From Hate to Love 7

Philip "Pip" Pirrip—an ace of espionage back when he was actually in the field—was currently flushed a bright red as he readied himself for Herbert's imminent entrance.

***FLASHBACK***

Damien entered to hear Pip speaking to invisible friends. His brow quirked and Pip's cheeks flushed.

"…Isn't Butters on another continent?"

Pip wished his embarrassed glares would cause Damien's stupid, amused face to implode on itself and neither paid any more attention to what had been said about Christophe and Gregory.

"Well, Pip? Are you going to answer the question?"

"…Yes, he is," the Brit ground out. This was not like the "old days"—this was real and needed Pip's focus. If Damien could not understand that, perhaps then he needed to return to bloody America. When he told Damien as much, the raven's brow rose.

"You find me a distraction?" Pip nodded determinedly.

Damien chuckled and the lazy sound grated on Pip's ears. He began to make his way around the large table separating them, causing Pip to subconsciously take a step back. "I think this case is starting to get to you, Pip. You should probably…relax for a while."

Pip did not like the predatory gleam in the other man's eyes and grin. "I—I think you should continue to use my surname." He cursed himself for stuttering from the sexual tension.

Damien's grin grew, baring all of his charming teeth. "Why? We have known each other for quite a few years now, Pirrip." He purred. "We've even been in the field together. Remember that mission in the English countryside?" Damien wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. He did not care about looking professional anymore. After all, he liked seeing that blush on Pip's cheeks.

Pip's cheeks were aflame by now. Damien was presently in front of the Brit and the latter was presently pressed into the wall. "I don't remember that at all," he lied and Damien saw right through it but said nothing, "and don't say 'quite a few years,' that makes me feel old."

Damien smirked and bent forward. Pip panicked and slapped the raven. Damien's jaw went slack and Pip's flushed cheeks did not dim as he avoided the other's gaze.

"Please Thorne, I have an agent I need to talk to." He tried to ignore the way his heart clenched as his door was slammed shut.

***END FLASHBACK***

Pip had sat himself down sometime during the memory, and now he reached a dazed hand to each burning cheek. How was Damien able to affect him so completely…? Pip looked up as a knock sounded at the door.

Herbert was here.

He jumped up and practically sprinted to the door. If anyone could help distract him from idiotic, self-righteous ravens who "visited" annoyingly often, it was going to be his friend from uni. Opening the door, he sighed in relief as his gaze fell upon Herbert's familiar features.

"Hullo again, Herbert," he stepped aside to let the other Englishman through. Herbert returned the greeting as he sat down at the long conference table.

"So what do you need to talk to me about? Estella?" Pip could not help the (thankfully faint) butterflies in his abdomen as he uttered his former love's name. Herbert's face turned grim.

"I'm afraid so, old chap. I assume you've heard by now about her getting captured during our latest mission?"

"Yes. You were supposed to trail one of the bosses of the underground drug cartel in South America." Pip meant the last statement more as a summary of their objective rather than a reprimand of their apparent failure.

Herbert shifted uncomfortably. "Er, yes, that's correct. Well, we got found out—or at least, Estella did—and...well, her current situation is unknown, Pip. It's all right here in my report if you would like to look it over." He set a manila folder on the table—Where did he pull it out of?—and pushed it toward Pip, who accepted the small offering. He only took a moment to glance over the contents before his gaze met Herbert's again.

"Is her location unknown as well, or just her situation?" The redheaded man in front of him shifted again.

"...Er, both..."

Pip sighed and began to rub his temples, ignoring Herbert's concerned regard.

This was going to be a long way.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Gregory Sharpe and Christophe Delaterre were currently lounging in their hotel room. The former had tried to convince the latter that they should be working on their mission—Pirrip did want new information every day, after all—but the Frenchman could not be persuaded. Gregory could not say he completely opposed the other man for it. This way, he could spend the day musing over his favourite brunette.

He wondered what Christophe was so angry at him. The way he remembered it, they both enjoyed their last mission together. Unless Christophe was angry that he had enjoyed an Englishman's company. If that was the case, that was just rude and misleading... But he did not want to think that way about his Christophe.

Suddenly, Christophe looked up at Gregory from his leisure book. "Why do people not like me?" He asked softly and Gregory had to fight down the shiver that threatened to run down his back. That French accent was so sexy. He had to blink away those thoughts so he could focus on the question.

"I'm sorry, what were you asking?"

Christophe rolled his eyes. "Ze people I like never seem to like me back. I was askeeng why zat ees."

Gregory scratched his head a while before smiling and shrugging. "I wouldn't really know the answer to that question." His smile grew more devious and knowing. "Who do you like?"

Christophe blushed but scoffed and chose not to respond. Gregory's smile softened with affection as he stared at the reading Frenchman. Suddenly, he jumped as if something had bitten him. "We really do need to give Pirrip a call. Shit."

Christophe spared him a glance through his lashes. " 'E ees not my director. You call 'im." Gregory glared at him, but the attempt fell on [reading] eyes. Not having a witty remark fast enough, he flipped open his phone and dialled an unmarked number he knew could not be traced to his boss.

"Who is it?"

"You know who it is, Pirrip?"

"Sharpe? Can you talk...?"

"Yes, it's safe."

"Oh, thank God. At least you two have not [fucked up] your mission completely... Your mission isn't jeopardised, is it?"

"No, we're both fine." Gregory did not ask who screwed up; he knew Pirrip would not tell him because he simply did not need to know. Pirrip did not waste any time.

"What have you found so far?"

"The first victim's name was Paul Holmes. Again, not much is known about the cause of death, but I did find some kind of substance on the boy's clothes—dried salt, I believe."

Pirrip was silent for a moment. "Are you suggesting the victim came in contact with salt water?"

Gregory gave his confirmation. "This is my belief, yes."

Pirrip sighed. "Then this murder cannot be tied to the others."

"Well, we can always see what the [Medical Examiner] has for the cause of death, just to be sure about giving this case up." Pirrip seemed to think about this for a moment.

"Alright, if you can get that information and it has no definite cause of death, fine. But so help me Sharpe, if you two shed light of this to the public or you get compromised—"

"Relax, we're professionals." Before his boss could respond, Gregory hung up the phone. He could always blame it on a faulty connection if Pirrip was more [pissed off] then the former initially anticipated. He turned to face Christophe again.

"Okay Christophe, this is how the next couple of days are going to go," he said as he placed his phone inside his pocket. "I'm going to see if that woman I talked to earlier, Annie Clutch, has any new information on the case. I have my ways of making her talk." Christophe miraculously kept an angry flush from heating up his blank expression. "You're going to get information from the [Medical Examiner]," the Frenchman opened his mouth, "and unless you're preparing that mouth for something you want to do with me tonight, you need to close it. I don't need your protests right now." Christophe seethed, but that was about all he could do. He hated when Gregory acted authoritative, and he hated that he found it all vraiment sexi.

"Fine," he forced the relent from between gritted teeth. "I weell go, but I weell only tell Pirrip whatever I find out. I do not want to tell you anyzeeng."

Gregory rolled his eyes. "Fine, I don't care as long as you find something. This entire mission is looking increasingly impossible as time wears on."

"You told Pirrip you found a clue."

"No, I told him I found a strange substance on the boy's clothes that may or may not tie the body to the others. Only if the cases can be linked will the dried substance be a clue." Christophe grabbed his coat and Gregory sighed a little heavier than was needed.

"Where are you going, Christophe?"

Without turning around, the Frenchman addressed the blond with the most hostile tone he could muster. "I am goeeng out for a dreenk, I weell not be back unteel late." He opened the door and stepped out, but just as he was about to pull it shut, he paused. "Per'aps zat Marie girl weell keep your lonely body company." And Gregory was left alone again.

He was really getting tired of that.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Kyle Broflovski sat crouched in the far corner of the room and stared unblinkingly at the closed door across from him. That door led to the outside. That door led to...freedom.

He gazed down at his own body. Eric Cartman had not sought to restrain the Jew. In fact, he had seemed to go out of his way to make sure Kyle was healthy and happy before leaving Kyle for a few hours in favour of that disreputable "business" of his.

And was Kyle happy?

He had to admit immense fear at being with Cartman again, but at the same time he was strangely relieved and...excited at the thought. He wanted to see Eric Cartman again, even it had resulted from the man's kidnapping the redhead.

Kyle could not help but feel like he was trapped inside some cheesy espionage fanfic, where he was kidnapped by villainous character and had no idea who his Prince Charming would be, considering he had three candidates.

So Kyle Broflovski sat crouched in the far corner of the room and stared unblinkingly at the closed door across from him marked "uncertain freedom."

A/N: So this is it for now. I know it's crap, but I needed to get this out to you guys. I hope I haven't lost a lot of readers. Anyway, due to angry schoolwork and stress issues, I'm only taking on a few stories at a time. I'll have a poll up, so let me know which story you want to see! If not, I'll go with the top five (updated) stories with the most reviews. XD

Sincerely,

~theflawintheplan