A/N: As always, thank you for the reviews. They do make me smile! It's an easy way to make someone's day! :))

I suppose this should settle any doubt about Christophe.

Wendy groaned, head bent over the toilet bowl, stomach swirling. She supposed she should be getting used to it but she absolutely detested being sick. Another thing she now hated: anything that smelled like lemon, and unfortunately the house did. It wouldn't do; she would have to get a different bleach, a different cleaner. This was worse than living in Hell. She groaned again and threw up.

Her front door unlocked and from it came the kind, gentle voice that she was sure anyone would fall in love with if it was directed to them the way it was to her.

"Wendy?" called Stan, shutting the door gently. "Hello?"

"I'm here," she replied weakly, unable to pull herself up from her position. She must have looked dreadful - tangled hair scraped back in a ponytail, a horrible sheen on her face and absolutely no make-up (because screw that routine when she had to carry around a baby and had always hated it anyway).

She heard a rustle of a bag being put in the kitchen and then felt Stan crouching beside her, a warm hand running over her forehead. She glanced over her shoulder into Stan's kind eyes. "Hi."

"Hey," he said, smiling gently.

"Don't look at me, I'm a mess."

"Really? I think you look as beautiful now as the day I first shared my juicebox with you... granted you smell worse." Stan chuckled and kissed the back of Wendy's head. "But you're perfect."

"You're so soppy."

Stan laughed. "I got you the lemon tart you wanted, though it looks unnaturally yellow."

"No! No! Stan, no!" she yelled and then turned her head back to the bowl, removing the last of her breakfast from her stomach. Stan's hands rested on her shoulders as he spoke quickly, with endearing panic in his voice.

"I'm sorry! What did I do?! I'm sorry!"

She chuckled and pulled Stan into a sideways hug, aware she wasn't very appealing and had fowl smelling breath, but unable to resist his warmth and comfort, especially still in his soft coat, with his hair cute and ruffled and his cheeks rosy from the cold air. "I'm sorry for yelling." She bit her lip and rested her head on Stan's chest. "It's the hormones because, well, I'm pregnant. And it all adds up that you're the father."

"I know," whispered Stan, holding her tighter.

Tears came to her eyes. "How do you know?"

"It's obvious you're pregnant from the way you're acting. And I - I had this feeling I was the father. I don't know why, but... I did."

"How do you feel?"

"I'm terrified, but I'm so excited."

"Me too. We're going to be parents, Stan. Us."

"We'll be brilliant." Stan turned Wendy's face to him and kissed her cheek, both of them still sitting on the floor. "Does anyone else know?"

"Gregory guessed I was pregnant the first time I saw him, not long before... you know..."

"Mmmm." Stan sighed. "Gregory isn't a bad person to have on your side I guess."

"No, he's always so in control of his life."

Stan shrugged. "Seems to be."

It was early in the morning and Gregory woke up to a warm, very real presence next to him. It wasn't like sleeping with Christophe. Damien's arms were wrapped around him. It felt very close, like they weren't just sleeping next to each other, they were sleeping together.

Gregory shook the idea out of his head - the very thought was messed up and had absolutely no basis. His head was spinning and he felt like he was about to pass out again, he had to at least control his thoughts about analysing sleeping arrangements. He cautiously slipped out of Damien's hold, managing not to disturb the sleeping man. He rolled off the bed; but rather than landing gracefully on his feet like he usually did, he ended up on his face.

He bit his lip and weakly pushed himself up. He shouldn't have been moving at all but he needed to get away from Damien.

He allowed himself a glance over his shoulder at the perfect sleeping face before dragging himself out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.

He stared at himself in the mirror, inwardly recoiling as his body was too weak to allow the physical movement. He had never looked so unattractive, with blood-shot eyes, curly hair in disarray and greasy from the sweat he remembered of the previous night. His skin was an unhealthy shade of pale, save for the dark circles under his eyes. This was not how he imagined himself looking when he pictured him and Damien lying in bed together.

He almost wretched as he sniffed himself; and quietly he splashed cold water onto his face and chest, just to feel even an ounce fresher. Dizzily, he searched for his shirt, vaguely remembering it being removed in the same room. He found it draped over the wash basket and pulled it back out, giving it a disgusted glance. Why would Damien put it there? Had he expected Gregory to stay in the morning? Wear his clothes?

Gregory had to get out.

He pulled his shirt back on, beginning to do up the buttons. But he didn't manage many until a dizzying suddenly ran through his head and he collapsed to the floor.

Damien had tried to stay awake all night to watch over Gregory, keep the numbing healing pumping through him, but sometime in the early morning he'd fallen asleep too, out of pure exhaustion and a strange sense of peace at being close to the sleeping blond. When he woke up and saw Gregory had gone, he panicked, worrying the blond would have fallen down the stairs or landed somewhere hard in what must have been a weak state. He found him slumped outside the bathroom and picked him up, holding him close in relief.

Gregory groaned. "S-Stop, I need to go."

"Not until you can walk." Damien lay Gregory down on the bed again and stroked his head, checking his temperature, which he was relieved to feel was cooler than the previous night. Gregory lay limp before him, and Damien hated seeing it.

"I - I have to-" Gregory trailed out, mouth hanging open. Damien smiled lightly and took off Gregory's shirt again, then made sure he was comfy, supporting his head with pillows. He pulled the duvet halfway over Gregory and then left the bedroom, taking laundry from the basket and putting it in with Gregory's shirt. He made dry toast and tea without milk, then took them back upstairs to find Gregory on the floor again.

He sighed and put what he was carrying down on the bedside table, then picked Gregory up and put him back on the bed. "Blondie, stay still. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I c-can't," Gregory choked out, voice sounding dry. He looked with dark eyes at Damien.

"I'm not forcing you to stay, but you can't do much without my help, I'm sorry. It's knocked you weak." Damien sat next to Gregory and propped him up, ending up with him slouched helplessly against his shoulder. He picked up the tea and blew on it, then held it to Gregory's mouth carefully. "Please, drink something." He hoped it didn't remind Gregory too much of the previous night. Damien had felt so terrible making him drink salty water to deliberately throw up.

Gregory's hands fell around Damien's and together they enabled him to take a sip. Damien watched Gregory's face and gave him another when he was ready. He pulled the mug away and heard Gregory grumbling.

"Tastes... horrible..."

"I didn't want to risk putting milk in because I don't want to make you sick again," Damien explained. He pointed at a piece of toast. "Eat that or I'll feed you." He watched as Gregory took a few bites, chewing and then panting, like it caused difficulty. He made Gregory drink some more and then smiled, a little happier.

"Okay, Blondie, you're done." Damien lay him down again and stroked his forehead before Gregory could protest.

"W-What's wrong w-with m-me?" Gregory managed with great difficulty. Damien sighed and hugged Gregory close, selfishly making the most of the opportunity not to be pushed away. He knew he was doing no harm, in fact, just being touched by Damien should make Gregory feel less pain if Damien wanted it.

"You've been poisoned, or drugged, or something," Damien said. "I don't know why or who by, but we got it all out of you last night. Now you just need more sleep." He felt the tickle of Gregory's head against his neck and saw with amazement that Gregory had nestled closer to him, resting against his shoulder.

"Mmmnn I - sick."

"Yeah, you were sick. But don't worry, you're safe here, right now. You're safe to sleep."

Gregory groaned and nodded, then fell back asleep within seconds. Damien watched him, feeling all the love he could possibly feel, mixed with guilt from everything he'd ever done to Gregory and anybody else. He let these emotions take hold and consume him, because they stopped the hatred and evil that was trying to return. He could keep this good side with him as long as he tortured himself.

Trying to kill Gregory, threatening Pip, killing Mark, his past with Christophe, all the other people he'd harmed, lives he'd ruined: he felt it all. His throat was dry, there was a loud pumping in his ears. The screams, he could hear them, begging, crying, pained. They were shrill, people stolen of life. He couldn't steal any more life, couldn't bear it.

He stroked Gregory's hair and knew that he couldn't keep the blond next to him for long, because he'd eventually turn so violently, that death would follow. He was like Jekyll and Hyde, only Hyde was set to take over the world, and Jekyll couldn't live if they were to kill Hyde.

Christophe had fallen asleep after the movie had ended, waking up sometime around two in the morning in a daze. He'd frowned, immediately noticing Gregory's shoes and coat were still gone. He looked around the apartment, checked his phone, and then panicked. He hadn't managed to fall back asleep with Gregory not there. Staying out all night only meant one of a few possibilities and none of them pleased him.

He'd just started his second packet of cigarettes since the previous night and was distractedly making eggs when he heard the door unlock. He flew towards it, throwing his cigarette into an ashtray on the way past. He stopped when he saw Damien holding a very still Gregory.

"Don't panic," said Damien quickly. "He's fine! I didn't-"

Christophe cut him off by throwing a punch into his jaw and pulling Gregory away from him. "What ze fuck did you do?"

Damien held his jaw with one hand and held his other hand up. "Nothing! Please! I've been taking care of him, not harming him." He looked like he was reaching out a hand to touch Gregory. Christophe pulled Gregory back and scowled.

"Don't."

Damien nodded sadly. "Just... Do you know anyone who would want to hurt him?"

"You."

"Not me."

Christophe glared at Damien. "I don't think zere's anybody else." He looked at the darkness around Damien's eyes and the distress on his face and sighed. "Just come inside a moment." He pointed to the sofa. "Sit zere and don't move."

Christophe took Gregory into his arms and carried him to his bed, laying him down carefully. He noticed that Gregory was wearing a shirt that didn't belong to either of them, hanging loose on him. It must have been Damien's. He felt like ripping it off but didn't dare interfere. Damien seemed generally caring and worried. He almost looked as dreadful as Gregory. Christophe stroked Gregory's hair softly as he thought.

He knew who Damien was. He'd known as a teenager that Damien was the Antichrist after he had shown him some of the tricks he could do. Christophe had been so high that he'd loved it, watched in awe. He hadn't appreciated how dangerous Damien was the same. The reason he hadn't told Gregory the truth was a simple one - if Gregory knew that the Antichrist was hunting him, there'd be no stopping him until he'd discovered why. And Christophe was more interested in Gregory's safety than knowing the truth.

But it seemed inevitable now: Gregory and Damien must have seen more of each other than Christophe knew. He walked back into the living room and lit another cigarette, glaring at Damien and standing in front of him. He hated how tall Damien was, even sitting down.

"I don't like you," he said.

"I know."

"You helped fuel some of ze worst years of my life, which only ended wiz ze help of ze incredible person een ze bedroom: Gregory. I'd probably be dead eef eet wasn't for him. He deserves so much good. But what does he get? You trying to kill him."

"I-"

"I don't care why. Zere's no reason good enough. And I don't even care eef you don't want to do eet again. You put him een danger and I will never like you for zat."

Damien hung his head. "I know," he whispered softly.

"Were you involved wiz ze incident een Denver?"

"I - I arranged them to attack him, but then as I was watching, I also arranged it so that Gregory won the fight." Damien ran a hand through his hair. "You have to believe me. I can't kill him. I found him collapsed on the ground last night, poisoned by something. Did he have anything last night? Something you didn't?"

Christophe pointed at an almost empty bottle on the counter. "Zat. I spat eet out." He frowned. "He drank a lot."

Damien pointed a hand at the bottle and made it fly towards him, which would have made Christophe angry if he wasn't so distracted. Damien sniffed it and then narrowed his eyes. "Yep, that's tainted." He put the bottle down and shook his head. "I made him throw it all up and then healed him."

Christophe was relieved, but couldn't feel grateful. Because without Damien, he was sure there wouldn't have been any of that danger for Gregory. "Ees zere any more I should know?"

"You'll have to ask him. I'm not sharing anymore."

Christophe drew on his cigarette, hating that there was more. "Why did you want to kill 'im?"

Damien stared sadly at Christophe and shook his head. "I want to tell you, but if I do then I'm worried I'll lose control of myself again. I'm alright at the moment but it will come back... It will." He looked really distressed, clutching at his hair. He looked like a little child who was at any moment going to curl into a ball. "Ask Pip. He'll tell you."

Christophe would remember this. "So eet wasn't you who poisoned Gregory?"

"No!"

"And eet wasn't one of your demons?"

Damien stared wide-eyed at Christophe and suddenly jumped up. "Fuck!"

"What?!"

But Damien was already running out of the door.

When Gregory woke up again, he saw that he was no longer with Damien but with Christophe, resting next to him on his bed. He was wearing Damien's shirt. The whole house smelled strongly of smoke but the smell of the shirt drifted to his nostrils and sent pulses to his brain, enough to immediately make him alert. It was so intoxicating that his heart beat faster and it almost felt like Damien's arms were around him. He took a shaky breath and turned to Christophe who was sat up and frowning.

"... 'Ow do you feel?"

"Better." Gregory sat up and nodded. "Much better." And he did.

"Good." Christophe nodded his head, still frowning. Something wasn't right.

"Tophe, are you okay?"

"Mmmm." Christophe got off the bed. "Let's go een ze ozer room. Zere's more space." Gregory frowned and nodded, following. Space? Since when did they need more space? Christophe led him to the kitchen and then stood facing him, across the breakfast bar, not sitting down. "I spoke to Damien."

"Oh?" Gregory's heart missed a beat. "Does he know what exactly happened now?"

"Maybe."

Gregory bit his lip. "It's lucky he found me. I... He was so good."

Christophe banged his fist down on the counter fiercely. "Non! Eef he hadn't found you een ze first place, none of zis would be happening. Eet ees not lucky!"

"Without Damien I would have died!"

"Wiz Damien you might die," Christophe growled. "Have you been arranging to see him? Have you been going near him?"

"No!" Gregory yelled quickly. "No... Not really... Yes..."

"Don't be a fool, Gregory; you don't know what he's capable of."

"Yes I am! I know you don't like me near him but I can make my own decisions and I've decided that I want to see Damien." Gregory bit his lip as he prepared himself for the next part of what he wanted to say. He'd not said it out loud before, and he was scared that saying it out loud would not only confirm it but make it much stronger. "I think I have feelings for him." He looked down at the ground. "Feelings I've never felt before."

And his heart beat faster.

Christophe stared and shook his head. "Non. Non, you can't."

"I'm afraid it's true." Gregory looked up slowly. "I don't understand it but I know it."

"NON!" Christophe yelled, clutching the counter. "Zis ees all wrong! Zis ees not how eet should be!"

"Probably not, but then I don't know how it should be." Gregory smiled weakly. "So I guess we could say this is normal."

"You can say eet's normal, but not I. I think eet's wrong and I will not support eet!" Christophe verbally growled before his next line. "I 'ate 'im and I'm not too pleased wiz you right now eizer!"

"Well luckily this has nothing to do with you!" retorted Gregory shortly.

"Zis has everything to do wiz me!"

"Why?!"

"Because I-" Christophe cut himself off, looking terrified. He grit his teeth and shook his head. "Never mind, like you'd give a fuck about me anyway. You're so selfish. You think you're so observant but you don't half miss ze obvious things."

"What am I missing?!"

"I don't know! Everything! I just - can't you feel how stupid you're being? I have this feeling zat tells me everything could be easier but you never let eet and you'll never feel it back and eet makes me so angry!" He stormed off to his bedroom but not before he kicked a dining chair and sent it toppling over, landing on the floor with a loud bang and a louder following silence.

Gregory picked up the chair, sat on it, and then collapsed his head on the table, crying into his arms.

Damien had called Zazul to him, forced him to appear. And he was so quick to find the truth. He was angry, and anyone would be wise not to argue. "You poisoned him!" He held his throat tight and stared into his eyes with deadly black. The demon finally looked scared, finally like he understood he'd overstepped the line. Damien was his better.

"I-I n-no not exactly. I drugged him for you so you could have some fun. I got into his apartment, put it in the wine. I m-must have used too much."

"You fucker." This only made Damien angrier, dropping him to the floor and kicking him. "You low life."

"P-Please, have mercy," he whimpered, head bowed.

Funny, a demon begging for mercy. Damien could make demons whimper. And for the first time, both sides were in agreement.

'Finish him, Damien.'

And he did, sending a bolt of energy through him that even an immortal couldn't survive. This demon would be stripped of his rank, powers, everything; doomed to spend the rest of eternity in Hell, no higher than a mortal. Damien snarled and sent him there.

Christophe eventually re-appeared from his bedroom, taking one look at Gregory slouched over the table and immediately encasing him in a hug. He wrapped his arms around his friend and ignored the flinching, holding him tight until Gregory turned and hugged back, burying his face into his shoulder and sniffing.

"Je suis désolé, mon ami," he muttered.

"Me too, Tophe." Gregory's voice sounded broken. "I wish I could see the easy way." Christophe stroked Gregory's hair.

"Je sais."

All Christophe wanted to do was kiss him tenderly and tell him the truth: how desperately he loved him, how he had since they were teenagers. Gregory was his first love, his only love, and probably his last one. However, as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't say it. Gregory would never love him back; and if he were to tell, he'd lose everything.

He'd lose the chance to touch Gregory over his soft body, caress tender areas, or even just his thick blond hair. He'd lose the casual nudity and mornings in bed together, the chance to spoil Gregory and just be alone. Their bond would never be the same, not if Gregory realised how past the line of normal friendship they were.

With the threat of Damien, Christophe knew he was set to lose this soon anyway. And to Gregory it would feel like the beginning of something exciting and amazing, but to him it would feel like the end of everything. Christophe had always had more than he could expect from Gregory, and if he was going to lose it to Damien then he needed to not wreck his friendship, however tempting it felt to just run away.

He sighed and let go of Gregory, sitting next to him and stroking his hair. "I think you should go and see Damien." He sighed. "And demand the truth."

It was probably time Gregory knew the truth (the little bit Christophe knew and whatever else it was that was slowly ruining their lives).

"Do you know the truth?"

Christophe shook his head. "I cannot tell you. You must find ze truth yourself."

Gregory looked Christophe up and down. "There's a big secret isn't there?" The Frenchman didn't reply. "I will find it."

"Oui." Christophe dropped his hand. "Well before you go out anywhere, you should eat. I'll make you something while you sort yourself out. Because you really need to take a shower. You stink. And your hair... eet ees dreadful."

Gregory looked like he wanted to cry again but he chuckled and reached his arms to Christophe in another hug. "Oh, I love you so much, Tophe."

Christophe sighed and hugged Gregory back, stroking his hair. A single tear rolled down his face from his left eye, over his round tanned cheek and the stubble above his lip, until the salty taste seeped into his mouth. The taste would refuse to leave for a great amount of time after. "Oui. I love you too," he whispered as he closed his eyes.