Title:
Sunshine Rain
Author:
frickangel
Summary:
She watched silently as the boy slept on, oblivious to her presence.
He watched silently as she busied herself in the kitchen, oblivious
to his presence. MotherSon bond. Part one of the 'Angel in my
Arms' series.
A/N:
Final piece of the first part and currently writing up the rest of
the series—in no particular order though.
I'm not fond of
raisins either :)
Warning: Totally Un-beta'd.
Disclaimer:
Don't know, don't own and don't I wish.
Chapter 2
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He was trapped under the weight of the truth, the unknown and the fear.
He knew what the future was like; the truth of how he lived his life afraid of what the 'twice blessed' might do. He used to hide in his room, under the blankets and sometimes even in the closet. There'd be footsteps; heavy and dreaded, thudding up the old manor's staircase.
Then the unknown came. Waiting for what might be done to him, playing the guessing game of pain and agony.
When he was younger, he believed that if he hid under the covers and bed sheets, if he closed his eyes tighter and held his breath, then maybe—just maybe—he'd be able to see a day without pain. But it only got worse, and the fear of everyday grew stronger and stronger each time. Even the taunting was brutal; He would come and just sit there staring, as if contemplating on all the dark pleasures he could possibly inflict on the youngest Halliwell. Expecting anguish and physical hurt, instead his tormentor would scoff and sneer at how much a weakling he was, not as powerful as the blessed child—not even powerful enough to save his mother.
It pained even more to know that older one was right, that he couldn't save his mother—couldn't even save himself. It was a miracle that he found the courage to change the events of time and to find a love strong enough to help him.
Bianca.
But she wasn't there anymore, and it fuelled him more to save the future.
Sometimes, he wondered what it was it like if he hadn't met her, never had the support to make a life changing decision and never found his own strength. What if he was still hiding under those blankets and bed sheets, locked in and waiting for blessed one's playtime? He could only imagine how much he could take being thrown across the room or being his brother's punching bag or how far his screams of help could carry.
Wyatt!
His hand shot out to grab at some unseen power, but the only thing he saw were the small rays of sun shinning between the gaps of his fingers. There was no trace of his older brother or the dark musky aura of his home and he was certainly not in his room. Instead, as the foggy sleep began to lift from his mind, Chris realised he was in the conservatory and about two months away from his birth date. Slowly, the warmth of the afternoon crept into his chilled body and the nightmare ebbed away. Chris hadn't even been aware he was asleep or when he dozed off and definitely not remembering using a blanket.
Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he casually tossed the cloth aside and tried easing out the knots and cramps his muscles got from sleeping in tight places. A lesson learnt about cramming his body into a two-seater for a nap, but then again, it wasn't like he had planned to.
Time was not on his side much with his impending birth coming soon and things were getting complicated as it was. Almost a year ago he had arrived from the future, hoping to silently slip into the Halliwell household without having to reveal his ties with them. It was a simple plan really: go in, vanquish evil, save future and return to better future. It was stupid of him to think that anything was simple with his family.
Now here he was, secret all uncovered, original plan screwed and having had to somewhat force his own conception. Paige was right; he was going to need a shrink when he got back.
If he gets back.
Chris barely restrained himself from continuously ramming his head against the wall in frustration; instead, he made do by digging the heels of his palm in his eyes and rubbing the daze away. Ruffling his hair a bit in attempt to wake up, Chris noticed the scrolls and parchments laid out on the matching wicker table. He ran his fingers through the material and flicked a few charts aside, suddenly noticing that things weren't as he had left them earlier. Call it a gift or a side effect of being paranoid most of his life, but Chris discovered he had the knack of remembering things as it were and when things were disturbed without his knowledge. This was one of those times.
Scanning the table, he noted how each of his study material were uniquely placed into piles and organised nicely—or at least more orderly than it was before. The Book was rested neatly right in the middle and facing him, like an invitation for another round of 'page shuffling'.
He made a small snort and grinned at his mother's obsessive cleanliness. Pushing the thought aside, he reached out to pick up his notebook, and flipping back to his previously written page where he read through the latest entry, trying to refresh his mind on what his past train of thought was. Nodding at the set of symbols he scribbled out, Chris retrieved the chart that he was seeking and traced the lines from one corner to the other. Smiling at himself now, he was pleased to find that his own interpretation of the signs were correct and made it a point to mark it down for future reference.
That is if he could find the pen.
Papers and piles were once again sent to their disorder as he searched through for the pen. Normally, he would've just walked over to the desk and picked out another piece of stationery but he liked the pen he was using and loved how the ink smoothly flowed when he wrote.
Digging into his pockets in vain effort to uncover the elusive piece, Chris then stood up and turned back at the chair only to be rewarded by the plastic ink instrument, wedged between two cushions. Picking up the pen in joy, he sat back down and sketched out the next line of symbols and possible star alignments of the demon's next calling. Like riding a bike, one can never forget the interrelated signs of natural occurrences, moon cycles, planet shifts and astrological dates. It was all connected, from an earthquake in the south of Japan and the sudden thunder storm down town to the climatic changes in South East Asia. Oh, and not forgetting that in two more days the full moon will appear and it was also the exact moment where Venus and Mars align in a parallel line.
Chris tapped his foot impatiently as he realised he was missing another event to the equation to be added up. What was it? Once again, he was diving through the huge mountain of scrolls where he finally found the right one. More scribbling happened as he jotted down the details.
The beloved pen was tossed aside and it went tumbling in between the parchments, lost in the tiny jungle and buried in the deep. Puffing his cheeks out in frustration as he sat there and fanning through the pages of his notebook as if expecting some sort of animated stickman to run across it. Finally putting it down—though as not as violently as the pen had been—Chris began to understand that he really wasn't in the mood for more research into the world's ecological problems and planetary waltz dance.
There was something that he knew he was missing but couldn't place his finger on it.
Absentmindedly he reached out for the woollen blanket and sought comfort in its softness. It took him a while before he found the familiar relief in the simple fabric, stray fibres tickling his cool skin and the light fragrance of mothballs and sweet incense. Hints of nostalgia threatened to overwhelm Chris as he held close the blanket he'd known for so long. He and it go way back to his childhood as he recalled the stormy nights he hugged to it tightly, as his mother comforted him—protecting him—against the loud clashing of thunder and lightning. Ever since then, it's been his security blanket and as time passed by—his only connection to happier days.
A soft smile crept across his face and he allowed it to stay for a while. The memories flashed by and it evoked a warmth he had forgotten for a long time; it even brought the loving scent of cinnamon and sugar and it lingered longer than a memory should. Snapping open his eyes, it dawned on Chris that the smells weren't a memory but a reality. An unmistakeable mixture of sweet oats and nuts wafted by and it played like a temptation enticing Chris to follow.
Follow it he did.
Dragging his feet up, Chris silently tiptoed to the manor's classy kitchen, weaving through the furniture and other objects in his way. As he came upon the kitchen's door, his eye caught a small blur of pink somewhere near the hall but the need to investigate the sweet smell overpowered what other curiosity that peaked within him. Coming close to the wooden partition, his hand rested on the door and he pushed it only so slightly and stealthily, afraid that if he made his presence known the magic of his memories would stop. Instead, he held it apart from the frame by two inches, just enough for him to pry into the wonders of the room.
He should have known the source of it was her. No one else could fill the house with the aroma of freshly baked cookies; sure you could go to a bakery and get that but it wasn't the same. No, it was the love and attention she placed into every gram of ingredients and every touch of the mixing spoon, and measuring every teaspoon of cinnamon and sugar into the batter.
The ache stabbed into his heart so deeply that he nearly cried out. How he missed her warm voice, her quiet words of comfort and sometimes stern reprimanding. His heart pined for her comforting touch once again, to hear her tell him that everything was going to be all right and to have her make his favourite foods once more. To be perfectly honest, he missed much more than that—he just missed her.
"I miss you," he whispered to her, regardless that she couldn't hear a word. It just felt right to confess it, even if the only witness was the kitchen door.
Squeezing his eyes tight, he willed his mind to block out the dark images of her death and her screams; screams for it to stop and for Chris to run and hide.
No—no more.
Eyes opened again, he looked into the kitchen and watched wordlessly as she manoeuvred through the placed and like a well oiled machine, knows where and when things should be done. Without looking, she picked up a tray while reading something off a book that was upon the counter, smiled at herself and flipped the oven's door open. He shifted his position to get a better view as Piper waddled across to the refrigerator, pulling out a few eggs and precariously balancing them in her hands as she shut the door. He grinned and chuckled at her; it was like reliving a part of childhood for real and not missing a moment of it.
"Hey—you're awake," she grinned at him, stuck mid-way in cracking an egg apart.
His eyes widened in surprise, discovering that he had pushed the door all the way and revealing himself to his mother. Nodding, Chris' mind whirled to find the right excuse to spying on her but there was nothing, "Uh… yeah."
"Good," she simply said and continued with her mixing, unconscious to his discomfort, "Got a whole batch of cookies cooling over there. Why don't you pick one?"
He nodded again, as if the world of words had left him alone.
"Oh, and you might want put that blankie down first," she looked up again and motioned at the woollen piece wrapped around his hands.
"I didn't…" Chris hadn't a clue he was holding on to it for so long, not realising he had carried it all the way to the kitchen—his companion on a quest. "Err… sure," slowly, he stepped up to a stool, and neatly folded the blanket before placing it down. Giving it a pat, he made his way to the table where the cookies lay, all aligned on a stainless steel tray. "What kind?" he muttered, half wondering if Piper had heard him at all.
"Oatmeal and raisin."
"Oh…" he picked one up and studied the rough texture of the treat and spotted the dark pieces of dried fruit.
"You like raisins?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ears and she gazed at him expectantly.
'He hated raisins.'
"Yeah, they're okay."
Smiling again, she went on stirring another batch and cookies. He watched her, not realising he was doing so until she stared back and questioned him, "Something wrong?"
"No," he replied instantly and looked away, "No… nothing's wrong." Bringing the biscuit to his lips, he took a small bite out of it and carefully avoiding the raisins. The first wave of flavour washed over him, bringing the smile to his face but yet, the sadness that this still wasn't his mother's cookies—no matter what timeline—hit him over and over again. As he swallowed it down, he felt the emotions he had been holding back for so long beginning to take control.
"Honey?" Piper's clear voice sliced through his thoughts.
He pressed his lips into a thin line, willing the feeling to pass and refusing to finally bow to it. Before he could say he was fine and that nothing was wrong, he found his mother already by his side and staring at him, eyes full of worry and tenderness. "You okay?" she asked him the third question since he first entered.
"I'm fine," he answered as he placed full effort into controlling his voice.
A mother will always be a mother as he saw her expression go from sceptical to overly concerned, "Are you sure? If you want we can talk about it and—"
"I'm fine…" Chris repeated the answer, this time putting a little more enthusiasm into it, "Really I am… Mum." He had hesitated on the last word, but in the end he was glad to have uttered it, "Just tired."
The torrent of emotions were still bubbling within him and the words were forming in his mind, trying hard to force it out of him.
'I miss you, Mum. Life was never the same without you even with Grandpa doing his best.'
Those words never made it out as Chris forced them to die in his mind. Reaching out, he clasped her hand into his and gave her a slight smile of assurance. In reply, her expression softened and she lifted her hand to touch his cheek gently. He forgot how smooth her skin was. "Okay, but you know I'm here if you have anything, you understand?"
'I love you.'
"Yeah… thanks, Mum."
"Right, now finish that up and I strongly recommend you eating more, because when your aunts get home it'll be gone faster than you can say 'demon'."
'I loved you all along…'
The last of his thoughts died off as he just sat that and watched her go back to what she loved best—cooking. Glancing out at the sky, he felt a small sense of hope as the rain stopped and left only the sun by its own glory. Maybe Grandpa was right, maybe this is his chance to get close her to again—even if it meant feeling the same aching pain of loss when he leaves. She's far more worth it.
Taking another bite of the cookie, he chewed slowly on everything. From the oatmeal and cinnamon to the love she had baked into it and even the raisins.
He could learn to like raisins after all.
-----
"I love
you,
And I've loved you
all along,
And I miss you,
Been far away for
far too long,
I keep dreaming
you'll be with me
And you'll
never go."
-Far Away, Nickelback.
-----
END
Love to Spuffyshipper,
Embry, MelissaJooty, Boo26. Teal-lover,
-0-charmed-freak-0-, and raiderettedrum for the wonderful reviews.
Thanks to everyone else for
reading.
-Cheers
Jo
