it smells, do you want to see if we can pry it up?"

"It's probably just a dead mouse," Kyle said, walking over. "We should probably ask the manager, he might get mad if we rip a hole in his floor."

"Fine, though it doesn't smell like dead mouse to me," Christophe said. "You go ask; I'll stay here and uh… try not to sniff around."

Kyle shrugged and made his way out of the soiled back room. Another woman was singing on stage, her voice wasn't as full as Sandy's had been, but she was singing well. Though, Kyle couldn't criticise, he wasn't known for his singing talents. He walked over to the bar and asked the bartender about the whereabouts of the manager.

"Upstairs," he grunted in reply, writing the managers name on a scrap of paper. "Probably sleepin', take this key 'cause it may be locked. Knock before you enter."

Kyle took the key and the fragment of paper, thanked the man and headed towards the grimy stairs in the rear of the club. They were steep and narrow, the handrail looked as if it was about to fall off. Kyle gulped and breathed in deeply, he wasn't fond of heights. The stairs were shaking slightly; Kyle forced himself to continue, hoping to make it to the top soon.

Finally Kyle reached the top; his shaking feet stumbled onto the stable floor of the second story of the building. At the end of the hall there was a door marked 'manager', it was half open, he knocked quietly.

"Mister uh…" Kyle looked at the piece of paper that the bartender had scribbled on. "Roster. Could I please have your attention for a moment?" Silence, he knocked louder and pressed on. "Mr. Roster, Could I please have your attention for a moment?"

"Yeah, yeah," a voice groaned. "I heard you the first time, I'm coming."

Kyle peeked into the apartment, it was completely different from the rest of the building, for one thing it was clean. Its resident was also clean, unlike his bartender. Mister Roster was short and balding; he was dressed in a thin brown dressing gown. He had a grumpy look on his face, but it could have been influenced by the black rings under his eyes.

"Mr. Roster," Kyle said politely, pulling out his badge. "I'm Detective Broflovski, my partner and I are investigating the murder of Jennifer Tillies. Could you please come downstairs for a few minutes, we have something we'd like to show you."

"Can't you show me from up here?" he yawned, rubbing his eyes. "I don't get much sleep."

"It won't take very long Mr. Roster," Kyle continued, pushing the half open door wider. "I promise you it won't take long."

"Fine," Mr. Roster said. "It better be quick."

Kyle's climb down the stairs took less time than his scramble up them. But that could have been the fact that Mr. Roster was breathing menacingly down the back of his neck. He quickly led him to the back room where he left Christophe waiting.

"I swear the patch of mold on the wall over there has gotten bigger since you left," Christophe said, walking towards them. "What took you so long?"

"Does it matter?" Mr. Roster grumbled. "Just show me the amazing discovery that you dragged me down for."

"Amazing?" Christophe asked, walking over to the rise in the floor boards. "We were just wondering if we have your permission to see what's under these floorboards."

"Fine," Mr. Roster said. "Can I go now?"

"No," Christophe said, grabbing a long, thick piece of metal. "You need to be here; perhaps you would like to take a whiff?"

"Where did you get that?" Kyle asked.

"From the boot of your car," Christophe stated innocently. "We needed something."

"Can we just do this?" Mr. Roster snapped.

Christophe looked over at Kyle and grinned; he turned and shoved the piece of metal under one of the risen floorboards. As he began to wiggle the floorboard loose it began to let out a scream that echoed off the walls. Finally it broke loose, and with it came a strong stench, something rotten. Christophe quickly removed the rest of the floorboards to reveal something plastic. He bent down, grabbing his pocket knife and tore open the plastic, something blonde, matted, but tinged slightly grey, a head.

"Holy fuck!" Mr. Roster said, turning white. "That's Lucille Realties."

"This day keeps on getting worse and worse," Kyle muttered as officers began to swarm the famous nightclub. "This has to be the worst birthday ever."

"It's your birthday?" Christophe said his voice sharp. "We should go for drinks."

"Can't," Kyle said. "I'm meeting my boyfriend Tweek for dinner." He looked up at the sky and sighed. "He loves me."

"That's nice," Christophe said, smiling. "Where are you guys going?"

"La Place Française," Kyle said shrugging. "It's where we had our first date."

"Ah yes," Christophe said. "I heard that's a nice restaurant."

"Yeah…"

"You should get going," he murmured. "I'll interview the girls, you have fun tonight and try to forget about what we just saw."

"Thanks," Kyle said, smiling his first genuine smile at his partner. "Poor Roster."

"Huh?"

"I promised him that he wouldn't be spending a long time downstairs."

"Heh," Christophe said, hiding a smile. "You lie a lot."

"If violence towards police was legal," he said turning to him. "I'd make you wish you'd never been born."

"You're lying…"

"Watch your back," he grinned, exiting the room.

Classical piano wafted over the various hushed conversations throughout the restaurant, accompanied by a beautiful soprano. Kyle fixed his gaze from the singer to his boyfriend who was staring at him intently.

"What is it?" He asked, blushing slightly.

"You look gorgeous," Tweek answered, smiling. "Happy birthday Kyle."

Tweek leant down and picked up a package; it was wrapped in a light blue paper covered in silver happy birthday's. He handed Kyle the package and smiled, nodding to him to open it. He unwrapped the package, carefully trying not to rip the paper. Inside was a pale blue teddy bear, its colour matched the wrapping paper. The teddy bear was holding a DVD.

"Oh my God!" Kyle gasped, clutching the DVD. "A signed copy of Golden Eye! How did you get this?"

"The internet is an amazing thing," Tweek chucked. "I'm glad you like it."

"Like it?" Kyle squealed, carefully putting the DVD down. "I love it!" He leaned over and kissed Tweek, blushing slightly as he pulled away. "Thank you so much."

"May we take your order now?" a waiter interrupted.

"So how is your case going?" Tweek asked, spooning cake into his mouth. "Good? Bad? Anyone got shot yet?"

"Oh shut up," Kyle said blushing. "No, though I was close to shooting my new partner."

"Oh really?" Tweek said with piqued interest. "Why?"

"He was in France for a while, and now puts on this French accent," Kyle began, closing his eyes. "It's so annoying, and he sings, badly. He smells of cigarette and his clothes are badly stained. And he asks me far too many annoying and personal questions, and his ego is huge."

"That's a long list," Tweek stated smiling. "But do you guys work well together? How is the case coming along?"

"Jeez Tweek," Kyle said sighing. "We've only just started, but we uncovered another body, so it isn't going badly, yet. In the end someone will get shot and I'll end up having to do a pile of paper work."

"That's only ever happened to you once," Tweek soothed, placing his hand on top of Kyle's. "It wasn't your fault, you know that. So stop dragging yourself down with it, you have done so much good, and accidents happen. And please, stop with the black humour you're such a fan of."

"I know that," Kyle sighed, pulling away from his boyfriend. "But knowing doesn't stop the feelings of guilt that I feel. People tell me constantly that it wasn't my fault, but I could have prevented it, could have stopped it. The more you say that it isn't my fault the more I feel that it is, so I make jokes and try to hide how I feel. If Chalmers get's a whiff that I'm not over it they'll move me to road patrol."

"Sorry Kyle," Tweek smiled, massaging the palm of his hand. "I didn't mean to make things worse."

"I know," Kyle whispered, his eyes downcast. "I just can't help the way I'm feeling. I go from high to low, and then to even lower. I need my jokes, so let me have them, they're just a little comforting."

"Do you want to go home?" Tweek queried, hailing down a waiter.

"Yes," Kyle murmured. "Please."

He sat silently, watching as Tweek gave his card to the waiter to cover the bill. It was his birthday dinner, and he felt like shit. Some birthday.

It had been three weeks since they found the body of Lucille Realties buried under the boards of the 'dressing room' at Razors. So far they had nothing, no evidence, no suspect, nothing that could be deemed useful. It wasn't like they weren't trying, it was their top case, first priority, most officers had given their spare moments checking over the evidence, interviews that had been given, nobody could find anything.

Kyle fingered the pile of interviews that Christophe had collected. The three most important were the three girls who worked closely with Jennifer at Razors, Rose, Gwen, and Jewl, all tall, all blonde and all blue eyed, just like the four other victims. He opened the top one, Rose Denison, and began to read.

What can you tell me about Jennifer Tillies?

Jilly was a lovely girl, smart, cool and gifted. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not sayin' that the rest of us aren't talented, but she was more so. Maybe even more so than our beloved Sandy. She could have gone far, away from the club, from us, from everythin'. Her stupid boyfriend is what was holdin' her back.

Her boyfriend, what did you think of him?

Loser was my first impression; I had seen him hangin' around the club before. He'd dated some of the other girls, never thought I was anythin' special of course. He wasn't that good lookin' but somethin' drew the girls towards him.

Do you have any recollections of Jennifer the night she was murdered?

Not really, I was too busy entertainin', you know what I mean? If you ask me Jilly was askin' for trouble, that night she was beautiful, sexy, even more so than Sandy who refused to perform that evening, he don't like bein' shown up. Though she didn't care, her boyfriend was on her quicker than anythin' I've ever seen.

Do you think he murdered her?

How am I supposed to know? He could have, but then what would he get? Maybe the fiver that she always carried around in her underwear.

Kyle shut the file closed, shut his eyes, and breathed in deeply. Instinctively his hands moved to the next file, Gwen Stiller. He carefully opened it and read Gwen's answers.

What can you tell me about Jennifer Tillies?

Nice, a bit too nice. Stubborn. Talented. But she always treated me well, never insulted me.

You'd say you two got along.

Yep.

Do you have any recollections of Jennifer the night she was murdered?

Only that she came late because little Jewl was sick. Her dress that she wore that night, wow. We were all jealous, especially Sandy.

She had a boyfriend, what did you think of him?

He was an asshole, liked to harass us girls.

Do you think he murdered her?

He was pretty drunk when I left, though he is pretty stupid. So yeah, he could have done it.

Kyle closed the second file, sighing, nothing, except that fact that Christophe felt that the boyfriend could be responsible. The third file belonged to Jewl Rowley. Kylecarefully picked it up and started to read the interview Christophe had written up.

What can you tell me about Jennifer Tillies?

She was always nice to me, kind and gentle. She helped me with my makeup, when I was just starting. She taught me how to dance properly. She was nice.

So you got along with her?

Oh yes, no one really had any problems with her. Not even Sandy, she sort of likes to boss people around.

What about her boyfriend, what did you think of him?

I didn't really like him, he made me feel uncomfortable. He was interested in me, touched me once, but nothing happened.

Do you have any recollections of Jennifer the night she was murdered?

I was sick that night; Jilly had bought me a bowl of soup before performing. She was so kind.

Kyle pictured Jewl to be a quite, shy girl. He felt sorry that such a young women could find her way to a place like Razors so easily. Kyle slumped to his desk and sighed, closing his eyes, not noticing Christophe walk in.

"You look sad," Christophe commented, massaging his shoulders gently. "What have you been doing?"

'This is weird,' Kyle thought to himself, the foreign touch felt weird, and yet nice. Kyle rolled his shoulders and licked his lips.

"I'm just rereading some of the interviews," Kyle mumbled. "They didn't give us much."

"Oh Kyle," Christophe said, sitting down beside him. "I think you're spending far too much time on this case."

He looked up at his partner; in the few weeks that he had known Christophe, he had grown more comfortable with him. He hadn't changed; he was still a cigarette driven irritant, yet somehow Kyle had seemed to build up a tolerance to him. He smiled slightly at his attempt at a joke and quickly responded.

"Unlike you who spends the right amount," Kyle glanced at him. "How did your meeting with Sandy go?" He asked scathingly. "Find anything useful?"

"Nope," Christophe said, grinning. "Just listened to him babble on about how he's going to be a great star, and how the girls in Razors are holding him back." He took a drink out of his mug. "Oh! And how he's why the club is so popular."

"Did you find anything useful?" Kyle pushed.

"In fact I have a lead," Christophe announced proudly. "It seems that Sandy met up with one Thomas Barton two days ago."

"Jennifer's Barton?" Kyle asked.

"Yes," Christophe said, smiling. "You want to talk to him?"

Kyle looked at Christophe and smiled.

"Let's go."

"It's my turn to drive," Christophe stated, climbing into the drivers seat.

"No problem," Kyle said, sitting alongside him in the passenger seat. "Then it's my turn to sing badly."

"Hey," Christophe said mockingly. "I'm not a bad singer."

"Yeah," Kyle said, smiling as he started up the car. "And my Uncle's the Pope."

They drove in silence, Kyle watching as the scenery rolled by though the thick glass. He missed being the passenger, before his old partner was shot he was always the passenger, he never thought that he would miss watching the scenery go by. He smiled, and closed his eyes reveling in the sunlight.

"J'ai besoin de vous, nous devons nous souvenir," Christophe sung, breaking his calm streak of thoughts.

"Hey," Kyle said, smiling. "What did I say about bad singing?"

"That your Uncle's Pope," Christophe stated plainly. "And that I'm a fantastic singer."

"You forgot something," Kyle smiled. "I'm the one who's supposed to be singing badly."

"I'm not a bad singer!"

"But I am," Kyle smirked, breathing in deeply. "Wouldn't it be nice if we were older?"

"Please stop that," Christophe asked politely.

"Then we wouldn't have to wait so long," Kyle chocked out between giggles. "Only if you promise never to sing again around me."

"Fine," he grumbled. "I'll never sing around you again."

"Thank you," Kyle smiled back at him. "Perhaps we'll be good partners."

"Huh?"

"Oh sorry," Kyle blushed. "Thinking aloud."

"Thomas Barton?" Kyle asked the tall, balding man standing in front of him.

"Who wants to know?" he asked, eyeing him.

"I do," Christophe said, stepping forward and holding out his hand. "Detective DeLorne, and this is my partner Detective Broflovski."

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about your ex-girlfriends," Kyle said, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. "All four of them."

"I've had more than four," Barton stated, sniffing. "You could say I'm quite the ladies man."

"I'm sure you are," Kyle replied sweetly, hiding his grimace. "But we would like to discuss four girls in particular. The four who worked at Razors, the ones found in trash cans."

"Only three of my girlfriends were ever found in trashcans," Barton muttered.

"We found one under the floor of the backroom," Christophe inserted, trying to get some footing in the conversation. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"What are you implying?" Barton glared. "You trying to say something?"

"My partner and I just want to know about you and them," Kyle said calmly. "So may we ask you some questions?"

"Sure," Barton smiled, gesturing. "Come on in."

He led the two detectives a couple of feet into his apartment and offered them a seat on a shabby couch. Kyle was hesitant, but after Christophe plonked down with no queries Kyle followed suit. He took out a pen and paper so he could take notes, looking up at Barton he began.

"How long have you been coming to Razors?" he asked, pen poised over paper.

"About ten years now," Barton said, wiping his nose. "The girls never let you down, you know what I mean?"

"No, I don't," Kyle said coolly. "Please explain."

"Well they're all beautiful, and talented," Barton continued, his eyes bulging. "All curves and stuff. All have blonde hair and blue eyes, even that man chick is gorgeous."

"How many have you dated?" Christophe asked.

"A few in my time there," Barton grinned. "But only recently have they been going missing, Lucille was the first, now no one will go near me. 'Cept that Sandy, been comforting to have some one, even if they're not really a women."

"You're feeling lonely?" Christophe asked. "Why not just hire-"

He elbowed his partner. "How was your relationship with Jennifer Tillies?"

"Very good," Barton smirked. "She kept coming back for more. The last time was wild… that was the night that she died."

"Are you certain?" Kyle asked. "You admit to having sexual relations with the victim the night she died?"

"Yep," Barton smirked. "Though she had to go back to work afterwards, Razors is a very demanding club."

"DNA was found on Jennifer's body," Kyle said. "Would you let us have a DNA sample?"

"What?" Barton said. "Right now?"

"No," Kyle shook his head. "Just come tomorrow, or if you're feeling unsafe some officers will arrive at your door at twelve if you haven't come in already."

"That's fine," Barton said. "I'll wait for the officers then. You know how cold it is? And I don't want to take public transport."

"Thank you Mr. Barton," Kyle said politely, rising from his seat. "We'll call you if anything else comes up."

Kyle nodded at Christophe, watching as he stood up. He looked at Thomas Barton before turning on his heal and walking out of the apartment. Seconds later Christophe followed, closing the stained door behind him.

"Why aren't you arresting him?" he hissed, grabbing Kyle's wrist. "He admitted to being with all of them, and he was with Jennifer the night she was murdered."

"He's willing to do a DNA test," Kyle hissed back, his eyes meeting his partners. "How many guilty people are willing to do a DNA test?"

"Those who know that we can get a court order to force them to give us DNA," Christophe muttered, letting him go.

"Does Barton look that intelligent to you?" Kyle asked, smiling at his partner's blank face. "I thought not."

"Morning sweetie," Tweek murmured. "Time for you to wake up."

Slowly he opened his eyes, hoping that everything would un-blur soon. His head was rising and falling, meaning that he probably ended up sleeping on top of Tweek again. He looked up and kissed his chin, smiling slightly.

"Okay," Kyle mumbled. "I'm getting up..."

He gently slid off his boyfriend, giggling tiredly as he hit the mattress. The mattress was soft, and Tweek's body was warm so he snuggled into it.

"Come on, Kyle," Tweek chuckled, getting up. "Time for you to get out of bed."

"Just a few more minutes?" He yawned, batting his eyelashes.

Tweek rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. Kyle smiled and snuggled down into the blankets; bed was one of the best parts of his life and he'd marry it if he could.

"Come on, Kyle," Tweek's voice wafted down the corridor. "Get out of bed and get ready for work."

"Okay, Tweek," Kyle shouted, getting out of bed. "I'm having a shower."

"Okay," Tweek said. "Breakfast will be ready when you get out."

Kyle padded down the corridor, locking the bathroom door behind him. He quickly turning on the shower and shrugged out of his pajamas. The water was warm, nice, the way that he liked it. A single step and the water cascaded everywhere, relaxing and cleaning.

'Unlike Christophe,' he thought. 'He looks as though he never showers.' Underneath the aroma of cigarettes he did have a nice scent to him, although Kyle would never tell him that.

Inhaling, he could smell the chloride in the clean water; it reminded him of Tweek's comforting smell. He was an amazing guy, sensitive and comforting, nice to be around. His laughter filled his head, making him giggle; he had always liked his laugh. It was amazing that they had known each other for so long and yet date; most of the guys that Kyle had known in primary school he would be loathed to date, but there was something different about Tweek, there was always something different about him.

Kyle raised his hands to the wet locks on top of his head, kneading them. He massaged his scalp, wondering why there was no water hitting his hands. He looked up, the shower had stopped. Frowning, he fiddled with the taps, which yielded no results.

"Tweek," Kyle said, his hair half washed. "The shower's broken."

"What's with the hair?"

"Don't ask," Kyle told Christophe. "Just don't ask."

He sat down at his desk and flipped through the file. Nothing was making any sense; everything was leading to Barton, but it was too easy. He looked up at Christophe, whose eyes were fixed on his hair.

"What?" He sighed, catching his glance. "What is it?"

"Did someone die?" He queried sadly.

"Yeah," Kyle said sarcastically. "Someone died in my shower and now my bathroom is haunted so I can't go in there to take a shower."

"Really?" Christophe gasped, his eyes wide. "Who?"

"I am just going to forget that you asked that," Kyle said, turning back to the file. "Has anything new come up?"

"Nothing," Christophe muttered, frowning. "Except that apparently there were two types of DNA found on Jennifer Tillies, one before and one after death. The one before death was Barton's, so he was with her the night she was murdered."

"And the other?"

"They have no idea," Christophe groaned, slamming the file down. "I still don't get why you won't arrest Barton."

"Because I don't think he's guilty," he said, frowning. "Everything seems to be too neat; I think he has been set up."

"Why do you say that?" Christophe asked, taking a bite out of a donut.

"I've told you before," Kyle muttered, liking her lips.

"And I've rebutted you before," Christophe said. "We need to make a decision soon, who knows if another murder will be committed."

"I think we should talk to Sandy," Kyle murmured. "One final time." Christophe rose from his seat. "No, I'll go."

"Why?" Christophe asked.

"Because," Kyle began, smiling wickedly. "Women know instinctively when a man's lying."

"Sandy," Kyle stood outside Sandy's apartment, knocking patiently on the door. "Can I come in?"

"What do you want?" was Sandy's muffled reply.

"Just to ask you some more questions about the case," Kyle shivered. "If you would let me in, it shouldn't take long." Nothing. "Please Sandy, I would ask you out here but I'm freezing to death."

"Okay." Kyle could hear the door being unlocked. "Come in."

It was the first time Kyle had been in Sandy's apartment; Christophe had walked easily inside, having been there before. They followed Sandy to the small kitchen area and sat down. He watched as Sandy prepared them each a drink and placed them gently on the bench.

"Please, drink up," Sandy said, running a perfectly manicured hand through her deliciously blonde hair. "What do you want to know?"

"How do you feel about the new talent coming into Razors now that Jennifer isn't there?" Kyle asked, smiling slightly.

"New talent?" Sandy began. "What talent? The new girl can barely hit a note let alone keep time with music. I thought that Jewl was bad when she joined us, but no, she's talented compared to the new girl."

"How does this new intake of talent impact on your work?" Kyle pressed, making Sandy uncomfortable.

"I get less time to practice my craft," Sandy began, flinging her locks over her shoulder. "I perform less, I spend more time making myself look better, you see the better you look the more time the manager lets you have on stage. During the day we all get equal time, but at night, it's a battle."

"Did you battle with Jennifer?"

"Constantly, she was one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen, until well… you saw what happened to her," Sandy continued. "Our battles were artistic, both of us had impeccable taste, but I could usually beat her, though the night she died she looked amazing, even I could respect that. And it wasn't like she wasn't talented, she could sing and dance."

"How did you feel about Jennifer?" Kyle continued, jotting down notes.

"She was the new star," Sandy spat. "Out with the old, in with the new. Did they care who bought the club to a new and higher level? No, just about the new girls who could sing and dance. Their heads get so big, they piss someone off, and they wind up dead. This isn't a movie, this is real life, and as soon as those girls realize who is in charge, the better it is for them."

"What about you?" Kyle asked. "Why hasn't your career progressed?"

"Every time I get a little closer to achieving my dream of getting out and far away, it get's shattered by some new hottie who does better than me," Sandy began, going red. "But then they're the ones who end up dead, not me. They're the ones who date that loser, not me. He's probably out looking for his next victim, Hell he's been hitting on the new girl, not even a month after Jennifer is murdered, what a nice guy."

"Do you think that he murdered her?"

"Of course he did," Sandy said eagerly. "All his girlfriends wind up dead sooner or later, at least the ones who work at Razors."

Kyle looked into Sandy's crystal blue eyes, he so desperately wanted to believe the poor confused man, but something wasn't right. He looked away and smiled.

"Thank you for answering the questions," Kyle said, holding out his hand.

"You're welcome."

Once again he sat in La Place Française opposite Tweek, blushing slightly. He had never seen him look so… handsome. He smiled at him and reached out and grabbed his hand; never in the years that they had dated had he ever felt so special, it was their fifth anniversary.

"To us," he prompted, holding up his glass of blood red wine. "And our future."

"Our future," Tweek agreed, tapping his glass gently against his. "You look so handsome tonight."

Kyle blushed, he had bought a new suit for the occasion, and he had even bought new shoes to go with it. Tweek had said to wear something special, 'for a special occasion'.

"Thank you," he murmured, loving the compliment. "You don't look so bad yourself."

The combination of music and wine made him feel fuzzy. He watched Tweek as he talked about how he was going and what project he was working on at the moment, he laughed when he laughed, though he wasn't really paying attention, he just wanted to watch.

"Bonjour Mademoiselle," a familiar voice broke Kyle out of his trance. "I did not expect to find you here."

It was Christophe, who for some reason had discarded his usual cigarette stains and donned evening wear. Kyle had to admit that he looked amazing, though he didn't like the brunette that was hanging off his arm dressed in a lilac cocktail dress.

"Hello Christophe," Kyle giggled, turning to his boyfriend. "Tweek, this is Christophe, my partner and –"

"This is my sister Aveline," Christophe said smiling. "She's visiting for the weekend."

"Pleased to meet you," Kyle murmured, feeling annoyed at the twinge of jealousy that he had felt. "I'm Christophe's partner."

"Yes," Aveline said, smiling back. "He has told me all about you and the case, I must say you're very dedicated."

"I work hard," Kyle said shrugging. "I love my job and I try to do the best I can."

"Kyle is very dedicated," Tweek interjected. "And very competent."

Kyle noticed Tweek's gaze, he followed it until he reached Christophe's, sparks seemed to fly between their fiery gazes. Aveline must have noticed as well because she was pulling on Christophe's arm.

"Come on Christophe," She beckoned, pulling him. "The waiter has been patiently standing there ready to seat us, let's go."

"Talk to you later Kyle," Christophe said, tearing his gaze away from Tweek's.

"I don't like him," Tweek muttered, looking at his menu. "He's too… tall."

"Tall?" Kyle said giggling. "You're taller than him. Am I sensing a little jealousy Tweek?"

"What? No!" Tweek snapped hastily. "Are you ready to order?"

The meal had been delectable and filling, Kyle smiled sleepily as Tweek ordered desert for the two of them. Tweek smiled back at him, reaching out and taking his hand with his he licked his lips.

"Kyle," Tweek began, blushing slightly. "There's been something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time."

"Hmmn?" Kyle hummed tiredly. "What is it?"

"We've known each other for a very long time, since we were young," Tweek said, biting him bottom lip. "And it's been amazing knowing you, and even though things haven't always been easy, I know that I annoy you at times, you make me feel so alive. I love you."

"I love you too Tweek," he murmured in response.

"I love you more than I can say," Tweek said, rubbing Kyle's hand. "I can see myself having children with you, growing old with you. And I was wondering… Well hoping…" He breathed in deeply. "If I asked, would you marry me?"

"What?" Kyle gasped, his question jerking him awake. "What are you asking?"

"Would you Kyle," Tweek began, biting his bottom lip. "Marry me if I asked you?"

"I-I-I," Kyle stuttered, his mind flooded. "Tweek, how could you ask me this?"

"I-I'm sorry," Tweek murmured, letting go of him. "It's stupid, I should have asked."

"No," Kyle said, grabbing his hands. "I mean yes, I would say yes."

"Y-You would?" Tweek said, a smile gracing his face. "You'd marry me?"

"Yes," Kyle said, his voice shaking slightly. "Yes."

Kyle smiled at Tweek who seemed to be beaming; he reached into his pocket and drew out a small, square, box. Kyle knew what was inside, but he knew he wasn't ready. He breathed in deeply, watching as the box creaked open to reveal a beautiful ring, white gold with an engraved pattern twisted around it. He took the ring and slid it on his finger, no matter what he was feeling, it seemed as though the ring had always been there.

"What are you doing?" a familiar voice shattered the silence.

"Tweek asked me to marry him," Kyle stated, turning and facing the figure. "Not that it's any of your business, Christophe."

"You shouldn't be marrying him," Christophe hissed, grabbing his arm. "You're not right for each other."

"Excuse me," Tweek interrupted, rising to his feet. "I don't believe it is any of your business."

"Yes, it is," Christophe said, glaring. "A few weeks ago it wouldn't have been, but now it is."

Tweek glared at Christophe, whose gaze was burning. Kyle grabbed Christophe by the arm, trying to stop him from leaping onto Tweek; his sister just stood and watched; a smirk on her face. Kyle looked fiercely at Christophe, his anger obvious. Christophe looked at him, then back at Tweek, spitting into his eye.

"You –" he slapped Christophe across the face and stormed outside, knowing that the man would follow. "What is your problem? Every time I feel that you're an okay guy, that I actually like you, you do something stupid and stuff it up." Kyle shouted as soon as he heard the door shut behind him. "What gives you the right to interfere with my life?"

"What right?" Christophe hissed in his thick accent. "I have every right. I don't want to see you – making a stupid decision that you will regret."

"That I'll regret?" Kyle growled, biting her tongue. "Tweek loves me, he respects me, treats me like a human being, unlike someone in the vicinity." He glared at Christophe before continuing. "I made the stupid decision – I accepted his proposal because I wanted to."

"'Tweek loves me,'" Christophe jeered sarcastically. "That's all you ever say, the only thing about Tweek that I have ever heard. In fact, in the short time that I have known you I've never heard you say that you love him."

"I-"

"You are so eager to impress you have no idea who you are," Christophe said softly, grabbing Kyle's chin and forcing him to look at him. "You shouldn't feel the need to impress; to be who everyone else wants you to be. You're so talented, so beautiful…"

Kyle could feel Christophe's hot breath against his lips, mingling with his own sharp breaths. He could smell the sharp taste of the last cigarette that Christophe must have smoked only minutes before. His eyes moved, flicking over his handsome face, only to land on his astounding eyes. They were golden amber, deep and penetrating, searching through him for answers.

"No," he whispered, pulling away from Christophe and his unspoken invitation. "No…"

He moved his hand from his chin to he right cheek and wiped away a single tear that had rested there. A tear that he didn't know he had even cried.

"For once in your life be brave," Christophe murmured, drawing away from him. "And be yourself."

Kyle hugged himself, watching as Christophe walked away, fading into the darkness. Where had this sudden concern for his wellbeing come from, he wondered, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. After waiting what seemed like hours he walked back inside the restaurant, returning to normal life.

"I love you," Tweek murmured, rolling over and wrapping his arms around Kyle.

He slightly shivered, pulling what ever blankets he could reach around him. He could still feel Christophe's harsh breath against his lips, he felt as though they had been burnt. He licked them, able to the sharpness of his breath as though it only happened seconds ago.

"Tweek?" he murmured, not looking at his boyfriend. "Are you awake?"

He waited for a reply, being only greeted with cold silence. He raised his left hand up and studied the ring that Tweek had presented to him that evening. It was even more beautiful in the moonlight; the white gold seemed to glow unnaturally. He lifted it to her mouth and kissed it gently.

He would have to let go of him soon, but not tonight.

The office was silent; once again Kyle found himself searching through papers, trying to figure out who could have committed such a terrible crime, not once, but four times. He pulled out the interviews done by the three girls and the recent one he did with Sandy. Sandy… He highlighted all the references towards the talented young man.

Maybe even more so than our beloved Sandy.

If you ask me Jilly was askin' for trouble, that night she was beautiful, sexy, even more so than Sandy who refused to perform that evening, he don't like bein' shown up.

Her dress that she wore that night, wow. We were all jealous, especially Sandy.

Not even Sandy, she sort of likes to boss people around.

Men favoured her a little too much for her own good, I guess one just got a bit rough and didn't know what to do with her.

Just that they sung and danced here, both were rather pretty. Both prostituted themselves, a lot like Jilly actually.

I get less time to practice my craft, I perform less, I spend more time making myself look better, you see the better you look the more time the manager lets you have on stage. During the day we all get equal time, but at night, it's a battle.

Our battles were artistic, both of us had impeccable taste, but I could usually beat her, though the night she died she looked amazing, even I could respect that.

No, just about the new girls who could sing and dance. Their heads get so big, they piss someone off, and they wind up dead. This isn't a movie, this is real life, and as soon as those girls realise who is in charge, the better it is for them.

Every time I get a little closer to achieving my dream of getting out and far away, it get's shattered by some new hottie who does better than me, But then they're the ones who end up dead, not me.

"God," He muttered, his hands barely supporting his head. "Why is everyone so violent? Christophe, myself, Sandy, Tweek…"

Kyle's eyes went wide as a name flashed in his mind; finally all the pieces fell into place. He quickly scooped up his bag and began to paw his way through, attempting to find Christophe's number, he would need backup. Finally the cigarette stained card was in his grasp the other hand dialling the number, phone pressed to his ear, he waited for his partner's familiar fake French accent.

"Christophe," Kyle gulped. "Meet me at Razors; I know who the murderer is."

"So why are we here again?" Christophe asked. "I still don't understand."

"I swear it's him," Kyle muttered, pulling out his gun. "I thought about what he said and everything just clicked."

"Are you certain?" Christophe asked. "Because you haven't been certain of anything else."

"I'll stake my job on it," Kyle stated, his grasp firm. "When I give the signal, knock on the door and pretend that you're here to see him without my knowledge."

Kyle quickly walked around the corner, making sure that he wouldn't be seen. Nodding, he watched as Christophe knocked on the door. Both waited until the lock clicked and the door opened, out stepped Leopold Stotch.

"Detective!" Leopold exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just trying to escape from Broflovski," Christophe said. "Could I come inside?"

'Good,' Kyle thought to himself. 'Let him in.'

"Poor baby," Leopold cooed, stroking Christophe's cheek. "Of course you can come in."

"Keep him distracted," Kyle hissed into her communicator. "I'll join you in ten minutes, or earlier if he suspects anything."

Kyle listened quietly around the corner from the suspect's apartment, listening for any hints in Leopold' conversation, anything to prove that he was right or wrong. The conversation didn't even turn that way, for some reason Christophe thought it was useful to converse on topics such as politics and the internet. As the minutes slowly ticked by, Kyle was thankful when it finally reached his time to enter the apartment.

Padding his way up to the apartment, he carefully turned the door handle, glad it was left unlocked. He gently pushed the door open, praying that it wouldn't creak, that it would remain silent. Locking the door behind him he tiptoed towards the kitchen where Leopold and Christophe were located. He raised his gun and stepped forward.

"Leopold Stotch," he shouted. "You're under the arrest for the murders of Jennifer Tillies, Rebecca Bexley, Tanya Renson, and Lucille Realties. Please come forward with your hands above your head."

"What the hell!" Leopold shrieked, stepping back slowly. "You have to be joking."

"You have the right to remain silent," Kyle continued, slowly walking forward. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"Christophe?" Leopold whimpered. "You can't believe this."

"Do what he says, Sandy," Christophe said, stepping back. "Go quietly and we'll sort this out at the station."

"You- Alright." Kyle walked up to Leopold and lowered the gun, reaching into his bag to grab his handcuffs. "But not so fast." Kyle heard a gun click. "Give your gun to me, and I won't kill you."

"Sandy," Christophe chocked, stepping forward. "If you're innocent you won't do this… Please don't do this!"

"I'm obviously not innocent, Christophe," Leopold/Sandy hissed. "Otherwise I wouldn't be using a gun against him. Sometimes I wonder how dense you really are."

"Help me!" Kyle cried. "Please."

"Aww…" was the only response he received. "Poor baby."

"Why?" Christophe asked, his voice shaking.

"Because I can," was the reply. "You'll both be dead, and my career will be furthered."

"Is that why you killed them?" Christophe spat. "To further your career?"

"Could there be any other reason?"

"That's-"

"Insane?"

Kyle could feel the gun which was pressed firmly against her temple. He closed his eyes inhaling and exhaling deeply. He sobbed, opening his eyes, trying to look at Sandy.

"See you in hell, bitch."

"NO!"

Quick movements, pushing shoving, gasping, two guns, two shots, one wounded, one dead.

The last thing he remembered was the sharp crack as the gun was fired; everything seemed to happen in slow-motion. The scent of blood and gunpowder would stay with him for a lifetime.

As he watched Christophe's large figure slump to the ground everything began to sink in. His death, his actual feelings towards him, and his boyfriend's proposal. Why to god had he accepted that again?

He looked at the killer, who was lying on the floor with a hole in his head. It was a good shot, and Kyle would have congratulated himself and bragged to Christophe if he wasn't lying on the floor.

"Christophe," he said, crouching down beside him and clasping his hand.

"Don't mind me," he choked out, squeezing his hand. "I'll just bleed."

"D-don't w-worry," he stuttered, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. "I'll call for help."

With shaky hands he scrambled through his handbag, trying to find his mobile phone. As he searched he began to sob, it wasn't fair, nothing was ever fair.

"Shhh," Christophe hissed, squeezing his eyes closed. "Don't worry… I am dead… lost too much blood… please…"

"No," Kyle sobbed. "You wont, it's not fatal."

"Yes it is," Christophe said groaning. "Hold me, so very close."

"It's not fatal," Kyle murmured, crawling closer. "You were shot in the arm."

Life always seemed to have a way of turning round and biting you when you least expect it. Kyle laughed bitterly as rain began to lightly fall, creating a light mist as it hit the warm pavement. Finally it was over; at least the case was. His life, on the other hand, was a broken mess he would have to fix, one man at a time.

Loved it? Hated it? Please review! I love getting comments.

Thank you to all who have supported me through my efforts and complaining.

And farewell to writing South Park fanfiction!

All my love,

Me-Ladie

Margaret Cox