A/N: Hiya folks! I've been a HUGE fan of South Park for years, but I've only just started writing fanfiction for it! I absolutely adore Christophe and Gregory (especially together xD). So here's my first South Park fanfic. I wrote it while I was waiting for a flight (that was delayed, believe it or not) at an airport.

Hope you like it!

Delayed

Gregory strummed his fingers against the wooden surface of the table, staring unblinkingly at the clock that was mounted on the wall in front of him.

Tic…tic…tic

Blue-grey eyes watched as the minutes passed at a sluggish pace, his heartbeat taking on a similar rhythm. It pounded in his ears and blocked out every other sound, even that of his nails scraping against the table. His entire world seemed to revolve around it. Even the tapping of his fingers synchronized with it.

Tic…tic…tic

Christophe was late. And the words "Christophe" and "late" did not belong in the same sentence without a "not" or "never" somewhere between them. As much as the Frenchman's smoking, disregard for personal hygiene, and cursing annoyed Gregory, there was one thing about the other man that the blonde both respected and admired: his punctuality. The British man broke his stare with the clock and dropped his gaze down to the watch on his wrist. It was a simple timepiece with a black face and band. Christophe had given it to him in their freshman year of high school. Gregory stared at it intently. The brunette had the same exact watch.

"We must synchronize watches, zhat way we are always on ze same page."

It was 2:45 AM on Gregory's watch. It was 2:45 AM on Christophe's watch. The brunette mercenary was late. 45 minutes and 17 seconds late.

Tic…tic…tic

Time passed. When the clock read 5:15, Gregory threw himself to his feet. He needed to do something. Frustration mounted when he realized that there was nothing he could do. Information about missions was never to be disclosed, not for any reason or person until they were completed. The blonde had no idea where Christophe was, who he was with, or what he was doing. Angry at his uselessness, yet realizing that there was simply nothing to be done, Gregory eventually ended up pacing frantically, tearing his eyes away from the clock for the first time in the past two and a half hours. His left leg protested the movement, reminding the blonde of the reason he had not accompanied the Frenchman on this particular mission. He had been shot in the calf two months earlier. While the bullet had only grazed him, the wound it left was deep and it was still hindering Gregory's mobility.

This was the first mission that Gregory had not been a part of. And it was driving him crazy.

Christophe was 3 hours, 16 minutes, and 24 seconds late.

Tic…tic…tic

The sun began to rise at 6:00. Christophe wasn't there.

4 hours and 16 seconds.

Tic…tic…tic

By 8:15, the sun was high enough that the entire world seemed to be touched by its golden light. But it did nothing to chase away the darkness mounting in Gregory's heart. Sleep pulled heavily at the blonde's eyelids, but he refused to allow himself that luxury. He was slumped in the same hard plastic chair, facing the clock once again.

6 hours, 15 minutes, and 32 seconds.

Tic…tic…tic

By 12:00, the blonde stopped trying to withhold the tears. Christophe was 8 hours and 45 seconds late. Even injured, the brunette would not have kept Gregory waiting that long. The only other time he had been late, it had only been by 15 minutes. Gregory was supposed to meet him back at their apartment. He had stumbled through the front door, cursing furiously in his native tongue and bleeding heavily from a bullet wound in his shoulder. Before Gregory had even had a chance to stop the bleeding, the mercenary had started spouting apologies for his tardiness.

But this time was different. 8 hours, 5 minutes, and 4 seconds had passed. Either Christophe was gravely injured or he was…

Fresh tears burned down Gregory's cheeks as the unthinkable crossed his mind.

Either Christophe was injured or he was dead.

Tic…tic…tic

At 1:17 PM, the sound of the door to their apartment opening brought Gregory to his feet for the first time in several hours.

9 hours, 17 minutes, and 20 seconds after Christophe was supposed to return from his mission, the brunette stumbled through the doorway.

One dirt and blood encrusted arm was thrown over Kyle Broflovski's shoulders, the redhead supporting most of the brunette's weight. Christophe's clothes were ripped and bloody and his head was hanging, as if he could no longer hold it up due to either pain or exhaustion. Given his current condition, it was probably both.

"Christophe…" Gregory breathed, tentatively reaching down and cupping his boyfriend's face. Gently, he raised Christophe's head so that he could see him clearly. The dark brown eyes that the blonde so adored were dull and clouded with pain. Gregory's breath caught in his through when he saw the gash on his lover's forehead. It was about an inch above the brunette's right eye, extending from the middle of his eyebrow to the top of his right ear. Blood was oozing sluggishly from the wound, covering the entire right side of his face. Gregory couldn't keep his hand from shaking as he brushed some of the crimson liquid away, stomach churning when more replaced it after only a matter of seconds.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice shaking almost as badly as his hands.

"Do nut worree," Christophe said, his voice strained, "Ze bastard took a sweeng at moi wiz my shovel and I took a beet of a nap for a while."

Kyle raised an eyebrow and Gregory nodded, helping the Jew move Christophe to the couch. The redhead immediately left, presumably to get towels. Gregory kneeled down beside the Frenchman's head, inspecting the wound carefully. Head wounds were notorious bleeders, but the gash did look very deep. With skilled, yet shaky fingers, Gregory began to wipe some of the dirt away, his stomach clenching at every pained hiss that escaped his boyfriend's lips. Kyle returned with a handful of towels and a bowl of hot water. Nodding his thanks, Gregory quickly went to work at cleaning the wound.

"How did you find him?" He asked, addressing Kyle though he never looked up from his task.

The redhead and his blonde friend, Kenny, had started accompanying Christophe and Gregory on missions in their junior year of high school. The French mercenary had been reluctant to include them at first, but Kyle's excellent hacking skills and Kenny's immortality had quickly changed the brunette's mind. They had proved to be very valuable comrades, especially during some of their more dangerous missions. Gregory was eternally grateful that the redhead had been there to drag the Frenchman's sorry ass back to him.

"I knew something was wrong when he didn't show up at the rendezvous point. I had to finish downloading the mark's information to my hard drive, and he was supposed to be waiting for me," Kyle explained, "I gave him 15 minutes before I called Kenny and told him to bring the van around. I gave him the hard drive then went back into the house. This dude lived in this fucking huge mansion, so it took me forever to make my way back though every room. Unfortunately, the guy had returned by the time I snuck back in, so I had to be careful not to get caught. I was actually stuck in his bedroom closet for over two hours because the dickhead decided to have a meeting with his buddies. It's probably for the best though, because they started talking about an intruder that one of the guards had taken out with a shovel. I knew it had to be Christophe, so I waited and when they finally left, I snuck out and over to the toolshed where they were keeping him. He was out cold, so I had a bit of trouble smuggling him out, but I managed to get him to the van. Unfortunately they caught on as we were leaving and let's just say it took us a few hours to lose them."

"Wiz my own shovel," Christophe groaned, wincing when Gregory put pressure on the now-clean wound, "'ow embarrassing."

Gregory ignored him and looked up at Kyle, "Can you fetch my first-aid kit? It's under our bed. This needs stitches." Kyle nodded and left.

"Sheet," The Frenchman hissed, "I fucking 'ate steetches…"

Gregory didn't say anything, choosing instead to run his fingers through his thick brown locks.

It took the blonde about 15 minutes to stitch the wound. He moved slowly, holding in a wince every time a pained hiss escaped the brunette's lips. Once he was done, Gregory went back to carding his fingers through his boyfriend's hair, knowing that it was soothing him as much as it was soothing the brunette.

Kyle eventually rose to his feet. "I gotta get going," he explained, "Stan's probably worried sick." The redhead looked exhausted and his own clothes were torn and bloodied in some places.

Gregory nodded and stood. He faced Kyle and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it briefly. "Thank you," he simply said.

Kyle smiled, "Anytime." Then he was gone.

Gregory resumed his position kneeling next to Christophe's head. The Frenchman watched him through hooded brown eyes.

"9 hours, 17 minutes, and 20 seconds," Gregory whispered.

"What?"

"That's how long I waited for you."

Dark brown eyes softened, "You were worried about me, non?"

Tears welled up in Gregory's blue-grey eyes despite his best efforts to maintain his composure and he nodded mutely.

"Come 'ere," Christophe said, pulling his boyfriend closer and resting his forehead against his, completely disregarding his stitches. "I want you to leesten to me, mon cher (1). I will never leave you alone. I will alwayz come back to you."

"I love you," Gregory whispered, "I love you so much."

"Je t'aime trop (2). 'ush, everyzing eez ok. I am 'ere." Christophe gently pulled him in so that their lips met. One hand reached around to the back of Gregory's neck, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling the blonde closer. Gregory's hand reached forward, framing his boyfriend's face. The kiss was gentle, but deep and passionate. Christophe's tongue slowly worked its way into Gregory's mouth, and the blonde let the brunette slowly explore his mouth. After a few minutes, he pressed forward slightly and slid his own tongue into his boyfriend's mouth, mind set on memorizing it completely. They stayed like that as the clock continued to pass the time away on the wall, trading lazy, but passion-filled kisses.

And 9 hours, 44 minutes, and 19 seconds after Gregory stopped breathing, his heart started beating again.

(1) Translation: My dear

(2) Translation: I love you too

AN:

Well, hope you enjoyed it! Hopefully the characterization wasn't too far off . Please review and let me know if you have any corrections/suggestions! Thanks for reading! :D