Rating: Still Teen . . . for now. -.O" [I am a smiley face whore]

Author's Note: In the future I won't be updating this story so fast, however I just felt the urge to post chapter one seeing how this is where the story truly begins. But for those of you who only like short little tales, be warned; I don't know exactly how long this story is going to be, but it will be more than just thirteen chapters or so. I've decided upon a format where every three chapters (I'm not counting the prologue as a chapter) there is a flashback. These flashbacks are detrimental to the story, and the only flashback that will be skipped is the scene you all want to read: what happened to Kyle. But fear not, in due time it shall come to light. Oh, and special thanks to everyone who favorited/alerted but did not review. I'm surprised so many people are interested in this story.

The Brat Prince-I'm glad you like it so far. :D This means a lot to me, especially considering I am a big fan of yours. Unfortunately I don't plan to reveal the 'curious' part anytime soon, but there will be enough drama, angst, and action in this story that most people probably will think I have already revealed it. p:

Lady Azura-Aww, thank you. Well here you go, but my updates in the future will probably be every other week or so unless I get extremely motivated. Though I do have chapter two and part of chapter three already written, I just like to string people along. (coughsadistcough) On an added note, it took me several times for my computer to let me underline your name. xO I kept pressing save and it wouldn't publish your name underlined. Dumb old Mac OSX, I seriously need a new computer.

Hot Monkey Brain-Thanks! I love your stories too, I just am a very lazy reviewer. Meh, I've got to make up for all the chapters I missed during Anywhere Else But Here because it is awesome! PEOPLE WHO ARE READING THIS NOW SHOULD GO AND CHECK IT OUT. SAME GOES FOR The Brat Prince's STORIES. I'M SUPER SERIAL. I love Kenny x Kyle too, and I'm glad you enjoyed the secret routes. -shrugs- I dunno, I just always pictured Greg and Chris going off to college together and making secret plans because they don't want to deal with traffic. It's what I plan to do when I finally go away.

But anyway, I've stalled long enough. Here is the next chapter, and I hope you don't loose interest . . . although I think the fun/angst stuff comes with the next update.

Chapter One: Discovered

Seven Years Later

"You can kill people in ninety-nine different ways without weapons, six hundred and twelve with them, and yet you can't do a simple bow-tie." snorted an elegantly dressed man as he put the finishing touches on a faded garment around his best-friend's neck.

The friend---or rather giant, seeing how he was about 6"5" ---glared at his companion, but there was a hint of a smirk underneath it. His straight brown hair was gelled back (much to his displeasure), and for once his face was clean-shaven. Chocolate brown eyes narrowed down to playful slits, and he chuckled lightly. "At least I do not seet on my ass all day playing video games when I am supposed zo be working, Kyle."

Kyle, the instigator in question, felt a crimson blush creep up his neck. "Oh shut up 'Tophe."

At once 'Tophe' growled. "My name iz Christophe, not some ridiculous variation of eet! I fucking 'ate you Broflovski."

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Chris." Kyle smirked, glancing up and down to survey his accomplishment. Once again it had been up to him to make Christophe look presentable since Gregory was always 'too busy' to do it himself. Of course Kyle knew this was a bunch of bullshit, but nonetheless he still helped Greg and Chris out anyway. It was the least he could do for them after everything they had done for him.

"Oh can you two please behave for just one moment? We're almost there, and the last thing we need is anyone entering the event with a black eye. Lord knows what Deputy Kirkland will do this time if one of you gets injured again." chided the blond man who was driving the vehicle. The three men were on their way to a work-related event, and they all knew that was indeed exactly the last thing they needed.

Tonight their sector of the CIA was throwing a party for a young couple who had saved their corporate asses. Apparently the CIA had done some 'shady' deals in the name of what was good for the country, and had gotten caught. No one had really wanted to represent them until finally a young protégée defense lawyer had agreed and gotten them out of the lawsuit without even a scolding, making her career sky-rocket even farther. The ironic bit of the whole deal was that no one outside of the incident knew exactly just who this lawyer was (everything had been kept on the down low from the media) so tonight would be a very enthralling night indeed. Rumor had it however that her husband was a prosecutor, which Kyle mused was a very odd match for a couple. All the bickering they must do, he thought curiously.

Out of all of the occupants in the car, Kyle was the most anxious about their arrival. He had been chosen out of a pool of names to be the one to give the opening speech at the party---and as usual, he had no idea what he was going to say. One of the head officials had typed something up for him, but he wouldn't be able to read it until he actually got to the event, which made him very nervous indeed.

"Like you are so 'igh and mighty Gregory. Don't even try to pretend zat it wasn't you 'oo placed ze whoopie cushion on Roderick's desk." Christophe retorted.

Gregory's posture never changed, but the other two members could tell he was slightly embarrassed. Clearing his throat cooly, Gregory gave a cheerful grin towards Kyle. "How are you holding up? Nervous yet?"

"More annoyed. I mean, didn't I give the speech last time we had a big event?"

"Oui. Remember 'ow all ze other Forensic Pathologists were trying zo make you mess up by making funny faces?" the Frenchman answered.

"I had forgotten about that. You really did look funny up there."

Gregory and Christophe continued their chattering while Kyle tuned them out, instead choosing to look out his passenger window. Limp red curls fell softly around his forehead, and he clenched his eyes shut to keep the reflection staring back at him from changing into his.

It had been so many years since he'd last stepped foot in that god-forsaken place, and he knew he could never go back. He thought about all the people he'd hurt . . . about the one he'd hurt the most. And then he thought about the one who had hurt him, and began to whimper under his breath. Why couldn't he just forget about what had happened? Why couldn't his conscience just leave him alone for once like Chris' did? Greg would be laughing at him right now if he knew what he was thinking.

Laying back against the car door Kyle began to draw small designs on the frigid window pane, until his reflection became blurred and he could pretend that it'd never resembled anyone else at all.

For the past twenty years, the CIA had held all their sort-of-fun-and-yet-still-boring-parties at the Hotel DuBlanc. It was owned by a stereotypical French businessman (who pissed the hell out of Christophe), and had been serving all of the CIA's needs longer than any other business. Medium in size and shit in quality, it fulfilled the purpose of providing a cheap room which was all the leaders really wanted. Of course if you asked them they would deny this and complacently state all the great benefits and rich history of the place---though anybody with a decent-sized brain could see how much bullshit was compiled into that one comment.

The drive there was not actually all that far from the three men's dwellings, but traffic had made them late. The idea of traffic in Langley, Virginia under normal circumstances might have seemed like a preposterous idea, but that night apparently, 'God was out zo get zem.' So it was only after a meticulous forty-five minutes later that they reached their destination; tired, ragged, and more importantly---a half hour late.

"Sheet! Zis sucks! Why God? Can't you ever just give us a fucking break?" bemoaned Christophe as he slammed the car door shut. Gregory winced, horrified at the thought that his car could've been permanently damaged, but relaxed considerably when he realized it had not.

"Oh hush now, these things never start on time anyway. Besides, Kyle still doesn't need to go on for another ten minutes so we just made it." Gregory reasoned idly.

A warm June breeze reminded the three men to get going, and they hurried up quickly, chatting amiably along the way. Walking in they waved brief hellos to the employees they recognized and curt nods to the ones they did not. All in all it seemed to be another boring event . . . until Kyle stopped cold before the door that led into the party.

Right in front of the entrance stood a rather large sign listing the night's events. After scanning it over once more, his mind tried to reason he was probably mistaken, but if that was the case then why couldn't his heart stop hammering? His other two companions started sucking in their breaths as well, all to aware of what exactly the sign implicated:

The CIA would like to personally welcome our

most esteemed guests of the evening: Wendy

Testaburger-Cartman, and her husband Eric.

Many thanks to the Hotel DuBlanc for hosting

another extravaganza for us. None of this

would have been possible without you.

Sincerely,

Deputy Director Kirkland

"Sheet." the Frenchman muttered, fumbling around for his lighter. He only ever smoked nowadays when shit hit the fan. (Which was almost every other day) Kyle began panicking, quickly looking around for a route of escape, but a firm hand on the shoulder from Gregory stopped him.

"It's going to be okay."

Kyle looked at his friend incredulously, convinced the blond had lost it. "Are you NUTS?! Do you know what Cartman and Wendy will do to me when they find me? I haven't had contact with anyone from South Park in seven years! Worst, out of all the people to find me, it had to be the two who got revenge on others by chopping up their parents into a chili and feeding it to them, or by paying Iraqis to blow them into the fucking sun!"

Raising one eyebrow, Gregory smiled thinly. "They'll only get the chance to have revenge on you if they can find you."

"Huh?"

"Obviously you can't leave the building---you're supposed to give a speech and the valets have already locked our car into the parking garage now that we've left. Plus, in order to get to the parking garage you'd have to go through the main room, which would mean you would be spotted by Deputy Kirkland and forced to meet your old acquaintances. So, the only reasonable choice of action would be to hide out until everyone else has left the parking garage and you can sneak out in secrecy. Chris and I can cover for you with the Deputy, saying you caught the stomach flu. And we can make sure to change the topic if anyone comes close to mentioning your name around Wendy and Cartman" Gregory explained, waving his hand as if the whole affair was nothing more than another last-minute case he had been assigned.

Silently Kyle thanked Moses for having such a level-headed companion like Gregory. It was what made Greg one of the top agents in his field: when shit happened he never lost his cool. Except when it came to Chris messing up his car. But that was another story.

"I guess I can hide out in the break room. No one's using it at this time of night." he mumbled, turning to leave. Then he paused, before biting his lip and facing his friends one last time before they had to go. "Thanks . . . and not just for this but . . . for everything. I---I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't had you guys when I did all those years ago."

Christophe snorted. "Yes, yes. We know. Gregory and I are 'eros. Now get out of 'ere Broflovski, unless you actually 'ave a secret desire zo get caught."

Knowing this was Chris' own special way of saying 'your welcome', Kyle smiled and nodded, and then turned away to begin the short walk to the hotel's break room. Normally anyone who wasn't hotel staff was banned from this room, but the Hotel DuBlanc had always made an exception for their best customers, including the CIA and any of its agents. Slowly he opened the door and darted inside, quickly shutting it behind him. Slinking down against the nearest wall, Kyle let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and let the memories from a not-so-distant past take him away.

Wendy Testaburger had refused to give up her last name.

What she would never admit to her husband was that it had less to do with the fact that she was a feminist, and everything to do with the way it sounded. Wendy Cartman? Ugh, no thanks.

But despite the way her 'supposed' last name was pronounced, Wendy was in fact deeply in love with Eric. Oh sure, they fought a lot. And yeah, they rarely saw eye to eye. Yet there was an undeniable passion between the two of them---and (as much as she hated to even think it) the make up sex was explosive.

That being said, she was finding herself having a hard time paying attention to whatever some Deputy guy was babbling when Eric kept rubbing her thigh with his warm hands under the table. She had to suppress the urge to moan out his name---but that was easier said than done. Wendy didn't know how much longer she could take this monotony when her body was all horny.

" . . . and so we would once again like to thank you for defending our company . . . Mrs. Testaburger, correct?"

"Hmm?" Wendy murmured absently, receiving a not-so-subtle jab in the shoulder from Eric. "Oh, yes! I go by my maiden name."

Eric shook his head in mock sadness. "My wife is, unfortunately, a feminist hippy bitch. But she is amazing in----"

"Okay, I think that's enough vodka for you tonight honey." Wendy hissed sweetly through clenched teeth, stamping hard on his foot underneath the table. She could almost see the smugness (and pain) radiating off his skin, and cursed herself for not trying to woo him before coming here. It was no secret between the two of them that Eric had not wanted to come to this party, which was why Wendy had had to threaten him with canceling his subscription to Hitler Weekly---a magazine for historical nerds about the latest WWII theories and the likes. So of course he came; but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to screw up her night of glory as much as possible.

Squirming uncomfortably, the Deputy Director nodded uncertainly. "Yes . . . well, I have to get going. The person who was supposed to give your welcoming speech sadly has come down with some sort of stomach virus. I have assigned a new speaker obviously, but they won't be ready for a little while. Please, just sit back, relax, why even mingle if you wish. Until then if you need me, I'll be over in that area."

Wendy nodded with a warm smile, but she could tell exactly what the look in the Deputy's eye meant, having experienced it thousands of times whenever Eric made someone uneasy: don't need me.

Once the Deputy was gone, she turned to glare at her husband only to find he wasn't there. All of the sudden she felt the curling tendrils of hot breath on her neck, and her heart rate increased incredibly.

"Let's say you and me go find ourselves a place to settle down for a little while." Eric whispered seductively in my ear, but by then it was too late; she was long gone. Wendy needed sex. NOW.

Moaning softly, she allowed him to lead her out of the main room, hearing what seemed to be faint footsteps behind them, but she didn't care. A girlish giggle escaped her lips, and Wendy saw where they were heading: the broom closet. Feeling a frown form on her face, she began to do what she always did when she wanted something from Eric: nag.

"Eric, I don't want to go to the broom closet. I'll get a black eye again, and I can't go to the wedding looking like I was sucker punched." she whined sweetly.

An annoyed huff escaped his lips, and Wendy could tell he wanted this as badly as she did. "God dammit woman! If we don't go to the broom closet, where else can we go?"

Thinking for a few seconds (knowing that was all he would give her) a bright idea suddenly entered her mind. "How about the break room? None of the staff will be in it at this time of night."

Grunting his approval, Eric changed his direction, and soon they were barging in to the dark room, fumbling around clumsily for the lights. Wendy finally found them and flipped them on, so that way they could get a bearing of their surroundings before starting anything.

And it was then that they saw him, wide-eyed against the wall, mouthing the word 'fuck'.

He had grown since the last time she had seen him---which was at Clyde's party all those years ago. The man's red curls were not quite so frizzy and more relaxed now around him, though in some places they were still rather tight. His attire was that of all the other agents Wendy had come across at the party, but the green tie he wore made him stand out prominently compared to all the other workmen. Yet the one thing that triggered her memory the most was his eyes: anyone who had known him from his younger days could always tell who he was just by looking at his exuberant irises that for all the world appeared to know something you didn't. Her last thought before blurting out his name was how much more dull they seemed compared to what she had remembered.

"Kyle?!"

"Jew?!"

"Shit!"

In a flash he had bolted, running as fast as his legs could carry him. And he was fast, but then again he had been the captain of the basketball team. But Wendy had been the fastest track runner for the girls, the girls' volleyball team MVP, and the head of the girls' lacrosse team, while her husband had been an excellent linebacker back in his days. So yeah, Kyle was fast, but combined, she and Eric were faster.

Soon enough they had cornered him, and he was trapped; a dead end. Wendy pursed her lips while Eric grabbed the surprised Jew by his arm, and spat. "What. the. fuck?! We . . . I . . . thought you had died or something you miserable Jew-rat!" And then he was giving him a hug, squeezing the air out of Kyle while muttering curses at his old friend's 'retarded Jew-ness'.

Suddenly Eric let go of him as if he had been burned. Kyle was shaking violently, his face pale as chalk. He was staring at the place where Eric had touched him in horror, giant tremors moving up and down his body. Worried, she tried to approach him slowly but he only fell down and shrunk back, looking for all the world like a small child who was about to be punished.

"Fucking sheet!"

Whirling around, Wendy noticed two other figures from her childhood past, but these two were less out of contact with her. Christophe stood there furiously while Gregory smoothly strode over to Kyle and kneeled down beside him, murmuring words she couldn't quite make out. He expertly rubbed the man's back and eventually Kyle's eyes re-focused and he stopped trembling, standing up quite embarrassed with help from his companion.

"Sorry about that." Gregory apologized swiftly. "He developed a very extreme case of claustrophobia a little while back and he hates being touched by people he doesn't see on a daily basis. But even then he prefers contact only when necessary. Nothing against you of course."

Narrowing her eyes, Wendy harrumphed. "Stay out of this Gregory, you don't---" And then it dawned on her, and her violet-blue orbs widened. "Wait, you knew where Kyle was all this time?"

Raising an eyebrow bemusedly, Gregory nodded. "But of course. Naturally I would, seeing how Christophe, Kyle, and I all went to college and the same workplace together. In fact, we're all neighbors as well."

Sputtering, Eric looked flabbergasted. "But---you---the wedding invite---why?"

"Wedding?"

Everyone's eyes turned to Kyle's confused ones, his brow furrowing. "What wedding?"

Wendy bit her lip, unsure of how to phrase what she was about to say. "Kyle . . . didn't they tell you? Gregory and Christophe both got an invite . . . "

"But you and Cartman got married in the first week of summer seven years ago! I was there, remember?" Kyle replied frantically. "So what are you talking about?"

Even Eric seemed at a loss for words, while Christophe pulled out another cigarette and lit it. Gregory sighed angrily, glaring at her. "He wasn't supposed to find out."

"Find out what?! What haven't you told me?" demanded the fiery redhead.

Running his fingers through his wavy locks, Gregory sighed once more, and she felt her heart sink. Kyle honestly didn't know.

"Kyle . . . Stan's getting married . . . "

Happiness shone through Kyle's emerald eyes. "But that's wonderful! Why didn't you tell me before? I mean, I know I wouldn't have gone, but still---"

"Because eet ez a double wedding." Christophe muttered, sucking on his cancer stick. Wendy would have wrinkled her nose if she hadn't been having such an important conversation.

Now Kyle looked really dumbfounded. "Who else is getting married?"

Her heart breaking, Wendy looked at Kyle softly. Any previous amity she had felt before towards him for abandoning them was lost. By the look of resentment in Gregory's eyes, there was a very good reason why he hadn't told Kyle the following news.

Whispering, Wendy hid her face behind her raven black hair.

"Kenny."

And with that Kyle let out a choking gasp.