It's Too Late.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.
The bitter grey sky was spitting acidic rain down on the forsaken city. The faint sound of explosions echoed in the air and rumbled in the ground. The shelled-out buildings loomed like giant gravestones. The only splashes of colour were the rusty beechen leaves spiralling earthwards on the gnawing wind.
Chris stood, back to the wind, feet braced lightly on the now haphazard tiles of the city square. His chin-length dark hair was blowing and feathering around his face and his tall frame was swathed in a black trench coat.
He was gazing back at me with a quiet, resigned detachment. Perfectly unruffled. Cool, calm and collected. As though the events of yesterday were not replaying themselves over and over in his mind, like they were in mine.
I hadn't had much of an idea what I wanted to say to him, even when I'd contacted Bianca to set up the meeting.
Now, faced with a flesh and blood Chris, those few carefully chosen words were falling away from me.
I wanted to cross the space between us, should I say howling void, and wrap my arms around him. I wanted to cup his face in my hands. I wanted to kiss his forehead, like he was little boy again. I also wanted to shake him til his teeth rattled.
But I couldn't do these things. This was Chris. Impregnable as a fortress.
The leaves were drifting in eddies around our feet; the wind was clawing its way clean through my jacket. But it was no more cold than Chris's eyes.
The silence was spiralling horribly. I broke it a little more abruptly than I'd meant to.
'Jesus, Chris, why'd you have to pick this god-awful spot to meet?"
He returned my gaze steadily.
'Firs rule of engagement. Make your enemy as uncomfortable as possible."
Okay, I deserved that. Apparently. Did I? Well, he thought I did. I gritted my teeth. I'd always found it impossible to separate fact from fiction where Chris is concerned.
He thinks I hate him. Fiction. He can't forgive me for never having believed him about Wyatt. Not until recently anyway. Not until it was rubbed in my face. Fact.
'We're not enemies, Chris.'
Well, I had to say it.
He raised an eyebrow.
'Prove it. Say your piece.' I hesitated.
'After yesterday...what needs to be said?'
He rolled his eyes.
'You can fucking say it anyway. I want to hear this.'
My own anger was bubbling to the surface. He was determined to make this as difficult as possible. I reacted the way I always do, which also happens to be the worst possible reaction with him.
'Okay, Chris. You were right. Your brother's an evil fiend. You want a medal?'
Even I could hear the arrogance, the condescension, in my voice.
He gave me this look I couldn't quite read. It was almost long-suffering.
'And it only took yesterday to convince you of that? You should have dropped by the Manor some time in the last five years. What's the matter, Dad,' and on his lips the word was a taunt, 'no stomach for a little witch culling? Let me tell you something...'
He stepped up to me and took my face in his hands, much as I had thought earlier to approach him.
'I helped him.'
He dropped his hands to my upper arms.
'Yeah that's right, Leo,' he breathed. 'You raised two monsters.'
I closed my eyes for a moment, swallowing the treacherous lump in my throat at the thought of everything that must have been asked of this boy. My son.
Then as he made to step back, I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him against my chest. He went limp in my grip. I kissed his hair, breathing in the scent of him. He submitted to this, too, without a struggle.
'Chris, I know what you're going to do,' I burst out, seizing the bull by the horns, 'and I'm telling you, no, I'm begging you, don't do it.'
He tilted his head up to look at me, a cold smile working his mouth.
'Well well. Maybe we should just glue some giant springs to the soles of your shoes. Make those back flips a little easier for you.'
I tightened my grip on his shoulders. He didn't wince.
'You know the dangers better than I do, Chris. I've lost Wyatt. I know that now. I won't risk you for the possibility of getting him back.'
He stared at me. Genuine surprise.
'That's sweet, Leo.'
It was one of those times when I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic, serious or something in-between.
He lifted his hand to my face, but this time the gesture wasn't mocking, but tentative.
'But I'm not doing this for you. And I'm not doing it because I want my brother back. I'm doing it simply because I can't kill him.'
His mouth twisted slightly and he looked away. Obviously that was something of an admission.
His eyes travelled across the devastated landscape.
'I'd love to kill him,' he murmured. 'But even if I did, it wouldn't undo everything he's done.'
He turned haunted blue eyes on me.
'I killed witches yesterday, Leo.'
I winced. I really didn't want to hear this.
'And they were young.' His eyes were moving away from me again. 'And they were frightened. And I knew I could do it, I can do anything, I could kill you right now, simply because if I go back to the past and stop whatever happens to Wyatt from happening, none of this will happen either.'
He was talking to himself now. Any interest he'd had in me had evaporated.
I moved over to him, and this time gave into the urge and cradled his head in my hands.
He looked up at me, as though noticing me for the first time.
'But you couldn't let me leave. Not without telling me not to go. Couldn't pass up the opportunity to be able to say 'I told you so' at some later point.
He smiled really for the first time.
'Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get your chance.'
He stood on his toes to kiss my cheek.
'I guess that's game to you then.'