A/N: Who needs to get back to their hiatus? Me. Who's horrible at staying on hiatus? Also me. Whoops happens.

Enjoy~

Not since he'd been stricken with a particularly nasty flu in the middle of inventory had Kyle ever been at work typing as slowly and distractedly as he was. Perhaps the tenth sigh within the last five minutes flew through his lips, eyes hazily focused as he glanced between monitors transferring information between spreadsheets. Last night, as was typical for him anymore, was bereft of a decent rest. However, unlike the sleepless nights of months past, ones filled with nothing but anxiety and worry as multiple pieces of paperwork left in the office haunted him each time he closed his eyes, this night was one of an almost eerie contentment.

He couldn't put his finger on it, and truth be told, he didn't think that he truly wanted to. The taste of a strong spearmint gum still lingered on his lips, a vague memory of the events of the night prior. A heat rushed over his face as he felt lips, chapped from countless late-night mountain air patrols, still dancing across his nerves. It'd been a rush, something that he hadn't realized that he so desperately missed until an opportunity presented itself in full force.

The night laying alone in his bed had been cold until a reminder of the stifling warmth of Mysterion's hood. He was just barely cloaked with him, his hand around the back of Mysterion's neck feeling the scorching warmth radiating off of his skin through his balaclava, what covered both of their faces locking them in a realm that seemed separate from reality. Kyle couldn't help but wonder how he could handle being so heavily donned in fabric all the time, himself unable to stand the concept of being trapped in layer upon layer to the point of sweating.

It was a feeling he hadn't had in nearly five years before he'd voluntarily pulled himself far out of the dating scene. "Too much drama," he'd told Stan and Kenny as they berated him for being single for damn-near six months at the time. "I need to focus on my career. And going through another disaster phase like with Christophe would damn near destroy my hope of keeping a steady job."

The redhead cringed to himself and shook his head. He didn't know if that was true, if it really was him wanting to focus on his career that held him back from doing anything more than a one night stand with anyone. Or maybe it was just trying to avoid what Christophe had left him with: Two years of a fairly well-managed relationship that exploded one night and left him with a bruised back and hip that he'd managed to pass off as nothing more than sleeping wrong and fucking up a nerve. He'd been proud of himself at the time, managing to impress even Kenny and Stan for walking right the fuck out of their apartment in Denver to come back home and never looking back. He knew just what could've been in store if he'd lingered around, he knew well enough that it only took one incident to make someone think their actions could be justified, and strong-willed, level-headed Kyle would never let himself be trapped in a disaster like that.

Or so he thought.

Months of practically making a production out of his lifestyle started to wane on him, going home to an empty apartment and doing nothing more than fixing a small dinner that would last him the week and distracting himself in any way he could. He was starting to miss the man who'd shoved him into a support beam in a drunken rage, a tiny part of him telling him that at least screaming was better than nothingness. So an even bigger change was what he needed, he'd convinced himself. Buying his house to switch it up was a mistake, he'd figured out. Because now he had more room. More room to let echo with silence, to remind him that he was alone. The only people that had ever came over and stayed to keep him company was a handful of drunken mistakes and Kenny when his apartment complex was being fumigated and he crashed on the couch. But still the mindset he'd somehow tricked himself into rang loud and clear: Career was more important than anything else.

But then, Mysterion showed up. It was something new. Something exciting. Anyone in Kyle's field could tell someone the hard and simple truth: Their lives were boring. There was nothing thrilling about signing payroll checks. No one got a rush out of calculating different banks' compound interest plans and scheduling meetings with lenders. But Mysterion? He was a slice of life that Kyle sitting behind his desk in his nice little tie and clean-pressed slacks hadn't known he was missing. The means of their meeting started them right off with something foreign and exotic, something that, pained as it was to admit to himself, reminded him of when he got with Christophe. After all, he had been a man of a dangerous lifestyle, someone that he knew that he could never know every little detail about but still loved the asshole for all he was worth. He was someone that would smoke and backtalk his parents and drink like a machine. He'd whisked Kyle off a good number of times out of the country, making him wait in their hotel until he completed his job before coming back and dragging Kyle along to fuck him behind a little European café. Kyle had never been so happy, so ready to always be caught off-guard by the French man that had all the women swooning, but instead had set his sights on the gangly redhead locked in a boring numbers profession.

Stan's old, teasing words rang loud and clear from after he announced he was moving in with Christophe in Denver: "That's pretty tropey, Kyle. Goin' for the bad boy? I had more respect for you than that." Stan wasn't exactly wrong; He'd never found himself drawn to the safeness of someone that society considered overall stable. Stability led to monotony, monotony led to misery. After all, he had his job to prove that little train of thought well and clear enough. But Mysterion…

Mysterion just reminded him that there was something more than what he had.

The kiss had thrown him off entirely, not picking up anything that indicated ulterior motives from the caped man. Then again, Kyle also knew that he usually had to be beaten with the truth before it sank in, and even then he tended to question if they were sure. But Mysterion seemed so hell-bent on keeping him as far out of 'the line of fire' as he could. Something about the whole situation was just dismantling any shred of logic that Kyle tried to concoct to make sense of the whole thing. According to the vigilante, whoever he really was had a thing for him, and had for some time, but Kyle sure as hell couldn't pin down who it could possibly be. The only people he'd been able to rule out was Stan, someone he was beyond thankful to have off the list, and Kenny after forcing him to goddamn strip after Mysterion had been stabbed. A playful smile quirked on his lips. Maybe that was a hasty assumption. Mysterion said he had a superpower after all, maybe he could heal any wounds.

He shook his head at himself with a quiet laugh, forcing himself to pick up the pace at least a smidgeon, because he'd never hear the end of it if he got too far behind, regardless of Cartman's tight hold over him.

No matter who Mysterion was, something was there. Something that Kyle couldn't quite decipher, unable to believe the fact that he himself had so impulsively locked lips with someone who he didn't even know their name. But, maybe that was what propelled him to do it. He didn't have to worry about what Mysterion did in the daytime, and obviously he had the means to repair his uniform and keep himself equipped with tiny little gadgets to help him out, so he couldn't be doing too awful with his real persona's lifestyle. Given, that came with its own concerns. Mysterion could be someone's fucking husband in the daytime, he could be the night whore that Mysterion saunters to because he's bored with whoever's waiting for him to get home at night. Kyle rolled his eyes at himself. That line of thinking was ridiculous. He highly doubted anyone who was married to that guy would be chill with him slipping in and out and taking down criminals. And he was extremely doubtful that Mysterion would've came to him first when he got hurt at the center. He didn't go to put on his normal clothes and make up an excuse at the emergency room. He didn't slip off back home to have his significant other patch him up. No. He came back to Kyle. And he was every night, when in all honesty, it was completely unnecessary.

Kyle allowed himself a smug, warm smile, taking a sip of coffee and sighing contentedly, letting every horrible aspect he was trapped in once again sink away with the thought of Mysterion's lips, and the possibilities it held. Did Mysterion want an exclusive deal? Were they literally going to just kiss and never tell and never push past the most basic of romantic contact? Kyle knew he'd be lying if he said he'd be content with it never going further than that. He wouldn't just kiss anyone, there had to be an attraction, and after being unable to sleep and a spur-of-the-moment session at three AM with nothing in his mind but a warm hood and a husky voice, he'd come to the conclusion rather loudly that yes, there was definitely an attraction. One that startled him and intrigued him all the same.

It was a rush for his creative side, getting to imagine how he smelled, how he tasted. He'd only gotten chaste kisses on his lips, neither of them pressing further than that. But he could just tell from Mysterion's cocky attitude alone that chaste was definitely not his style, just a precursor to test the waters. The body under the cape was an enigma, and one that Kyle found himself envisioning getting to run his hands along, find defined muscle and map him out.

A healthy twitch of his covered cock made him snap back into reality. "No no no, not here," he chided himself, taking another gulp of coffee and grabbing papers from his desk, forcing himself to read about a mis-sent checking situation he was trying to work out. He scanned through the email listlessly, biting his lip to try to get himself under control. His eyes landed on the word 'mysterious' and he rolled his eyes. "Are you fucking serious right now," he muttered, shaking his head. Apparently the universe was more than willing to point him in the direction he was sure he wanted to take anyway. He took a deep breath and nodded to himself firmly. Tonight there'd be no pretending that what happened never did. It was about being upfront, figuring out where they stood and what they both want out of it all. Otherwise he'd wake up with crusted bedsheets and regret the rest of his goddamn life.

He jolted at a sharp knock on his door, eyes flickering to his rising problem and gulping. "Fucking perfect," he grumbled, seeing Cartman lingering outside his door. He took a shaking breath, pressing the unlock button and watching the man saunter into the room oh-so-casually. Kyle leaned back, crossing his legs and hoping to god he looked as nonchalant as he wanted to. "What?" he demanded curtly.

Cartman raised his brow, a smirk crawling up his lips. "No way to talk to your boss, Kahl."

"I'm drowning in paperwork, Fatboy. I don't have time for visitation. Do you have a reason for being here or not?" he demanded, reminding himself stubbornly to keep it short and sweet. To not let him know just how much he knew and fighting off a steadily rising flare of fury at the sight of the criminal essentially holding him hostage.

The brunette shrugged, plopping down into one of the chairs across from him and folding his hands in his lap. "We haven't really touched basis on our little charity situation," he reminded him coolly. "Have you found out anything new?"

Kyle took a shaking breath, forcing it out as evenly as he could manage. Cartman was toying with him, he wanted him to snap and break and get himself thrown into prison, that much was blatantly obvious. He had to play dumb. He had to leave out puzzle pieces he'd long found and glued into place. "Money is missing all over the place," he finally said.

Cartman's demeanor remained unchanged. "And why is that?"

"I'm not sure," he lied. "I still can't figure it out. But Ken's place isn't the only one being hit. I'm still working on it."

He nodded, "And just how quickly do you think it'll be resolved?" Kyle locked eyes with him, reading in-between the lines easily enough. "How long do I have before I need to get rid of you?"

"The quicker the better, but until I find some missing information, I can't do anything," he replied, papers crinkling in his grip as it tightened in frustration.

Cartman glanced at the papers for the briefest of moment before that pure amber cut right back up to Kyle's face. The coldness was gone in an instant with a relaxed shrug. "Well, Kahl, as your boss, I suppose I need to do the supervisory thing and ask you a very simple question…" he paused, letting Kyle's brow knit in the slightest before a sly smirk crept back onto his face, chilling Kyle's core to the bone. "Just how can I be sure that you're not the root of this problem?"

Kyle managed to redirect all his rage into his leg and let it jerk in reflex in substitution of his fist. "Because," he said, slowly and deeply, in that tone that only Cartman could ever work out of him. "If I wanted to take money, I never would've mentioned it to you. Because you don't fucking check the funds, you let me handle all of that. You're a pretty shit business owner when it comes down to it."

"For trusting my controller?" he asked innocently.

"Considering you hired me and introduced me to the employees as 'the conniving Jew' and advised them to 'keep close tabs on their wallets', I really don't think that you can use that excuse," he glared, all the contentment and curiosity of before gone, replaced with a burning rage.

He chuckled, "All jokes, Kahl. If I really thought you would steal from me, I never would let you even look at the building, let alone help me run it."

"Help you my ass!" he snapped. "I do run this building, Fatboy. You sit in your comfy-ass chair and dawdle and shove three bags of McDonald's down your fucking throat every day! The most difficult decision you make for the company is whether or not to keep the fucking middle initial in your fucking business stamps!"

His voice echoed around them and his shoulders sank, watching Cartman's grin grow just a little wilder at the proclamation, eyes sparking with dangerous promise. "I think you owe me an apology, Mr. Broflovski," he said, cool tone replaced with spite. "Because I hold a few certain things of yours in my hands, and I don't think you want to lose them," he reminded him.

Kyle stared at him blankly, fear and frustration at an all-out war within him. His lip trembled in the slightest, remembering Mysterion's warning to him, how he wanted him to play it carefully. And looking at Cartman's bodily tone, he understood why. The man wasn't threatening his job or his paycheck, and not even the charities. He was threatening his life. Green eyes dropped back down to his paperwork, now a crumpled disaster in his shaking hands. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Good," he nodded sharply, getting to his feet. "Hopefully you'll take my kindness of not writing you up for such a coarse tone to heart," he mocked. "Maybe it'll remind you next time to respect the people that are smarter than you," he cocked his brow. He leaned over the desk, Kyle looking up at his hovering mass and taking a deep, furious breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. "Won't you, Kahl?"

He glared at him, "When I have someone smarter than me I'm dealing with, yeah. I'll remember."

Cartman snorted derisively, "A smart person would've figured this mess out by now, Jew. Instead of just sitting here whimpering and whining and treading water."

"Hard to put together the pieces when the game's been rigged against you," he worked out smoothly.

"This is your board, Kahl," he batted his lashes innocently. "The only thing keeping you from winning is you. I hired you because you're supposed to be smart," he reminded him. "Why do you keep proving me wrong?"

He shook his head, "I know a hell of a lot more than you do, Cartman."

"Not where it counts," he bit back, relishing in the subtle twitch of Kyle's left eye. Countless years of pressing his buttons let him know with that little motion that he'd hit the deepest of Kyle's nerves, right on the mark. It wouldn't take much to wear him down further, get him completely unhinged. Because no one knew better than he did: The way to keep Kyle off the trail came in one of two ways. Either you outsmart him and get his morality complex to override everything else, or you hit the snapping point and strike the core of his emotions. Either way, it'd throw him off and he'd be nothing but a miserable recluse if the game was played right, and then he'd be clay for Cartman to mold back into the shape he needed him to be. "After all, I don't know too many brilliant minds who prefer to keep their happenings… under a hood," he hissed, watching Kyle's face pale over at once. Cartman shrugged with a grin and raised himself back up onto his feet, stretching with a contented sigh. "Well, thanks for filling me in, Kahl," he said casually, spinning on his heel and heading towards the door. "Keep me updated more regularly, will you? I'm heading home now. Have a lovely evening," he cooed before walking out and shutting the door behind him with a deafening click, one that rang of a gunshot through Kyle's eardrums.

The accountant's heart was beating hard enough to make him nauseous, eyes stuck staring straight across the room at the far-side wall. He knew. He knew. He finally put the printed email back onto his desk, hands shaking in anxiety. This was bad. He knew everything.

He stopped himself, brows furrowing as a certain thought crossed his mind, hand tracing up just enough to touch his healing black eye. Of course he would know. No doubt his fucking lackeys told him all about how Mysterion had rushed in to save him. He was letting Cartman get into his head too much, something that he'd struggled to get away from since they were preschoolers. Sometimes it couldn't be helped, but now, there was a perfectly logical explanation as to why he would know about Mysterion.

He sighed, resting his forehead in his palm and staring at his desk exhaustedly. Irritating flashbacks of that night spawned once again, feeling hands around his throat, being blinded and feeling the inevitability of his mortality before Mysterion had saved him. Just thuds and crashes and a thick, unseen accent-

Kyle paused, raising his head up as that Russian drawl plagued him once again. He knew he'd heard that voice. And he'd heard it here. He straightened up, looking out of the corner of his eye as Cartman passed by his office from his own, briefcase in hand and playing with his cellphone in the other. The redhead bit his lip. He'd met the man who'd tried to choke him out. Been introduced and everything, even shook his hand.

He groaned, rubbing his temple as he tried to rack his brain, pinpoint a name in all the pandemonium that'd been taking place that day. He twisted his lips, getting to his feet. He couldn't remember, but if there was a client entered into the system, there were meetings. And if there were meetings, there was only one person who Cartman would call to be his coffee bitch, and that someone happened to have a fantastic memory of names around the office.

Kyle whirled out from behind his desk and slowly opened his door, peeking into the hall and seeing it bare. He nodded to himself before slipping out and hurrying to Butters' door, knocking rapidly.

He heard a small yelp before a "Y-yes?" came through the wood. He shoved it open to see Butters still in shock, not used to his door being knocked on. He brightened immensely as Kyle slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. "Well, hey there, Kyle!" he greeted. "Got some work for me?"

"You could say that," he muttered, walking to Butters' window and peeking around the side towards the parking lot, seeing Cartman making way to his car and sighing in relief before looking at his baffled assistant. "Butters," he started, grabbing a chair from the side wall and swinging it around to sit beside him. He leaned down, folding his hands between his knees and staring at him firmly, Butters' face sinking in concern.

"Kyle? You okay?" he questioned softly.

"Butters, I need you to think very carefully about something," he implored him. "Did Cartman have any potential client meetings in the last few weeks?"

Butters nodded enthusiastically. "He sure did. Why, a whole slew of 'em, actually!"

He bit his lip. That made things a little harder. "Did you have to bring papers and coffee like usual?"

Another nod, "Yep! That's why I've been behind on the filin'," he gestured to a stack on his desk guiltily.

Kyle wove it off, "Don't worry about that, it's fine. But do you remember someone in one of those meetings? Pretty big guy? Super tall? Had a very thick Russian accent?"

Butters looked up thoughtfully and scratched at his thinning blonde hair. "Yeah… yeah he was in a few weeks ago." Brown eyes brightened with the recollection. "Somethin' 'bout a car company."

"Right," he nodded. "Did Cartman introduce you? Did you get his name?"

"Mr. Kashkov," he replied right off the bat. "I 'member because I-I mispronounced it at first and he was mighty sore," he pouted.

Kyle straightened up as the names and faces rang fresh in his mind. "Kashkov and Burke," he murmured. He looked back at Butters' curious face and bit his lip. "Do you know if anything was signed or if they got involved with us in any way?" he rolled his hand in front of him with a wince.

He blinked, "Do uh… do you want me to look it up?"

"That'd be appreciated," he said softly. "I can't check on my computer."

Butters smiled, turning to his own and glancing through folders for clientele records. "How come?"

"Update," he murmured, twisting his chair to look at the computer with him, shaking his head subtly at the disorganization of Butters' files. "How're your classes going?"

Butters paused, looking at him confusedly. "Classes?"

Kyle blinked. "Your training? So you can help me out more?"

"Oh, um… Eric said you wanted to wait for those," he cocked his head. "Because you have so much else goin' on that you dunno what to assign me."

The redhead's eyes went wide before he just sighed irritably and waved him back to continuing his work. "Why would I be the least bit surprised," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fuckin' son of a bitch." He couldn't even be angry at the fact, considering how much else Cartman was putting him through, this was really the absolute bottom rung of him being taken advantage of. He'd take that over another element wrapping his name up in the wrong side of the law.

Butters chewed on his tongue, humming softly as he scoured through his folder looking for names. "Um, I think this company is them," he said. Kyle glanced up, narrowing his eyes at the title 'Car Parts'.

"Obviously he forgot to make this one look legitimate," he grumbled.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, click on it," he directed, watching the folder open onto the screen with one document listed. Butters opened the page, both of them staring in bewilderment at a completely blank scanned paper aside from two signatures at the bottom.

Butters zoomed in on the names, reading Matvei Kashkov and Darryl Burke. "Are… are they gonna be employees or somethin'?" he questioned in confusion.

"No," he twisted his lips. "But this is enough to put them in our system." He took a deep breath and shook his head. Cartman just wanted their signatures for something. And he had a feeling he knew what. "Butters, print this off and put it in my bag in my office, I'm heading downstairs real quick," he said firmly, getting up and heading out of the office before the blonde had the time to even consider questioning him. He hurriedly made his way down the carpeted steps, turning to head towards the front of the building before being intercepted by middle-aged drama.

"Mr. Broflovski," she greeted.

"Judy, not now," he said firmly, trying to move past her.

She put a hand on his chest and pushed him back a bit, crossing her arms and huffing. "I need a certain report sent down."

"Then call Butters," he emphasized. "That's why he's there. Now I'm in the middle of something, please get out of my way," he bit, stepping around her and ignoring her complaining to another employee about his 'gall'. He made way for the security desk, looking for the temp before freezing, seeing Larson sitting in his chair casually reading a newspaper.

The man glanced up at him and smacked his lips in boredom. "Can I help you, Mr. Broflovski?"

"You're… back from your vacation?" he asked suspiciously.

Todd nodded lazily, "Got back in yesterday morning. You need something?"

Kyle stared at him in bewilderment before clearing his throat. "Uh… no. No I just heard the rumor you were back and wanted to confirm with your vacation marked as indefinite and all," he forced himself to shrug casually. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," he said before turning back to his paper.

Kyle turned away, quickly heading back down the aisle towards the stairs before another voice stopped him, "Yo, Broflovski."

He halted, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before whirling around to see Craig Tucker staring at him. "Yes, Craig?"

"Can I talk to you?" he asked dryly, jerking his head back towards the design office. Kyle almost declined before catching a few stares from people in their cubicles, eyes darting around to see most everyone staring him down.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah that's fine," he nodded briskly, stepping off and letting Craig herd him into the office and shut the door firmly. Kyle crossed his arms uncomfortably, shifting his weight. "Everything all right?"

Grey eyes found his and he shuddered, remembering in his youth thinking those eyes were perfect for what Craig was; Unyielding and, more often than not, literally hard as a rock around him. "They hate you," he said plainly.

Kyle blinked, "I'm sorry?"

He jerked his head back towards the outside, "Them. They hate you. I dunno if anything will come from it, but I really think you should be lookin' elsewhere to work. They might revolt."

The accountant sank in his place, the hard truth seeming so much rougher coming from a fellow employee than telling it to himself. "I know they do," he whispered. "But I can't find another place to work… Not right now."

"Why?" he asked, blunt and right to the point, always Craig's style.

"Let's just say it's complicated," he sighed tiredly. "But… Craig, why do they hate me? Because I don't socialize?"

He shrugged lazily, "Some of it, yeah. And because you just told Judy to fuck off and tell Butters that she needed something, when it's your job."

"Fucking everything is my job," he argued. "I can't keep up with it if you all expect to get paid every week!" he shouted, Craig's brow raising in surprise at Kyle losing his temper. He managed to keep that part of him away from the lower-rung workers, something that'd always amazed the noirette considering just how ridiculously moody and temperamental he knew Kyle could be. But now, the frustration was more than evident, seeing a thin wall of water layering over exhausted green eyes. "Craig, I'm fucking trying," he pleaded. "But I have sixty-three employees, eighty-seven clients, and Cartman that I have to manage by myself! I don't want to tell someone to have the work passed off, but it's either that or I fucking have a fucking heart attack right here on the fucking floor!" he gestured to the carpet desperately. "Do you know how hard it is to manage the finances and the human resources and the client meetings and everything else? You know where your paperwork all comes from? Me. I draft every fucking piece of paper that you get! And you get a binder on a weekly basis! One of the small ones. So I'm sorry that I can't be bothered to track down a paper that Judy can damn well get upstairs and get herself when I don't even have the time to eat or sleep let alone micromanage every single goddamn thing that happens in this fucking building!" He panted, shoulders trembling and his head dropping, hiding his face in his hand as his eyes burned and he sniffled miserably.

Craig was just stuck, staring at him in shock. "Fatass said he made the binders," was all he could manage to work out, not used to this kind of excitement in the workplace.

"HA!" Kyle spat out, looking back up at him with small tear-tracks running down his cheeks. "He makes deals with clients for their business. And he'll occasionally take a phone call. That's it. I haven't seen him do real paperwork that wasn't just what I hand him to sign in a damn long time… I'm on my own up there, Craig," he said in defeat. "He promised to put Butters in classes to train him but… he went back on it. He took my raise and bonus money out of the budget already. Dunno what he spent it on, it was supposed to cover Butters getting trained. But apparently it went somewhere else."

The man shoved his hands in his pockets, watching him carefully. "Isn't that illegal? Why don't you call someone?"

Kyle smiled sadly at him and shook his head, "I have my reasons. Right now… I am where I am. And… and I can't get out," he whispered. "Craig, you know me better than almost anyone else in this building," he pleaded. "You know I wouldn't try to make anyone's life more difficult if I could avoid it."

He nodded slowly, "I know. That's why I wanted to tell you to get out of here before they ripped off your head."

"I'd welcome it at this point," he muttered, wiping the tears off his face and taking a shaking breath. "Look, I have to get back to work. Was that all?"

Craig let out a long breath and nodded again. "Yeah. Look, we're slow with design for the next week while we wait for some photo-grabs. Fuck the binders for now. We'll work off of old notes."

"I can't-" he stopped as Craig held up his hand.

"Fatass never checks 'em. I don't think he knows they even exist at this point if he's not the one makin' 'em. Don't bother, you have enough to deal with for now. I'll let you know when they're needed again."

Kyle paused before smiling a little at him, "Thank you," he whispered.

"Yeah yeah," he came over and put his hand on his back, leading him back to the door and out into the main portion of the building. Kyle's face blossomed as he saw everyone standing and staring at him in shock. He forgot how thin the walls were down on this floor. Craig glanced over the group and scowled at the lingering processing team. "Judy, get your own fuckin' report," he calmly dictated. She cleared her throat, nodding softly and trudging up the stairs. He looked down at Kyle and elbowed him. "Cartman's out of the building, you're in charge. Tell 'em what to do," he jerked his head towards all of them.

Kyle looked at his steady gaze, reading with ease him telling him that this was his chance to make things a little easier. "Um…" he glanced around at the attentive faces and sighed. "I'm sorry you all heard that," he started slowly. "But it's been building up for a while and no one confronted me with the facts aside from Cartman and well… I can't exactly scream at him without risking a lot of things right now. Hate me all you want," he said tiredly. "But I'm not trying to isolate any of you or make your jobs harder or pretend that I'm better than you. When it comes down to it, I work for all of you, not the other way around. And I'm having trouble keeping up. I'm one guy, and I'm the one person here who takes his work home every single night, who gets here at six after staying up until three trying to finish your weekly reports that you all just barely skim before tossing them aside…" he sighed again, rubbing his eyes. "Look, we have three hours before the workday ends, at least for you guys. I'll keep my office open. If anyone has particular grievances with how I'm handling things, come talk to me and we'll attempt to reach a compromise. No one else is going to get yelled at," he promised, looking at them blearily and readjusting his glasses. "I'm sorry," he repeated, crossing his arms and starting his walk of shame back towards the stairs. He could feel everyone watching him, remaining staring at the carpet as he trudged up to his personal Hell.

He could hear quiet murmurs starting and shook his head. He'd lost it. He'd completely lost himself in the workplace, something he'd been holding back from for so damn long. Leave it to an old fuckbuddy to be the one to bring it out of him.

He made it back into his office and propped the door open, seeing the paper with Kashkov and Burke's signatures sticking partially out of his bag and sighing. He made it back to his chair and plopped down, slinking and staring at the ceiling, eyes still burning with emotion still trying to keep itself in check.

He thought of Larson sitting so casually in his office and bit his lip angrily, glancing at the paper again and shaking his head. Pieces were rising and falling faster than he could keep up with, and he was beyond certain that Larson was having his ass covered by Cartman, but the other two? Not so much. All it was going to take was a little digging, and to give Mysterion faces to put with the names. Because if there was one person in the world who wasn't going to let him slip into the chasm of misery and be just another victim of circumstance, if there was one person who would hunt down whoever was trying to hurt him and would save him without a moment's hesitation… It was him.

A/N: This chapter was way longer than expected jfc

Thanks for R&Ring!