Disclaimer: See First Chapter
Author's Note: Okay, here's the next chapter... I hope you enjoy it. Leo's in this one. I'm shifting my focus to include to most of the men and I've introduced a new character. Don't worry, I won't be focusing on her.
The primary focus is Chris.
I'm not medically inclined in the least, so just like last chapters fight scenes-- use your imagination. lol.
Anyway... enjoy!
Pain.
That was his first impression as he slowly regained consciousness. The pain was everywhere; in his shoulder, in his back, in his side, but especially in his head. It felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to his head.
No, no jackhammer, he realized as he tried to open his eyes …just Wyatt…
He had to get up, he had to fight…
But even as the thoughts materialized he knew he wouldn't be able to carry them out; not when just opening his eyes was hardship.
Surprisingly, he found himself in a bedroom; he quickly became aware of the fact that other then the excruciating pain—he was comfortable. He was lying in a bed for starters, not hanging from the ceiling like he'd been last time he'd woken up after passing out in Wyatt's presence.
The wave of nausea that assaulted when he tried to sit up made him gasp and elicited a light chuckle from across the room.
"Ouch, I wouldn't do that for awhile, Chris… try to move, that is." Wyatt drawled, and was suddenly standing over Chris.
"I considered healing you; but you're easier to manage when you're hurt." He continued staring down at him.
Chris said nothing, why bother?
"We're going to try and patch up our relationship, Chris." Wyatt stated, almost pleasantly. "You're going to recuperate like a normal human being, at normal human being pace; and while you're doing that, we're going shut down your little rebellion and move our cousins into this house."
Chris snorted in disbelief; then winced at the effort.
"I'm trying to be nice to you, Chris."
"You can't turn me," the younger rasped out, surprised at how hoarse he sounded, "… I won't be turned…" he continued, his voice getting weaker, "… might as well kill me now…"
Wyatt chuckled again, "We'll see." He said cryptically; then bent down and stared into Chris's face, "After all, you wouldn't want one of the kids to get hurt would you…? And they could… if you prove to be too difficult…"
Chris jumped a little, caught off guard by the veiled threat; then lunged for the older man's face, growling, "You asshole," but Wyatt had anticipated the move, hell he'd provoked the move, and stepped back quickly; smirking as Chris tumbled off the bed.
"I told you, you shouldn't move." Wyatt stated.
Chris groaned. The room was swirling and tilting, tiny dots danced in his vision, and there just seemed to be pain everywhere. He couldn't move, it was getting harder to draw a breath and he knew that there was no way he'd be able to fight Wyatt like this, hell there was no way he would be able to get off the floor like this.
Wyatt released a heavy sigh and with a wave of his hand telekinetically lifted his brother off the floor and dropped him back on the bed.
"Your welcome." He said smugly as Chris elicited another small groan as he leaned forward and buried his head in his hands.
If he could only get the jackhammer to stop and the world to hold still and the dots to stop dancing he might be able to do something… but he couldn't; everything was fuzzy and just turning his head made him feel disoriented.
The bed sank suddenly and he felt a hand shove him down onto the pillow, "You have a fever; along with a variety of other ailments including but not limited to burns, cuts, and a concussion. In other words, stop being an idiot and stay still."
"Like you care."
Again that indolent chuckle, "Fishing for compliments, little brother?" The blonde man asked, reaching out and ruffling his little brother's hair.
Chris found the strength to jerk away.
Wyatt's amused expression and tolerant attitude vanished in an instant. Roughly he wrapped his fingers around Chris's jaw and yanked the boy's face toward him, ignoring the flash of pain that lit across the younger man's face, "I've got you so well monitored you won't be able to blink without one of my guards reporting it; you're trapped here—and this is your last chance."
The grip tightened, "I'd like to have you with me, Chris." The man stated, "But. I. don't. need. you." He said coldly, echoing the words of their last encounter.
With that said, he roughly tossed Chris's face away and stood. He walked to the door and opened it, a woman entered the bedroom.
"You'll care for him; make him comfortable." Wyatt ordered, "You will, however, not speak to him." He finished.
The woman nodded.
"Her name is Lucy; she's mortal, Chris, so behave yourself. I'll see you later." Wyatt called out; then turned and walked out the door.
The pacing was really doing him no good.
It wasn't helping him relax or come up with a plan or easing the sense of fury that permeated his being.
It was, however, irritating one of the guards posted in front of his cell, so that was a bonus.
The only one he could think of in this situation. He knew he could get out; he hadn't made it this far without learning a few things. Not to mention it wasn't the first time he'd escaped from one of Wyatt's cells. But that wasn't the point.
The point was -- Wyatt had Chris.
And Cole couldn't abide that. He had to get his nephew out of here. Who knew what the hell Wyatt was going to do to him…
He hated this; this not knowing!
And Wyatt would know that.
He'd awoken – healed and imprisoned – hours ago; and as of yet, he knew nothing of what was going on.
The guards had obviously been ordered to not speak to him. Ordered to do nothing but make sure he didn't escape. They hadn't reacted to anything he'd said—or threatened.
He had to get out of here.
He sighed, slowing his pacing down. There was only one way to get a chance at escaping—the usual.
Someday Wyatt would learn that placing members of his family in the care of his guards just wasn't practical. He ultimately ended up losing several guards to a fiery death and the family member to the world at large.
In keeping with tradition, Cole set about to create a distraction—a tiny one, just a small explosion and a few conjured shadows, but the guards were wound so tight that they reacted in predictable fashion—kill everything that moves.
A few more explosions and shadows had the guards posted in front of his cell moving to go see what was going on.
Idiots.
He allowed himself a small smile as he prepared to blast out of the cell. His oldest nephew always seemed to forget that his uncle was half demon—not just any demon either—the original Source's protégée.
With a fabulous display of fire power Cole burst his out of the cell, creating chaos and mayhem in this particular sector of Wyatt's pseudo-Manor as the kids called it. A demon spotted him and sent an energy ball his way. Cole promptly sent it back; that drew attention to himself, but nothing he couldn't handle. In truth the guards were too busy sounding alarms and worrying over imagined threats to pay him much attention.
Idiots.
He always did attribute his intelligence to his human half.
But still… there was enough demon in him to feel a burst of satisfaction at the chaos around him, with a smug smile on his face he shimmered out.
He wouldn't be going far though… at least not until he'd found Chris.
But for now, let Wyatt think he'd gotten away.
He had to get out of here; out of this prison, because that's what it was, what he was—a prisoner; just like every other time he'd been in the pseudo-manor.
Except this time Wyatt had wizened up; not only had he decided to let his little brother heal like a normal human being which meant attaching him to an IV line, but this time he'd placed said little brother in the pseudo-home-like area of the pseudo-manor… where there was less likely to be a commotion, where the guards were more attentive; less edgy, where Wyatt was always close at hand, and mostly where Chris had a very large possibility of running into his father.
"I know you're not mute… you're just being stubborn," he stated, glaring at the young woman who were catering to his every whim—literally. He could command her to stand on one foot while feeding him gourmet chocolate pudding and she would do it.
The only thing she wouldn't do was speak.
He had to admit though, her care of him could not be faulted. She was kind, he could sense that much. And he knew instinctively that she knew exactly who he was—his mission and all. He would catch her watching him sometimes, but she wouldn't meet his eyes, not once. She fed him and helped him sit up, she gave him medicine and water, she pressed cool cloths to his face when his fever ran high, and she changed the bandages on all his wounds—but she never met his gaze.
It was fuckin annoying.
"He won't find out," Chris tried now. "He's only bluffing, I know, I'm his brother remember… just tell me how many guards are posted outside…"
Yesterday was little more than a pain clouded haze; he'd been miserable, feverish, and panicked. Panicked because no matter how tired and weak he was, there was always that little voice inside him that wouldn't let him rest.
That little voice that reminded him of how many had died, of how many lives had been destroyed; that reminded him it was his job, his responsibility to change it, to make it better; reminded him that the clock was ticking, that he was running out of time…
And then the dreams…
Nightmares—over and over again; made worse by the fever. Everything destroyed, the city, his family, his love… everything gone… and Wyatt, in the middle of it—an amused smirk on his face—cold, arrogant, powerful, deadly, unbeatable…
Utterly lost.
It was like every nightmare he'd ever had merged into one.
He sighed now, laying back and closing his eyes. Lucy was obviously not going to say a word. He couldn't blame her really; Wyatt punished severely those who defied his orders.
He'd have to figure this out all on his own; and he was going to do it now. While Wyatt still thought him too weak to try.
Technically speaking, he was too weak to try… but things like exhaustion had to be pushed aside in favor of surviving and all.
He took a deep breath; pulling in his focus. Using those lovely whitelighter sensing powers he'd inherited from Daddy Dearest. The senses he hadn't wanted to use in favor of conserving strength—but he couldn't wait, the clock was ticking and Lucy wasn't talking.
Carefully he expanding his area of focus, feeling of the air for auras…
Shit.
Four.
Four guards posted just outside his door. Big Brother was taking no chances, this time, huh? There were too many guards, too close—he wasn't strong enough to take them on, he had nothing to promote a distraction with and most of all, Wyatt had been smart enough to place a mortal – an innocent – in the room with him.
He couldn't do anything that would endanger this girl.
There had to be another way. There was always another way…
Always a weak link…
The thought came to him softly… always a weak link, always a soft spot.
And for Wyatt Matthew Halliwell it had a name.
Dad.
Chris's eye shot open and he made a move to sit up; then hissed in pain when his body protested the move. Instantly, gently hands were leaning him back—and holding him there. She wasn't allowed to speak, but through his suddenly blurred vision could see her frowning.
"Look at me." He commanded roughly, his voice gruff from the bursts of pain coming from his side and his shoulder and his head…
Her gaze lifted—to his forehead.
"In the eyes," he continued, ignoring the pain and her hands as she tried to keep him down. "I want to see you to look me in the eyes."
She sighed and that made him smirk. A moment later her gaze shifted and he found himself looking into pointed pale green eyes.
She couldn't talk, but in that gaze he read disapproval.
"Thank you." He said, brushing her hands aside as he sat up.
She frowned again, but didn't try to lie him down. Instead she took a step back.
He smiled at her, "Come on, yell at me. You know you want to. You're a doctor or a nurse or something, I can tell. You're an expert and you know I should be resting. Not sitting up in bed chatting… come on tell me so. The guards can't hear you. Wyatt's not here."
She almost smiled, he read it in her eyes-- but she didn't.
He sighed again, letting his smile fade a little, but not completely. "Okay, fine." He said, "I'm guessing you were also ordered to do exactly as I say, right?"
She remained silent—surprise, surprise.
"I want to see my Dad. Go tell Wyatt that I want to see Dad." Chris stated, earnestly. Trying his hardest to sound like a sick, little boy in need of "Daddy"—that little boy he'd sworn never to be again.
The girl stared at him. A dead-eyed stare, that somehow made him feel like she saw right through him.
He almost grinned at her; but didn't. Instead he leaned his head, which actually was pounding, onto his hand and looked up at her through veiled lashes—this always worked.
"Please." He whispered.
She sighed, narrowing her eyes; but a moment later she was moving to the door. He watched her open it and whisper something to one of the guards outside.
A moment later she was standing by the bed again; her face impassive-- her eyes yelling a big, fat "There!" at him.
He wanted to chuckle. But he didn't, instead he closed his eyes and lied down. He really was tired. And his head was pounding so much; it would be so easy to just lay here and relax, to forget.
He was comfortable and warm and well-fed; Wyatt was trying to lure him. It was a trap, as deadly as all the others—maybe more so. Because this time, Chris barely had the strength to fight him.
He felt a cool hand on his forehead and his eyes flickered open; his vision was blurry again… that was weird, he thought, he hadn't moved this time. Her eyes were studying him; she had pretty eyes.
But he could feel his own sliding shut again. Sleep was crowding in. He felt it, creeping up on him; he tried to fight, to push it away—sleep brought dreams, and dreams brought terror.
There was nothing he could do though.
Sleep won.
"Well?" Wyatt asked impatiently, his gazing searching the room before landing on her, "What's the problem? He's asleep."
"He would like to see his father," Lucy stated calmly.
Wyatt gave a light chuckle. Lucy stared at him.
He frowned, arching an eyebrow, "You're serious?"
"Yes, he requested that I tell you that he would like to see his Dad."
Wyatt's gaze flickered to the young man lying on the bed a few feet away, "Did he now?"
"Yep."
"I wonder…?" Wyatt mused, "What angle could he be working…?"
His little brother was so freakin skillful when he wanted to be it was scary.
Chris couldn't stand their father; everyone knew that-- so if Chris was asking for him—there was an angle.
"Well, if you wanna know what I think…?"
Wyatt nodded, his gaze still on Chris, "Yeah, go ahead."
"He's doing better, physically. But I think… well, he's having nightmares, Wy, and it is common after episodes of the like to seek comfort. Perhaps he hopes to find it your father."
Comfort in Dad?
Yeah, right.
Chris had never sought comfort in Dad—well, maybe not never, but certainly not in a long time, probably not since he'd hit five or six.
Chris sought comfort in him—or at least he used to. Until, he'd decided that they were no longer brother and it would be fun to travel to the past and destroy everything Wyatt had built.
But before that… it had always been Wyatt who'd comforted after a nightmare. Dad was never there and Mom would get so worried. Wyatt would just roll his eyes and remind his little brother that whatever it was would have to get through him first to get to Chris—and that was always enough for Chris, that had always chased the nightmares away.
"What kind of nightmares?" he asked.
"He hasn't said. And I haven't asked."
A smirk flashed across Wyatt's face, "He's tried to get you to talk."
"Yeah, he has." Lucy replied, the same flash crossing her face.
He whirled on her suddenly, "So tell me Luce, what do you think of my baby brother?"
She met his gaze steadily, "He's charming and good-looking; and he has this little-boy quality that makes you want to protect him. And he uses all those qualities to distract the world from the fact that he's as dangerous as they come when he wants to be."
Wyatt smirked again, "That's why I keep you on staff, Luce, you can read people like the back of your hand." He sobered suddenly, "Should I be worried?" he asked.
She tilted her head to one side, "Honestly?" she asked him.
He sighed, "Yes, honestly. I've always valued honesty from you."
"You know each other." She said seriously, "Perhaps better than anyone else in the world. Therefore, you are evenly matched."
Wyatt remained silent, after a moment she continued, taking a tentative step towards him, "We've known each other for a long time, Wy; not many people know that, he certainly doesn't."
"High School." He whispered.
She nodded, "I don't lie to you. I never have."
"I know that."
She glared suddenly, "Stay out of my head."
He smirked, "I don't stay out of anyone's head; your point?"
She sighed, her expression clearing; becoming thoughtful, "You should be worried," she whispered, "Because he's just like you. He doesn't want to, but he will—if he has to."
She finished quietly, sadly.
Wyatt understood. He'd known it for a long time now. This struggle, this fight… it could only end in one way. Brother against brother—one would die.
It was the only way.
Bringing Chris here, keeping him here… it was his last attempt; and he wouldn't let himself believe it was futile. His brother didn't have to join him, if he just stopped fighting… that would be enough.
"It doesn't have to be-"
"It isn't your concern, Luce." He interrupted, "I'll talk to you about anything; but not that…"
She sighed, "You took over the world, Wy; and you won't talk about it…"
"Taking over the world was consequential; it was something else I was after…" He told her simply.
"You won't talk about that either." She told him; then gave sent him the same pointed look Chris had been treated to earlier, "Are you going to get your father or not?" she asked.
"Not." Wyatt replied instantly, "He's working an angle, I know it."
Lucy nodded, choosing not to contradict him, "Do you want me to stay with him again tonight?" she asked.
He looked thoughtful for a moment, then "Yes," he stated and Lucy stepped back; she'd been friends with Wyatt a long time, she knew that tone. Friend-time had ended, he was stepping back into the role of Emperor. "But I… will relieve you sometime tonight. Then tomorrow morning you may resume your duties."
She nodded.
"You can talk to him if you want."
She nodded again. She didn't have much to say to the Emperor.
Slowly, he nodded back.
A moment later she was alone with her sleeping patient.
The mist was everywhere; choking him, making him dizzy, mixing with the shadows and the voices and the images that wouldn't leave him alone.
"You have to go back; it's the only way to stop him…"
The voices wouldn't stop, no matter where he turend, they followed him-- plauged him.
"…change all this…"
No matter where he turned-- darkness, mist, images of death and destruction... of hate and anger.
"I don't want to see you anymore."
"… go back…"
"…only way…"
"… don't need your help."
"… don't want to see you…"
The words and images merging, becoming one...
"… change all this…"
Everything swirling and spinning; voices echoing no matter how hard he ran, no matter where he turned... following relentlessly...
"I don't need you."
"Hey, hey… shhh, it's just a dream… wake up… come on…" Lucy murmured as she gently shook her sleeping patient, but the boy seemed to be almost trapped in whatever dream tormented him.
And he'd been doing so well, too, she thought.
He'd slept for nearly six hours without interruption. The most since she'd met him, usually a nightmare would appear within two hours, three at most; this time she'd almost begun to hope he was past it.
Instead, he seemed to be suffering from his worst one yet. Of course it could have to do with the sudden and unexpected fever that had afflicted him a couple of hours ago. She'd had to re-insert the IV she'd removed in order to medicate him.
His thrashing became more violent suddenly; and she started panicking. He was going to pull said IV out. "Chris, come one… stop it. It's just a dream. Wake up!"
"Shit." She hissed, as he jerked his arm away from her. She climbed onto the bed and pinned his arm to the bed.
"Wake up…!" she yelled, but she couldn't remove her hands from his arm.
Suddenly, there was another pair of hands restraining the boy's movement. She looked over and found Wyatt.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked.
"He's having a nightmare, he can't wake up." She said.
"What can I do?" he asked, softly and she blinked.
It was Wy; that was surprising. "Wy" didn't usually make more than one appearance a day.
"Here, hold his arm down so he doesn't pull out the IV. I'll be right back." She told him.
He nodded sinking down on the side of the bed and reaching for his brother's arm as Lucy flew off the bed.
Wyatt's gaze remained trained his brother's feverish face; noting the boy seemed managed to seem both pale and flushed at the same time; his own face utterly impassive.
A moment later Lucy emerged with a wet washcloth, "This might at least calm him somewhat if not wake him up." She told Wyatt.
He nodded, watching as Lucy gently pressed the cool cloth to his brother's face.
"Come on…" she murmured, "Wake up."
Chris's thrashing slowed and his eyelashes fluttered.
"That's it… come on… it's just a dream…" Lucy continued.
The boy's body relaxed and he released a small whimpering sound. Slowly Wyatt released him.
"Shhhh, it's okay…" Lucy soothed, "You're okay…"
"No... no, no…" he murmured, shaking his head, trying to open his eyes and failing miserable, "… no, Wy, no…"
Her eyes went to Wyatt instinctively, in time to catch the flash of surprise that crossed the man's face.
"... no, please...no, no..." the whimpers continued and with that intuitiveness that Wyatt paid her to have, she sensed the way something in him changed; the way he melted.
His hand went to the boy's forehead, smoothing back a lock of dark hair, "Shhh, it's okay, Chris."
Lucy jumped a little in surprise, then tried to cover it quickly by turning away for a moment.
She couldn't help but be surprised, though. That tone-- so sweet, so loving; so utterly unexpected coming from this usually harsh and unemotional man.
Turning back to the patient though, she shot Wyatt a quick look and found undeniable proof of what she'd been sensing for years now. Wyatt loved his little brother.
It seemed to defy all reason. It certainly didn't fit in with any of his actions towards the younger man, but it was there nonetheless.
And at this moment-- it was clear as day.
Chris lifted heavy eyelids to reveal hazy, unfocused aqua green eyes. Wyatt's gaze was intense as he studied the younger man.
Chris drew in a shaky breath, "Wy...?" he rasped out.
"I'm here, Chris." The older man responded, his had still gently smoothing his brother's hair.
"... hurts..." he whimpered, as his eyes began sliding shut again.
She watched as Wyatt's jaw hardened suddenly and she realized that it must take him a lot of restraint to not just heal his little brother.
His gaze shot to her abruptly, "Why is he in pain?" He growled.
And if it weren't for the underlying concern she read in his eyes, she would've bristled at his questioning her skills; but she didn't, instead she spoke calmly, almost gently, "He has a concussion, Wy, I can't give him anything too strong."
"But he's in pain." The man replied as if that took care of everything.
She sighed, "I can't-"
"You're a professional, fix this. I don't want him in pain." It was a completely ridiculous thing to say.
A completely illogical thing to say.
They both knew that Wyatt had put Chris in this position; and that he'd done it before as well.
She tilted her head to one side, "Then heal him." She said softly.
Her words were so simple, so logical; but he couldn't—he wouldn't. Healed, Chris would escape or try to escape; he would fail, he would die—either way Wyatt would lose him.
He stood up abruptly, taking a few steps back; distancing himself from his brother, from the emotions that were suddenly pulsing through him.
"No." he forced himself to say, "That is not an option." He stated. "Do what you can."
She met his gaze and he read in them, what no one else would dare let him see, disappointment.
"I always do." She whispered, then shifted and returned her gaze to Chris. He was sleeping a little more calmly now.
"Stay with him a minute, while I go put together a mild pain reliever…?" she asked a moment later.
Wyatt nodded; he would stay, but he had no intention of getting near that bed again. A moment later he was alone with his brother.
The kid didn't look so tough right now, he thought. In fact, right now he looked rather pathetic; pale and sweaty, small and vulnerable. Right now, he looked a little too much like the little kid he'd once been. The little boy who'd come to his older brother for everything—because there wasn't anything Wyatt couldn't fix.
He balled his fists and put the image of that little boy out of his head; that was a long time ago. That little boy didn't exist anymore; and neither did his tow-headed big brother—the one who would never in million years let his baby brother hurt over anything when he could fix it.
The urge to just heal him, was strong; it always had been. It was the same every time he had Chris in his custody-- torturing him was nothing. Knowing that his brother was in pain and not doing anything about it, that was the hard part. The part he always failed at. In the past he'd always healed Chris afterwards. He'd never done this; never stood by while his little brother writhed in pain.
Chris muttered something in his sleep and Wyatt found himself taking a step toward him. "Stop that," He growled as he took an unconscious step towards the bed.
He didn't want to hear any more mutterings, didn't want a glimpse into Chris's nightmares—because he knew, that he stood at the source of his brother's terrors.
But instead of calming down, the sound of Wyatt's voice seemed to make Chris more upset. His eyelids flickered open for a moment as his he tossed his head and made a futile attempt to sit up. He dropped back down instantly, too weak to sustain his own weight, and releasing a small whimper.
The whimper cut into his thoughts; he found himself taking another forward.
"If you stopped fighting me, this wouldn't happen." He stated; his tone less harsh than before, but still cold.
Chris continued to thrash, but weakly now; as though he'd exhausted all forms of energy left. Somehow this was harder to watch, "You have only yourself to blame." Wyatt hissed through clenched teeth.
"... I'm sorry..." the words were moaned as the boy shook his head against the pillow.
Wyatt started a little, the words surprising him; he took a step closer to Chris, his gaze intent on the boy's face.
"I wish you were, Chris." He whispered his tone suddenly soft.
But there was no response from the unconscious boy. Wyatt found himself sitting on the side of the bed again; his hand almost of its own accord reaching out to touch Chris's arm.
"Things would be so different if you were," He continued, his tone almost longing. "We could stop this... if you were sorry..." Wyatt considered, "I would never hur-"
"I thought you said you weren't going to do that?"
The words jolted him out of the contemplative mood he'd fallen into; abruptly he realized that the hand lying on Chris's arm was glowing and that the younger man's feverish struggle had lessened.
He jumped off the bed as if burned and whirled on Lucy when he heard her light chuckle.
But she knew the difference between Emperor-Rage and Wyatt-Rage; she knew which to fear— and this was not it.
"You didn't even notice..." she said grinning as she walked passed him and towards Chris, "You were healing him and you didn't even realize it."
"I didn't heal him." Wyatt muttered.
"No." she said, her tone serious as she checked Chris over, "Not much anyway. But you did a little."
"I did not."
She looked up meeting his gaze, "Maybe consciously you didn't; but your hand was glowing Wy, and that glow was seeping into him."
Wyatt stared at her; then his gaze shifted to Chris. Several long, silent moments later he spoke, his voice once again frigid.
"I'll have someone inform our father that he's here."
Lucy nodded slowly, looking away from him-- he wasn't going to discuss it. Seconds later she heard the door open and close. Wyatt was gone.
Soft murmurings pulled him out of a dark, turbulent abyss. The room spun a little as he blinked, trying to bring everything into focus. He drew a deep breath and discovered immediately that he felt somehow stronger.
"That's right sleepy-head, wake up," a soft voice stated.
He turned his head slowly and found Lucy looking at him with an amused smile on her face.
He blinked at her.
Her smile widened, "It's nice of you join us," she continued.
"You speak," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
She chuckled and a moment later she was moving in behind him; lifting him up a little and pressing a glass of water to his lips.
"Thanks," he breathed, when she pulled away.
"Your welcome," she stated; then added, "Since your awake now, I'm going to let the two of you catch up."
He frowned at this cryptic statement and followed her gaze. His languid gaze landed on his father standing a few feet away. He blinked at the site and then jumped in surprise his smirk fading as his eyes widened.
"Hi, son." His father stated calmly, his gaze a cool.
"Wha- what are you doing here?" Chris asked, his eyes wide, his throat suddenly tight.
He couldn't deal with Leo right now, he just couldn't. He didn't have the energy, the strength to hold himself together.
"You asked me to get him, remember?" Lucy told him, her voice suddenly concerned. Her hand was on his wrist suddenly, checking his pulse.
Right.
He reminded himself.
Leo.
The weak link; the soft spot.
His best possibility of breaking free.
For that he'd have to hold it together. He didn't have the luxury of falling apart in the face of his father's disapproval and disappointment—he had survival in mind; his and that of others.
"If you'd rather he leave, he will." Lucy stated with quiet authority. His gaze flickered to her, and he realized suddenly that there was more to his nurse than he'd first thought.
"No," he whispered, "You're right, I asked for him…"
Her gaze was concerned as she drew bit nearer to him, "You've gone a shade paler in the last few seconds, Christopher." She stated, "If there's a problem, let me know. You just pulled through a rough night and I don't want you slipping into another fever, got it?"
"You're talking to me." He pointed out.
"Wyatt paid us a visit last night." She informed him.
Chris registered the information, nodding slowly, "I'll be okay," he stated.
She nodded straightening, then she shot Leo a quick glare, "Don't upset my patient." She warned.
And to Chris's surprise, his father grinned at her, "Go get some breakfast, Luce. We'll be fine here." He told her.
A moment later, Chris was alone with his father.
"You know her?" Chris asked softly.
Leo nodded, "She was in Wyatt's classes in high school… they were friends, still are."
So his nurse wasn't as innocent as she looked, he thought bitterly.
After a quiet moment, he took a deep breath and struggled to sit up. Pain shot through his side and he gasped.
Leo was there suddenly, "Easy son," he murmured.
Chris hissed and did his best to pull away, only causing himself more pain.
"Chris stop, let me help you!" Leo reprimanded.
"Heal me then!" Chris cried, "That'll help."
Leo sighed, releasing his son who was now halfway sitting up in the bed, propped up against a few pillows.
"Wya-"
"And you're nothing but his lapdog, right Leo?" Chris snarled.
Leo scowled, "That isn't true Chris; and what the hell do you mean Leo I'm your Dad!"
Chris rolled his eyes, "Whatever, if you were my Dad; you'd heal me…"
"You and your brother need time to mend this rift-"
"You can't mend the Grand Canyon Dad… and that's what's separating Wyatt and me—hell, it's more like the Pacific Ocean."
"If you gave him a cha-"
"He's killing people!"
"I'm not going to argue with you about this!"
"Of course you're not! You're not even going to listen to me! YOU NEVER DO!"
"I listen to you, Chris. The one who doesn't listen is you. You won't hear explanations or justification-"
"NOTHING JUSTIFY'S THE MURDER OF AN INNOCENT!" Chris roared; then bent forward as the world lurched and tiny bright dots danced in front of his eyes.
"Take a slow, deep breath…"
He heard his father say softly from a far distance. Vaguely he registered the soothing feeling of a hand rubbing circles on his back…
"Shhhhh, it's okay… just breathe…" Leo continued to murmur.
Slowly, the ringing in his ears stopped and felt the world stop spinning. He lifted his head slowly, as if testing the waters; then finished sitting up straight.
Leo back away. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to upset you." He stated, "You should be resting."
"All we ever do is upset each other," Chris muttered wearily, "In whatever time."
Leo frowned suddenly; remember where exactly his son had been. "I can't believe you did something so stupid, Chris." He stated, disapprovingly, "What were you thinking?" the older man reproached, "You know better than that… you know how dangerous time travel is…"
The young man stared at his father in shock, he opened his mouth, but no words came out.
A moment later he attempted again, "You can't- you seriously-I mean-" he sputtered, before collecting his thoughts, "Are you seriously reproaching me?"
"You can't expect me to condone your traveling to the-"
"Why not? You condone murder!" He yelled, his green eyes flashing, "Don't talk to me about expectations, Dad! Don't make me bring up how I would expect you of all people to know the difference between good and evil! How I would expect you to stop your son from murdering innocents! How it would be expected that an Elder would frown upon the utter chaos that his own child wreaks on the world!"
Leo's gaze narrowed, "Things have changed since you've been gone Chris; the world is not nearly as chaotic."
"Oh well jee; isn't that great! Wyatt's bringing order to the planet he demolished!"
"It wasn't like that!"
"Just shut up Dad! Just shut up and leave! I've changed my mind! I don't want you here! I want you gone! The sight of you makes me sick!" he cried; and hated himself for every word he uttered.
Because it wasn't Chris- Leader of the Resistance talking; it was Chris Halliwell. And that was inexcusable. Chris Halliwell and no right to make an appearance right now when Chris- Leader of the Resistance needed to put into action his plan of escape.
There was no time for childish outbursts; for the venting of the absolute disappointment he felt for his father. He was supposed to be buttering his father up, tapping him for information, being nice and sweet—to get his father to help him.
This was not the way.
He had to push those emotions away; he had to do this like a job, like any other job.
But it was hard to do that, to work this like any other job when there tears stinging the back of his eyes and a lump in his throat.
"Chris please…" Leo cried, sincere desperation in his tone, "Stop this! Stop hating me for something you don't understand."
Chris shook his head, swallowing hard and frantically trying to push everything away.
"I haven't seen you in over a year…" Leo continued, "Do have any idea how worried I've been…?" he whispered.
"Oh, please Dad," Chris hissed bitterly, "Like you need me around…"
"You're my son Chris. I always need you around." The words were quiet, sincere. And Chris looked away, not wanting that from his father.
He was going to use his father. He had to.
And nothing more.
"I didn't know you were here. I was surprised when I heard that… that you'd asked for me." The words continued, just as soft and gentle. Chris kept his gaze averted.
"I've missed you Chris."
This was it. All he had to do was say he'd missed his Dad too… just be sweet…
But he couldn't… Chris- Leader of the Resistance, wasn't making an appearance; instead Chris Halliwell gave a disbelieving snort.
"You told me all I ever did was cause trouble."
Leo smiled a little, "And it's true." He asserted, "But I still missed you." He added steadily and before Chris could say another word Leo was suddenly sitting beside him on the bed; pulling him into a warm embrace.
He went rigid.
But his father didn't let go, "I missed you because your mine, Chris, and whether you believe it or not, your important to me. I care about you. I love you."
Chris pulled away, "Then help me, Dad. Please." He begged, his eyes wide, "If you really do love me, help me. I have to get away. I have to save Wyatt… don't you want me to? Don't you want me to stop him? To fix all this…"
Leo sat back and regarded his youngest son for a long moment, "You're in no condition to-"
"Then heal me." Chris interrupted, "I'm your son right? You love me? You care? Then how can you sit there and not do it?"
Leo stared at him, "Because I want you to work out your problems with your brother. The two of you-"
Chris cut him off, "He'll kill me." He stated.
Leo frowned, "No he-"
"Or I'll kill him."
"Chris!"
"It's true." He stated, "If I… if I can't save him, I'll stop him. I have to."
Leo shook his head, standing. "No, Chris… don't say things like that. Don't think things like that."
"Why? Are you gonna have me arrested for treason?"
Leo's gaze sharpened, "You'd betray your brother?"
Chris met his gaze, glaring back with hot defiance; his words, though, were cold, "No I wouldn't. Like I said—when- if the time comes… I'll kill him myself."
Leo actually shuddered, "My god…" he whispered in horror. "… the things you're saying…"
"Would horrify Mom?" He asked sardonically and watched his father's entire body tensed.
"You think the things going on in this building wouldn't?" He continued.
"Don't bring your mother into this." Leo growled.
And Chris's eyes widened a little as he remembered that his father had said the same to his Uncle Cole, "You know, don't you…?" he whispered, as inspiration dawned. He could do this, convince his father to help him… and he could do it as Chris Halliwell.
Leo turned away from him.
"You know how she'd react to this; how they'd all react. They spent most of their adult lives fighting against things like this…they died because of things like this…"
He could see the affect his words were having. His father's form was rigid, his hands balled into fists.
"You're like centuries old… you aren't stupid; and I won't believe you're blind either… you have to see, to know that Wyatt hurts innocents." He continued, pushing for all he was worth, ignoring the waves of weakness that were washing over him.
"How can you do it?" He asked. "I know you loved her, you loved them all. I saw you while I was growing up; but now… now I've seen you in the past too… they were the core of your life; everything came second to Mom and the sisters…. So how? How can you support something that kills innocents; that goes against the principles they died for…?"
Leo turned slowly, his gaze fierce as it locked with Chris's, "I won't betray Wyatt, Chris. Don't ask me to."
Chris flinched as though he'd been struck.
The world spun as Leo's words seemed to suck all the air out of the room—all the air and all the hope…
It always came down to that— Wyatt.
His eyes burned with resentment and hurt, "You always choose Wyatt, don't you, Dad… you always will. No matter what… no matter how many lives he destroys, you'll stand by him, huh?"
"Someone has to." Leo stated.
Chris snorted, "What about me, Dad? I can just what? Rot in hell for all you care?"
"No Chris, not rot in hell…" he stated.
Chris glared at him and watched as something shifted in his father's eyes; something that looked almost like pride, "Survive. You'll survive. And you'll pull the others through too; you're strong, stronger then Wyatt will ever be. You're like your Mom, like your aunt's." He told the boy.
Then he paused, coming a little closer; "Chris," he said steadily, "I know what you're saying; I hear you. I know. I understand, you do what you have to do, son; but while your doing it… I can't… I won't turn my back on him…"
"What about me Dad?" Chris questioned, hating himself for sounding so pitiful, for wanting his father's reassurance, for feeling something deep inside him warm at his father's words, "How can you turn your back on me?"
"I haven't." Leo said with heat, "I never will…"
"You would," Chris contradicted in a choked whisper, tears suddenly blurring his vision, "If you had to choose… you'd choose Wyatt… you just said so…"
He was in his father's arms again and this time he couldn't help. He let himself be hugged and let himself be held; later, he told the little voice in his mind—later he'd hate himself. Right now, he just wanted to be held.
Eventually, after the sobs retreated he managed to hear what his father was saying.
"… you don't have to worry about it, buddy, it won't ever come to that. Things will work out, all we have to-"
He pulled himself away abruptly, brushing the back of his hands across his face. His father's words were nice; but he was wrong.
Chris knew.
Wyatt knew too.
It would come to that. The brother's would have to do battle; and only one would be left standing.
And somewhere Leo had to know too. He just didn't want to think about it.
"I'm tired now." He told his father, "You should go." He tried to get the appropriate amounts of disdain and casualness into his tone, but it just wasn't working out.
It was fuckin aggravating. He wasn't used to being tired and weak and emotional all at the same time. One set of emotions was more then enough thank you very much, but at the moment he knew he was suffering from all three.
Leo studied him a moment, then nodded. Chris sent him a scowl when his father started helping him lie down in the bed.
"I'm fine." He grit out.
"Uh-huh." Leo stated, but continued to smooth the quilt and rearrange the pillows. Then he placed a gentle hand on Chris's forehead.
Chris twisted his head away, "I said I was fine," He hissed, "…you can leave." He practically growled, ignoring the spinning room, "It's what you do best."
It was a low dig, an old one… but it never failed to raise his father's hackles—he knew that.
It registered in his mind somewhere though, that this time it didn't seem to be working; he felt his father's hands on his face and shoulders. Steady, warm… reassuring.
"You have a fever again." Leo said softly.
Chris sighed, turning his face away from the sound of his father's voice. "Go away," he whispered again, "Just go…"
He felt the bed near his head sink; felt his father settling in behind him; felt the steady, warm, reassuring hands stroking his hair.
"I hate you," Chris muttered, trying to break free. Sitting up seemed like a good idea in theory, but he just couldn't seem to actually pull it off. His eyes had slipped shut at some point and he found it was rather hard to get them to open again.
He must be falling asleep, he thought with vague annoyance, and in his father's arms no less!
"Do you mean that?" Leo asked quietly.
"No." Chris replied automatically, too tired to care about what he was saying. "… but I really should…"
Leo chuckled above him. Chris felt his father press a kiss to the side of his face, "… maybe, but I'm glad you don't just the same…"
Chris sighed sleepily, "Please… Dad…" he tried, one more time, "Help me…"
The stroking of his hair continued, it was lulling him to sleep, his Dad wasn't going to answer.
Sleep was crowding in and there was nothing he could do.
He couldn't fight it, he was too tired... and it was so nice to be there, to be in his dad's arms, to feel that hand stroking his hair. It was so... comforting. He could almost lull himself into believing it would be okay.
Of course, he was feverish after all.
A moment later he was asleep; he didn'tfeel his fathertighten his hold him. Didn't hear him whisper, "I'll help Chris…if I can..."Didn't feel the way his Dad rocked him gently.
Leo sighed softly as he held his youngest son,gazing at the boy's face with heartbreaking love.
He looked so much like his mother, he thought warmly.
Chris would never believe him; hell, chances were no one would believe him… but in his heart, he'd alwaysheld a tiny partiality for Chris.
Chris who had his mother's smile and spirit, but his eyes... Chris who a such a beautiful mixture of himself and the woman he loved.
Maybe he'd overcompensated with Wyatt because of that… becausein his heart of hearts Chris hadalwaybeen his favorite...in hopes that no one would ever notice, that no one would ever see…
And it had worked... no one had ever seen... to the extent that his precious baby boy doubted that his father even cared...
It was, he thought witha bitter smirk, the irony of life.
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