Title: Shadows at Noon
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Author's note: So here it is, the epilogue to the story. Thank you to all who stayed with this story, reading and reviewing despite my many long absences from posting chapters. If you have not read The Lost Future, which is the sequel to this and takes place in the changed future after Chris saves Wyatt, then I would (in a shameless plug for my own writing) suggest you read that now. I don't think I am going to write any more in this series, so this is the end.
The lyrics are from the song Faith Enough by Jars of Clay.
Epilogue: Faith Enough
The storm is wild enough for sailing,
The bridge is weak enough to cross.
This body's frail enough for fighting,
I'm home enough to know I'm lost.
Home enough to know I'm lost.
I don't need you.
The attic was silent.
Wyatt stood in the corner, alone. He had dismissed all his demons, forbidden them from coming back. He could not face them right now, could not allow them to see his weakness, his emotion, his despair.
She was still lying there. Still dead. The broken table leg protruded from her stomach, the clothing around it stiff with dried blood. Her face was unnaturally pale from the blood loss, and her lips, parted just slightly, seemed to be crying out to someone who was no longer there. Her hair was splayed against the floor, one hand was lying still on her stomach, as though trying to stop the blood. And her eyes... lifeless.
He had heard the scream of anguish in Chris' one-word cry, had felt the pain that coursed through his brother's veins at the sight of the dead Phoenix. And he knew he would never forget, for as long as he lived, what it felt like to be personally responsible for removing all light from his brother's eyes.
"It was an accident," he whispered to the room. "I never... I didn't mean to..."
Silence.
Total silence.
I don't need you.
A lie. A lie in every single word. How could he have said that? How could Chris have believed it? How...
It hadn't taken much. Just one hastily uttered phrase and a backwards kick. He hadn't known what he was saying when he spoke, hadn't known his actions would rob Bianca of her life. And yet... Chris looked at him with hate. Pure hate. He had seen a lot of emotions in Chris' eyes, but in that one moment... he no longer knew his brother.
One moment.
One phrase.
One action.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, remorse filling his body. How could this have happened? How could he let it happen? He was the Twice Blessed, the all-powerful reincarnation of King Arthur. He was the bearer of Excalibur, the prophesied Golden Child. With all that power, all that influence... why had he never been able to save his family? To save Chris?
I don't need you.
He moved slowly, hesitantly, towards Bianca's body. She was so still, and as he stared into her face, he thought briefly that this was the first time she had looked at peace. Something was twisting deep within his stomach, and it took a moment until he realized it was guilt. Guilt for all that had happened. For her death, for the lives he could not save, and for Chris... for the light gone from his eyes, for the pain in his expression, for the hatred in his tone. For Chris... the brother he had not been able to save.
He did not care about Bianca. She was expendable, just another easily replaceable assassin. But Chris loved her. And that... that was the reason he could not look in her eyes now that she was gone. That was the reason he had given her a second chance when she had betrayed him. Because Chris loved her and...
"There is nothing I would not do for you."
I don't need you.
"I need you, Chris," he said quietly. "There was never a single day that I didn't need you."
"Chris, we don't need your help. I will get my son back myself, and when I do, I don't ever want to see you again. Understand?"
The words rang through his head, over and over, like some form of self-torture. No matter how hard he tried, he could not rid himself of the memories of his mother's face, twisted with hatred, his father's filled with suspicion. The words pressed in on him, tightening around his chest and lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
"I... I'm sorry," he gasped, tears pooling in his eyes. Tears that would not fall, would never fall, because crying would solve nothing.
Unbidden, a memory floated to mind. Adam was standing before him, his gaze serious, as he reached out and rested a hand on Chris' arm.
Chris, no matter what happens in the past, remember that you are making a better world. It might... you might want to give up. There could come a time when you think... that maybe it isn't worth it anymore. But it is. You have to trust me. It is.
"You knew, didn't you?" he said aloud, his words quickly swallowed up by the cold air. "You knew this would happen. You knew..." The wind buffeted his clothing, drowning out the sound of his voice as it rattled against the tower of the Golden Gate Bridge. He wondered what else Adam had known.
But before he could continue on this line of thought, a shower of white and blue orbs lit up the night sky, and Leo appeared. Chris flinched and averted his gaze quickly, but not fast enough to miss the look of disappointment on his soon-to-be father's face.
"Nice place to think, isn't it?"
Chris inhaled sharply at those words. It was a nice place to think, but his thoughts were hardly pleasant. And there was almost nothing in this world he would not give to make his mother's livid voice be silent, to stop the perpetual echo of her disappointment in his head.
"What do you want?"
"Just to talk," Leo answered, studying the witch-lighter carefully. Chris forced himself to meet that scrutinizing stare, and wondered, not for the first time, how they did not see themselves reflected in him. But Leo continued, oblivious to his son's inner turmoil. Oblivious to the fact that this was his son. "You know, Chris, trust is a precious commodity. Once you lose it, it's pretty hard to get it back."
I'm not saying you should assume every person you work with is out to get you, but you have to be careful. Life has a funny way of sending you friends who look like enemies and enemies who look like friends.
How do you tell the difference?
You don't. That's what makes life so much fun.
He swallowed uneasily, and shoved away the memories of Bianca. It was still too painful to think about her, to think about what had happened, what Wyatt had done. And what he would continue to do in the future, if he was not saved. Or stopped. Wanting to forget, he snapped back a sharp retort, covering the wound with sarcasm so the hurt would not show through.
"What, did you get that out of a fortune cookie?"
"Don't be a smart ass, it doesn't help your cause."
He almost choked on his own laughter at those words. "My cause? I think I've pretty much screwed that one up. Don't you?" Because Mom hates me. Because Ria is dead. Because Bianca is dead. Because Myst is dead. Because my brother is still evil. So far, nothing he had done had made a difference. And he certainly wasn't any closer to finding the answer now than he was when he had first arrived in the past all those months ago.
"I don't know," Leo answered, his tone laced with heavy resignation.
"Are you saying you still trust me?" Chris asked, a tiny flicker of hope burning in his chest. Sure, his relationship with his father had been anything but perfect, but still... If he could have someone, just one person, on his side... Life might be bearable again. This all might be bearable again.
"It isn't my trust that matters," Leo answered. "It's the sisters'."
He swallowed. The sisters. The ones who had died, blood pooling on the floor, lifeless eyes sliding past him, no longer seeing his face. They were everything in the world to him, and he was nothing at all to them. How could they not care? How could they do this to him? How could he do it to himself?
We're a family, and family member's protect each other. Always.
Wyatt's words. They reverberated in his head, forgotten promises from a time when Wyatt was still Wyatt. Still his brother.
Leo continued talking, and Chris listened and responded with only half-attention, and masked indifference. His thoughts were on someone else, something else entirely. This woman was not his mother, this man was not his father. They were not his aunts, not his family. He was alone, completely and totally alone.
But for the first time in a very long time, that boy, that little Wyatt, was his Wyatt. His brother. Who looked up at him with an innocent gaze, with a sweet smile, with trust. Trust that this man who had saved him from the Order was worthwhile, was someone important. Was a friend.
He wouldn't give up. Nothing could ever make him stop, ever force him away from his mission. He would find the threat to his brother and he would stop it, even if it cost him everything - his so-called parents, his sanity, his very life - even if no one else believed him.
Because family members protect each other.
Always.
It's just enough to be strong,
In the broken places, in the broken places.
It's just enough to be strong,
Should the world rely on faith tonight.
