Kyle Broflovski, strictly speaking, should never have talked to him. They were in different circles at school, and when he had arrived in New York, bright eyed and fresh out a journalism college, Kenny had seen no reason why it shouldn't continue. He was as energetic and tenacious as he remembered, with a wiry body and sharp green eyes that caught on to everything and everyone. He latched onto his job like a limpet, and was the most consistent when writing articles about the spate of eco terrorism in several parts of the country. The perpetrator was unknown, and clearly had the national security on alert. Nobody seemed to know where they were, or where they had come from.

Except, perhaps, for one ginger haired writer.

He was prepared to dig into every area possible for a story, each sordid, uncomfortable area that resided underneath the city's glistening, light filled visage in order to get to the bottom of the attacks, and while he continued to feign little knowledge of the culprit, each detailed elaboration on the matter betrayed otherwise.

Kenny, on the other hand, was more freelance, and paid little attention to the articles, except to view them with passing interest, intrigued by how his fellow South Park worker was faring. He had adapted to the new laws rapidly, switching his former, gas consuming vehicle for a hybrid design, and walked, more often than not. Being poor up till his late teenage years had instilled in him a sense of caution, of saving each dollar, and he was fairly sure he could see off any attempt to mug him. The city was ever changing, and while there were still things which constantly managed to surprise him, he had almost become more prepared.

Nothing, however, managed to give him quite a large shock as when Broflovski had managed to end up in hospital.

"It wasn't even anything dramatic," the other had exclaimed when he decided to visit. "I just leapt into the middle of the rush hour and barely got away with it. I'd at least thought I would be attacked, or something. Not run over by traffic. That happens a lot."

"God forbid," Kenny stood next to him, looking at him with mock disapproval. "Anything Kyle Broflovski does is normal." He had looked pale, copper hair splayed over the white pillow, one leg suspended in the air, as if he had been in the middle of an interpretive dance, and was frozen. He grinned, a furtive, mild type as he shifted against the bed, twisting his body so he could look at his well wisher properly.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot that I was supposed to say hello first."

"I doubt any of the company you keep is going to smash your leg in with an iron bar." He winced, before a conspiratorial expression slid onto his face.

"No, but you could say that happened. That always gets the girls."

"I'd hate for them to romanticise you even more. You do realise that half your paperwork has landed on my desk?"

"It's not my fault my leg got broken by a car. The girls already view me as some sort of desperado?"

"Yes, much to nearly every sane person's despair. There is a thing known as looking both ways before you cross. Of course, looking at the traffic lights also helps. You know, if you've forgotten what they taught you in South Park elementary."

"I don't think I'd ever forget," he shuddered, eyes closed as he relived the experience. "Remember when Tweek drank too much caffeine and ended up twitching across the road?"

"Remember Craig?"

"The douche, oh God, yes," He threw him a considering look, and if he'd had the ability to cross his arms, Kenny was fairly sure he would have done so. "Weren't you close with him in high school?"

"Before I left? I was close with anybody who would give me a cigarette. Is he still as much of a prick?"

"He's mellowed, but don't let him hear me say that. He'd break half my bones, or re break them. He's a little less…exclusive." It was a little unreal, holding a conversation with a person who had barely talked to him since he was fourteen, and all the groups had started to split, but it was almost as if he was young again, watching as Kyle aggressed his younger brother, who by then was looking, or appearing even more precocious than his sibling concerning brains.

"Anybody else?"

"I don't know. Half of my contacts manage to lose their phones on a daily basis, and it costs an exorbitant amount to talk."

"Email?"

"Have you even seen my bills? Ever since the new laws kicked in, it's getting increasingly hard to send them, due to the energy, and even then, I'm sure we're being snooped at by the government."

"You're starting to sound like Cartman."

"I am not - !" the patient spluttered, before he noticed the tremble at the corner of the blonde's lips. "Weak, dude."

"It's good to know that some buttons can still be pushed. I take it he's still a bane?"

"He haunts my fucking existence. Every single day, there's some article about him embracing the new eco friendly things. It's a power issue, it must be, or he's just trying to severely annoy me. Paperwork wise, what did you get?"

"There was a form to ask for research in South Park." He tensed, an interesting action following the words, and although he was loath to use it, the investigative part of his mind decided to exercise its right for action.

"Why did you need it?" Unfortunately, or the reverse, depending on which side a person was on, Kyle was too influenced by painkillers to engage his own enquiring nature.

"There's some stuff that came up," he managed, the drugs kicking in. "In South Park, there's been some terrorising, mainly against the fuel companies up there. I thought it could be part of the whole thing. There's evidence that a lot of it that stems from there. Clues left at other sites. In every instance, there's something that's left there that seems like it's related, for instance, there was one in Maine. Somebody left a woolly hat, and while I know it seems really insignificant, there are items from my past appearing. You know that Peruvian flute band in elementary? Or that time when I managed to win something? It's all there. Each thing at each site."

"Isn't this you over exaggerating?"

"I doubt anybody plays the Peruvian flute which I had two hundred miles north, Kenny. It may sound weak, but I know there's just something to do with it."

"So if I went there, that picture I took of Bebe Stevens' boo-"

"Shut up. Yes, it probably would."

"I've been looking for that for ages. Can I take over for you? I promise I'll behave."

"Seeing as your primary motivation is to recover that picture, I highly doubt that. I'll put you in touch though, and sort things out. You'll be staying at my house if you do go, and if you mess things up, I will hobble down on my crutches and castrate you. I've been working on this for months."

"Agreed," he stood, dusting off his clothes, tucking his hands inside his pockets. He looked down at the recumbent body, smiling as the other drifted into dreams. "It was good to talk to you again." By that time, he had already mentally decided to take the next plane to Colorado.

After all, Kyle Broflovski was still a former friend, and he thought there must be some sort of responsibility to do with it.

Thank you for your input, and to ben4kevin and wenmonk. I'm sorry I can't disclose the pairings, but there is some method behind it.