Risky Business Chapter 2

It has been three years, four months, and sixteen days since he had met Christophe. Gregory hasn't seen or heard of him since then. At first he thought he might have died seeing as how this was a dangerous job but he quickly tossed the thought away and beat it to death. There was no way Christophe could be dead, not yet, not before he proved he had deserved to live that day. And yes, he had begun to really live after that incident.

He had joined something called a fight club for boys his age but much less civilized. He watched them fight, learning from observation before he finally stepped forward. His fighting style was different than theirs. They threw random punches, never thinking it all through, but Gregory did. He would calculate every move he did just before he did it. The fights would end quickly depending on the opponent and it was less bloody than the other fights. Step one was complete.

Step two was a bit more difficult than he had originally hoped. Who knew getting into the mercenary field was tough. You had to know the right person, say just the right things before you could figure out how to get jobs. But he had gotten in, was given jobs around London and made a name for himself. His parents none the wiser.

But now he didn't need to hide it anymore. He was seventeen, tricked his family into thinking he was already in college, and had a large sum of money in the bank. A few months ago he had been in America with his 'partner' who had tried to kill him after a week. Why? Who knew? Maybe someone really wanted him dead. Either way, he was now in Paris, France to meet a new partner. Wearing an orange blouse, brown pants, boots, brown gloves, and a black belt he was sitting in a dingy bar filled with drunk and smoking men. It wasn't his choice of for a meeting place but the Moles. Horrible code name. So here he was, sitting at a back table, arms crossed, and staring straight ahead as if he was somewhere completely else, like a nice tea shop.

Christophe was able to get away from his mother, telling the woman that he needed to go out and see the world while she stayed in London. Naturally the Mole moved back home to the one place in the world where he wouldn't hate everything, Paris, France. Here is where he has enjoyed life, somewhat. The Mole never needed a partner, he worked alone on each and every mission. The only reason he would have someone with him is if the one paying him insists on joining him, but that was always so annoying. And something always went wrong , like guard dogs.

He wouldn't mind a partner, someone to take care of the boring stuff, to set up the missions. Which is what brings him to this bar. This bar is one of Christophe's favorites in the city, the alcohol they serve is perfect and the smell from the many cigarettes well that's another story (a good one of course). Dressed in a dark brown tight shirt, black pants, black army boots, brown fingerless gloves, and his trusty shovel attached to his back, he walks into the bar. Now where is this partner?

How long had Gregory been sitting here in this rancid, smoke and idiot filled bar you ask? Over an hour. He was growing more and more impatient by the second as drunk men would come over and speak to him in French, such a disgusting language. Almost ready to leave and forget all about this Mole he saw something that made him freeze. A man had just walked in the bar. This brunette was so familiar... His clothing style, the way he smoked a cigarette, and that shovel. His eyes narrowed and he finally put a name to that face. Christophe.

He wondered if he should approach the French man, show him that he did deserve to live and then, of course, get revenge. All he wanted was to be able to fight him and win, tell him he wasn't worth killing. Until then, he'd never feel complete. But he couldn't do it. Not now at least. He was a British man in a room of French men. Get into a fight with one of them and they'll all attack. Best to just wait for his partner to arrive, if he ever would. Looking away from the brunette he stared at the table, not wanting to be recognized.

Taking a drag from his cigarette he took a quick look around, Christophe realized he might have been a bit late… ok so maybe he was over an hour late. But it doesn't matter, he knows the new partner will wait. Need to wait if you want the best of course. Walking to the back of the bar, where he told the new partner to meet him, he seen Gregory. No he doesn't recognize him right away. Walking to the table Christophe pulled out a seat and sat down across from Gregory. Pulling the cigarette out of his mouth he spoke, "Zorry I'm late." His words were a lie, he wasn't truthfully sorry.

Hearing the chair across from him scrape against the ground he looked up, relieved he actually showed. And who was sitting there? Christophe. So he was the Mole? Smashing... just smashing. Glaring at him he finally spoke in a calm voice, "Hello... Christophe. So you are the Mole? And here I was hoping to find someone with a bit of class and manners. Guess that was too much to ask for." He didn't want to insult him but it was hard not to. It was just so easy, they were from two different worlds.

Sticking his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Christophe tilted his head. Wait… this guy knew him? Going silent for a moment he looked over the blonde trying to figure out who he was. So he's British based off his annoying voice and the way he presents himself, but Christophe just couldn't remember the ugly British swine. Then it hit him, "Gregory Yardale, ze spoiled rich brat who cries when ze dirt gets on 'is carpet, oui?" He chuckled taking a long drag and blowing the smoke at the other. There was a smell close to this table, which the brunette had to guess was Gregory's cologne, it stood out compared to all the other smells the bar offered. And Christophe hated the smell that most would consider nice, he wrinkled his nose slightly but didn't mention anything about it. That would be a childish move, and Christophe was no child.

Gregory narrowed his eyes as the other spoke his name. It sounded tarnished to be said in such a thick French accent. "I only cry when blood is spilt on the carpet now," he replied in a cold, bored tone. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be insulted but he had no other choice but to accept what was going on. The mission called for two mercenaries, not one. He'd just put up with the brunette until the job was over and then fire him. The last thing he needed was to get his head smashed in with a shovel in the middle of the night. Ugh... the shovel. He could smell old blood on it from his seat.

"So you are my new partner, no?" He laughed finding it funny that the other even got into this line of work. "You vant to 'ave a life worth living Gregory?" He questioned remembering the words he used to taunt the blonde many years ago. He didn't care if he was insulting him, it was all about being entertained at the moment. With a smug look on his face he decided to ask on more question of the rich boy, "You come to Paris to look for me, mon ami? I am touched." He snickered knowing how much the other must not want to be there, and calling him a friend might add salt to the wound.

Feeling annoyed, Gregory merely nodded to both questions but could risk asking, "Is it that surprising that I decided to bring some excitement into my life?" That was it, excitement. After that day everything seemed so boring, so pointless. He kept up his studies for his parents but when the sun went down... well that's when he truly lived. The feeling of getting into a fight, not knowing what was going to happen next. It was like a drug and he wanted more and more of it. His parents would bring home woman that they'd want him to marry but after just five minutes with them he wanted to toss his tea cup against the wall, just to see if she'd even react, to do something instead of smile. He was snapped out of his thoughts at his words. Eyebrow twitching he tried to speak in a calm voice. "Find you? No, the Mole was very low on my list of candidates for this job. You just got lucky is all it is. To me, you are as useless as a bag of spanners," he replied sharply. He wouldn't let the other win, not now, not ever.

Christophe leaned back in his chair as the other disgusting boy spoke. Well he wasn't disgusting per say, just well kept. And it was a problem to get blood on the carpet? Damn… well there goes the security deposit on the apartment, not like he'd get it back anyway. With a nod the brunette replied, "Oui, I figured you'd find some cow with 'er teeth every which way and 'ave childrens where you barely see zem or each ozzer." The Mole always found high society to be dull and boring, where so called lovers rarely seen each other or their children. It was completely sad that that was considered a loving relationship to the rich.

Gregory growled. He hated the stereotypes on British people and what he hated most was that he was right. Almost every woman he was forced to meet was a stereotypical British woman. He hated it, hated it more than being unkempt and dirty. Stupid French man knew just what buttons to push... He had to admit he was a bit impressed with that though. Only a bit and that was all. But it also stung. It took Gregory a while to realize that his family life style was much different from others and he was jealous of that. Jealous of the happy, smiling families that played together and actually talked. He'd never admit it though. He just couldn't. The only person he ever told that to was his boyfriend but that is a matter for a different time.

But with all jokes aside it was time to get down to business, dropping his smug look and giggles here and there Christophe gave the blonde a serious look. "I take partnership very seriously, Ze Mole does not need to 'ave a British ass'ole trying to kill 'im ze moment we leave France. I watch your back, you want mine, oui?" He asked already making a plan to kill the blonde if he tried anything stupid like trying to kill the Mole. After all Christophe's trusty shovel never got a taste of the Brit's money loving blood.

Finally the other dropped his smug look and got down to business. It was about time. He was beginning to feel like he was going to have to be a baby minder. Looking into his dark, coal black eyes he replied in all seriousness, "As do I... I will not try to kill you and I will treat you with a tad bit of respect if you do the same." Nodding he slowly held out his hand, wanting to shake on the deal.

Watching Gregory hold out his hand for a hand shake to seal the deal wasn't necessary. But the Frenchman would take this as an opportunity to piss him off a bit, reaching out he took hold of the blonde's hand and shook it (none too gently of course) and grinned. "Zese missions are my life, I vill give you a bit of respect, but fuck me over like god and I will show you why I am called ze Mole." His tone of voice turned cold at the mention of God, it was obviously not a easy subject for him. After all everything that is messed up in the world is God's fault, and Christophe seen that.

The French man was trying to annoy him, which was obvious especially with the hand shake. But he didn't wince, didn't show any sign of weakness. He knew if he did then he would have completely lost to the smug brunette. "You must not have much of a life then," he chuckled. "I will not... as you say "fuck you over". I just want to complete the mission." So this guy had a problem with God? How interesting... He'd have to make a metal note of that for later.

"No, my life she iz boring. I never wake up smiling ready to see ze new adventures life throws at me." Christophe said with a sarcastic tone rolling his eyes. The Mole had a pretty exciting life, getting to sleep with whoever he wants, committing crimes and getting away with it, a grave robbing here and there to spice things up (it's amazing what people burry with the dead), and always doing what he wants when he wants.

Rolling his eyes he shook his head. "That is not what I meant at all. No need to throw a wobbly," he sighed and thought about how to reword his statement. "What I meant was that there are other things in life other than this," he began and thought about his boyfriend back home. "Like a relationship, love, and such." He felt like such a pansy but it was true. The man reminded him that there is more to life then killing and doing jobs. There's also love.

Listening to Gregory he did agree with him, a relationship would be nice. But that is something he doesn't need right now. "Oui, but I vill not bring a love into zis. I vill not risk zeir life for my job. Dat iz dat." He said in a bored tone, one day he would be in one, but that's a matter to deal with some other time.

Gregory could only roll his eyes at the comment. This was going to be a long partnership. Hopefully it would pay off in the end and if not then he could always kill the French man. He wouldn't be missed. Glancing at him he tilted his head. "I guess I should tell you that I have someone waiting for me. He can take care of himself and he never complains about what I do," he smirked feeling superior to him in the relationship department.

This guy has a lover waiting for him in America? It was a little hard to believe, why not work with them instead of finding a partner? "Good for you mon ami." He said simply, he'd let the Brit have that one. Christophe could care less about anything the blonde had to say about love. He wasn't really defining the country to the other, he was more so talking to himself. But then Gregory said something that had to be corrected,"No, sex iz about dominating anozzer. Sex iz animalistic eet iz all about pleasure. Eet only becomes about love when you'd do anyzzing and everyzzing to keep the ozzer close to keep zem alive and 'appy even before you get zem into bed. You 'ave not experienced eet till you see eet slip away from you." He stated his views on the matter then pulled out his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, placing one at the corner of his mouth he lit it and took a long drag.

Leaning back, Gregory blushed lightly at the thought of his lover back home. How he missed him. Glaring at the other for his words, he felt disgusted."Why have mindless sex? From what I have heard it always feels better when you truly love someone. Yes, I truly love the man back home, I will not let my work interfere with our relationship and if he asked me to stop... then I would." It was true. If he asked Gregory to quit and have a normal life then he would. He would miss the jobs, the excitement but some things are more important. You could say Gregory has his priorities straightened out.

Christophe shook his head, yes the blonde may have finally started to get a life. But he was far from having one, what a simple minded boy."Whatever you say faggot." Was his simple reply. Sure Christophe is gay himself, but the other didn't need to know that yet. Taking a hit from his cigarette he finished it and flicked what was left to a man sitting a few tables over, Christophe didn't even care that he did hit him. "I'm going to 'ave to move back to London, no?" He asked with a disgusted look on his face, if so he wasn't looking forward to it at all.

He leaned back and chuckled, shaking his head. "No, we are going to the United States. Many jobs there," he informed the other. Gregory was like a Taskmaster. He found the jobs and even gave the jobs to other mercenaries, getting a cut from the pay. He found that more easier to do then to do the job himself unless he felt like getting his hands dirty.

He stared at Gregory at the mention of the United States. But of annoying redneck hicks that were originally from England. "So… we are going to America?" He questioned in an emotionless voice. "America, ze child of Britain? America ze land of God loving 'icks, where zey 'ear an "accent" and zink eet sound perfect, but zeir accent iz sheet?" He said with anger in his voice, this clearly upset him. America was on his very long list of things the Mole hates. Yes, he would put up with being there but he wouldn't like it and he'd make sure to make that known. "At least zey are loose." He mumbled under his breath finding that to be the only thing good about American's. "When do we leave ass'ole?" He questioned a bit upset because of the whole being in the States thing. It's not like he needed to pack anything, everything he needed he was wearing and he had with him.

America... he wasn't crazy about the place but it had its perks. It was so easy to smuggle things in and out of the country. No matter how much security they had, they could always be paid off. It was a glitch in the system that worked in his favor. He loved glitches. "Yes, I believe I just said that," he sighed boredly. "Again, yes. There is no need to define the American's to me. They are fools but they have valuable things from almost every country."He had now turned his attention back to his nails. Clean as usual. Though, the next comment bothered him a bit. "Loose? Sex isn't about pleasure, it's about love," he stated and quickly turned his attention back to his nails. Love meant a lot to him, something he had always wanted. "We leave in an hour. You could probably hurry to pack your things if you need to," he said and nodded to the four, very nice, bags beside his chair.

Glancing at his bags he looked back at Gregory. Everything that he would need he has with him. Clothes, well he could always buy more. Money, the Mole has his wallet with him along with his bank cards. Phone, which is always in pocket. And his trusty shovel, what more would he need to pack? "I 'ave everyzzing I need with me beetch." He yawned boredly before using his pinky to clean out his ear, looking at his pinky finger you probably couldn't tell he cleaned his ear at all with it. He mostly did this to disgust the British man, and he was a bit bored. Once in America, depending on the place he gets, he'll make sure it's comfortable. With dark colors, somewhere to dig holes, and a cemetery (the American's must burry nice things with their dead to). But then there was something he forgot to ask, "We are not sharing a 'ome, oui?"The Mole glared at the blonde, last thing he wanted to do was be anywhere near that boy and his cologne.

He looked the other over and raised an eyebrow but didn't question it. No reason to, he already knew what he would say and he hated nothing more than a mindless conversation. At least that meant they could just head straight to the airport after this. Gregory was kind enough to buy each of their tickets. A first class ticket for himself and he was now messing with his cell phone under the table to trade in the other first class ticket for a coach seat for Christophe. At least he wasn't going to force the brunette to pay him back, he'd just take it out of his pay. Glancing away from his cell he shuddered at the sight. Completely disgusting. There was no way he was going to be stuck in a plane with him for hours. Setting his cell back in his pocket he raised an eyebrow at him. "I do not care. It is your choice but I think you would be more happier with a dirty shack on the edge of town instead of a nice, clean house in a good neighborhood."

The tan Frenchman noticed the look he was getting from the blonde, so easily disgusted he'll have to use that on him at a later time. Tilting his head at the statement, Christophe was a bit confused. So he would get to chose? Staying in the same house as a English cow, or live somewhere comfy. It was a difficult choice, on one hand he could always annoy or piss off the other around the clock, and on the other hand he could live how he wants. But it would always be fun to bother him whenever Christophe wanted. "I vill stay with you eef eet iz my choice mon ami," He said with an almost innocent looking smile on his face.

Gregory's eyebrow twitched as Christophe informed him they'd be living together. Great... he just had to give him a choice. He was so sure he wouldn't accept living with him. "Fine... you will live by my rules though," he stated and stood, grabbing his bags. "The taxi is outside." He walked through the bar and outside to see the taxi pull up to them. He waited for the driver to open the trunk to put his bags in before slipping into the back seat.

"Whatever you say mon ami," Christophe chuckled, yeah he would listen to some rules. But asking Christophe to listen to them all would never happen, just like getting him to quit smoking. Standing he watched Gregory walk out of the bar and snickered, even the way he walked showed he was a rich pretty boy. Following him outside he pulled his shovel off of his back and glared at the taxi driver when he tried to take it from him. No one touches the shovel, keeping his death glare on the driver he set his shovel in the trunk. Yeah it didn't look like the man would be attempting to touch it at all. Slipping into the back seat of the taxi next to Gregory he took a hit from his cigarette and blew the smoke out at him. Yes he did this just to piss off the uptight blonde.

Gregory's eyebrow twitched in annoyance as he fanned the smoke away from his face. "Such a child," he huffed and turned to look out the window. Hopefully it would be a peaceful drive to the airport. And Gregory was wrong, very, very wrong. All the French man did was smoke, talk about how much he hated cabs and his cologne, then spoke of his hatred towards God, how God screwed him over. He wanted nothing more than to shove that cigarette down his throat but he remained somewhat calm. Well, he did insult him back and did threaten to shove his cigarette down his throat but that only seemed to egg the brunette on. 'I hate the French,' was all he could think when they arrived at the airport and boarded the plane. At least he'd have some peace on the plane.

Christophe laughed completely enjoying himself, why was it so fun to annoy this boy? Besides that he's a British fool and rich one at that. The entire drive to the airport was just giving the blonde a sample of the torment to come. When the insults were returned with threats all the Mole did was smirk and step everything up a notch. Boarding the plane wasn't so bad, he'd never actually gotten to sit with other passenger. Christophe usually snuck on with the luggage, so this was a nice change. Though he did get the couple sitting next to him to think he was a demon. Now where on earth would they get such a crazy idea?

For Gregory the flight wasn't that bad, it was great actually. So relaxing to be in the company of other civilized people, all in business suits and looking over paper work. Some were even typing away on their laptops. The sound brought back memories of watching his father... that is, when his father was actually home. Leaning back he closed his eyes, not wanting to think of family or work but of himself for once. He wanted to get back to his boyfriend, complain about the French man, and have an amazing night in bed with him. He'd been away from his lover for almost a week now, it was only expected that he'd get lonely. That is when he fell asleep until the plane landed.