Disclaimer: This kinda gets old after sixteen freaking chapters. Just read the word disclaimer and make assumptions. I refuse to say those four little words again.

Chris swore again under his breath as the telltale green light flooded into his face. But, just as soon, Paris had stepped in front of him, and the light reflected from her mind instead. Chris shot her a querying look.

Paris smiled wryly. "You've had enough of a bad day, Chris. Let me take this one. My childhood wasn't as bad."

The images appeared on the wall. It showed Paris, but young. She was maybe seven, her hair shoulder length but just as raven black, and her indigo eyes just as blue and penetrating. She was in a living room, apparently at her house, and it was late. She was in the middle of an intense argument with a woman that was obviously her mother. "Come on, Mama! Why can't you just tell me? You know I'm not normal, I know I'm not normal, so why can't you just--"

"Paris, there is no such thing as normal, but if there was, you would be just that," the mother retorted at her best calm. This seemed to be a certain climax of the arguing, judging by the fact the two looked very flushed and frustrated.

Paris stomped her foot angrily. "Mama, stop pretending! There is nothing normal about the way I know things without even asking! Nothing!"

"You know?" repeated the woman, who went by Mrs. Whitmire. "Maybe you're just extra sensitive, sweetie, and some people are."

"Sensitive? Mama, I'm seven, and I know things about everything that nobody knows! Like you and Daddy, for example. I know that you're afraid he's going to leave us, Mama, and I know that Daddy is tired of--"

"Paris," said Mrs. Whitmire in a warning tone, looking quite shocked. "Your father is not going anywhere. Watch what you say, young lady."

The young Paris was now crying openly. "No! I've felt him, too, and he's tired of having us tying him down! He didn't know that I would be born when you two--- and if I hadn't been, he would have left you years ago! Mama, I know it! And he is going to leave us as soon as he gets a promotion at work so he can pay for child support! Please-- I'm seven! I shouldn't know these things, Mama. What's the matter with me?"

Mrs. Whitmire was just staring at her. After a moment, she managed to say through gritted teeth, "Paris Adrienne Whitmire, your father is not going to leave us. He loves us very much. Do you understand me?"

The scene blackened and faded out. Paris let out a small breath she had unconsciously been holding. For a moment there was silence, then Phoebe asked, feeling a sudden connection with the girl, "He left, didn't he?"
Paris gave a small smile. "The first thing I ever predicted with my Reading ability, and five years in advance. My mom never quite looked at me the same since. But that argument was probably my worst memory concerning my family-- and it didn't turn out to be that bad, really. He and my mom got divorced, he bought the house next door, we almost always had dinner together-- it was like we were still a family, just a little more widespread."

"Okay," said Joden at last, clapping his hands to draw them back to the moment. "Shall we get going before the Green Pins come and kick our collective asses?"
It was all the reminding they needed. With that they set off, regaining their speed quickly. They didn't get far, however, before Paris stopped them again. At their questioning looks, she said a little guiltily, "I... um... tripped a hole." And true to her word, the writing on the wall appeared.

Chris' eyes twinkled as he and Paris' gazes locked and she gave a short laugh. She appeared somewhat nervous. Chris read, tearing their eyes apart teasingly, "Such a girl there never was, driven by meaning is everything she does. Young and sweet, determined and powerful, we give her a choice-- a time to cry, or a time to rejoice?"

Paris looked taken aback, but just as much relieved. "Rejoice, sure. I'll go with that."
The Archeohauge trap did something strange, though. The ground began to shake and suddenly fell out beneath them. There were several screams as they all careened downward, spiraling into nothingness. Before anyone could call anything over the rushing winds, however, they landed softly in a white room, but not at all like the one in Elderland. This one had padded walls. There was a younger Chris there, maybe twelve, and arguing heatedly with a man in a white uniform.

This was it for all Chris' esteem in the eyes of his team. They burst out laughing over the fact that their 'leader' had been committed into a mental hospital, and Chris' shoulders sagged. "I thought this was supposed to be a reason for Paris to rejoice," he groaned, unaware of the fact that Paris was smiling at the scene playing out before them.

"Get out!" Chris' young self yelled at the man. "I'm not crazy, so just leave me alone!"

"Not crazy?" repeated the man as though the notion of the boy not being crazy was crazy itself. The man took a remote-like device out of his pocket and hit a button. A TV screen appeared in the pads of the wall. He hit another button and an image of the twelve year old came on, showing Chris sitting in the corner of the room, staring into space. He hit another button but nothing happened to the image except the time in the bottom of the screen began to speed past lightening fast. "Tell me, Christopher, do you know any other kids your age that can stay that still for fifteen hours straight?"

The twelve year old gave him a look of pronounced hatred. "Don't. Call. Me. By. That. Name. And what does it matter that I'm not hyperactive? Does that automatically make me a psycho?" When the man gave him a look that clearly said 'yes', Chris flung the door of his soft room open, and yelled, "Okay, get out! Get out, NOW!"

The floor fell out from beneath them, yet again, but this time there was laughter heard instead of screaming. "You were registered insane!" snorted Joden. "Gawd, this is precious!" As they leveled out again, the sixteen year old boy crossed his arms, trying furiously to hold back a comment he knew Paris would kill him for saying.

They were in Paris' living room again, but it was obviously some years later. Chris and Paris were both about ten, and they were decorating a Christmas tree. Paris' mother and father were talking in the kitchen while keeping an eye on the two in the other room. "Chris, could you hand me that purple ornament?" Paris asked from on top of a chair, moving a branch to see her friend. Chris, who was trying to untangle lights at the table in front of the tree, glanced around, found the one she meant, and leaned forward to hand it to her. However, as his side touched the table, he let out a muffled cry of pain, his fingers releasing the metal ornament. At once, there were several voices asking what was wrong, but Chris quickly reassured them, albeit in a slightly shaky voice, "Nothing, I just didn't think the table was that close."

The two adults shared a look. "Paris, sweetheart," said Mr. Whitmire, coming to help her down from the chair. "Come with me to find the angel topper." When it looked as though Paris would object, he added, "Come on. Chris and Mom need to talk about something without us eavesdropping on them."

The floor fell out again. "Think this thing is going haywire?" asked Paige, watching the darkness flying past them bemusedly. The last thing they had seen... now that they knew the boy's history, they had no trouble identifying why he'd been hurt by the table touching him. Paige tried to wiggle her feet in the dark void they were falling through and found that there really was nothing beneath them. She stifled a small scream of alarm. Somehow she'd just thought it was an illusion and they were still in the wide tunnel.

"Definitely a possibility," replied Duncan nonchalantly. "But you'd think we'd be seeing random flashes about random people, wouldn't you? These seem to focus on Chris."

"Even though it was Paris' turn to be picked on," said Paris, speaking casually in third person. "Chris, did my parents find out about your situation before I did?"

"Um... that's an interesting question," said Chris with a hint of guilt. "Well... you actually figured it out several times before I finally stopped erasing your memory. But they suspected it before you 'officially' found out."

"You erased my memory?" Paris shrieked, her usual serene composure abandoned. "What the heck for? Did you think I wouldn't understand or something? And when were you planning to tell me you were doing that to my head?"

Chris rolled his eyes in the dark. "No comment-- but just for the record, you would have, too, if you were in my place."

"Look! The perfect friends do actually argue!" exclaimed Andrщ. They leveled out again, and the scene became brighter, allowing them to see Chris and Paris both doing the 'speaking volumes with eyes only' thing. Paris cocked her head to the side for a moment, never breaking eye contact.

"Show me," she said after another moment. Chris cocked his head to the side likewise.

"Be amused at my whacked-up childhood," he said apathetically to the team, meaning to direct their attention to whatever scene they were at now, and away from him and Paris. The last glimpse Phoebe saw of the two before she turned away was of Chris gently placing two fingers on each of her temples, locking their eyes intently. Her last thought on that matter was simply envious, darn that's a cool power.

The scene before them was of a school, and they were standing in the parking lot. It was deserted, until a fairly new looking SUV pulled up. It had barely even stopped before a thirteen year old Chris fell out-- or was thrown out-- of the vehicle and landed on the asphalt. A woman's voice screamed something that didn't sound very nice at the boy before she slammed his door shut again. "YES, MOTHER DEAREST!" Chris shouted back at the top of his lungs, seemingly having a difficult time keeping a straight face.

The woman screamed something about him not using that tone of voice, him paying for it, with a long stream of swearwords, threats, and insults spliced in. "WHATEVER YOU SAY, MOMMY!" Chris yelled back, now suppressing obvious mirth. He had to roll out of the way of the rear tire, however, as his mother screeched out of the parking lot, barely missing running over her son. Chris snorted, and the ones watching became aware of a thirteen year old Paris walking toward him, immersed within the pages of a book.

"Why do you have to provoke her?" she asked distractedly, giving him a hand up. "You know she isn't kidding when she says she's going to make you pay."

The other young teen shrugged with a short laugh. "I think I have a death wish."

Paris' young self briefly lowered her book to examine her friend. "That's not a good thing, Chris," she said, as though speaking to a naяve two year old. "Do I need to call your psychiatrist?" The boy glared.

"Good Lord," snorted the sixteen year old Paris, abruptly bringing the company's attention back to the two older teens. Paris looked surprised and entertained, while Chris looked exasperated and embarrassed. "Yes, I would have erased my memory if I was you, too. I mean, my God..."

Chris looked mock affronted. "Hey! He's my God, too, you know!"

The ground beneath their feet crumbled away, catching a few by surprise. After a moment for them to catch their breath, Joden stated matter-of-factly, "Your mother was a bitch."

Chris snorted. "You don't have to tell me-- I figured that out all on my own."

They landed back in the tunnel of the Archeohauge, the spell runes nowhere in sight. The torches burned dimmer. Phoebe glanced at her family to see how they had taken the latest information. Not that they didn't already know, but to actually hear her screaming such violent threats and graphic swearwords... they might take it a little more seriously. Piper did look troubled-- she was imagining throwing her precious child Wyatt out of the jeep like that, and that thought alone was making her eyes tear up. But Paige, who was already aware of such serious problems existing, did what she had taught herself to do when she had been a social worker. She had treated the scene as a moment from the job and had separated her personal life from hers at work, not even realizing it. She was already bantering with Joden and Paris again. Leo, though, was a different story. He was gazing at Chris intently, something silent and unprecedented going on behind his stormy grey eyes.

If Chris could feel himself being watched so meticulously, he definitely knew how to hide it. He only stared at the ground in front of his feet, lost in thought. Whatever he was thinking, though, Phoebe had no idea. Even at this age he could block himself from her power. Her thoughts were interrupted, however, as someone shimmered in behind her.

Previously:
The thirteen year old Bianca screamed angrily, "That is so freaking it! I am so going to go call your parents and tell them you were using magic!"

13 Chris' face drench of all color, making the various bruises stand out more prominently than ever.

He stopped trying to vanquish her. "You wouldn't dare..."

"Oh, so I was right!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "You aren't allowed to use magic! Oh yeah! I knew it!"

The boy's mouth fell open. "You b! You can't go inferring stuff like that and expect me to be able to see the difference! That's just-- just--"

"Evil?" She taunted, and, with one last sneer, shimmered out.

And:
The adult Bianca laughed malevolently. "You may scorn me now, Christopher, but you won't be when you return home tonight. You might actually be out with--- what was the excuse your mother used to give the school?--- schizophrenic shock, for a week... or maybe even two, if dear mummy's in a good enough mood."

Now-- Our Two Adults In The Weird Bubble Outside Of Time:
Bianca smiled, something that was making Chris sick to his stomach now that he knew she didn't want to. "No," she smirked. "But Wyatt does."

Chris' face did something strange. Once he could speak, he said in a soft voice, "Wyatt's coming?" His fiancщe nodded, still smiling, yet Chris could see the way her eyes were flickering with uncertainty. Something passed between the two that would be difficult to explain, but, in that moment, they came to an unusual sort of agreement.

If Wyatt was planning to be there, as far as they knew, he could be watching them even as they came to this resolve. So they had to make the performance believable. Bianca flung her gaze back to the pool that showed what the Charmed Ones were doing and sneered as his young self read the spell "Wisdom states life without family is for naught. Mother and sister gone, but father and brothers are not. Yet never content were you. So what then did you go through?"

"What did you go through?" repeated Bianca, scoffing. "Come on, I was only thirteen when I found out. It's not that hard to figure out."

"It may be," Chris shot back. "You only figured it out because your future self showed you. 'Cause you see, I remember when you admitted it two years ago."

What he didn't add was exactly what they were both thinking. Her seeing what she had caused him was the ultimate factor that had made her stop hunting innocent witches and mortals. It had made her realize what kind of people she had been working with, and she had made the switch, only taking special demon-hunting jobs from the Elders and other good sources. Hunting was in her blood, and no one had ever tried to deny her that.

"Well, you know what?" she retorted. "Since I'm in such a good mood, I think I'm going to go show my past self exactly what she did to you, telling your dear mommy about you doing magic."

"You wouldn't dare," spat Chris. Bianca simply smirked and summoned a pool. It showed herself as a thirteen year old, and she was sitting in front of the desk of a man-- a client.

"So," drawled the man, "how is the case going? Is the youngest Halliwell dead, yet?"

"Not yet," returned the young Bianca with a cruel smile. "But I am sure I have him weakened enough to take his life at any moment."

The adult Bianca smiled the same cruel smile and shimmered out... and straight into the time period in question. Chris swore, sounding not at all staged. "I thought she didn't know how to get out of this damn bubble," he grumbled.

"I let her," said a deep and malevolent voice. Chris sighed in resignation and didn't even turn around.

"Hello, Wyatt."

Without thinking, Phoebe spin kicked the person, and who should she see go flying backwards as she turned around but a sixteen year old Bianca. Though Paris was still by far more beautiful, Bianca had blossomed since they had seen her at thirteen. She was taller, her hair was dyed blonde and black, and she had picked out clothes that brought out her better features. She now wore heavy eye make-up and dark lipstick, much in contrast to Paris' natural approach to cosmetics. "Geez, woman, hold your fire," Bianca snapped grumpily. "I'm on your side, remem... oh, you're not on FU1..."

"What do you want?" asked Paris, giving her a hand up and giving Phoebe a soothing sort of look.

"Just came to tell Chrissy here there was another attempt to overthrow the base using the famous Volley Rampage tactic. The other leaders require your assistance," Bianca sneered. Chris threw her a look that would have frozen Hell over if it had been directed downward. They obviously weren't on good terms with one another.

"Can't you help them? It doesn't look as though you've got anything better to do if you're playing obedient little messenger girl," he returned icily. Not one person present could have missed the venom in his voice.

"You two scare me when you're together," stated Andrщ, looking between them.

"Past history?"

"You could say that," said Bianca, giving Chris a smile that sent chills down Phoebe's spin. Chris met her smile with a glare, remaining silent. Seeing that he wasn't going to speak, Bianca continued, "I was sent to assassinate him a few years ago. Didn't exactly do that... but it took me forever to find him in the first place. I was looking for a thirteen year old who was the son of a rather famous couple-- he looked like he was the ten year old son of a violent drunk."

"Well, if you had done your research like a good assassin should, nothing would have come as a surprise," Chris returned in an even, although cold, voice.

Bianca shot him a very rude hand gesture. Chris gave her an unreadable look and said sarcastically, "I'm quaking where I stand. I mean, it's not like anyone's ever given me the finger before. Really. You're going to have to step it up a notch, sweetheart."

Before Bianca could make a suitable retort, Joden quickly intervened. "Thanks for the offer, Bianca, but Chris is kind of busy right now-- he's just tripped another booby trap."

"I have?"

"Yup," said Joden, and pushed the boy backwards. It hadn't been enough to knock him over, but he hit the ground anyway as his foot snagged the hole. Chris threw him a narrow look.

"We're never going to make the deadline if this keeps up," he said crossly. With a sigh, he got a hold of his temper, and read the runes. Bianca wasn't even noticed as she watched her once-target with interest. "Quite some trouble has caused she, but what kind of things have taken place in your history? Oh... damn..."

"I would say so," said Duncan indifferently. Suddenly he said in a venomously sweet voice so unexpected coming from him, "Do you know who came and paid me a visit today, Christopher?"

Chris groaned and held his head in his hands. "Not again..."

Paris pulled his hand into hers comfortingly. "If I start spouting your mother's lines, I give you permission to slap me." Chris laughed slightly but shook his head, not meeting her eyes.

"Well," said Paige, speaking Chris' lines, "I think the mailman's got a thing for you, but something tells me that's not it..."

There was a resounding SMACK in the tunnel and Chris fell to the ground as though struck. He made a very unenthusiastic face. "This is going to be fun..."

"Don't be a smartass," snarled Andrщ dangerously. "It doesn't suit your position. I was visited by a remarkable young lady by the name of Bianca. And do you know what she said to me?"

Phoebe said somewhat capriciously, "No, I possess no psychic abilities, ma'am." There was another crack and Chris was thrown into the tunnel wall before falling back to the ground.

"Is there anyway we can block the hits before they meet you?" asked Piper, as Paris gave him a hand up. "I mean, you can predict them before they happen, can't you?"

"Does 'at the end of every sentence' count?" he asked rhetorically. "Besides that, intangibility doesn't work, and I doubt I have any other power that could."

"Shield?" suggested Phoebe, wishing it would hit whoever had spoken the lines and not him every time. She could take one blow easily, but she knew it would add up if he took them all himself. He shrugged, lost in thought. She knew this wasn't a memory he wanted to witness again. She briefly wondered why the place was picking on him.

"You don't?" screamed Paris, and Chris flicked his shield up, but hit the ground behind it anyway. "So how often do you use magic behind my back if you can't pick out one person who saw you?" Chris was slammed sideways into the wall. "You f---ing little sh--! How many times have I warned you? How many times have I told you, you would pay? --WELL?" Chris was sent hurtling several feet down the tunnel before hitting nothing, that had apparently been something in the memory, and falling forward. She demanded an answer again.

"I'm sorry! I don't know any other way to fight a witch who's willing to use her powers!" Joden said in an exasperated voice. Chris was slammed yet again into the wall, but this time a force held him there. He grasped at his throat, but all that was there was air. His mother was obviously choking him.

"You didn't answer my question," said Leo in a dangerously soft voice. "I said-- how many times?"

Piper's hands went to a spot just in front of her throat, but she could only make a small choking noise. At last, Chris fell forward onto all fours, gasping for breath. "More than enough, ma'am," Piper panted without Chris' usual cockiness. Had he already had enough? Or was it just a means to placate the homicidal anger? If that was the case, it didn't work.

"Then what the hell are you finding hard about it?" yelled Andrщ and Chris was flipped, or kicked, onto his back. "You just don't get it, do you, you demented little freak? YOU- CANNOT- USE- MAGIC! Do I need to get your father for a repeat from when you were seven?" Chris was thrown up against the wall again, but not choked.

"N-no!" stammered Duncan quickly. "Please, no! I swear I won't do it again--" Chris was struck across the face.

"That's what you say every time, but it never works, does it?" growled Paige.

"But nobody else can find out!" protested Piper desperately. "No one else was there and I changed what the camera saw so--"

"So nothing," said Phoebe dangerously. Out of nowhere, a knife appeared at Chris throat. He made a disbelieving face.

"Oh, hell no. You've got to be kidding me," he said watching the knife. He tried to grab the handle but his hand went straight through it. His finger did bleed, however, when he poked the tip.

"You will be out from school," continued Phoebe just as softly, "for two weeks, with schizophrenic shock. Is that in any way unclear?"

Andrщ looked devastated. "But I've just gotten out! Please, don't make me go back down there--" The knife at Chris' throat cut a small slit, just enough to draw blood. The sixteen year old didn't even wince, but it was enough to silence his thirteen year old self... as far as the 'actors' knew, anyway. They had no idea what the look in his mother's eyes had suggested; they didn't have her so close they could feel her calm breathing on their faces. They didn't know what she was capable of doing. Phoebe repeated the question of clarity again, and Paris said softly, eyes cast downward in complete dejection,

"Yes, ma'am."

The knife faded. The troupe gradually came out of the spell. "Are you okay?" Paris asked softly, looking at the cut on Chris' neck. His eyes, however, had hardened as they fell upon someone else in the tunnel.

A/N: Thanx for all the reviews, and sorry for the delay. Wow, this story is getting long... anyway, as long as I have reviewers, I'll keep writing :hint hint:
Sparkling Cherries: Don't feel bad-- I read half of the first (Pullman) book but had to put it down for almost a year before I decided I cared enough to see how it ended. Then I read the rest of the trilogy! lol. And I guess that's why Duncan doesn't use that accent, other than just to 'fit in' in America, if there is such a thing.

Michal: Chris spoke the language of the Elders, since he was with them during the years he learned to speak. (I'd imagine it would be a very pretty language, since they are basically the essence of good and goodpretty in my shallow little mind:))