Summary: This story is set in the future, sixteen years from the Season Six finale. Tasha, a girl whose past is unknown even to her, appears to the Charmed Ones, asking for help. Along the road to controlling her powers, an attraction springs up between her and Chris, but can their feelings for each other overcome the demons in her past--and future?
Dedicated to: The September 11th victims. This chapter has nothing to do with them, and I'm not deluding myself that this is meaningful to their deaths, or anyone of their loved ones will give a damn…but I just want whoever reads this to remember them, and realize that they were just innocent bystanders.
Disclaimer: Heck, if I invented or owned anything, I would tell you. Oh, and if any of the Charmed cast/crew see this…don't sue me, hire me! I wouldn't have completely botched up Cole's little storyline. Or killed off Drew Fuller…
Thanks:To everyone who reviewed.
IMPORTANT NOTE: For the sake of familiarity, all the movies/music/singers/actors etc. are the same as our time. E.g., They just watched Spiderman 2 this year, and Orlando Bloom is still 22, and Smallville/BtVS/Angel etc. are still existent.
IMPORTANT NOTE 2: Strangely, this fic is kinda like Dominique1's Back to the Past (I skimmed the first few chapters). But then, it's not hard to imagine Chris as a wiseass bad boy teen. The big difference is that this is a romance.
Random Fact: Bob is cool.
Chapter Five
(The Football Pitch Bleachers)
Chris jogged up to the bleachers where Tash was sitting, engrossed a thick black book.
"Hey," he said, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Sorry I'm late,"
Tash made a noncommittal noise and turned a page. Chris frowned. She had been like this all day, staying out of his way in the halls and ignoring him in the classes where they were together.
"Listen," he started, thinking about what he had done yesterday. He stopped. Tash fixed him with a stare. "Yes?"
"Nothing." he snapped, flopping down onto the seat above her and silently cursing his pride. Tash released an annoyed breath and slammed her book down.
"What's up?" he asked tentatively. Tash looked as him as though to gauge whether he was messing with her or really asking.
"It's this project. It's so…unimaginative. And when it's not being boring, it's just disturbing!"
"How so?" asked Chris, interested despite himself.
"Listen to this: 'after the nails were ripped out, needles were shoved into the quicks. Special boots were used to lacerate flesh and crush bone. Thumbscrews were used to crush the fingers and toes. Acid was poured on victims, and hands were immersed in pots of boiling oil and water'."
"Um, ew?" said Chris.
"I know. And a lot of these references picture witches as ugly old hags with warts on their noses."
"Hey!" said Chris, insulted.
"I know! And there's all this bull about 'Cowan's' and craft names, and how Book of Shadows are destroyed upon the witch's death…" she trailed off angrily.
"You seem to know a lot about witchcraft," said Chris, looking at Tash interestedly.
"Just as much as the next person. I mean, you understood everything I was talking about." pointed out Tash. Chris merely smiled and looked away. Suddenly, a gust of wind grabbed a sheaf of papers and whisked them away.
"Oh no!" Tash snatched for them and missed.
"Got them," said Chris, jumping into the air and grabbing them.
"Thanks," breathed Tash, reaching up for them. In the process of taking them from Chris' still outstretched hand, she had to look up directly into his face. She took a sharp breath. Breathe girl, she told herself sternly. Ignore the great shoulders, gorgeous face…oh my God, I love his cologne.
Chris shook himself, smiled, and handed her the papers. Tash took them, turned around, and the moment was broken. He immediately regretted giving them back.
"What are they?" he asked.
"Our project." said Tash, placing a book firmly on top of them.
"Our—how long is it?" he asked, shocked.
"Sixteen pages." she said, opening another book. Chris felt slightly guilty. His method of finishing projects was to take it easy 'til the day before the deadline, then hitting the java all night and starting (and finishing) it.
And getting A's anyway.
"Listen, I didn't mean to stick you with all the work, but--" he began. Tash snorted.
"Sure you didn't."
Whatever previous tender feelings he had had for her quickly evaporated in the cool evening breeze.
"You know, you really have an attitude problem," said Chris, trying to keep the anger in his voice down to a bare minimum.
"I do?" asked Tash. "Do you really think so?" she asked conversationally.
"Not to mention what a big pain in the ass you are," snapped Chris.
"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! When it comes to pain, I'm a paper cut and you're an amputation without anesthesia!" retorted Tash heatedly. Chris stood up so fast he almost lost his balance.
"What the Hell is wrong with you? I'm trying to apologize!"
"And I'm making it pretty clear I'm not accepting it!" yelled Tash, just as loudly.
"See, now, that would be the attitude problem. Why are you so stubborn?"
"Stubborn?" gasped Tash angrily. "Stubborn?" She was shaking with rage. She held up her right hand and pointed it at Chris. "I am stubborn?"
"Yes, stubborn and arrogant and bossy and snobbish!"
Tasha stared at Chris, hatred in her eyes. She felt livid enough to cheerfully kill Chris, furious enough to hit him.
"You--" she spluttered, and then words failed her. "I hate you!" she yelled, pushing the air with her hand as though it was him. What happened next was something Chris didn't expect and Tash wouldn't expect.
Chris opened his mouth in shock. Zooming straight towards him was a fireball. He quickly dove to the side, narrowly missing being incinerated.
"What—what was that?" gasped Tash. Chris immediately rose to his feet and gazed at Tash levelly.
"Why don't you tell me, demon?" Chris raised his hands to blow her up, then hesitated. She looked so frightened; she was staring at her hand as though expecting it to suddenly grow scales or blow up, or something equally as strange. Her hair had come down out of its neat bun and was gathered around her shoulders. She resembled a rabbit in car headlights, scared and lost.
"Are you a demon?" asked Chris doubtfully.
"What the Hell are you talking about? What's wrong with me?" shouted Tash, suddenly angry. Four or five more fireballs zoomed out of her palms, going all over the place.
"Whoa! Stop it!" cried Chris, diving to avoid one. "Just, calm down—if you don't, you'll keep on throwing those."
"And how am I supposed to calm down when fire is streaming from my palms?!" shrieked Tash, backing away, dangerously close to the edge of the bleacher.
"Tash, be careful--" started Chris, then leaped the platforms as Tash tumbled down. She landed in a heap at the bottom of the bleachers.
"Tash…are you okay?" asked Chris anxiously, shaking Tash.
"Uh…" Tasha's eyes fluttered closed.
"Oh great. Faint on me. Feel free." grumbled Chris. He lifted up her limp body easily and gently placed her onto the bottom platform of the bleachers.
So, what do you do Halliwell? Is she a good demon or a bad demon? Yeesh. Isn't that a line from The Wizard of Oz
Chris looked around and quickly came to a decision. He grabbed a pen and piece of paper and scrawled the address of the Halliwell Manor onto it. Leaving it under Tash's backpack where she was sure to see it, he orbed out.
(Later)
Tasha groaned, and sat up. "What happened?" she asked aloud. She immediately wished he hadn't, as her head started to throb painfully. Suddenly, she remembered the strange fire that had issued from her hands. She stood up and looked around worriedly.
Okay, just get home and forget about it. It was probably just a dream. She strained to remember what had happened. I was working on the project…I remember wondering where Chris was…but then he turned up and I got mad…then the weird fire thing happened…Of course! She suddenly realized in a moment of clarity. It was a dream! I must've fallen asleep…whoa, that was one insane dream. She chuckled and started to gather her things. She picked up her backpack and noticed a piece of paper fluttering out from under it. Tash picked it up and frowned. There was a message written in a hasty scrawl. It read:
You need to learn to control it. Go to…
There was an address. Need to control what? Thought Tash. Oh. That means…Oh. My. God. Ohmygod! She started to pace. What do I do? What do I do? And…oh my God, did I hurt Chris? She couldn't remember the fire ever hitting him, but she did have a vague recollection of him shouting something about a…demon? He must've caught me when I fell and ran off or something. A part of her noted with annoyance that she must have been unconscious when his arms were around her.
Regarding the paper once more, she made up her mind. Tash slung her backpack over her shoulder and strode off purposefully.
(Halliwell Manor)
"Wyatt," called Piper. "Have you seen Chris?"
Wyatt turned from the television. "Nope. My guess is he's out getting drunk."
"Wyatt!" scolded Piper.
"What mom? The truth hurts!" grinned Wyatt.
"It's an official rule of sibling-ship that you never tell an adult what's really going on." chided Piper.
"So you'd rather not hear about him getting wasted and sleeping around?" Piper clapped her hands over her ears and said, "I trust Chris to not be stupid." She ran off.
"Not to be stupid? I'd rather trust a demon to not try and kill us," muttered Wyatt, turning back to the movie playing. His movie watching was once again interrupted, but this time by the doorbell. He opened the door and grinned. There was a pretty girl standing on the doorstep.
"Hi, can I help you?" he asked.
"Um, yeah. I have a kind of…problem," she said cagily. Wyatt lifted an eyebrow. "What kind of problem?"
"A weird kind of problem." Wyatt looked unfazed, "Okay. Um, I can…" she leaned closer. "I can shoot fire from my hands." she leaned back and closed her eyes, a pained expression on her face as though expecting him to denounce her as nuts and call the nice men in white coats. Instead, Wyatt took a step back into the house.
"MOM! We have a problem!" he called.
©WalkThruTheFire, September 11th 2004.
--God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
The courage to change the things I can, and
Wisdom to know the difference—
God bless the souls who died today three years ago. May they find peace and freedom for eternity.