Thank God! they all thought with a sigh of relief. She's updating in intervals of less than half a year again!

I'm not including all the crap about the war in here, because if you're reading this story, then you already know what happened, and how everything turned out. (Meaning you already saw the movie. Which if you haven't…I don't know what the hell is wrong with you. Why are you reading a fanfiction for a movie that you haven't even seen? Please go away. NO I'M JUST KIDDING)

…But this is a good chapter. I really like this one, so pay attention, please. It sort of touches on a bit of one-sided Christophe/Kyle, so if you enjoy that…you should like this, too. Also, sorry I never update anything anymore…I'm just not feeling quite as empowered writing-wise as I used to. And since school's starting again next month, and I haven't got any of the next chapter written out yet, I probably won't be updating again for a while…apologies, loves…cries

But, success! We've hit the 90,000-word marker in this Word file! (though a chunk of that is stuff that hasn't been posted yet, and notes 'n other stuff…but WHATEV. 100 pages of continuous, unformatted story, as well.)

UGGH THE BLOODY BREAK TOOL ISN'T WORKING WHYYYYY

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Chapter Twelve

It had been The Mole.

It being the dead body Gregory had seen that fateful evening in the midst of the war.

Gregory—freshly betrayed by Wendy and sulking in his back-of-the-classroom seat on one of the last few days of school—heard it from Kyle. The little Jewish boy had started sitting next to Gregory in a feeble attempt to comfort him (almost trying to prove that South Park kids weren't all back-stabbing assholes, after all). He would talk senselessly about imbecilic things while Gregory glared across the classroom at Stan and Wendy holding hands beneath their desks. Kyle tried, Gregory gave him credit for that, but for nothing else. Honestly, he just wasn't really that good at making conversation.

But that day, The Mole's name had come out of Kyle's mouth, and Gregory had snapped to attention and stared over at him, wide awake.

"What did you say?" he demanded, startling Kyle into momentary silence.

"…I…The Mole. Your mercenary friend that I met during the war? He…called me, yesterday." Kyle blinked and watched Gregory uneasily, and the blonde simply stared back at Kyle in a very disconcerting way, as if waiting for him to say something else. Kyle swallowed and glanced over Gregory's shoulder. "He just…wanted to know how I was doing. And I was actually kind of surprised…I mean…you know what happened to him…that night, right?"

Gregory's eyes narrowed, his fingers finding his pencil on his desk and tapping it subconsciously on the wooden surface. "…What do you mean? He led you and Stan and Eric into the USO compound. That was his mission."

Kyle's face paled considerably. "…Oh…well…it's…not that it really m-matters, anymore…I mean, since Kenny's wish brought him back, but—"

Gregory blinked and felt his heart wretch bizarrely beneath his ribcage. "'Brought him back'? What do you…? What the hell does that mean?"

"…I…Th-The Mole…died, Gregory," Kyle breathed, his eyes fixated on Gregory's, carefully monitoring the blonde's expression.

…Gregory's insides petrified, and he heard the pencil snap between his fingers but didn't feel it. He and Kyle stared at each other, each so unsure of his opposite, and Kyle bit the inside of his cheek in apprehension. The silence became thick and tense between them, a dense fog of coldness.

"…He was…attacked by g-guard dogs. And I w-was there with him, when he went," Kyle said quietly, looking down at his hands when the stress of looking into Gregory's eyes became too much to bear. "…He…he asked me…to hold him…I don't know, man, it's hard when your friend dies, right? I know…Kenny's died so many times that I can't even count it anymore, but…I remember the first few times it happened…I was so scared…that he wouldn't come back—"

"Y-you…you held him?" Gregory asked, his voice broken. Kyle grimaced.

"…Well…he asked me to…and h-he was dying, I mean, I couldn't just—"

"You fucking h-held The Molewhile he d-died?" the Brit croaked, feeling his throat gathering an unpleasant-tasting lump. The Jew looked up at him, a pained expression lingering in his eyes. Flashes of that peaceful-looking body—of the dog, of the wind, of that entire terrible scene—kept digging agonizingly into Gregory's mind.

"Gregory, I'm sorry, all right?" Kyle sighed. "I'm sure he would have liked for you to have been there in my place…b-but…from what h-he told me…I think he probably just…didn't want to feel alone anymore…"

"Alone?" Gregory choked, his eyes huge and shining. "You think h-he…he felt…alone?"

Kyle's head lowered like a scared dog's. "I…the w-way he acted…that was the impression I got. But I mean—"

"SHUT UP!" Gregory screamed, rising suddenly from his desk and shocking everyone in the room into looking at him. "SH-SHUT THE FUCK UP, K-KYLE! LIKE YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT H-HUH-H-HIM, OR WHAT HE W-WOULD HAVE WANTED! G-G-GODDAMN YOU!" The blonde threw the splintered remains of his pencil to the floor and lashed out, his heart aching in his frail chest. "GODDAMN Y-YOU FOR JUST R-RUNNING OFF AND L-L-LEAVING HIM THERE TO ROT!" He gripped the front of Kyle's jacket and pulled him forward, glaring down into the pale green eyes through blurry, tear-filled vision. "Th-The Mole…is m-mine, Kyle," he sobbed. "H-he's my friend…y-you stay the h-hell away from him…you f-fucking bastard…y-you don't deserve h-him, you little b-bugger…useless…Jewish sh-SHIT—!"

"Dude!" Stan called angrily from across the room, rising from his desk with clenched fists to protect Kyle. Wendy's hands were over her mouth. That fat kid, Eric, was laughing.

Laughing, for Christ's sake. While everyone else stared, in shock. Like they couldn't believe in anyone ever hating Kyle.

Gregory screamed through clenched teeth and ran from the room, tears streaming down his cheeks while Eric laughed.

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Weeks passed, full of the bland sewage of public school, and Gregory eventually found himself moving once again, only this time, it was to a very familiar place. And Mrs. Thorne told her son with a relieved sigh that The Mole would be coming back, too. As it happened, things just hadn't worked out in South Park, for any of them.

Frankly, Gregory was glad.

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…The first time their eyes met again, after ten long, agonizing months apart, Gregory was eating a Popsicle. It was strawberry-flavored and ice cream-filled, and he had been sucking on it happily for the past few minutes when he stopped suddenly, in mid-lick, presented with those fiery green orbs again after so long. Their gazes met from across the room, Gregory holding onto his mother's hand and wielding his Popsicle, The Mole standing alone and with nothing, and Mole smiled at the mess smeared around Gregory's mouth and made the blonde boy's eyes sting with tears. Mrs. Thorne released his hand and pushed him, a little; urged him off of the couch and onto the carpet, urged him to pass over that barrier and say hello to his best friend again. She got up and left the room, to find Nicole and help her unpack. Gregory lowered his head shyly and looked at his feet, unsure what to do or say, now. It had been so long…so much had happened…

"You…the war, you…" he stammered, and then he felt the shameful tears break through his eyelashes. "…Oh, God…" he whispered, "you…you died…I s-saw your body…before Satan arrived…"

Mole's smile did not falter. He stepped forward, into the light, and he wrapped his arms tightly around Gregory's body, leaving him confused with his Popsicle hanging in the air. Gregory felt him shudder before the familiar fingers found his hair, and he felt his heart ache with acceptance of that loving touch. He closed his eyes and hated what had happened in their absence from each other. It seemed that neither of them could stay out of trouble without the other.

"…'Ell was no worse zan I 'ad expected eet to be," Mole breathed, and Gregory sobbed at the sound of those grown-up words, latching himself to the turtlenecked French boy and burying his streaming eyes in an accepting shoulder. The scent of cigarettes was somehow sweet, now, after so many months spent in its absence. Mole's lips found the back of Gregory's neck, and a weird tingle shot down the blonde's spine at the gentle kiss and made him shiver. "…I saw you on zat night, and ze ozar resistance members…'eading eento ze woods to get to ze rendezvous point…and I must tell you…you looked great, standing zer against ze woods, with ze wind een your 'air, commanding all ze ozars." He laughed that smooth laugh when Gregory sobbed into him. "…Orange eez really your color, mon chéri."

The Brit dropped his Popsicle onto the carpet and didn't care, squeezing his eyes tighter shut as a succession of sobs wracked his tiny body. "…I h-had no idea…that it was y-you…and I just…to h-hear it from that…th-that…Kyle b-boy…! I…I kuh-k-couldn't…oh, G-Guh-God, Christophe…I've m-missed you so…"

There was a brief pause after Gregory used his real name, and The Mole tensed only slightly, but the blonde felt it for that brief second before it went away. The French boy sighed, and both of them, at last, felt alone together in the world. That was how they wanted it, in that moment.

"…But zees…Ky-el…'e eez not, eh, 'ow you say…relevant to us, mon chéri. I told you on ze day zat I left zat I would come back for you," Mole said softly, netting their fingers. "Why…why are you so surprised?"

Gregory could do nothing but sputter and hiccup pitifully. The Mole smiled, rocking his dearest friend lovingly in his strong little arms.

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Nothing has changed.

They lay in Gregory's bed, sobbing and caressing, the marks of abuse borne and loved properly.

We're still the same people.

Gregory's golden head was buried in that too-beautiful scarred chest, and the heart within those bronzed ribs was so happy to be near the Brit again.

Still…with the same love.

The Mole kissed Gregory's face with his long eyelashes, all tears and butterflies in the dark, and Gregory kissed back with lips and shaking fingers.

And all the same intentions.

They fell asleep intertwined, breathing deep in and of each other.

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…But if Kyle is irrelevant…then why do you grace him with your voice, mon chéri?

Gregory wondered. He wondered constantly.

And he couldn't stand it. It was driving him insane. Every time he turned a corner in search of Mole—who had, for reasons unbeknownst to Gregory, thought it was necessary to abandon an in-progress board game (War had been abandoned as of late for obvious reasons)—there stood The Mole with the cordless phone. He was always smiling into the damned thing and laughing, whispering: "Oh, Ky-el…" in a voice that was simply laden with cake frosting, and that was always what cut Gregory deep. The sugar in The Mole's voice was theirs, he had thought…no, he had known. He knew. That was Mole's voice for him, for Gregory, and for Gregory alone. That was what told Gregory that The Mole still…

…

…That he…cared in that way.

That voice was not to be used with Kyle. It was simply unacceptable.

So after a week of anger and pent-up rage, Gregory stormed up to The Mole while he was on the phone with stupid, brainless, uncaring Kyle and smacked the phone out of Mole's hand, sending it flying clear across the room. The Mole's green eyes stared back at Gregory, shocked and completely bewildered. A few seconds passed. Then Gregory realized how foolish he would sound, complaining about the tone Mole was using to talk to someone, and he flushed horridly and ran away, beet-red, leaving The Mole struggling to understand what in the hell the point of all that violent behavior had ever been.

And it took so long, but Gregory was eventually forced by his own conscience to (attempt to) accept the fact that, perhaps…there could and would be two significant others in his best friend's life. There was he, Gregory Thorne, for one…and perhaps that other…well…other…was to be Kyle Broflovski.

That little Jewish prat.

It hurt, Gregory thought miserably, but it had to be accepted. For The Mole's sake. For his own sake. All the insane jealousy needed to stop. Because it was getting rather tiring, smacking phones around and then running off like a ninny. Plus, it failed to have the desired effect on The Mole: he would usually start to laugh, as of late, and then he would tell Ky-el about it, and they would laugh together.

Hell and damnation.

The Mole could not be shared. That became quite painfully obvious. Something absolutely had to be done…so, while puffing out his English chest and holding his head high, Gregory decided that he would do something about it all, even if it killed him to do it.

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On most days, bedtime was still looked forward to with as much fervor as it had been before the separation, though on this particular night, Gregory couldn't bring himself to grin as Katherine came in to bid him good-night.

The boys had separate rooms now, being old enough for such things (at least, by their mothers' standards), and Gregory stared at his mother as she tucked him in. He wondered if she had any idea that The Mole had died in the time that he and Gregory had been apart from one another. She felt his hard blue eyes on the side of her face, and she met his gaze, smiling reassuringly at him and brushing flaxen curls behind his ear. "What, baby? What's wrong? Are you nervous about your second year of camp coming up?"

"…No, Mum…not so much," he said truthfully, furrowing his eyebrows at her. In all honesty, he hadn't even been thinking about camp at all over the past few weeks. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his chest, carefully rubbing it, almost in consolation of some unknown pain. Her smile faltered, her eyes flashing with concern. He sighed and closed his eyes, knowing how strange his request was going to sound to her. "…Mum, I…tomorrow…what were we going to do?"

Katherine gave her son a puzzled look. "Sweetheart, you know what we're going to do. You and I are going down to South Park again for a while so that I can talk to Sheila Broflovski about a few things, and you can play with Kyle."

Gregory flinched visibly. He knew damn well what his mother had planned for them. He knew damn well that The Mole knew about it, as well. But more importantly, he knew damn well that it was about time that he set his own emotions aside for once and think of what truly mattered, now. For years The Mole had been almost without parents and without people who loved him altogether, and Gregory had recently realized that he could and would provide those loving figures for his friend, if need be. He would give The Mole his own mother and set him free into the world, if need be.

God damn it all to hell if Mole liked Kyle better. At least he would be happy with Kyle. At least Kyle could still make him laugh, and smile, and…

…Oh, God…please…

Gregory swallowed a painful lump in his throat. "…Mum," he said quietly, tracing each faint wrinkle in the skin of her hand, "…I want…I want you to bring Christophe with you tomorrow. Instead of me."

…There was an awkward pause between them, and Katherine's eyes did not comprehend what her son had said. She sat down on the floor at his bedside and laced her long fingers with his short, stubby ones, looking deep into his sad eyes and trying to grasp what he was asking her. "…Gregory…I don't get it, honey. Why? Do you not like Kyle, or—?"

"Mum, I just…" he took in a shaky breath and let it out again. He closed his eyes. "…Please, Mum. Just take Christophe and leave me here with Ms. Delorne."

Katherine squeezed his hands. "Gregory, please, sweetheart, tell me what's wrong…why are you so upset about this?" He shuddered and wished she would just understand. Mothers could be so difficult. She brushed hair behind his ear again. "…Would it make you feel better if I brought both of you?"

Gregory ground his teeth and felt the tears threatening behind his eyelids. That's just what they'll be expecting, isn't it? For me to force them together in my presence, so I cun spy on them?

"No, Mum! Just take him! Leave me here! I don't want to go! Just take him with you and…and t-tell him everything that you're always telling me! Tell him that…that he m-makes you proud, and that he's…g-growing into such a h-handsome young man…" he sobbed. His hands were shaking in his mother's grasp. He couldn't even remember the last time he had cried out of anger in front of this woman. "Muh-M-Mum, please…"

Katherine pulled him into her and kissed his ear, pressing him into her chest. He could hear her heart beating quickly through her ribcage, and he could tell that he had frightened her with his sudden and strange demand, but he didn't care. As long as Mole wound up with the love that he needed, everything would be all right. His arms hung limply at his sides. "…Gregory…" she whispered, and he could hear her worry in her tone. "…Baby, please don't cry like this…just tell me what's bothering you…"

The blonde boy closed his eyes and sniffed hard, shaking uncontrollably in his mother's arms. He hated that The Mole had never known this feeling; being loved by the woman who had carried you for nine months before you had come into the world…the woman who fed you when you were little and gave you baths against your will. He let out a little whimper and couldn't imagine the pain of having his mother tell him that she wished he were dead. All he wanted was to take that away, to replace that emptiness with the warmth and affection that should have been there to begin with…but how could he when he didn't even understand it?

"…Mum…I w-want…I want you to t-tell me…" he cringed and clung to her shirt, "…that y-you hate me."

That uncomfortable silence again.

"…Gregory, I don't see—"

"Goddamnit Mum puh-p-pluh-please just SAY IT!"

"NO!" Katherine hissed, cupping her son's face in her hands and forcing him to look back up at her. She didn't even seem to notice that he had sworn. "Gregory, I do not hate you! I could never say that to you! I love you more than the air I breathe, and God strike me down where I stand if I ever so much as consider thinking otherwise! Now damnit, Gregory, t-tell me why you're acting like this!"

Gregory tried to pull away, hating it all more and more as the seconds passed. Katherine held fast to him and wiped the tears away when they spilled over his flushed cheeks, intent on getting an answer out of him. Gregory clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. "Why can't you say it t-to me? N-Nicole says it to Christophe ALL THE TUH-T-TIME! I just w-want to understand h-how he fuh-f-feels!"

Katherine's eyes widened in shock, and she let go of her son's tearstained face. He buried his eyes in his hands and shook his head, growling. "…Mum, I just…" he sniffed. "…I j-just want you to love him, t-tomorrow. Okay? P-please, just…l-love him for me…he needs t-to be loved…by a m-mother…please…l-love him instead of muh-m-me…"

Mrs. Thorne's gaze stayed, watery and shocked, on her son's weeping figure. For once in her life, she didn't know what the right thing would be to say to her son. "…Gregory…sweetheart…oh, baby…is that what's wrong?"

"…Mum, p-please don't t-talk about it like it's n-n-nothing…"

"I'm…I'm not…oh, Jesus Christ, Gregory…" She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and his eyes met hers once more, leaking and glistening. She smiled proudly at him. "…Honey, you should have just said that to start with…I…oh…I think it's long past due for me to talk to Christophe about all of this. I'm sorry, sweetheart, I just…since you two got back from camp last year, Nicole has been so much milder, and I just didn't think…she had been hitting him, still…I've spoken with her several times about it…"

Gregory lost his grip then and was reduced to feeble sobbing, gasping for breath as his little hands clung to his bedclothes. Katherine sighed and whispered gentle reassurances to him, stroking his blonde hair as mothers will and carefully soothing him. Eventually she got him to quiet down, and, after telling him that she would gladly bring The Mole along with her on her trip to the Broflovskis' house tomorrow, she kissed his cheek and left his room. He stared up at the darkened ceiling, still sniffling, only partially satisfied. He had just made more problems for himself, hadn't he?

…Damnit…

He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but that was harder than he had planned. He felt restless, now, thinking about what Mole would say when he realized what Gregory had done. Surely he'll be happy, Gregory thought, exhaling shakily. And he'll thank me. That's what he'll do. Because he just…he wants to be with Kyle, more than he wants to be with me.

He glared at his ceiling with stinging red eyes and rolled over to face the blank, blue wall. He pretended to be asleep when Mole came into the room and crawled into bed with him, and he kept up the farce until he heard his best friend's breathing weaken and slow behind him. Then he rolled back over again and kissed The Mole's open lips as hard as he could before crying himself to sleep and only half-knowing why.

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She was a damn crafty one. That was all that could really be said about his mother.

Somehow, Gregory found himself strapped in beside The Mole in the back of Mrs. Thorne's elderly Volkswagen, watching the French boy in fascination as he bobbed his head in time with a Veggie Tales classic.

"Everybody, everybody, everybody, everybody,
Everybody, everybody, everybody's got a water buffalo…"

The blonde honestly had no idea how he had wound up in this rather vulnerable position. After their conversation the night before, he had been confident upon waking up this morning that he would be spending the day with Ms. Delorne. In fact, he had prepped himself for the occasion, practicing staying out of everyone's way as well as he could all morning long. But Katherine, sly as she was, had pulled him out of the door at the pre-decided time along with Mole and locked the both of them in the car without so much as a word. The Mole so far seemed oblivious as to where they were going, enthralled by the bizarre tidings of the singing vegetables, and Gregory was still having a hard time figuring out just why the bloody hell his mother would want to deceive him as she had.

The road was still icy, heading into South Park, even though it was well into June. They drove slowly and both boys took time to glance out the windows at the familiar scenery, catching Stark's Pond, the elementary school, Tom's Rhinoplasty. The accustomed surroundings seemed to dull the shock in Gregory's mind, and he began to feel a bit of anger toward his mother. He had asked her…no…he had told her not to bring him here today. She would be hearing it later, he thought to himself, sinking down into his seat as they pulled into the Broflovskis' driveway.

"We're here," Katherine said in a sing-song voice, turning the car off and then looking into the rearview mirror. She was met with the extremely puzzled face of The Mole and the furious gaze of her son. She smiled weakly at the two of them. "Christophe…this is Kyle Broflovski's house. Gregory suggested that you come along today."

"Ky-el?" Mole repeated, and Gregory flinched when the green eyes fell on his face. "…Really, Gregory? You asked your muzar to bring me?"

"I…instead," Gregory mumbled, his ears hot. "Instead of me. I shouldn't be here. I should be at home—"

"Nonsense, you'll have more fun here, with Christophe and Kyle," Katherine said, pulling open his car door and flinging him out of the Jetta before he had a chance to react. Mole was beaming as he joined them, and the three of them stood on the front porch while Mrs. Thorne rang the doorbell, Gregory muttering curses under his breath and The Mole rocking cheerily back and forth on his feet.

Sheila Broflovski answered the door. She was not a very lovely woman, Gregory thought to himself: he had seen her on television before, while the war had been going on, and the camera most certainly did not add ten pounds. It didn't need to. She was large, bigger than Wilma Williams, maybe, and with just as mean a face. She had a sharp, hooked nose, and naturally angry eyes that added to her hawk-like look. Her red hair was swept back into a bouffant, as it always had been before, and she looked down at Gregory and the Mole from underneath the crimson monstrosity as she stepped into the open doorway. Gregory moved back cautiously. Her breasts had the potential to crush his skull, and he wasn't about to take any unnecessary chances.

"Ahh, Katherine!" she said loudly, smiling in a way that made her look like she was in pain. "This must be Gregory! Oh, he's so handsome!" She pinched his cheek without any provocation. The Mole smiled. "How are you all? Oh, and this little one? This is…Christopher, is it? How wonderful, Kyle's been dying to see you again, Christopher, you're all he talks about. Here, here, come in! May I take your coats? I hope you like coffee, Katherine, I've got a fresh pot brewing in the kitchen."

Gregory's head spun, and his cheek ached from where she had vise-gripped it. She didn't give an instant's time to answer any of her questions before she swept the three of them into her house and shut the door behind them. The house was warm, but it smelled like a mixture of shoe polish and Lysol, and the front room was extremely bland and uninviting. Gregory pursed his lips in disapproval.

"Oh, Kyle's playing in the living room, boys. Just make yourselves at home," Sheila boomed, leading Katherine into the kitchen and continuing to babble on as she did so. Katherine had an expression on her face that was strikingly similar to Gregory's. The Mole grinned and took Gregory's arm.

"Come, Gregory, let us make ourselves at 'ome," he mocked Mrs. Broflovski, earning a disgruntled sigh from the Brit. The two of them kicked off their shoes in the doorway and left their coats by the stairs, making their way casually into the living room.

Kyle was, like his mother, just as Gregory remembered him: short, thin, pale, and red-headed. He was sitting on the carpet in the middle of the room, playing with a very cool remote-controlled truck. He glanced up at the two European boys as they stepped into the room, and a wide smile spread across his face almost instantaneously.

"Mole!" Kyle said happily. "God, it's great to see you!"

Gregory's blue eyes flitted to The Mole's shining face as the French boy walked forward and took Kyle into a very familiar embrace. Gregory's hands balled into fists at his sides, and he struggled to will himself not to glare at Kyle. Mole took the startled Kyle's hands in his and quickly kissed the side of his face.

"Ahh, Ky-el, 'ow are you? Ze only sing about South Park zat I meesed…such a pleasure to see you again," The Mole said softly, and Gregory's knees locked when the French boy turned around and gestured to him. "You know Gregory, of course…'e was een your class! Gregory, come now, mon chéri, be polite."

The blonde's eyes widened, and he flushed when Kyle gave him a puzzled look. "…Mon chéri?" he echoed as Mole sat beside the truck and examined it more closely. "…Doesn't that mean, like, 'my darling' or something?"

"Mon chéri, mon ami, mon amour, my dear, my friend, my darling, my love…'oo cares, eet eez all affectionate," The Mole explained airily. Gregory blushed a deeper red and rushed to sit low beside Mole to hide it from Kyle. "Come, Ky-el, show us 'ow zees marvelous truck of yours works."

Kyle, thankfully, shrugged it off and joined them back on the floor, proceeding to explain the dynamics of the truck's remote to his two guests. Gregory tried his best to be captivated—it was, after all, quite the truck—but he was far too distracted by the way that Mole kept looking at Kyle. He swore he caught a smile or two beyond the one on the French boy's lips, and he wanted to yell, but he knew that was what Kyle would be expecting. He had been able to tell from the look on the redhead's face as he had stepped into the room to begin with that he still had not been completely forgiven for his anti-Semitic outburst a few weeks ago in school.

Thank God The Mole didn't know about that.

Gregory pulled back into reality when both Kyle and Mole suddenly stopped talking in mid-sentence, and he perked up, listening hard for whatever had caught their attention. He realized, with a dull sort of horror, that he could hear his mother talking to Mrs. Broflovski in the kitchen.

"…The war was completely necessary!" Kyle's mother said. "It proved a very crucial point to both the people of America, and to the people of Canada!"

A brief pause. Then Katherine spoke. "Well…regardless of that, and whatever point you think it helped to prove, I'm sure that you can see now that the whole thing was unethical. And really, Sheila…I want to know what the hell you even thought the point of it all was, because I really don't see—"

"Don't you talk to me about ethics, Katherine!" Sheila retorted, sounding extremely offended."You're British, you don't know anything about American ethics! We here in the States believe in raising our children to be civilized, not…wild and mangy, like that little beast of a boy you brought with you today!"

Gregory's hands balled into fists, and he heard his mother let out an audible gasp. "How can you say that sort of thing about an eight-year-old boy? Christophe has…he has problems with his mother…emotional trauma that stems from very early on in his childhood…surely Kyle told you about that?"

"Kyle didn't need to tell me anything. That boy broke the law, Mrs. Thorne, he broke into a military establishment and attempted to free two convicted criminals—"

"They weren't criminals, Sheila! For goodness sake, haven't you ever said a swear word? It's all over television! Sue the American network CEOs, if you must cause a riot!" A thud echoed out of the kitchen: Katherine had slammed her fist down on the table. "And I still do not understand why you would send rabid dogs off in pursuit of a child! I believe that you should be executed for doing something like that, because it's just sick!"

"…Are you raising both of those boys in there, Katherine?"

Another cold, uneasy pause.

"…I do my best to raise them both, yes, and they are both very intelligent and extremely kindhearted children," Katherine said, as calmly as she could, though Gregory heard the waver in her voice.

"I don't care how smart or nice you think they are, Mrs. Thorne. What you need to do is stop pampering them; you need to learn how to punish them, and how to get them under control. For God's sake, one of them has already committed a felony! I swear, foreigners don't understand a thing about children—!"

The sound of something porcelain hitting the floor and breaking. Sheila shrieked. Katherine exploded.

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT! YOU ARE SO FUCKING PREJUDICED…!"

They continued to shriek at each other. Kyle stared at the carpet, trembling, and for a moment, Gregory felt almost sorry for him. The Mole was tugging at a thread on his sleeve, trying to look distracted, though the Brit could tell that his friend was very upset about what was going on between the two women in the kitchen. Gregory, honestly, was proud of his mother for standing up for The Mole like that.

It was what he would have done, after all.

It ended rather quickly. Katherine stormed out of the kitchen, her face redder than Gregory had ever seen it, and she gingerly patted Kyle on the head and bid him an extremely strained farewell before she gathered up her boys and pulled them back into the front room to get their coats and shoes on. Gregory complied as quickly as he could, almost afraid of his mother, now that she was angry and he could witness it firsthand. As he was ushered out the front door and Mole whispered a pained "bye, Ky-el…", he thought that he had registered the sounds of the mighty Mrs. Broflovski weeping in the kitchen. The door slammed behind them before he had a chance to confirm his suspicion, though, and he hurried to the car, sliding into the backseat with the very distressed Mole as his mother slammed more barriers after them and climbed into the driver's seat.

They were off and rolling again in a matter of seconds, the Veggie Tales quieted very hastily after they started singing again. Katherine was mumbling curses to herself, and Gregory stared out the window, pretending not to hear her.

"…That bloody woman, who does she think she is? Calling me ignorant, calling me a fucking loon…thinks all foreigners are goddamn terrorists, fuck her…saying those things about Christophe…she deserved it, Katherine, Christ…she deserved it all…bloody bitch…"

…Out of nowhere, it occurred to Gregory that he had never heard his mother say the word "fuck" before. In fact, it was a word that he had never expected to hear her say. She just seemed too calm and happy to swear like that.

…But still, smiling secretly to himself as she fumed in the driver's seat of the prehistoric Jetta, he absolutely loved that she had said it in defense of The Mole.