Author's Note: Okay, so here's chapter three. Just to update you from the last part in the story, Christophe's mother made him go to the nursing home to go spend time with the old people for the holidays. XD

P.S.--I got a review asking what age Christophe is. He's a teenager in this fic.

I won't tell who the old guy is in this first part (he's been in the show quite a couple of times.) If you guess who he is then you get Christmas cookies, lol.

And don't forget to review!


"My name eez Christophe," he answered aloofly.

"Yeah, well, none of us want to be here, either, so you can just get over yourself, you teenaged son of a whore!" the old man said, fully angered.

"Excuse me!" Christophe said and scowled at the old man. "I am doing somesing nice for you people! You should be thanking me."

He scoffed. "That's aload of bull crap. Go ahead and admit it, your mommy made you come over here."

Christophe folded his arms across his chest. "How ze fuck would you know?"

"I know a lot of things you sons of bitches youngsters don't know. I'm over one hundred years old for Christ's sakes!"

Christophe was shocked. "You're over one hundred years old? 'Oly sheet!"

"Yeah well, it ain't no picnic. Hey, are you going to use that shovel for anything useful? I've been trying to get hold of some kind of weapon around here but the sons of whores won't let me use 'em!"

"Yes, I do need my shovel. What ze hell would you use eet for, anyway?"

"I'm one-hundred and five fucking years old! I'm gonna use it to put myself out of my misery, dumbass! I'd have already done it myself but the big guy upstairs just insists on keeping me alive in this hellhole, and my son and grandson won't do it either, the bitches. Now hand it over here, sonny," the old man shouted.

Christophe jumped up from where he sat and, ignoring the man shouting loud expletives, ran out of the nursing home.

When he was out of earshot of anyone in the parking lot, Christophe muttered, "Son of a beetch!"

He walked home and tried to shake off the crazy shit he'd had to go through the past two days. He stared at all the Christmas decorations in the town to de-stress. This part of Christmas was the okay part for Christophe. The decorations, and the presents. That reminded him -- he really did need to tell Bijou what he wanted if he expected to get anything that year, even if he was pissed off at her.

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The afternoon was productive, if only a little -- he finished a total of three of his Christmas jobs. He sneaked into a bait-and-tackle shop and snatched some fishing rods for Stan Marsh's Uncle Jimbo as a Christmas present, dug a hole in the Wallmart and sneaked back out with a new bicycle for Craig Nommel's younger sister, and broke into a electronics store and cleverly thieved a new mp3 player for Stan Marsh from Kyle Broflovski. There were still several more work to be done, though, but there was still a couple days left, Mole thought.

The sun was setting when Christophe finished. He was starting to feel hungry, so he decided it would be best to go home for a bit and then finish up one or two more missions for the night. Also, he thought, it would be good for Bijou to see how busy he was. Maybe she'd get the hint now.

When he opened the door, he nearly fell over -- there were tons and tons of boxes sprawled around the front hallway filled with ornaments and tinsel. They all led to the living room where he could hear his mother talking and Rigolo barking. he stepped carefully around all the boxes and saw that his mother was trying to set up a Christmas tree in the corner.

Bijou looked up and held the wobbly tree in place. "Ah, salut, cher," she said. "I found ze best deal on zis tree today. It will make a lovely Christmas tree, don't you zink?"

Before Christophe could answer, the telephone rang. He slid off the heavy baldric as he went to answer it -- it was Gregory.

"Christophe! I'm very glad you answered. It's concerning the job. How many have you completed since I talked to you last?" Gregory asked in his usual all-business tone.

"You aren't going to very 'appy when I tell you, Gregory," the Mole answered. He got out a cigarette, lit it, and began smoking it as he talked. "My muzer 'as gone crazy apparently, more zan she eez normally, and she's kept me busy wiz stupid errands and 'community involvement' and sheet like zat. So I 'ave only been able to do three of zem."

"Three!" Gregory exclaimed, surprised. "Well you're right, I'm not very happy. Although I can relate to how mothers can be sometimes. Still, Christophe, you mustn't let these things interfere with the job, do you understand? There are at least thirty clients who are waiting to have their Christmas gifts before the twenty-fifth, and if we cannot do that, we might as well kiss goodbye our work."

"Gregory, I know all zat perfectly well. I really don't need to hear anysing from you zat I've heard a thousand times already," the Mole replied curtly. "I'll get zem done, I promise. 'Ave I ever let you down before on zese missions? And don't you dare fucking say anything about ze USO show, you know damn well zat wasn't my fault, Gregory."

Gregory chuckled wholeheartedly. "I know that wasn't your fault, Christophe, I know. But I expect them to be finished very soon, are we clear?"

"Crystal," Christophe said and took a long drag from his cigarette. They said goodbye and after he returned the phone to its place on the wall, he returned to the living room. Bijou was opening some of the boxes.

"Who was zat, cher?" she asked.

"Oh, eet was Gregory. 'e just wanted to chat," Christophe said casually, an obviously well-experienced liar. His mother, he knew, would flip out if she knew his line of work meant dangerous business along with the sins of lying, stealing, and breaking-and-entering.

"So are you going to help your muzer decorate ze Christmas tree?" she asked hopefully, holding up some tinsel in her hands.

Christophe began walking out of the living room and into the kitchen. "Non, mére, I cannot. I 'ave a lot of work I need to finish up on tonight."

Bijou sighed defeatedly and looked at the bare Christmas tree. "Alright, Christophe," she said quietly. "I will just enjoy ze 'oliday spirit by myself, zen." She began wrapping the tinsel around the branches desolately.

- To be continued -