Anonymous Reviewers: Thank you and I'll keep my updates coming as fast as possible.

Fiction Ghost Writer: Yeah, well he died on the final episode of season six. So it was either he became a whitelighter or merged with a Chris that would wind up lacking the depth that his character does. So yeah, he's a whitelighter but he'll be sure to catch a ton of breaks if I have a say in it.

Crlncyln: Yeah he's not technically a Halliwell anymore but something tells me he'll land on his feet. And I'm glad you can't wait to read more because I can't wait to write more.

McLaughlin: Let me just start by saying I love your review. Glad I've got you on the edge of your seat. Wish I could supply some vague answers to your questions but I'm writing this on the fly so I have no clue where it'll go.

Weiliya: Thank you. I'll keep the updates coming as fast as they pop into my head.

-Reviews are greatly appreciated.

Charmed Identity Crisis….. Charmed Identity Crisis….. Charmed Identity Crisis….. Charmed Identity Crisis

Heart. Noun. Five letters. One Syllable. The heart is probably the only thing the size of your fist that houses a world of emotion. Passion. Hurt. Affection. Trepidation. Animosity. Obsession. Love. Sometimes you feel all of them at the same time with no rhyme or reason behind it. Pascal once said, 'the heart has reason in which reason cannot know.' Ben's just about to discover just how true that statement really is.

Ben Hall has always been a man guided by reason, taught there was a reason for everything. He was also taught to follow his heart but, after your hearts been broken so many times, you choose to let your head take the wheel and steer. Ben strongly believes first you lose what you love and then you suffer the unquenchable thirst that remains. For companionship. For love. For understanding. For endlessly and unconditionally.

Yes, Ben Hall is a man of reason… but the law of reason is about to take a back seat when it comes to a certain blonde witch.

It's been forty-five hours and twenty-one minutes… not that he is staring at the ceiling counting every painstakingly long second since his encounter with the mysterious blonde or anything. Or maybe that's exactly what he is doing. It isn't a big deal or anything. Or maybe it is a huge deal. Ben isn't quite sure yet.

As he contemplates the meaning of the cosmic shock, the unexpected spark he got from her touch, Ben is being watched. The lower level demon stands in the shadows of his hallway watching the young whitelighter with such precision that he can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest as well count the number of times he's blinked. In fact, he relishes in the perplexed expression on Ben's face. His pain is this particular scather demon's bread and butter.

Once Ben's head bobs to the side the demon thinks it's a better time than any to take out his mark. He races into the room, fireball in hand ready to strike. However, he terribly underestimates the young whitelighter. The moment he steps onto the area rug in front of the bed, electricity surges through every fiber of his being with a vengeance.

Ben: Nice little trick, ain't it…Had a witch friend of mine set that one up.

Ben grabs his signature athame from atop his nightstand and orbs to the ground beside the now snapped trap in the kneeling position. The demon wears a heartagram around his neck- the only distinguishing mark. Other than that, he appears human- right down to the brown eyes and pale skin.

Ben: Whataya' want from me?
Demon: Your life.

Ben makes a shallow slice across the demons stomach in a cold calculating manner, abandoning the pacifist tendencies of his fellow whitelighters.

Ben: Next time will be your throat. Now tell me, why'd you come after me?
Demon: You and that blonde are sticking your noses where they don't belong.
Ben: You're lower level. Who're you working for?
Demon: You might as well kill me. I'll never tell.
Ben: See that sounds like my kind of challenge but something tells me you're not worth the trouble. How about the count of five… you tell me everything or I vanquish your sorry ass. Sound fair?

Ben digs the athame deeper and deeper into the demon's throat counting backwards from five. The moment he's done with the countdown there's nothing left of the demon but a scorch mark on the shag rug. Any form of animosity he feels for the demon intensifies as he stares loathingly at the scorch marks on his rug. Breathing a deep sigh, Ben slowly makes it to his feet and walks into the small bathroom connected to his bedroom.

Ben: Should have known that girl would get me into trouble.

Being so close to the demon when he burst into flames produced ash on his skin which he knew needed tending to. He vigorously scrubs at his hands, face, and neck- the only exposed skin thanks to his now ash covered long sleeve shirt and long plaid pajama pants. After stripping down into merely his boxers, Ben walked back into the closet and pulled out a plain red Henley and old faded blue jeans.

As much as it irritates him, Billie is probably in just as much trouble as he is and if he wants to figure out what demons are after her, he must go where he vowed to never return. An internal pep talk and an orb later, Ben finds himself standing in a place that he used to spend as much time as possible in and the place he was stabbed. Standing in the center of the Halliwell attic was the prized object he seeked.

Ben: Book of Shadows, long time no see.

He takes his rightful place at the podium and stares down at the one and only Book of Shadows like he'd done a million times before, only this time was different. Something felt different, like the book isn't his holy bible anymore. For as long as he could remember, Ben was drawn to the book like some magnetic force. It was almost as if his very soul was connected to it but now he feels just as connected to it as he did with any other book he read.

In the hopes of restoring his connection, the whitelighter's fingers move smoothly over the leather only to have a sigh of disappointment expelled from his lips and the detachment to the Halliwells strengthen. Then he opens it and flips through the pages with the carelessness he would any other book. He moves in haste fearing getting caught. He shouldn't be here. He really shouldn't be here but she may be in danger. Internally he smirked and thought, 'All this for one girl… you must have it bad Hall.'

He must have gone through the book at least a half a dozen times, thinking maybe just maybe he was just missing it. If only it were that simple. A mistake. The demons weren't in the book, nor did he have any prior knowledge of them. They didn't work for the source because they didn't work for Wyatt in the past… or was it future? Maybe it was just nonexistent. The whole time paradox thing was starting to turn his brain to mush.

But one thing is certain. The demon that attacked him tonight, and more than likely the ones Billie faced off with last night, is not in the book. Knowing that it is the first time the book let him down aggravates him to no end. He lets the anger get the best of him as he slams the book shut cursing.

Ben: God damn it!

He hadn't even realized he'd screamed until he hears the distinct sound of heels clacking up the stairs. The cavalry is coming. His heart slams against his ribcage profusely as he tries to orb. Orbing under pressure wasn't anything out of the ordinary. He'd been orbing since he was a kid. When he was younger he'd played games like orb n' seek and tag orb. Orbing was in his nature but at this very moment, it feels like a foreign concept.

He wants to run. He wants to orb. At this point he'd do everything and anything to get away but he's stuck; his feet might as well be glued to floor. As their footsteps get louder, he becomes more and more panicked. His body tenses and his lungs freeze with misery. Three hundred and sixty-six days of keeping his secret blown. He closes his eyes and braces himself for the inevitable...

The door creeks open and holding his breath, Ben opens his eyes expecting three women with brown hair and brown eyes gawking at him. He is preparing to offer up an explanation but stopped before a single syllable could be uttered. Instead he sees women scanning every inch of the room and his mother in an all too familiar attack mode- with her hands ready to blow up the intruder if given a moment's chance. They look right through him and move about the room as if he doesn't exist.

Paige: Well, I got nothing.
Phoebe: Me either. Look, we've got bigger things to worry about than some phantom noise.

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of his stomach as he turned his head, careful not to make a sound, and stares blankly at his mom- stares at Piper. There she is within arms length, the beautiful woman that he had once had the privilege of calling mom. The woman he will still, to this day, lay down his life for, Piper Halliwell. How is it that he could see her and she can't see him? Then he remembers.

Sandra: Ben? What're you doing up here? I thought we made it perfectly clear you weren't ready for your whitelighter duties yet.
Ben: I know but I just shot lightning bolts out of my hands. Last time I checked it was more of an elder than a whitelighter thing.
Sandra: Electrokinesis… in a whitelighter? That can't be unless…
Ben: Unless what?
Sandra: Unless your genetic composition was redone when you became a whitelighter because Leo was an elder when your parents conceived you.
Ben: But I wasn't conceived. Melinda was.
Sandra: That's not entirely true. You see when—
Ben: I don't wanna know. Just tell me what other Elders powers I have?
Sandra: I'm afraid only time will tell.

Time is telling him right now that his elder abilities don't end with Electrokinesis. In a moment of maximum desire to hide, he turned invisible. He rekindled the flame inside himself, and -the moment Melinda's crying echoes throughout the house and they leave to see what put the child in distress- he orbs out smiling like a lottery winner.

He lands in the three-bathroom, three-bedroom apartment in a building that was atop a hill overlooking the beach. There is even a long wooden staircase that links the building directly down to the beach. The floor to ceiling windows are maticulousely placed throughout the building to give you the feeling you're out in open water.

For all intent and purpose this building is his home. He's converted one bedroom- the one more secluded from sight from the living room- into a home gym slash training room. The other bedroom is a study. Though, he considers it more out of necessity than actual desire to make it home. After all, the master bedroom and bathrooms were all the same as when he moved in.

The open floor planned kitchen separates itself from the dining/living area with a long, marble island counter and everything in that general area is exactly the way it was when he moved in. Not a single homey touch in the sleek modern apartment is put in by his hand.

His internal debate on what makes a house a home is cut short when he peeks out of the study and realizes the living room is lit up and the televisions on. He quietly moves down the narrow hall that opens up into the dining room trying not to make a sound against the tile flooring. As he moves into the dining room and tucks back into the small hall that connects to the training room.

One thin wall separates the whitelighter from uncertain doom. His warrior instincts come into play as he turns the corner sharply with an energy ball in hand. However it disintegrates in his hand when he sees the trespasser. He opened his mouth, surely ready to say some witty sarcastic remark, and shuts it before it can betray him.

Billie: Whitelighter, a guardian angel of the magical community. They're responsible for-
Ben: Hold up a second. You came all they way over here just to give me a vocab lesson.

His lips curve into a slight smirk as he takes in the beautiful, brave, and brilliant blonde staring at him like she had all the answers to the questions he hasn't even begun to ask. Hating the distance between them, Ben moved closer and took a seat on the couch. The cogs in his head turn, questioning why he wasn't avoiding her like the plague. If he learned anything from history, it'd be that love never lasts. Yes being near her makes him susceptible to pain but being without her… that's just a pain the young whitelighter feared more than an eternity of solitude.

Ben: A friend of yours stopped by earlier… told me we're sticking our noses where they don't belong but the funny thing is I didn't stick my nose anywhere. So you can tell me what you're getting us into and maybe I can help or…
Billie: Or what.

She was never a girl to accept an ultimatum when it was hurled her way. She'd always made her own paths in life, never one to fall into the lockstep of society. Those gorgeous green eyes scan him a moment as he turns off the TV. Something tells her they're finally getting down to business.

Ben: Or you don't tell me and I'll help you anyways.
Billie: And what exactly do you get out of this, Whitelighter Boy.
Ben: I get the satisfaction of seeing past all the black spots in my life for awhile.
Billie: Kind of dark. Can't ya be a little more cheery in your response?
Ben: I've always been broody. Take it or leave it.
Billie: Fine. I'll take it. They're Scather demons. I don't know much about them… other than they're lower level and that they're protecting the man that killed my sister.

The thing she desires most is vengeance. Almost fifteen years ago a demon snuck into her room in the middle of the night and killed her sister. They took her companion she valued most and left her alone, which is how she lived her life from then on. Once her powers blossomed her grandmother taught her the trade until last month when she died of old age- leaving Billie alone again.

Her desire only grew from then on festering in her soul like a disease. Ben wasn't a stranger to vengeance but he knows it's a tricky thing. He can thirst for it for all eternity or he could start anew. So he decides to accompany her on her journey for revenge, hoping he can persuade her to not let it corrupt her the way it corrupted him before.

Ben: A vengeance killing?
Billie: You can call it what you want.
Ben: Well Bonnie, looks like you've got yourself a Clyde but first thing first, we need to set up some protective crystals and get you a good night's sleep. It's hard to fight off an army of demons when you're too exhausted to stand.
Billie: Alright. I'll see you bright and early.
Ben: Where do you think you're going?
Billie: Back to the dorms.

She gets up and starts to make her exit when he orbs in front of the door stopping her dead in her tracks. Judging by his arms crossed over his chest and strong willed stance, she's in for a battle of wills.

Ben: Scather Demons are on your tail. The dorms aren't safe. We'll place the crystals and you can take my room. We'll continue your vendetta in the morning.
Billie: I'll take the couch. I'm not kicking you out of your room.
Ben: I insist.
Billie: And here I thought chivalry was dead.
Ben: My mother raised a gentleman.
Billie: And my mother raised a girl that knows how to share. Whataya say, Hall. Wanna share?

It was innocent enough. Ben knew that but it didn't stop the butterflies from running rampant in his abdomen at the suggestion. He simply nods and walks past her into the study. The entire wall was bookshelf –except for the door- in which he entered. On the opposite wall was the tools of the trade as well as a desk with a computer. He digs in the storage bin and comes back with an arm full of crystals.

Ben: I'll set these up. Help yourself to my closet and pick something to sleep in.
Billie: Yes, sir.

She gives him a mock salute and walks back into his bedroom. He lets out a laugh as she goes past and for a moment he feels like there's nothing wrong with the world, that his own pain isn't drowning him internally. And in that moment of silence… with no rhyme or reason behind it, he saw a man of blind faith.