A/N: I apologize deeply for the length and haste of posting this chapter. For roughly two weeks I've been writing and rewriting it, trying to find a balance between exposition, action, and description. Unfortunately there were just too many things to cover before the all important Interlude of the next chapter that marks the end of the first day and the beginning of all the real interaction between the many characters of South Park.

I was sorely tempted to delay this, unfortunately (well fortunately I suppose) I'm spending the weekend risking life and limb on the ski slopes with some friends. It was either submit this a day early, or two day's late, knowing I'd have precious little time to re-edit and review it personally after adding any of those last minute touch-ups or insights that might come.

Obviously I have chosen a day early to go with the more carefully reviewed work rather than the more impulsive option. May you enjoy the chapter all the same, especially the second half seeing as it finally brings one of the primary pairings out of the realm of "what-if" and into the light of day...er night actually. I do hope my debut into romantic implication does credit to the countless fantastic author's on this site whose work inspired me to tackle this story. It goes without saying I hope it doesn't disappoint you as well!

Assuming I survive the slopes I'll rejoin you all in about six days,

Sky


"For to tempt and to be tempted are things very nearly allied…whenever feeling has anything to do in the matter, no sooner is it excited than we have already gone vastly farther than we are aware of."Catherine the Great

WPW Chapter 8: A Glimpse of Eden's Apple

The proudest of moments in the history of angelkind it most certainly was not. It probably rated right down there alongside forgetting to find unicorns for Noah's Arc and dropping the duck-billed platypus mold. Yet Gregory was sure even an Arch-Angel in his position might very well make the same choice, hiding in his room until absolutely certain the dangerous young Wendy Testaburger was safely out of the house. It was not that the girl would cause him physical harm, though the lies he might have to tell most certainly would. That alone would not be enough to cause this unease. It was not even that she might expose his secret if the lies purchased at such a painful cost failed to deceive her shrewd mind.

What it was the sheer overwhelming uncertainty she was generating within his normally resolute mind. Why couldn't he reduce the girl to something tangible, simple pros and cons, and determine how to handle her? She was causing discomfort within him, but was it a warning from his angelic side that she was dangerous? Or was it his human half reacting to something else? He was not ignorant of the concept of human sexuality, even if he had no personal experience. His suicidal charges weren't exactly attractive options and rarely did he take on a form long enough to get involved with those not the target of his Duty. Yet he'd been to this place before, these were not new faces, and she certainly wasn't one of the dangerously depressed.

So was this unanticipated reaction a subtle warning or base attraction? Or left over confusion from their awkward parting? What was he to do about it? More importantly might doing anything ruin the greater mission? There were so many ifs and maybes that Gregory was working himself into an unfamiliar and uncomfortable state. Indecision is not something angels enjoy; free will isn't exactly their 'thing.' This might be why one of the first phrases a new arrival to Heaven uses to describe their winged co-inhabitants involves some form of the terms, 'anal-retentive' or 'fussy-feathers.' Certainly either description fit Gregory's preferred state of mind and what was so wrong with that? There was a lot less worry about when everything had a purpose and a place. Not like now at all. What was one confused cog to do to keep the clock ticking the way it was supposed to?

Without his usual Duty to guide his human decisions, he was faced the three options that were practically swear words among the feathered guardians of Heaven; improvisation, innovation, and intuition. Gregory was in almost the same unhappy position he had been in last time he'd been sent to South Park. Then again compared to this time, even the last mission was simplistic. Then there had been at least an overall goal, a set command; 'do whatever you must to keep the blood of Terrence and Phillip from being spilled.' The solution had been surprisingly simple to figure out, work with the children who would surely slip under any notice and free the doomed Canadian duo. Even though the original idea failed, I was correct after a fashion, it was the children who had been the key to saving everything.

But this time, there was no such luck. Christ had been so very vague; watch the people of South Park closely, keep them safe, report anything strange to me. What would be strange, or considering this was South Park, what wouldn't be? How was he supposed to determine who was or wasn't a tool of the dark ones? Was the curiosity behind Wendy's eyes innocent? Or was there an infernal spark at the heart of those amber flames?

This place was secure, and he clung to that certainty like the rock it was to his disturbed state. The savior himself trusted the Fosterage; they both had put a great deal of effort into keeping it solvent and safe, in case they might need it again. But beyond its walls and caretakers, who knew what might lurk within souls of South Park?

The Cartman boy was a prime suspect; a third war with Canada, any war actually, might have repercussions on the spiritual plane. The two sides of reality too often acted as mirror images, violence and disaster on one side echoing into the other. Things were already far too precarious in the spiritual world. So was Wendy automatically 'safe' because she opposed it? Unfortunately no, demons might be unsubtle but the Fallen were cunning, there was nothing to say they might not employ agents to both support and oppose a war. And who was to say the war was even a sign of a darker motive and not just another of those 'random oddities' that plagued the damned town? He dearly wished for ten more seconds of soul reading clarity. If only he had thought to more closely examine the townsfolk as an angel before taking on a mortal form and losing his higher senses.

Should I switch back and examine them now? There were dangers in changing forms, it was a vulnerable and exposed time, and it was never wise to do it too often or too quickly. Who knows what might have sensed it and be lying in wait for the next attempt? Not all creatures of darkness were locked securely in Hell. Several monsters existed outside the restrictions and domains of Christendom, more than a few of that type lurked around the edges of places as unstable and chaotic as South Park.

In the end he opted for the safest route, to abstain for as long as possible from making a real decision. It was safer to hope for some clue, some insight, or perhaps even further guidance from the savior. Of course this meant avoiding Wendy, which brought him right back to where he was, shamefully hiding in his room. He sat on his bed, nerves on edge, waiting impatiently for the two guests to leave. Glowing yellow demon eyes seemed not nearly as fearsome as golden-brown irises lit with unknown purpose. Gregory remained cloistered for who knows how long, ostensibly to organize and refresh himself, while keeping one ear open to the sounds of the house.

Finally he heard the library door open. One pair of steps shuffled away towards the Madame's rooms and one set of feet wandered downstairs lightly and quickly. A third set, however, set all his fears to stirring as they moved not towards the stairs but the foster rooms, stepping with a more deliberate and measured pace. The feet wandered down the hallway slowly, undoubtedly trying to determine which door was Gregory's. The steps took on an ominous cast in his mind. Unconsciously Gregory found himself holding his breath when they paused outside his own door. Appalled anew at the reactions of his newly formed body, he was astounded the person on the other side of the door couldn't hear his erratic heartbeat pounding so loudly in his own eardrums.

Suddenly a voice called from downstairs in query, the speaker too muffled to identify. A pause, heavy with suspense, then the feet which had stopped, turned and retreated back down the hallway. It was only after hearing the echo of footfalls made uneven by the descent down wooden stairs that Gregory finally let out a ragged breath. Still he did not completely relax until he heard the resounding thud of the oaken main door shut moments later.

Seconds later a resounding knock at his door twisted every muscle back into tension, sent his pulse racing again, and hitched his next breath as it was being drawn. A feeling of illness settled itself on his stomach as he turned to face the door. Cautiously he opened it only to find the tension eased out for the second time in as many moments as he took in the stalwart form of Charles standing patiently with a package in his hands.

"This was delivered while you were visiting with the Madame. I figured you might prefer I given by hand later, rather than left it in your room where you might overlook it."

"Oh…um…thanks," Gregory managed in a choked and pained voice.

"Master Phillip should return within the hour. Dinner will be served at seven. Is there anything you will need before then?"

"N-nothing that I can think of Charles. Thanks again. Um…see you at dinner."

An eyebrow arched up on Charles's expressionless face, possibly at the weak smile, awkward responses, or the unsteadiness in Gregory's voice. Still no questions were posed as the package exchanged hands and the man left to prepare dinner. It was only after Charles was gone that Gregory realized that while he'd heard the muffled footsteps of the stranger outside his door, he'd heard nothing prior to the serving-man's knock. The observation was quickly dismissed; such service was just part of the mystery that was Charles and had he not just been bemoaning the insufficiency of his human senses. Considering how deafening his own heart had seemed to be what were a few missed footsteps? Truthfully he was just grateful that Charles seemed not the least bit curious as to where he had been all these years or how he was receiving a package the exact same day he himself took up residence again. At least there was one person in this house who had no care or interest in digging through the strangeness that surrounded him.

Then again he probably expects that kind of service out of the post. Perhaps it was just the release of tension but he found himself laughing weakly, almost with an edge of hysteria, at the idea of Post Master General Charles. He would appear out of the blue with letters in hand the instant people opened their doors to go check their mailbox. Probably manage to clean off their porches, straighten their clothes, and send them back inside all before their jaws finished dropping.

Quickly shutting the door with one foot he walked to the bed and lay the box down. The package was perhaps the only thing today that was not a surprise to Gregory. Jesus had promised to deliver suitable clothing for a longer stay, as well as any odds or ends he might need. He debated opening it and went as far as to lay one hand on the box. Then his eyes met his sweat-damped trembling fingers, and with disgust he released the box and rubbed the betraying hand against his aching temples. Enough of this! This is no way for a human or an angel to act! I need to relax myself or I'll be a mess at dinner.

His mind made up Gregory descended the stairs and exited the back of the house, choosing the very brisk air he had sought to escape earlier over the stifling atmosphere indoors. He carefully closed the door behind him and stopped at the railing of the raised stone patio to take in the view. Ms. Gavone's garden was spread out for the eye to take in though most of the greenery was hidden beneath layers of snow or covered by insulating blankets. It was not nearly as lovely as it was when he had seen it in the summer, where it had teemed with vibrant hues and bird song. Now only the cardinals provided either song or color, crimson chirping flashes against a still white field. Even the apple trees were brown and skeletal. Conspicuous bare patches stood out where entire rosebushes had been uprooted and moved to the greenhouse. The statues were not nearly as lovely, their shapes made lumpy and deformed by the piled snow and the jagged icicles. The few patches of color that were not cardinals were still red, providing only minor relief in the monotony. These splashes of color were signs of the few smaller sections that had been laid out with winter plants, holly and poinsettias.

Gregory was undaunted by the less than perfect view. He had come outside to utilize the only part of the garden that retained a constant air of vitality all season round. With a careful step he navigated a stone walkway, choosing the one most lightly covered in snowfall. He made his way towards the center piece of the garden, the wall of dwarf evergreens that surrounded Madame Gavone's beloved fountain. As soon as he slipped through the slim archway that was the only break in the fence of ten foot green sentinels, he felt a wave of security that did wonders to ease his both of his troubled halves.

The strong scent of pine was just short of overwhelming, providing a clean and comforting smell. Within the enclosure the temperature was more bearable, the tightly interwoven pines blocking the wind completely. The effect was as if he had entered another world, not quite connected to the dead, distorted one he'd just left behind. In the winter, with the fountain turned off and the trees cutting off outside noise, the place had a tranquil hush, furthering the impression of being in an isolated wonderland, timeless and still. Only his slow breaths and the soft squish of his shoes on the snow sounded within the enclosure.

Feeling completely safe and unobserved he let his hand drift downward to his side, his fingers closing over the empty air at his belt. Elios materialized in his grasp in response to his call and he drew the blade into open air. Setting his left foot back and his right forward, he turned his torso to the side. A quick twist of his upper body aligned his shoulders above the feet in a ready dueling pose. Then he slipped into a rehearsed series of cautious half steps, advances and retreats. During this warm-up he kept the blade still, an unmoving extension of arm and shoulder. After a few cycles of this and he began adding lunges, at rhythmic intervals. Finally he slipped fully into the workout letting the blade twist left and right, responding to the strikes of invisible foes.

Slowly he sought within himself for the peace he'd found earlier in the day trying to steal the serenity from the very air around him. In vain he reached within trying as he had hundreds of times before to bind the angelic and human halves, seeking a bridge from his straining human soul to the rigid, harsh and aching whiteness of serenity and surety within. It was tantalizingly just out of reach, hovering on the other side of the gulf of emotions that swam in any human mind. As close as the two halves seemed, that gulf between was bottomless, a well of feeling and instinct. It was a barrier that would never quite let him grasp that inner peace and surety that his pure-blood kin could call up as their birthright. Still he continued the exercise letting his body run through dueling patterns thoughtlessly. Even if inner peace was out of reach, the workout was at letting his muscles stretch and unwind after a day of unpleasant strain and tension.

At least I don't feel like I'm about to die from a heart attack now. Thank god she has a place like this to retreat too; it's so peaceful and reassuring, almost like home. Not the same tight, binding sanctuary of Heaven, but a softer security, like being wrapped in a green blanket. I like this feeling. If I could capture this calm, I think I could handle even whatever Wendy Testaburger threw at me.

"You handle her well, mon ami."

The spell of peace shattered into fragments and the meditative dance of fencing fell apart mid-step, as words spoken aloud echoed the train of his thoughts. Words that had not originated from Gregory's mouth, but from behind him. His front leg kicked off the ground, providing the momentum to execute a pivot on his back leg turning him to face the direction the voice had originated from. On the snow the affect was not as smooth as he would have liked, his spin occurring more in a lurch than an even glide. Still Elios was steady, raised high at a defensive angle. The intruder observed all of this casually, his eyes briefly looking at the blade before returning to study Gregory. Gregory calmed himself, when he came to the conclusion that the stranger had not been reading his mind but referring to the blade work. While trying to regain his composure, he made a quick examination of his own.

The speaker had barely reacted to the now threatening blade, beyond raising his hands, palms open to show he was unarmed. His body remained in a relaxed stance, leaning against the evergreens behind him. The position gave no hint as to how long he'd been watching Gregory. It also did nothing to help put Gregory at ease; there were too many not-quite-reassuring details about the stranger that combined to make him mistrustful of the peaceful gesture. The boy was lean and clearly fit, muscle pressed tightly underneath the clothing he wore. Even leaning backwards the boy's body was tense. In spite of the impression of surrender he was giving, there was a hint of readiness about the speaker, an air of contained lethality that belied his non-confrontational pose. Silently Gregory corrected his initial assessment of the boy's stance. Not relaxed, restrained.

"Who are you?" Gregory forced his voice to remain calm in the face of the potentially dangerous observer.

The boy did not immediately respond, staring directly at Gregory, now completely ignoring the exposed blade between them. Rather than ask again Gregory decided to wait out a response, using the time to perform a more thorough examination of the boy. The intruder was dressed in a subdued manner, wearing only muted colors, dark brown pants, a midnight black turtleneck, and matching gloves. Actually two pairs of gloves, a thinner pair that covered the entire hand, and a thicker pair lying over top with cut off finger tips to allow greater dexterity. The entire ensemble would have been more suitable on a soldier intent on sneaking past an enemy line than a young man casually standing in a snowy courtyard. Several other clues seemed to hint more towards a militaristic nature beyond the clothing, and Gregory took inventory of his opponent's rather severe taste in every day gear.

The thing that caught Gregory's instant attention was the knife, sheathed and looped through a leather belt. The weapon made him more cautious in his search and he caught the hint of something, possibly a second blade, slightly protruding from one of the boy's boots. A coil of rope hung over one shoulder, for what purpose Gregory could not imagine, but he noted it nonetheless, certain from the impressions he was getting that nothing this boy carried would be 'harmless'. A single brown strap of leather cut a diagonal across the lean torso from shoulder to waist, clearly supporting some kind of larger weapon strapped to his back. The wooden shaft the weapon protruded visibly from behind his waist. The inspection turning up no other weapons, Gregory shifted his gaze upward to finally match stares with the boy.

His face was sharp, giving a triangular almost wolfish cast to his features. His cheeks and chin were as lean as his frame. His lips were stretched in an uneven smile, showing just the hint of sharp canines where one corner arched higher than the other side in amusement at the still threatening posture Gregory stood in. The eyebrows were pencil thin lines of brown hovering over sunken almond shaped eyes. A pair of darkened jade irises, nearly as black as the pupils they surrounded, boldly returned his studying look. It was the eyes that again suggested at a volatile underlying nature, for all their shadowed coloring they seemed to burn brightly with violent emotion. Only the boy's hair was in opposition to the careful precision and threat of everything else about him. The thick muddy brown locks were furiously unkempt, an impossible tangle of jutting spikes and hanging bangs. The mussed hair gave the stranger a boyish look, in spite of all of the seriousness. The incongruity made Gregory's lips twitch in the ghost of a smile.

"Somezing amusing to you?" The boy spoke sarcastically, ignoring the question he'd been asked for one of his own. Gregory pushed aside his appreciation of the boy's hair and considered his situation. He clearly had the dominant position for the moment and answering the boy's question first would just shift the balance of power. Instead he chose to remain silent, waiting for a response to his question first. Belatedly he realized his attempt to appear imposing was diminished by holding such a defensive position against a currently unarmed opponent. Gregory abandoned his crouch to stand straight, trying to appear more at ease while still keeping Elios between them.

The other boy was clearly not impressed, responding to the attempt at a power play with a simple shrug of his shoulders. Then his hands moved with remarkable speed into his pockets. Instantly Elios flashed in the dimming light as Gregory moved the blade to a more aggressive position in response to the sudden motion. The boy didn't even flinch at the threat though one eyebrow arched mockingly. If anything the boy only loosened up more. Even the smile traded some of its stiff sarcastic bend for a straighter, more genuine expression of amusement. With deliberate slowness his hands left his pockets retrieving a single cigarette and a lighter. He placed the cigarette between his lips and with a single practiced motion lit it. Then he made a show of moving with exaggerated care as he returned the lighter to his pocket before taking a long deep drag from the cigarette. He closed his eyes a moment clearly savoring the nicotine rush before exhaling.

Gregory wrinkled his nose in distaste as the acrid tang of smoke diluted the pine scent of the enclosed alcove. The boy came to some sort of decision during his exhalation. When he opened his eyes again they were empty, his emotions carefully masked. Likewise all amusement drained from his face, only the mockery remained now with a sharper edge to it. He stood straight forcing Gregory to angle his gaze upward a few inches to continue holding the taller boy's gaze.

Then the stranger advanced towards Gregory closing the distance quickly, heedless of the bared blade. With resignation Gregory let the blade drop knowing that for the moment at least Elios's presence was merely a bluff. In spite of the possible threat the boy presented Gregory was unwilling to risk drawing blood with the enchanted weapon. Elios did not strike to hurt or warn. Elios struck to kill. Until he knew just what kind of threat the boy presented he could not assume he was facing anything other than a normal boy. He would not murder an innocent unless Duty itself demanded it.

As he lowered the blade to his side he turned his attention to the boy. Now that they were closer he could make out a glint coming from behind the advancing boy's shoulders, something he had missed in the distraction of his opponent's face earlier. Staring intently he could make out the top edge of the weapon strapped to the boy's back. He considered its shape with a perplexed frown. That's too round to be any normal blade. What kind of weapon is he carrying? Surely not an axe, the Madame would let someone run around in her garden with one of those. Though she does let me walk around with a sword. The train of thought halted as the boy stopped with only a foot of space remaining between them.

"Don't recognize me at all, Gregory? 'ow touching. You are lucky I'm not one of zose bleeding 'eart pussies, or I might cry. Great big fucking tears," the boy paused allowing a hollow grin to cross his features, eerily giving more an impression of regret than joy, "I guess I am just easily forgotten, non?"

The boy took another drag on the cigarette this time blowing the smoke directly into Gregory's face. As he coughed and choked in the toxic air, Gregory puzzled furiously over what the boy had said. The response was confusing, because even at a glance, the one thing Gregory could say for sure was that if he had ever met this boy he would never have forgotten him. The predatory manner, the ominous spark of danger, everything about the boy was captivating, if unsettling.

His mind ran through the list of people he'd met, trying to match the young man to a child's face, a task made difficult by the boy's startlingly dangerous and adult manner. Then, in a flash of insight, all the pieces of the puzzle clicked. The tangled hair, the accent, the strange rounded weapon, not an axe…a shovel, it all neatly dropped into place. The boy had changed a great deal over the years, growing taller and leaner. What little innocence he'd once possessed had clearly disappeared during that time as well. There was very little left of the angry child he once knew and so much more of the deadly soldiers the youth had expressed admiration of whenever they'd talked. Still this was Christophe, ze Mole, who he'd first met in this same garden nearly a decade before. The strain melted out of Gregory's body and he slipped Elios casually back into his belt before stepping back. He thrust his hand into the space he created between them, offering the standard gesture of greeting. A genuine smile drifted across his face as he addressed his friend of so many years past.

"Christophe! I did not recognize you. You've changed so much! This is a happy coincidence. I wasn't expecting to run into you this soon. How have you been?"

Christophe looked down at the hand then back up at the boy. He made no move to respond to the gesture, instead taking another drag on the cigarette. This time he did not exhale directly into Gregory's face, but off to the side. Only then did he deign to reply.

"I have been, Gregory. Not good, not bad. Life is shit, God is a prick, but I keep busy, and ze pay is better. I must say, I did not expect to run into you eizer," Christophe paused, before a hint of accusation snuck into his tone and his eyes sparkled with a touch of malice, "Actually I did not expect to run into you ever again. In spite of zat, I still recognized you."

Beyond the accusation in Christophe's tone, Gregory heard something else that sounded almost like hurt. Yet the idea of Christophe being wounded by anything as inconsequential as someone's feelings or opinion was laughable. Gregory became uncomfortably aware that he had abandoned his defensive stance perhaps a bit prematurely. He returned his hand to his side, unshaken, before awkwardly lifting it to run through and straighten his messy curls, still damp with sweat from his workout. While he pushed them back into something resembling the swept back part he preferred he racked his brain for some polite response. Meanwhile Christophe's eyes followed every motion with the intensity of a hunter stalking prey. Seeing the blonde was at a loss for words, Christophe waited long enough to take another drag before continuing.

"You are here to visit again zen, non? Must be newly arrived. I come in to often for 'er to have been 'iding you long. Lucky me, I decided to stop in today to inspect ze driveway. Now I see why ze Madame was so insistent I check on ze state of ze garden walkways as well. She must zink it a wonderful joke springing zis on us both unprepared, non?"

Christophe's voice was dry, showing no hint that he found any amusement at all in the Madame's little surprise. Still Gregory felt obliged to offer a weak chuckle, sounding even more strained in the face of Christophe's impassivity.

"She does enjoy playing little games sometimes. But you must know that better than I. You've had so much time with her over the years."

"Zis is true," Christophe noted, before abruptly changing topics, catching Gregory off guard with a suspiciously light tone, "She must be so 'appy to see you again. You left so quickly after all zat trouble we 'ad. Not even time for a proper goodbye for your friends. She was so sad zat you left wizout a word to any of us. She usually 'as more time to get to know people. Pity you were only 'ere during such a bad string of luck for everyone and she was too busy. Funny, non, zat it all started so shortly after you arrived and ended almost as soon as you left?"

"Well, after all that mess cleared up, my family wanted me to come back home…"

Unsure he liked where the conversation was now heading, Gregory's tone had become evasive as he prepared one of his usual 'safe answers.' Christophe heard the change and irritation swept across his face. He cut off any further response from Gregory, brushing the reply away mid-sentence with one gloved hand as if waving away a bothersome insect.

"I don't want to 'ear about Yardale, or your 'family.' Right now were talking about my family, my 'ome. Zis place has been good to me; zat woman has been good to me. Better zan my own muzer, for sure. You may be able to pop in and out wiz no worries, but some of us need what zis place offers. So, believe me when I say, if any new trouble 'as followed you 'ere again, if anyzing bad 'appens to anyone at zis 'ouse …whoever brought it will not get away zis time before zey regret it."

Christophe inched forward during his speech breaching that small neutral space Gregory had created between them. Unconsciously Gregory retreated until he felt the pinpricks of evergreen branches digging into his back. Christophe continued his deliberate approach, stopping only when his threat ended, less than half the distance now separating them. Only a few inches of empty air parted angry green jades from conflicted hazelnut spheres. Righteous indignation at the idea he'd hurt the woman, or anyone else, warred with nervous discomfort for control of Gregory's reactions. In the confusion he spoke without thinking.

"I, I don't know what your talking about Christophe. I'm just here for a visit."

Pain shot up Gregory's spine, not unendurable or overpowering but sharp and quick, like the jab of a line of needles, one at each vertebra. Gregory released a gasp of surprise and felt his eyes water. The pain was familiar and he knew the boy had not moved or attacked him; the reaction was inflicted from within, triggered by his utterance of an untruth. Apparently Christophe was not honest or 'good' enough to warrant an attempt at interference from his betraying hands, but a lie had to be punished no matter who it was spoken to.

Thank god that was only a partial lie, or it could have been much worse. Gregory thought. At least I really don't know exactly what he's talking about. I've never brought any trouble, the trouble brought me. But why did I have to add the last part?!

Gregory struggled to control the tearing in his eyes, knowing it was foolish to show signs of weakness before a stalking predator. Caught off guard for the first time in their encounter since happening upon the blonde unexpectedly, Christophe stepped backwards thinking he'd forced Gregory too far into the trees and gotten the boy jabbed. In spite of the courteous offer of space for Gregory to move free of the tree, he allowed no visible trace of sympathy to show on his rigid demeanor.

"I'm sure you are," sarcasm laced Christophe's response, before his tone became forcibly light. "Who said I was talking about you anyway? I was just, 'ow you say, being rhetorical? Expressing a zought out loud."

"I'd say more like theatrical," Gregory took the opportunity of Christophe's step back to move away from the pines and stand a little straighter. He seized the chance to try and unbalance the situation. Harnessing his indignant outrage, he threw caution to the wind and actually took an aggressive step in Christophe's direction, letting anger give him the courage to approach. "Really, what's the big idea, trying to scare me like that? As if I've ever done anything to hurt anyone here. Are you just mad that I left without saying anything? What was there to say? They told me you were dead. I didn't even know otherwise until I was already gone. I would have tried to say goodbye if I'd known. And how do you get off saying I'm responsible for that mess? Remember La Resistance? I tried to help stop that war!"

Christophe's eyes widened further and in spite of the aura of menace that lay thick between the pines his lips curled into a feral smile. Unbidden, Gregory came to a hasty realization, he wasn't gaining the upper hand, he was giving Christophe what the boy desired. I think he actually wants a fight; he looks excited at the idea of a physical confrontation with me. He actually likes it that I'm angry. And I think I do too. Gregory took stock of the way his human side was responding to the charged atmosphere. His pulse had quickened, his breath was coming out in ragged pants, and his hands were clenching into fists at his side. He was sickened at how eagerly his own body was reacting to the potential violence. Before him Christophe stood deathly still, hands deliberately open at his side. He was clearly waiting for Gregory to throw the first punch. Desperately Gregory fought to reach across that churning void of emotions for the frozen-white angelic core of stillness. Inch by inch he pulled back on the reins of his anger. He calmed his breathing and forced his hands to also flatten open. Slowly the atmosphere moved back from the threshold and Christophe released a disappointed sigh. Strands of smoke slipped free from between his slightly parted lips. Then his expression shifted to a more curious one still waiting for the blonde to make the first move.

Gregory caught the subtle cue in body language that let him know he'd have to break the silence, but had no idea what on earth to say next. He tried to search Christophe's face for clues as to what direction to take the conversation, but found it difficult to make out the boy's face. All unnoticed during his workout the sun had begun a slow march downward to the horizon. Their brief exchange had distracted him further from its descent and now it had fallen below the tops of the trees. The shadow of the pines had deepened casting a curtain over Christophe's already sunken, black-green eyes. Gregory leaned in trying to get a better view, his eyes locking on the cherry red tip of the cigarette, whose faint light was strong enough to reveal at least Christophe's lips. As Gregory drew near he focused on those lips, the only easily visible part of Christophe's face that might give some hint as to what the boy was thinking. His attention caught in the glow and he did not catch the surge of warring emotions that flashed across Christophe's face as he drew closer.

Suddenly, Christophe's lips parted in a sharp inhalation of air and the cigarette slipped free. Gregory followed its descent till it landed in the snow. The cigarette protested its death with a faint hiss. In the silent minute that followed, Gregory watched the wispy tendrils of smoke until they too began to fade, lost in the failing light. In front of him the dark clothes Christophe wore now blended stealthily into the dark as Gregory had suspected they might. For the moment he could pretend to be alone in that desperately wished for isolation. With no visible clues from Christophe as to what to say he realized he'd have figure out a response from his own body's cues.

He needed to reach for the guidance that could only be found in a calmer state of mind. Still sick at his violent reactions he seized the quietude, forcing his mind away from the other boy's presence and returning to the internal battle that had dragged him outside in the first place. Again he was back to trying to control his fear, as well as new emotions that had flared up since the encounter. He struggled to silence the humanity so he could listen for answers that his angelic half might offer.

A pressure touched his face, startling Gregory. Unseen, something lifted his chin upward to meet Christophe's gaze. With chagrin he conquered his nervous jump, realizing it was just Christophe's hand. Thanks to its layered black gloves, the hand was rendered as invisible as the rest of the boy's clothing had managed to shroud his body.

No one spoke yet; internal conflicts within both still strong enough to quell any actual words. Gregory now wrestled with confusion, having no idea what on earth Christophe could be looking at. To his eyes Christophe's expressions were completely hidden in a cloak of impenetrable darkness. He did not realize that the weak light in the sky that effectively blinded him to Christophe's dark, downturned face, made his own face, with its paler complexion turned up to the light, still faintly visible to the taller boy. In discomforted nervousness Gregory's lower lip trembled and he bit it to hide the quiver.

The hand gripping his face tightened in reaction. The added pressure hurt and his eyes rounded in shock. Yet the finger tips under the thinner glove were warm compared to the cold crisp air around them. In spite of the pain he leaned into that warmth, his face moving into the hand. Christophe's grip loosened in response to the approach and a choked off, almost animal-like sound of surprise came from the shadowed taller boy. The noise sent a wave of warmth through Gregory, his body reacting to a surge of yet unidentified signals and sensations. Gregory had experienced a gamut of emotions while human, anger, pity, sorrow, shame, horror, shock, fear, comfort, peace, joy, the list was long. He knew he'd not yet felt them all though and the ones rising to the surface now were definitely new. Curiosity peaked and he forgot his own intentions to reach for the stillness and tranquility. He turned his focus instead to holding his hands still at his side, and his breath in his lungs as he listened for once to what the human half was trying to say. Whatever it was, it was trying to shatter his composure with a desperate urgency. His eyes locked on the shadows trying to guess where Christophe's eyes were, wondering if perhaps the boy might provide an answer.

"Gregory…" there was no anger when Christophe finally spoke, his voice breaking free from an unseen mouth. He continued softly, so soft Gregory had to inch forward to hear it, close enough to feel the warm, smoke scented breath drifting over him. "What …"

A polite cough sounded. The noise was jarring and disrupted the charged atmosphere in the formerly quiet space. At once both boys' heads turned to the arching entrance of the evergreen enclosure, where an indistinct figure could be made out.

"Gregory? Are you there? Charles said you were out here. Bloody hell I hope you're in here. It's far too dark to be out searching right now." Phillip's voice rang out tremulously, a light tremble in it brought on by a combination of nervousness at the unwelcoming dark and the rising chill in the air. A light snow had begun to fall, a snow that like the young British intruder had come upon Gregory unnoticed, distracted as he was by the exchange with Christophe.

Phillip took a cautious step into the area, squinting against the fearful darkness. Accidentally, or perhaps not, Gregory's hand brushed against Elios. The motion was easily visible as the blade moved into one of the slowly rising moon's pale beams. Phillips eyes caught the glint and he squinted in that direction barely able to make out an orange sweater and pale face.

"There you are! So you were practicing with your sword again. Some things never change 'eh? Well I hate to stop you but you really should come inside now. I can't imagine why you'd want to keep practicing now anyway. It's far too dark out for it to be safe to be playing with that thing. Dinners ready and Madame's terribly upset. I'm afraid I had to deliver some bad news too her so we really shouldn't keep her waiting."

Gregory debated between sending Phillip in ahead of him and accepting the escape the other blonde offered. The unfinished question could be very dangerous especially with how fearfully close Christophe had come to the truth about a deeper involvement between Gregory and their past troubles. Worse, he wasn't entirely sure a lie to this boy would be any more convincing than one to Wendy. It wasn't like he had a lot of training in that particular field and both seemed far too aware of his background's gaping holes. Yet his curiosity was arguing against the rational choice, there was still an answer of his own to be obtained. Those clues of body language and tone he was supposed to be using to assess the people around him were setting off alarms. If he pushed a little further he might figure out just what signal his own body seemed so keen on responding too. In the heat of the moment he was irrationally tempted to forego caution. It might be worth the risk of one honest answer, to find out just what is going on.

Christophe made the decision for him. Gregory felt cold air caress his chin where a warm hand had been a second before. Stealthily, the French boy stepped back farther into the shadow of the trees. Unsure why Christophe was trying to sneak away Gregory turned to where the boy had just been, trying to locate the shadowy boy by the sound of army boots softly crunching in the snow. Phillip observed Gregory's sudden interest in the darkness and turned with fright to examine the rest of the fountain area.

"Gregory? Is someone else out here?"

The sound of steps stopped. Phillip inched cautiously towards Gregory his eyes round as he examined the darkness for hidden monsters. Seeing Phillip's obvious concern and recognizing on some level that the moment, whatever it was, had passed Gregory moved towards the English boy. He threw a comforting arm around Phillip's shoulder. For reasons unknown to his conscious mind, he decided to honor Christophe's clear desire to remain unnoticed. He used his arm about Phillip to steer the boy back towards the house while throwing on a falsely cheery tone.

"You're right; it's far too dark out here and with this snow it's only going to get worse. Let's go back inside where it's warm. In the meantime, you can tell me what on earth you could have possibly done that would cause Ms. Gavone to lose her temper."

Phillip eagerly took to the suggestion, preferring the idea of heading back inside where warmth and food waited to any more time spent tarrying in the dark. On the way he chattered rapidly to keep the shadows at bay.

"Well actually, she's not mad at anything I did. She's just upset that I didn't bring Leopold home with me."

"Leopold?"

"Oh, sorry. You probably remember him as Butters. Everyone else calls him that, just like they all call me Pip. But whenever we're at the Fosterage, you should call him Leopold. Madame Gavone thinks Butters is such a terribly improper name. Anyway, he was supposed to come over for dinner and games. He does that a lot; I guess it's more fun for him here than it is at his home. Plus we're the best of friends. Of course, we don't really have many other friends, so I suppose we'd have to be the best of friends. Wouldn't we? As I was saying he was supposed to have dinner with us but he couldn't make it on account of the fact that he was grounded. Again. It happens a lot with him. I think it's awfully strange to be grounded when you're sixteen but his parents do it to him all the time. You wouldn't believe some of the things he's been grounded for. Putting the groceries away wrong, taking bad pictures, and I don't mean rude pictures, but just ones where they thought he looked ugly, and other silly things. The Madame gets so angry when they do it. 'Phillip', she says to me, 'it's not right that they be allowed to treat the boy like that.' And of course I heartily agree. But they're his parents so what can we do?"

Between trying to understand the torrent of information and his difficulty navigating the path, Gregory fell behind the other boy. Phillip moved far more quickly, traveling the walkways by memory rather than sight. Ruefully Gregory could just make out the shapes of several short lampposts located along the path. Unfortunately for Gregory during the winter they were apparently kept off. Fortunately as they reached the patio, the light from the house made things much easier. Of course by then Phillip was already at the door to the house and the story was cut off as the chatty boy slipped eagerly inside without a backward glance.

About to enter himself Gregory froze at the door when his ears caught the hint of a sound in the silence, something distant and musical, a brassy note on some unseen instrument that cut through his reverie with ominous import. Startled he turned but saw no sign of any other person let alone a musician sounding a muted horn. His hand still on the door, Gregory hovered uncertainly, his eyes carefully scanning the garden. The darkness and falling snow conspired to make the attempt futile; he could not make out a single thing beyond the patio railing. Still he knew roughly when his searching gaze passed over the dwarf evergreens and a small surge of warmth fought back against the biting cold touching his cheeks. Idly he wondered if Christophe had already slipped away under the screen of sound Phillip had created with the telling of his story. His free hand ghosted over his chin where the faint marks of the French boy's fingers had already faded. A confused sigh escaped his lips before he reluctantly reached for the stillness and calm inside, subduing his inner turmoil in preparation for the dinner conversation he'd have to make and the questions he'd undoubtedly have to dodge.


When the door closed a final time, the sound carried over the still garden. It signaled to the hidden watcher, letting him now it was finally safe to move. From the branches of one of the apple trees, surprisingly far from the fountain area, a shadow dropped to the ground landing almost noiselessly in the snow. A silver lighter seemed to materialize, sparking a fast flame that appeared to hover unsupported, taking on an almost ghostly import. A cigarette seemed to float up, carried by black cloaked fingers, to settle between a pair of unseen lips before flaring to life as the lighter touched its tip.

Over a slow, much needed drag on the cigarette, the stealthy smoker reflected upon the unexpected meeting, wondering why the boy had turned back at the last moment before entering the house. The smoker was certain he'd made no sound. Yet he had neither heard nor observed anything else that would have startled Gregory, causing him to examine the garden so pensively before entering. Nozing to cause 'im any worry at all except zat you practically molested 'im wizout warning. Stop zinking wiz your dick just because ze boy tried to stand up to you. If it wasn't an act 'e was probably just terrified about what you were about to say or do to 'im before Pip interrupted. Eizer way nozing good would have come of what you were about to do. A confused flush of chagrin flashed over the hidden face and the watcher considered those final moments and his unfinished question.

What was I going to say to 'im anyway? Zere are too many questions zat I need to ask. What is 'e doing back 'ere? What disaster is going to follow 'im zis time? What was 'e about to do? What was I about to do? What does all of zis mean? His mind settled unhappily on the final question and the figure moved to leave the garden, turning his back on the bright Fosterage lights. Like Phillip he had no need for the light to navigate his way through a garden that was as much his as the Madame's. A garden that was normally his place of retreat and not a source of consternation.

A twinge of fear settled over the normally stoic and unflinching mercenary, a sensation that had nothing to do with the sinister woods he had to walk through or the unhappy home that waited him at the other side. The glow of the cigarette butt flared brightly before moving clear of his mouth in a rapid streak of light. His breath slipped free, the heat melting the few unlucky snowflakes located in front of his face. The unhappy conclusion to his final question escaped from his mind then, carried upward on a cloud of smoke and vapor before both were swallowed in the darkness and silence surrounding him.

"Trouble…"