Chapter 6- Cookie Slapped.

Slow and steady was the way to go. At least that's what her mother always told her about sewing. The technique seemed to be going over smoothly enough as she weaved the colorful thread in and out, securing the button eye that had come loose from her childhood dolly. She jerked at the chime of the doorbell, sending the needle into her index finger.

"Ouch!" She yelped, and immediately placed the dot of blood into her mouth, glaring in the direction of the distraction. She pulled her finger out and looked it over when the bell sounded a second time. Setting "Dolly" aside, she got up and moved to the front of the house.

Quiet curses about "damn Jews" and "faggy assholes" could be heard in grumbles outside the front door. She recognized the voice immediately, and was piqued with curiosity as she reached for the knob to answer the persistent knocking.

"Cartman?" Wendy's voice was heavy with concern. "What happened to your eye?"

He rubbed lightly at the soreness. "A cookie… accident." He replied hesitantly.

"A cookie accident?" She parroted shrilly.

He looked around, trying to think of a logical story. "I was going to dunk it in milk, and it… got pissed off and it… jumped up and slapped me."

"Humph," She remarked, inspecting the damage. The entire area around his eye was puffy and red, with clear knuckle impressions at the top. "Looks like a fist mark."

"It was a big ass cookie!" He exclaimed. There was no way in hell he was about to tell the hottest girl in the world that he'd just been punched by a Jewish pussy. A cookie attack may not be anything to be proud of, but it was certainly better than the truth.

"Do you want to come inside?" She asked. " I can get you something to make the swelling go down."

He held back a laugh, thinking of the way Kenny would have found a double meaning to that. "You think I really want to stand out here in the snow? You're damn right I wanna come in!"

She huffed and led him inside. There was something about her that was like an antidote to his anger. Ironically, It pissed him off in a way, how easy it had become for him to be nice to her because of that. He didn't like being nice. He liked to piss people off and screw them over. He had to maintain some of that underlying bastard he knew himself to be.

"So, what's a hoe like you doing home by yourself? Shouldn't you be prowling the streets by now?"

"The good lays aren't out until after ten." She replied sarcastically. "Sit." She indicated the couch and disappeared into the kitchen.

He grunted, steamed at her commanding him as if he were a dog. He took up the offer however, and she returned a moment later with an icepack and settled herself beside him. The corners of his mouth curved upward at the feeling of her knee pressing against his thigh.

"This will help," She assured, and gently pressed it to his eye.

His hand rose up to hers slowly, and cupped it beneath his. Her skin was soft, like marshmallows… or something. She didn't bother to pull away, and he could almost swear he saw her hide a smile.

"Why are you here?"

"You invited me in." He smart mouthed with a grin.

She tried to keep a straight face, but lost the battle as a perfect smile brightened her face. In a way, she couldn't help but wish he could be more happy and calm more often.

"You're really pretty when you smile." He heard his voice tell her without any permission from his brain, and silently cursed himself for lack of control. "I mean, you know, for a hippie."

Her smile widened. "That's sweet. " She shoved him playfully with her free hand. "For an asshole."

He could feel his skin tingling on top of her hand, where her knee touched, and where she had lightly pressed his shoulder back. Blue eyes held him prisoner in a steady gaze, and if he were honest with himself, he could admit that he lost himself in her and completely forgot the reason he had come, the most important thing in the whole world; getting back at Kyle and Stan.

"You did come here for a reason," She pressed lightly, urging him to tell her.

It took him a moment to find his voice amongst the constricting of his throat. "You think maybe you wanna hang out tomorrow night?"

Her shock was indescribable, yet she was able to hide it completely behind a cool front. "The school play is tomorrow night." She reminded him.

"Exactly." His mind laughed cruelly. He knew how important this play was to Miss Brown, how she would make it perfect no matter what. Wendy had an understudy, but he also knew that the understudy hadn't bothered to learn any of the lines. Kyle, on the other hand, being the complete fairy that he was, was the only person who knew all of Juliet's lines. If Wendy never showed up, Kyle would have to go on as Juliet, and he would have to kiss Stan. Just like he predicted.

"Yeah, but school plays are lame." He reasoned.

"Maybe a little-"

"You really want to be humiliated when Stan pukes all over you?" He asked. "Because you're screwing yourself if you think he wont."

"I know." She agreed with a sigh. "But, I can't disappoint everyone. I've worked hard to get all my lines perfect."

"Stop being such a tight ass and have some fun with me." She frowned thoughtfully as he scooped up "Dolly" and faced her toward Wendy. "Come on, Wendy," He spoke in a girly voice. "Go out with Cartman. You know you waaaant to."

The eye popped off the dolls face, cutting off Wendy's musical laughter.

"See that?" Cartman made the doll ask in the same shrill voice. "I'm so sad you wont go, I'm literally crying my eyes out. Boo hoo hoo!"

She began laughing again at his silliness. "It might be-" She started, only to be cut of by the phone ringing.

Cartman sighed, furrowing his eyebrows angrily when Wendy pulled her hand out from beneath his and got up. "God damnit! Stan always has to ruin everything!"

"Stan," She paused with her thumb on the Talk button. "What would make you think this is Stan? He hasn't called me in years."

His anger evaporated. Why had he thought it was Stan? "I dunno, just a feeling… or something." He answered.

Without another word, she pressed the button and placed the receiver to her ear. "Hello?" She paused a moment, looking back toward Cartman, her mouth making a little 'o' of surprise. "Hi, Stan."

Cartman watched her, surprised himself he had been right.

"Yeah, of course you can. What is it?" She placed her hand over the bottom of the phone and mouthed, "How did you know?" To which he shrugged incoherently. "Yes, it's fine, go on," She spoke to Stan gently and held up a finger to Cartman meaning she would be back in just a moment as she disappeared up the stairs for privacy.

"I hate you, Stan." He spoke into the empty room. "I hate you almost as much as I hate your twinkie boyfriend."

She was gone for a good twenty minutes, to which he used his time to snoop around. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a clean household. He had sunk back onto the couch only moments before she descended the stairs. She paused when she reached the bottom, gracing him with a stinging, black look complete with her phone-cradling hand resting on her shapely hip.

"Damn, Wendy, what the hell crawled up your ass?"

"You told him he was going to develop gay tendencies over Kyle?" It was more of an outraged statement than a question meant to be answered.

"Yeah. So, what?"

"So now he feels weird around his best friend!"

"What a fag." Cartman remarked. "So, what, now he's some sort of stupid ass that goes crawling to you to tattle on me? That's mature."

Wendy returned the phone to it's correct spot and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "No.

He was calling to tell me he found a solution to his barfing problem for tomorrow. I happen to know when something's bothering him, and something clearly was. I asked him, and he told me all about you and your bogus predictions."

"Aye, they aren't bogus!" He defended himself. "I knew who was on the phone, didn't I?"

That made her freeze. She contemplated it for a moment before regaining her glower. "Lucky guess. Stan is not gay. How dare you make him question himself, especially about Kyle! You could totally destroy their friendship!"

"Jesus Christ!" He snapped, and stood up. "If he really wasn't a fag, he wouldn't have to question himself, would he? I also happen to know, with my amazing sixth sense, that their friendship is gonna go down the crapper all on its own."

"Just get the hell out of here, Cartman!" She yelled so loudly, everything rattled in its wake. "Anyone that fucks with Stan is someone I want nothing to do with!"

"Go ahead, Wendy, be his little bitch and see how much I care." His expression was passive, his voice calm. "After you realize he's no carpet muncher, I just may accept your apology."

With a hearty shove, she managed to get him out the door and slam it in his face.

Now his plan to get Kyle to play Juliet was shot to hell, not to mention any chance to get Wendy all to himself. The thought sliced at his heart, making him even angrier. "God, I hate those guys!"

-----------

"How you holding up? You look great out there."

Stan placed his hands on his rumbling stomach. "I'm starving. Give me a bite of your food."

"No way, Dude!" Kyle turned, saving the apple he was devouring from Stan's attempt to bite it. "You know you're not suppose have anything until after the play is over, that way…"

"I know, I know," Stan cut him off bitterly. "I wont have anything to puke up. Jesus."

Kyle's eyes narrowed. "You don't have to be such a dick about it."

"It's okay, Stan." Kenny placed an arm around his shoulders. "I know how to turn that frown upside down. Come into the closet with me."

"Tempting at this point. I'll eat anything." Stan mumbled.

Kyle's jaw dropped and Kenny cheered. "Woo hoo! Lets go!" He grabbed both of Stan's hands in his and began walking backward, leading him away into the deep recesses backstage, grinning so large the corners of his mouth were visible at the edges of his hood.

"Sorry, Kenny. He's needed on stage in five." Wendy intervened, linking her arm with Stan's and pulling him away.

"Damnit!" Came the inevitable, muffled curse. His eyes shifted, suddenly hopeful. "Kyle-"

"Forget it." Came the automatic response. "I'm not a hooker like you."

"Just spend five minutes with me alone, and I promise you will be."

"Has Kenny been taking his Dad's Viagra again?" Wendy asked Stan quietly.

Stan burst out laughing, catching everyone else's attention, Cartman included, who stood watching the two viciously in the shadows, like a wolf hunting its prey. Not only was the sight of them getting along again pissing him off to no end, he was also upset his plan hadn't worked out. He had slipped a strong sleeping pill in Wendy's drink before the play had begun. Apparently, she never drank the damn thing. But, it was okay. Another idea had already planted itself. All he needed to do was put it into action as casually as possible. And he knew just the clumsy, no-brainer who could help.

He made his was as inconspicuously as possible toward the broken shell that used to be known as Butters. He had been watching the raven haired stars with every bit as much longing as Cartman had, only his came out in the form of sadness rather than anger.

"Wanna keep Stan from kissing Wendy?"

"Why's it matter?" Came the dreary reply. "Why's anything matter?" His eyes never left Stan, even as he hugged his ex-girlfriend so tight he lifted her into the air. Butters sighed at the image.

Cartman used the cane prop leaning against the wall to whack the love sick mope. "Bad!"

"Ow!" Butters screeched, turning to face his abuser. "I didn't do nuthin' to you. What'd you hit me for?" He rubbed his now sore arm with evident frustration.

"For being a pussy." Cartman answered. "Now suck it up and listen; If you want to keep Stan from kissing that slut, here's what you've got to do…" He leaned in for confidentiality, glancing around before whispering in his ear.

"I don't wanna." Butters denied immediately. "I-I'll get in trouble again."

"Not if it's an accident." Cartman stated.

Miss Brown chose that moment to whoosh passed, completely ignoring them. "I need my Romeo and Juliet for the final scene." She sung.

"Go!" Cartman demanded, shoving Butter's in the general direction of Wendy and Stan.

He stumbled a bit, but quickly regained his balance. He eyed the couple a moment, who were busy straightening each other's costumes out, and took a deep breath. Scanning the surrounding area, he located a small box piled with different costume parts and lifted it. He gave one last, nervous glance at Cartman before lunging forward. A few feet from Wendy, he pretended to trip right as she began the walk to the stage, sending the box directly in her path for her to trip over and fall. And she did. Hard.

She let out a cry of pain as she quickly sat up, and grabbed her ankle.

"Wendy, are you okay?" Stan didn't hesitate to fall by her side.

"Oh no, did you trip on something?" Cartman asked with fake innocence as he dipped to her other side. "You should really watch yourself. You might pop one of those fake tits."

She glared at him hatefully, trying hard to keep back tears. "I hurt my ankle." She announced, sending the teacher into a fit of panic.

"This can not be!" She wailed. "Where is the understudy!"

"Bebe's the understudy." Kyle supplied.

"I don't want to be Juliet." Bebe retorted from somewhere among the crowd of sixth graders. "Juliet was stupid to kill herself over some prick, I'm not doing it."

"You must!" Miss Brown insisted.

"Fuck that." Bebe cursed. "I don't even know any of the lines."

Cartman waved his free hand wildly in the air before replacing it securely on Wendy's shoulder. "Miss Brown, if I may point out that Kyle here knows all the lines."

She perked up instantly, turning to face the aforementioned. "Mr. Broflovski, is this true? Do you know all of Juliet's lines?"

"W-well, I don't really think-"

"I've heard him myself, Miss Brown." Cartman cut in. "He's been helping Stan rehearse by role-playing Juliet. He's a natural."

"Mr. McKormick, grab a wig!" She demanded. "Mr. Brovfloski will save our show!"

Kenny hurried off in giggles to complete his task, leaving behind a stone still Kyle.

"Miss. Brown, I don't think I can do it. Besides, I already have a part. I'm Mercutio, remember?"

"Nonsense." She remarked, yanking a dress over his head so quickly he didn't have the chance to back away. "Mercutio is now dead. Therefore, you are no longer him."

"I don't want Kyle to be Juliet either." Stan opinionated frantically. "Please don't make him."

"W-well, I know all the lines, Miss Brown." Butters spoked up shyly. "I could do it."

"I want Kyle to be Juliet, Miss Brown." Stan quickly contradicted himself.

"Excellent." She proclaimed. "Now, hurry it up while I stall the audience."

"What? No!" Kyle refused. "I'm not going to do this, Dude! This is bull shit!"

"Please, Kyle," Stan begged, rising from the ground and stepping closer. "Please, just do this one thing for me and I'll never ask you for anything again."

"You're really going to make me get on stage in front of a hundred people, kiss you and prove the fat ass right?" He pointed down at Cartman, who in turn flipped him off before going back to coddling Wendy.

"You're really going to make me get on stage in front of a hundred people and let the self-proclaimed rainbow child kiss me?"

Kyle looked over at Butters, who was staring wistfully down at his shoes. "Ah, come on, Stan. It wouldn't be that bad."

Stan glared. "Right, that's easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to do it!" His voice softened slightly. "Is proving Cartman wrong really more important to you than friendship?"

Kyle considered it a moment, finally sighing at Stan's pleading look. "God damnit." He cursed softly. "Fine, lets get this over with." He yanked the dark, long wig from Kenny and slapped it onto his head. "I don't know why I do some of the things I do for you."

"Because you love me." Stan called as he followed him up the stage steps.

Cartman quickly scooped up Wendy, who insisted she hadn't twisted her ankle badly enough to miss the final scene, and disappeared into the front of the audience, camera in tact and the rest of the students in tow.

There were only two who didn't make a move. Butters, who was beginning to tear at Stan's blunt refusal of him, and Kenny, who had noticed his obvious distress. He walked carefully over to the other blonde and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nuthin'." Butters answered, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.

Kenny fought a smile. He had never realized how Butters weak, redneck accent tended to get just a little stronger when he was upset. "No, really. What's wrong?" He repeated.

Butters sniffed loudly, breaking his stare on the floor to look at the boy next to him. "Stan hates me. It doesn't matter what I say or do, he doesn't want to be near me."

Kenny nodded in understanding. "Stan's just confused right now. I know he's being a dickhead, just like we all are sometimes, but he has a good heart."

"Ah, I know that." Butters agreed. "That's why I like him so much. I just don't know what to do about it."

"Don't cry." Kenny pleaded the moment he saw tears recollecting. "You know what you should do? You should back off for a while. Just leave him alone. Eventually he's going to notice and apologize."

"You r-really think so?" Hopefulness was a faint note mixed within the hurt, but it was there.

Kenny gave Butters' shoulder a comforting pat. "I promise."

"Do you know if… are him and Kyle-"

"He's confused right now." Kenny repeated. "Don't fret, dude. They're only friends."

Butters smiled uneasily, still not fully convinced. "Lets watch the rest of the play. It might make you feel better to know instead of wondering what that kiss was like."

He agreed reluctantly, but allowed himself to be led to the side of the stage to watch with Kenny's arm around him snugly.

On stage, Stan wanted to puke. He could feel the familiar sensation consume his esophagus as it grew closer and closer to the ending of the play. He was only thankful he was suppose to be dead, even though his heart was beating so fast he was sure everyone could see and hear it. On the other hand, it wasn't exactly easy keeping still with Kyle lying next to him, pretending to wake up, rant about his undying love in poetic words no one understood and then finally…

His eyes almost flew open when he realized the last line before the kiss had just been spoken. Kyle's hand against his cheek soothed him slightly, allowing him enough comfort to keep from quaking to death as he felt cool breath against his skin, and finally the light pressure of warm lips. His stomach lurched at first, but nothing emerged, and then he melted completely beneath the touch. It was only a few fleeting seconds, but the impact was enough to ensure keeping his eyes closed through the make-believe suicide wasn't a problem.

He was nudged lightly when the crowd exploded in cheers and the curtain closed. "Time to rise from the dead." Kyle joked.

He rose mechanically, stepping forward and linking his fingers with Kyle's on one side and someone he would never remember on the other side to give the final bow.

"Hey, Stan?" Kyle whispered. "Were you really going to go into the closet with Kenny?"

"No. Why?"

There was a pause when the curtain opened until it closed the final time. "No reason." He answered. "Now lets go fight our way through the adoring fans and go get some food. I know you're starving." He flashed a genuine smile and exited to the left.

Stan followed closely behind, but paused briefly. His eyes slipped shut involuntarily when he licked his lips.

They tasted like Kyle.


-BratChild3 (Formerly BC2)