"Your hair's getting long."

"Can you cut eet?"

"Yes."

Gregory spent the morning and afternoon with Christophe. He cut his hair and they went shopping, allowing Christophe the opportunity to get some of the food he wanted (because Gregory was practically living off alcohol but didn't want the Frenchman to starve). When they arrived home, the phone rang - it was Pip inviting them over for dinner. Christophe rolled his eyes but Gregory accepted, telling him they'd be delighted.

"Great, I 'av to spend ze evening wiz two Brits," grumbled Christophe.

"Oh don't complain. I thought you wanted us to have a normal life for a while."

"I do, I do!" Christophe sighed. "Eet sounds fun."

"Good." Gregory looked over Christophe. "Go buy him some chocolates or something since he doesn't really drink, and then change your shirt... and when was the last time you shaved? Do that too."

"Go fuck yourself."

Gregory smirked. "I'll make it worth your while."

Christophe tilted his head. "How will you make it worth my while?"

Gregory stepped closer to Christophe, running a hand down his chest as he went, stroking his hip bone and then finally tracing down the front of his pants. "Can't you guess?"

Christophe raised an eyebrow. "I think I may 'av an idea..."

"Chocolates. Shirt. Shave." Gregory pulled his hand away and grinned.

Damien didn't like to think he was stalling. He liked to think that he was taking care of any possibilities that could go wrong. He'd tried, definitely tried; he'd invited Gregory to the bar with the intent to kill him. (That was after the promised drink of course, and if the evening progressed in a certain way, well that wasn't his fault. A few hours of 'entertainment' shouldn't have made the difference if he killed Gregory after.) But Gregory hadn't turned up, and he couldn't help that.

Now he was simply clearing something up as he waited for his next opportunity; that was all it was.

'That better be all it is.'

Damien sighed.

He recoiled and held his nose when Pip opened the door, looking over the short blond with disgust. He'd forgotten it was Sunday, and Sunday always meant one thing in this Brit's life. Damien could see the almost glowing light around Pip, something that would take a few hours to disappear again. Blood and body of Christ: it really pissed him off. And even more so because Pip wasn't Mormon and was ultimately wasting his time (even if it did have some short-term effects).

"Ughh, Pip, you stink of Jesus." He glared. "Don't go to church before I visit you!" He almost felt like he was going to throw up. It wasn't that it was a bad smell, just that it was there to repel him.

Pip gasped. "Damien!" His face fell pale. "What are you..."

"I need a few things confirmed," interrupted Damien, pushing past Pip into the house, which also stunk of purity and good deeds. "Don't worry. I won't kill you if you listen and do as I say. Shut the door."

Pip gulped and reluctantly shut the door behind them, turning slowly to stare up. "Oh?"

Damien still felt queasy. "Can't you do something sinful to take away your church stink? Go outside and kill a bird or tell a lie? Anything!"

"No."

"Tell a lie right now!" he commanded.

"I think you're a nice guy."

"..." Damien huffed and sat down on a kitchen chair, crossing his legs under him, absently rocking back onto two legs and perfectly balancing there. (He'd mastered gravity at age ten.) He pointed a finger at an apple and made it fly over to him, not so he could eat it, or do anything really, just because he could.

Pip looked a little cautious at the magic being so carelessly used. "Please, Damien. What if anyone comes in and sees you?"

"Not your concern, old chap," mocked Damien. "Just shut your mouth and listen."

"Oh." Pip frowned and closed his mouth, deciding to stay standing as he listened to what Damien had to say.

Damien lit a cigarette with his finger before he begun. He really didn't like to smoke that much; he saw no need. Instead, he used it as a tool, a way of joining with people, making them feel more comfortable to do it, more comfortable spilling secrets to him. He also did it for the opposite reason: to annoy people. He knew having smoke in his home would annoy Pip. (It also helped cover the church smell.)

"Well," he began. "You know more about me than I care for an ally of the enemy to know." The enemy in question was Gregory and being an 'ally' meant simply being a friend.

"You boasted your powers; you gave us no choice."

"Most have forgotten me, Pip. It seems to have simply melted from their minds over the years. Without mention, they wouldn't remember. But not you."

"I spent more time with you." Pip shook his head. "A stupid mistake, really. I just wanted a friend."

"I remember elementary school and I remember you were the only one that was nice to me, not that I really care about that." Damien frowned. "Out of sentimental value I'd always have liked to keep you as a pet but you insist on loving Jesus, which is a stupid move because you're still not going to get into Heaven when the time comes..."

Pip was impatient now - he could tell. "Damien, what did you come here for?"

"To remind you that if you tell anyone who I truly am I'll tear your flesh and lock you in my basement." He shrugged. "Your choice."

Pip looked remarkably calm for someone who'd just been given a death threat by the Antichrist. "I understand your words."

"Gooood," Damien stretched out as if bored, taking another drag on his cigarette. He tapped the table and pointed at the wine bottle on it. "Are you expecting guests soon. I wasn't aware you drank for pleasure.

"I don't. It's a present for Christophe and Gregory."

Damien stared at the bottle for a little longer as a smirk came momentarily to his lips. He dropped it just as quickly and looked disinterested. "They're coming over soon?"

"... Yes."

Damien nodded and looked at his wrist - there was no watch on it, but he could read the time just as well. "One moment." He walked outside Pip's house and round the side where a very scared looking man was standing; he had brown curly hair and wore expensive clothes. Damien picked him because he was conveniently in the area, still naïve about things and therefore easy to manipulate, and seemed to be able to take a fair amount of abuse without breaking.

Damien knew breaking point would come soon with him being the one controlling Mark Cotswolds, but it was still better than the other choices.

Damien smirked at him. "I have a new task for you." He pointed to the back of the house. "Hide around there and wait for Gregory to come out, then follow him and tell me where he goes." He dropped his hand. "Do that and I won't hurt your sister."

Mark stared up at him and nodded. "Yes, Master."

"Good boy."

Damien sauntered back into Pip's house and sat back down, stretching and continuing to hold the cigarette he wasn't really smoking that much. "So where were we, old pal of mine?"

In a bold move, Pip sat opposite Damien and looked into his eyes. "Please don't hurt him."

Damien raised his eyebrow. "I don't know what you mean."

"Gregory. I know you think it's best for your future, but it's not."

"And what do you know?"

"I know of the prophecy, Damien. I know it all."

Damien chuckled. "You just couldn't resist researching into me." He rolled his eyes. "Then you know why Blondie has to die. You really think I'd let the other scenario happen?"

"I think a part of you wants it."

"You overestimate me so much." He stood up. "There are no other parts to me." He pulled Pip up too and held him close by the collar, staring down at him. "Remember. Mouth. Shut." He smirked. "Unless you want to do something useful with it."

Pip shook slightly. Damien could see this was all too familiar to him. "Get out."

"I want to stay and play..."

Pip struggled. "No, p-please, out."

Damien sighed. "Fine if you'd just be whining the whole time." He let go of Pip and, with a cold sneer, put the cigarette out on his arm. "I want to play with someone else anyway."

Gregory smiled at Christophe as they approached Pip's house. He'd made an effort - with such a smooth face - and it made him happy. It had also made Christophe happy with what Gregory had done for him in the bathroom up against the counter, quick but very effective by the sound of Christophe's groans.

He gasped and almost turned around again when he saw who was walking their way. Suddenly he felt very conscious that Christophe would see any interaction he had with Damien, and though he had nothing to hide, it felt like he did.

"Hello, Blondie." Damien locked eyes with Gregory. Gregory felt anger immediately fill him. It flooded in like he knew it would, seeing this self-important, egotistical asshole again, building from a whole night of watching the clock and physically forcing himself not to go to the bar and fall into his trap. He wanted to demand exactly what Damien's business was visiting Pip, especially at the same time as them. Could such thing be a coincidence or was Damien watching his moves?

"Damien," he replied, keeping the eye contact.

Damien smirked. "It's always a pleasure."

"I'm afraid I can't say the same."

"That's a pity," purred Damien. Christophe quickly pushed in front of Gregory then and stared up into Damien's eyes.

"Weren't you leaving? I think you were."

"Mmmm, but not before I'm done talking to my Blondie. Run on inside." Gregory could see Christophe almost screaming with rage at that, and he calmly pulled on Christophe's fist to stop it finding a place in Damien's face. He was more than happy for Damien to get hurt but he wanted to be the one to do it.

"Tophe, he's really not worth it."

"You're not 'is Blondie!" yelled Christophe. "Stay away." Damien raised his eyebrow and laughed patronizingly, as if Christophe were a little kid throwing a temper tantrum over not wanting to share his favourite toy. He turned back to Gregory, pretending Christophe wasn't there.

"I don't think you want me to stay away. I think you want to get to know me better."

"I think you're mad."

Damien smirked. "Yes, definitely." He pushed Christophe out the way with a sudden force that sent the Frenchman hurtling to the ground. In the same smooth move he slipped a card in Gregory's pocket and whispered gruffly in his ear. "I was very disappointed that you never showed up for our date. Meet me tomorrow night. I promise I'll be worth your time." Gregory felt his breath hitch as along with Damien's somewhat sexual words, he felt the man place a light kiss on his jaw.

Gregory shivered and held his cheek, feeling colour flush his face. And he knew, and he worried, that not all the blush in his cheeks was there out of anger. "We never had a date."

"No?" Damien drew his head away, still wearing that smirk. "See you soon." He walked past Gregory and past where Christophe had pushed himself up, walking down the road arrogantly slowly and then turning the corner. Gregory watched the whole way.

"Did he just kiss you?" growled Christophe, checking the chocolates he was carrying weren't squashed.

Gregory gritted his teeth and brushed a hand down Christophe to get rid of the dirt and check he was okay. "Let's just go inside."

Gregory could hardly keep his mind on the conversations. He'd kept his act, greeting Pip, thanking him for the wine, asking him how he was, hearing about his work (at the library) and telling him about theirs. They'd talked about other people in the town and mentioned Wendy. Pip had informed them about the arrival of Jack; Wendy was so excited at first, and then she seemed to lose something inside of her, becoming less confident, less demanding.

"I was so worried about her. It was like she only lived for him. She hardly talked to anyone. It was a relief when she started talking to Stan again."

"Stan?"

"Yes. I saw them together, just talking, rebuilding their friendship she told me. She seemed so happy with it. She made me promise not to tell Jack, not that I'd have any intention of doing that. He's horrible. He once threatened me because I was getting too close."

The conversation turned to other things soon after. When Pip and Christophe got onto the subject of gardening and starting an indoor herb garden, Gregory realised he couldn't take it any longer. He stood up.

"Will you excuse me? I'd like to use the bathroom."

Pip smiled. "Of course. It's just down there," he motioned.

"Thank you."

He turned back to Christophe. "So are you going to start one?"

Gregory hummed absently and left the room, walking towards the bathroom. He shut himself in and locked the door, flipping the toilet lid down so he could sit on it as a chair. He ran a hand through his hair at even considering looking at the card and not ripping it and flushing it. He brushed his hand over his cheek and blushed, then pulled the card from his pocket.

Damien stared with a blank expression at the men who were standing before him. They'd met at an unnameable location, somewhere unimportant. Only walls and bad smells were around them. If Damien had been paying proper attention he may have read the writing on a wall, warning him, them, anyone; but he didn't.

"You kill him and you get your money. It's as simple as that."

"You're paying all three of us? Aint that stupid? Wouldn't one be enough to kill that fag?" one man replied. His name was Jack, and Damien had acquired information from eavesdropping in the bar the previous night that told him Jack didn't much like Gregory.

Damien scoffed at the idea of Gregory being easy to kill; that was definitely not the case. Gregory was something strong and special. Of course, he didn't want to tell Jack that. Them having second thoughts would lead to him having them, and he had to push all that out of his mind.

'You want him dead. You want him dead.'

And his father seeing that another human could do it would show him how Gregory was never anything to worry about.

"Look, you're all getting paid, so just shut up and do it."

Jack and his two friends - hardly worth naming because they were unimportant mortals who would probably end up dead whatever the outcome - grinned. "Absolutely."

"And make it quick."

"What? We don't get to play around a little?" Jack looked slightly put out. "Scare him? Hit him a bit? Where's the fun in doing in quickly?"

Damien glared, letting red flicker into his eyes. Three men trying to control the terror they were feeling stared back and nodded slowly - they would make it quick.

"So how do we know he'll be there?"

Damien grinned and motioned to Mark who was standing a little way behind him, looking nervously down at the floor. "Mark here has been following him. He saw him leave his apartment not long ago and sit in the bar. I know that if Blondie is out of the apartment then he won't be able to resist going the whole way and meeting me." He smirked. "You know what they say about curiosity, but it's not just cats who end up dead."

Gregory held his glass tightly in his hands, a glass that had only barely contained gin before the liquid had run desperately down his throat. There was a man at the other end of the bar. The reek of beer was prominent in the air and drunkenness was evident from one look at him. Gregory soon learned that this look had been unwanted when the man glared and grumbled, "What'cha lookin' at, faggot?"

Gregory sighed and turned away from the man - he was not in the mood to start such a trivial fight. If he was going to start a fight, it would have to be more interesting than a drunken brawl in a bar. And why could everyone always work out he was gay just by looking at him? What was it about him?

Hair, clothes, shoes, attitude...

How was he even able to have gay shoes?

Gregory knew exactly what he wanted - something he knew he shouldn't, something he'd have a horrendous time explaining if Christophe found out. It was wrong - he knew it. But denying himself twice was impossible when there were questions to be answered. Damien was dangerous but danger didn't scare him. It almost felt like an unexplainable pull but Gregory had to see him.

What Damien put in his pocket was a business card for a bar in Denver. Damien had written across it in cursive handwriting: 'Don't stand me up this time.' Gregory had run his finger along the writing and sighed. And then he'd run his finger over the writing five more times before he got to this moment.

It wasn't a particularly pleasant area of Denver that Damien had arranged to meet. Gregory knew people were bound to be keeping an eye for guns. He also knew that Damien would. And Gregory didn't want Damien to get the impression that he appeared a threat who needed defending from. No, Gregory was to give the impression that he wasn't scared. His rapier was also too obvious, so he took a knife; it would work if he needed it.

He just needed one more thing to actually get to Denver...

A drunken call to the barmaid: "Hey, doll face, can I have another of these... beers."

Bingo.

Gregory slid off his stool and slipped his coat on. He looked across at the man on the other end of the bar, busy leering forwards and harassing the bar staff. He made a show of tripping over his own stool and as he stumbled across the floor, fell into the man, grabbing his jacket to avoid hitting his head.

The man reeled back in horror. "Watch it, fag."

Gregory stumbled up, forcing an embarrassed flush to his face. "Ever so sorry." He laughed awkwardly. "Tripped."

"Sure you did." Gregory could almost hear the 'God damn fags horny for all men!' running through his head.

Gregory didn't care. He swiftly left the bar. He had what he wanted; he had the man's keys. Next was driving to Denver. Maybe the man would have a car left when he was done, maybe he wouldn't.

That all depended on how nicely Damien was prepared to play.