Wow, thanks for the reviews! I really truly appreciate the feedback, so thank you. Sorry for the long wait –my current Harry Potter story is one that I absolutely love and am very excited/inspired about, and school's been keeping me busy. For any of you who read "Fragments": I'm going to try and get my inspiration up to work on it; I just posted this story first because I already had the majority done from when I worked on it in the summer. Once again, I apologize for the wait; please bear with me while I try to get out of the loss of inspiration due to the lack of Chris in the past two Charmed seasons. Kudos to Altaira, hybrid88, rach, shyeye, and witching hour for their encouraging reviews. Enjoy the chapter (only two more left till the end)!

Chris knew there was something seriously wrong with this situation. For one thing, he shouldn't concern himself with personal feelings and romances, which were trivial now compared to the bigger picture, the war. Actually, he wasn't really sure if what he feeling was anything romantic of the sort; she was a beautiful woman after all, perhaps he was just attracted to her looks.

Yeah, that must be it.

But was it really? Every time he tried to think up an excuse to dismiss his emotions, they always came clawing their way back up to the surface. I don't have time for teenage angst, Chris thought, rolling his eyes at the thought. He'd left that behind when his brother had become the evil overlord of the world.

Besides, other emotions were more important than this simple attraction. Brian had become a complete and utter mess; Chris, too, had been shaken by what he had seen. Julia's small body, barely visible from their vantage point, had been engulfed in flames stretching out to the sky, to the heavens, as if paving the way for her deceased soul. If Chris hadn't known who they were attempting to save, he wouldn't have recognized the blackened figure in the pillar of fire.

He shivered as the horrific image that had been burned permanently into his memory floated to the surface again. Chris had known Julia, spoke with her, joked with her. To have died in the worst way imaginable . . . even Chris could see the poetic irony of it all. Wyatt always was good at metaphors.

Not only was her death a representation of the reborn witch burnings, but it was also supposed to signify that a Good witch had died the same way a demon would; by being swallowed whole by an inferno until it became nothing but ash.

And it was true; although Julia's death was much slower than those demons, it was the same pain, the same . . . he couldn't even possibly imagine what else it was.

They had retrieved her body, burnt coal black beyond recognition. Bits of frayed, ragged clothing clung from her skeleton. Those famous high cheekbones of her stood out even more stubbornly when they were all that was left of her face. Chris remembered feeling Brian stagger beside him, breathing faster and faster, shocked and overwhelmed at seeing his sister's body. He, however, had felt a strange nothingness. Chris just stared at her body, eyes wide, his mind unable to wrap around or comprehend what kind of monster could allow such destruction to take place. All of his other senses had seemed to abandon him; his hearing was dull, but he could still make out the various puking noises the others were emitting.

Chris had snapped out of his shocked, horrified stupor when he tasted salt. He realized then that silent tears streaked his face, clearly standing out from the dirty grime on his face from the fight. Ah, the fight.

Honestly, looking back, Chris didn't think anybody has ever fought harder. The rescue had ceased being a rescue when a nearby demon had caught them off their guard and alerted the others. From there on, they fought through demon after demon to get to Julia, hoping against hope that it was still not too late. Unfortunately, fate decided to trump that desperate hope.

By the time the team tore apart every single demon in their path, Chris could see it was too late, and, after quickly analyzing the situation, noted that many had been injured. He moved his arms up to send ringing orbs into the air, the signal for a retreat.

Someone, however, grabbed him by the arm and yanked it down. Chris moved to attack his assailant, but halted when he saw a furious Brian.

"We are not leaving her behind!" he hissed, his vice-like grip tightening on Chris's arm painfully.

Chris hesitated, but knew Brian wouldn't back down. No, he decided, they would finish off every single piece of shit, for Julia.

"Okay," Chris conceded, pausing to fling his athame at an oncoming demon.

So they continued on, but Chris threw a potion on the ground that made red fumes encircle the group, making sure everyone could see. That was the signal for the badly injured to get the hell out of there. Chris didn't know if many of them would actually retreat without the rest of the team; they were all noble, loyal fighters in that respect.

Chris sighed, leaning his head up against the cool wall as he soaked in the silence of his room. There wasn't a single sound anywhere; no distant chatter or the thump of footsteps along the corridor. Since the Resistance was more concerned about the war, the acoustics in the place were horrible, and noises echoed loudly wherever they in the underground building.

The atmosphere today was somber, and it had soaked into every crevice, every niche of the Resistance, reminding them that this was another mourning day, one of many. Too many.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor, indicating someone's approach towards him. Chris realized that he really didn't want to have to deal with anyone right now, so he quickly orbed out to avoid whoever it was.

Ah, the outdoors. Thankfully, Chris's pensive park was far away from the burn site, so there wasn't a trace of violent charcoal or ash in the air, just . . . peace. Propping his leg up on the stone bench, he gazed out at the serene landscape, completely barren of people, filled with random torch marks on the ground, scarred trees, and broken benches, making the park a mere echo of the beauty it used to be. Chris's own bench had miraculously escaped any major damage; it was still suitable, even if the angel statue behind him had been injured by a stray energy ball.

It was one of the places that had been forever changed by the war, a physical metaphor for how utterly change can destruct all they once knew, all that they valued. People say that change is for the better, but is it really? Not in this case, not in Wyatt's twisted view.

Nevertheless, he still liked it here. Though it was a shadow of what it used to be, the park still retained a calm after the storm effect, even if the storm was still raging. Yeah, Chris knew it was dangerous to come out in the open, especially considering the fact that any demon would absolutely love to bring him in to their master, yet he couldn't help it. Sometimes, in this crazy, chaotic world of theirs, silence is the best cure. The park was a good place to think, and since it had long since been abandoned, it was also a solitary one.

"Chris."

Instincts taking over, Chris leaped off the bench and into a defensive stance. A chuckle broke the serenity of the park and brought him back to reality.

Bianca's lips twisted sadly, almost sympathetically. "How are you doing, Chris?"

"Fine." Pause. "How'd you find me here?"

"What can I say? I'm psychic."

"Really."

"Yeah, really. Actually, I figured you'd take refuge here."

"And what makes you think I'm taking refuge from anything?"

"I can see it in your eyes, Chris."

"Since when did you become so perceptive?" he asked harshly, the bite evident in his tone.

"Since forever. A necessity for an assassin."

"Was nagging a 'necessity' too?"

"Ouch. Hey, I didn't need to come here, you know."

"Then why are you here?"

Bianca paused, biting her lip hesitantly. "Because if you don't deal with your damn baggage, the Resistance will suffer, and I can't afford Wyatt to become a permanent autocrat," she said roughly, but her eyes were vulnerable and held concern behind the shadow of her pupils.

Chris stared at her with a quirked eyebrow. "So you believe in 'Me, Myself, and I' huh?"

The assassin closed her eyes in irritation. "That didn't come out right," she explained, her tone cold and unapologetic, defensive.

"No kidding."

Silence. Usually, he and Bianca were on pretty good terms, but today . . . today he just couldn't stand humanity. The guilt wrenching feelings of having failed Julia, failed Mom, failed his family, failed Wyatt . . . just the pure agony of living was bad enough, especially when the rest of his family was gone. Sometimes, just . . . sometimes finding the reason why he keeps on fighting is hard.

Because it's that stubborn Halliwell blood in you.

"Scoot over," Bianca ordered, indicating the action with her hand. Chris regarded her for a moment, but did as she said. The Phoenix slowly sat down on the bench, her movements gradual and careful; he didn't miss the momentary wince of pain that flashed across her carefully guarded features.

"Life sucks, huh?"

Chris breathed out a sigh of relief. He was expecting an "I'm sorry for your loss" or something like that, something reminiscent of what he'd heard from her after Melinda's death. Honestly, then he would have welcomed any sort of comfort, but right now, he did not need any pity.

"Yeah, I guess it does." He answered softly. What a perfect way to put it, he mused. "What happened to your leg?"

Bianca looked down at the lump on her right leg that gave away her condition. She grimaced. "Oh, that. The gigantic bandage under this stupid leather uniform gave it away, huh?"

"You still haven't answered the question."

"Getting better at noticing subtle stuff like that," she noted. "Usually men aren't the most insightful of the sexes."

Chris couldn't help but grin in mock indignation at her tone. "I resent that!"

"Well, you're not as bad as the rest of them," Bianca said seriously, flashing him an award winning smile.

He laughed, his voice somewhat hoarse. That felt good; he was glad Bianca had come find him, lift his spirits. However, not deterred by Bianca's attempts to change the subject, he inclined his head at her leg. "Did you get that on a mission?"

Bianca's brief smile faltered slightly, then neutralized. "No," she said, shrugging. "Wyatt was displeased with me."

"What?" Chris yelled, his blood boiling.

She looked at him strangely, surprised at his reaction. "It'll heal, Chris; besides, it's not like I haven't had worse injuries."

"That doesn't make it right! It doesn't mean he can just . . . treat people this way!"

"He controls everything. Of course he can."

"We can heal that for you, you know," Chris offered.

Bianca looked confused. "I thought you didn't want me coming into your base."

Duh. Chris remembered that even in that feverish state a while ago, when Melinda had tried to kill him, he had refused to tell Bianca the location of the Resistance. But so far she had proven herself trustworthy. Was it worth it to give her a chance?

He decided not to risk it.

Bianca had been watching him carefully, and she could read by his expressive eyes that he had retracted the offer. "It doesn't matter," she told him. She, for one, could definitely understand the value of trust and how, especially in this world, suspicion runs high. After all, the Phoenix clan used to be a close knit family; now, however, it was everyone for herself.

"Sorry," Chris apologized sheepishly, feeling embarrassed. He looked deep into her eyes, into the brown depths of her soul. Something about the complexity of what he saw deeply moved him, and he realized in that moment just how beautiful and kind they were beneath the tough exterior. Before he knew it, those eyes were getting closer . . .

"Chris, what are you –" Bianca was cut off as Chris's lips touched hers. Instinct wanted to kick his forward ass, but her heart didn't want to let go. Softly, she returned the kiss, driven by the exhilarating feeling of being wanted, of the pure electricity that flowed through her veins, jumpstarting the heart she had coveted and protected so cautiously.

It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. Other men always attacked, pursuing her lips with nothing but rough passion fueling their desires. But with Chris, it was different. It was . . . sweet. Sweet and true and surprisingly authentic. Real.

Suddenly, Chris broke the moment. He looked into her eyes, which registered both shock and disappointment, with amazement at what he'd just done. Face flushing red, Chris kicked himself for letting his damn emotions get in the way, making him do stupid things. Oh, hell, he was just ashamed because he had liked it.

Still, he definitely wouldn't mind kissing her again.

Oh, god, shut up! He told himself, I am not a freaking teenager anymore; I shouldn't be so . . . impulsive!

"I'm really sorry," he apologized quickly, stumbling over his words, "I –I don't know what I was thinking." Yes, you do. "I didn't mean for it to happen –" Yeah you did. "I'm really sorry," No, you're not. "Honestly."

Bianca couldn't take this anymore, the rambling and the not-Chris-like stuttering. So, logically, she did the only thing that would shut him up.

She kissed him.

Bianca leaned against the broken lamppost calmly, examining her nails and glancing at the occasional passerby in suspicion every so often. She shifted uncomfortably in civilian clothes, feeling exposed and vulnerable without that stupid leather outfit she hated so much. Guess Wyatt's influence got to her more than she originally thought.

Still, it gave her a certain feeling of freedom, this outfit, an outfit she chose to wear, instead of being forced to. Bianca's lips twitched into a smile as she remembered her college days. The Matriarch hadn't wanted Bianca to go to college, to experience what her grandmother considered to be a "weak, mortal initiation", but never one to have a particular affinity for the rules, she went anyway.

College had completely opened her eyes to . . . everything. It helped her learn skills other than breaking necks and throwing athames; it gave her a familiarity with the world outside of the Coven, of the assassins.

Of murder.

Bianca's immediately brightened out of her dark thoughts as she heard orb chimes in the alley behind her. After a moment's deliberation about whether or not to expose her back to possible danger, she decided to hell with it and faced the newcomer.

"Miss me?"

She scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Chris grinned roguishly, extending his arm out in invitation, which Bianca accepted, smirking all the while as he pulled her into the alley. She cocked her head to one side, teasing him, daring him. Her favorite angel smirked and accepted the challenge, gently entrapping her lips.

He was always gentle.

Honestly, Bianca didn't know how they had managed to see each other all these months and still keep their relationship a secret to both Wyatt and the Resistance. Chris had explained to her that it wasn't because he was ashamed of her; the Resistance just needed more time to get used to her being around because of their instinctive suspicious nature. Recently, she had been given the green light to finally enter the Resistance Headquarters, with which she had been impressed with against her will.

Being one of Wyatt's top assassins, Bianca was privy to a lot of important information regarding the Resistance, but how they managed to make such a good headquarters with their limited funds, she had no idea. But then, Chris was their resourceful leader. Maybe she really shouldn't be all that surprised.

"So," Chris commented as they broke apart. "We still up for the 'date'?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Bianca retorted slyly.

"Orbing or shimmering?"

"Shimmering, I think. Quicker, faster, quieter."

"Is that a subtle insult?"

"Maybe."

With that, Bianca grabbed Chris's hand and shimmered them to their destination, a quiet and worn abandoned warehouse. The entire place reeked of the War, with the ceiling and walls practically coming apart from the seams; black residue from energy and fire balls filled the gloomy room in arbitrary places while bullet holes allowed brief glances at life to shine through from the outside. Bianca shivered. This was the sort of place that one would use to hide from the truth, to believe that if you stick an eye near those holes, you'd see a better place, salvation.

All lies, all deception.

Chris tapped her on the shoulder, jerking his head towards a stack of cardboard boxes in the ignored corner of the room. It looked as perfect a place for hidden observation as any, since the junk surrounding it would provide a good cover. Nodding slowly, they swiftly creped to their temporary cover to await their houseguests. Bianca reached into her leather boots (curse that leather wearing regiment; she can't seem to shake its regulations) and pulled out a special athame –one that she herself had modified with her recently recovered witch powers.

What are you doing? Chris mouthed.

Bianca ignored him and placed the tip of the weapon on the lower part of the cardboard. Caressing the phoenix emblem on the hilt, she concentrated, activating the hidden power the athame held. Her eyes widened as she felt the addicting magic coursing through her veins, exhilaration filling her as a mix of dark and light magic combined to fit her needs. Carefully, she began to push the athame through the cardboard. Once the entire blade was inside, fire flared, her ears rang with the a distant bird's cries, and a perfect hole was burned right through, giving them a clear view of whatever was going on.

Her companion fiercely shook her shoulder, his face angry. Bianca shook her head, explaining in hushed tones, "It's cloaked by a spell. Nobody on the other side will be able to see that it was damaged at all, but we'll be able to see everything."

"How'd you do that?" Chris asked somewhat irritably, but a boyish curiosity lit his green eyes.

"Shh," Bianca hissed, pointing at the slight shift in the air. Sure enough, a couple of extremely muscular demons shimmered in, carrying with them the slight stench of magic. The lack of power meant that these were mere thugs, not the upper level demons they were looking for.

Disguise yourself, Chris mouthed to Bianca, who hesitated, afraid that they'd detect the magic. But she whispered a spell and morphed into a blonde, looking completely unlike herself. They could never be too careful, especially since Bianca was their top insider into Wyatt's operations. To be honest, she really should have disguised herself earlier; they need to be sure that despite all of this, the slight feeling of normality they got from their relationship, that they don't slip up and ruin everything they've worked for.

Bianca lightly tapped him on the shoulder, pointing out the new arrivals. Finally, their prey had come.

Two demons shimmered in the wake of the two guards, both regarding the other warily. "Are you sure this is a secure place?" One asked suspiciously, the circular tattoo on his left cheek pulsating rapidly.

"Would I have taken you here if it weren't?" the other snapped irritably, blood-red eyes flashing.

"Make it quick," Tattoo retorted, "I've got business, you know. Important meetings for world destruction and all."

Chris rolled his eyes at the corniness of this stereotypically bad-guy conversation. In fact, if he didn't know any better, it all seemed a little bit too set up . . . he focused his whitelighter senses for any outside forces or more subtle security, ones that he may have missed in the initial sweep. As far as he could tell, there were none, but he kept one hypothetic ear out for any magical security ripples.

They were still discussing some 'urgent matter' that wasn't quite what Bianca and Chris had come for. The info they seeked was as urgent as anything, so why weren't they getting to the point!

Finally.

"Have you worked out the kinks in the Weapon?"

"Yes; even tested it on some stupid fairies and trolls. Burned 'em right out from the inside." Red Eyes' scowl morphed into one of sick, sadistic pleasure.

"Have you tried it out on witches yet?" Tattoo asked in the same irritable tone, though a twinge of excitement had seeped into his voice.

Red Eyes laughed harshly. "Tried it out on witches? Do you honestly think that there are witches just wandering out in the streets, waiting for us to prey on them? They've gotten smarter; they aren't as careless as they once were. The chances of finding them vulnerable on top is as likely that there are witches here, listening to our every word."

Bianca and Chris had to exchange wry grins at this.

Tattoo narrowed his eyes. "But I need this for the witches. If you cannot be certain that this will work on their magic –"

"It'll work." Red Eyes interrupted firmly. "I'm sure of it."

"I can't afford mistakes; Lord Wyatt will skin me if this doesn't work."

"Literally?"

"Literally."

Red Eyes scowled. "Listen, I'll just give it to you now and you can test it out on Lord Wyatt's next witch prisoner." He raised his palm up and a formidable looking gun appeared in a swirl of black smoke. Gingerly, he handed the gun to Tattoo with the care of a father handing another his child. "That took me a lot of work, this Weapon. Lotta my men's blood."

"All right then . . . we'll see if this Weapon of yours works. Don't let the witches get you down."

Red Eyes laughed, his rough voice sending shivers down Chris's spine. "Never do . . . never do."

After they shimmered out, Chris and Bianca remained absolutely silent, both from extra security and dread. It was only after a space of five minutes that one of them actually spoke.

"I guess that'll be my new job now," Bianca said, a very subtle quiver in her strong voice.

"I guess," Chris repeated before he could shut himself up. Like his comment was going to help any. "You should probably go before they miss you."

A shadow of anxiety flickered in Bianca's eyes. "I'll see you later then . . . with info." She leaned in and pecked Chris on the cheek quickly, shimmering before Chris could even say his goodbye.

Chris frowned at the empty space. "Okay then," he muttered to himself, unable to shake that weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then, some innate instinct caused him to turn his head towards the corner of the room, only to catch a glimpse of someone else shimmering away.

Damn it. Chris thought, suddenly feeling nauseous. That demon must have heard everything they said. Why couldn't he have sensed it?

Oh god. Bianca. They knew! They knew, and those bastards were going to kill her, he knew it. He knew he could, he knew he couldn't just risk himself and charge into Wyatt's HQ, but by then logic had completely escaped him in worry for his girlfriend. In a flash, he sensed the lingering trail of magic the demon had left behind, piggybacking on its magic to avoid detection into Wyatt's HQ.

After arriving in the destination, he quickly hid in a pretty safe area, closed his eyes, and sensed for Bianca, pushing everything away as he focused on her beautiful brown eyes, the curves of her hips, the volumes of hair that liked to wrap its way around him when they kissed. Pushing the desperation down, he focused his mind on one thing. He had to find her; he had to save her . . .

Got her.

Numbly, not even truly thinking about it, he glided through the HQ in a daze, allowing only instinct to tell him to dive into hiding or dive into a dark corner. Actually, it surprised him about to lack of security. But then, almost no one knew about the piggybacking magic; that was something Leo had taught him, one of the few things that he ever did with Chris . . .

To use that method on a full scale attack was in the works; everyone was being taught how, but they needed to get a blueprint on the HQ, and for that Bianca needed time to find her way around and memorize every detail, anything they could use to their advantage.

Chris's detection on Bianca was bursting in his head right now. She was here –he knew it. Behind the door.

It was locked, but Chris knew how to open it. He frowned as his magic didn't work. Chris considered just knocking, but this could be anything –an informational room, somewhere he'll get her in trouble for. But then, she was already in trouble, so he'll go, just take it a little slowly. He focused his magic even more and performed an even more powerful spell on the lock. It didn't work.

Finally, he focused all of his magic on the lock, building up the energy inside and releasing it on the doorknob. There we go, he thought, feeling exhausted. It must be an important room if there was such a powerful spell barring anyone from entering.

After a final check to make sure the coast was clear, he slowly opened the door, ready to be gone at any moment.

He frowned. There were some loud noises inside, and it definitely didn't sound like a meeting –more like a bar fight, if anything . . .

Opening the door just a crack more, Chris could feel his eyes being burned, hear his mother's voice shrieking at him, believing that, at fourteen, he was still innocently naïve of certain aspects of the teenage world . . .

A brown head, one that has felt Chris's hand running through its intricate locks with tender fingers, was suddenly on top.

Chris's mind turned into jelly as he watched the almost violent thrashing that was taking place on the king sized bed, watching in turn as the brunette and the blonde came up for air. Disbelief, denial filled his mind as his pride and heart was repeatedly stepped on at every second. His emotions were a big muddle until it finally decided on two: rage and a deep, sinking sadness.

Bianca and Wyatt . . . oh god . . .