A/N: Many, many, many thanks to all the readers and reviewers: Lovepadfoot5867, charmedtomeetyou, mpj3, Sparkling Cherries, Zeria, Icantthinkofafnick, Charmed Ravenclaw, girl-with-the-green-eyes, chattypandagurl. A little bit longer than usual chapter – what can I say, you guys inspire me. And yes – that IS a reference to Hyde School Reunion…
P.S. Sorry to everyone who may have got the update twice – I was having problems (as usual!) uploading earlier.
The End of All Things
Chapter 12
2 days left…
Hearing a loud rap on his door, Michael glanced up in time before it was opened abruptly to see his brother poke his head in. "Aren't you suppose to wait for me to tell you to enter?"
Shrugging, DJ pushed the door the rest of the way open to reveal Kyle behind him. The two men crossed the threshold as DJ pointedly looked at his watch, "You're late."
Scowling at his brother, Michael glanced over at the kitchen clock hanging on the opposite wall, "No, your watch is fast. I'm right on time." Turning his back on his brother and Kyle, Michael continued to rummage through his drawers, pulling out a small metal case and placing it on the nearby table.
"What's that?" Kyle nodded his head in the direction of the rusted army-green tin, watching as Michael fiddled with the lock.
Both brothers ignored him, as DJ silently elbowed his brother out of the way. Squinting at the combination lock, DJ expertly flipped the numbers to open the box with a flourish. Presenting the box to his brother, DJ merely rolled his eyes, "I knew I should have kept it at my place."
"Very funny," Michael replied sourly. Gently, he peeled back the layers of cloth to reveal two police badges. Picking up one gently, he handed it to his brother, "You think we'll ever get to use these again?"
Taking the shield gingerly from his brother, DJ gently blew the dust off it, watching the small flecks generate a small dust cloud before disappearing from sight. He looked down at the piece of brass he held in his hand, sadness evident in his tone, "I don't know."
Clearing his throat rather loudly, Kyle stared at the two, "As much as I'm loving this trip down memory lane, we do have a job to do, guys." Nostalgia was all well and good but now was not the time.
Trading glances with DJ, Michael finally lifted the cloth away to reveal his goal. There, nestled in a swath of cloth lay two gleaming hand pistols. Silently, he handed one to DJ while he picked up the other.
"What the hell?" Kyle's face was stunned.
Checking the clip, DJ slammed it back into the chamber. Making sure the safety was on, he lifted the back of his shirt to discreetly tuck the weapon between his pants and the small of his back. Lowering his shirt, he checked the mirror for his appearance before turning back to see Michael replicate his actions. Taking in Kyle's astonished gaze, DJ said merely, "Les is dead, Kyle."
The whitelighter swallowed, obviously battling his natural pacifist whitelighter instincts and the common sense his previous law enforcement knowledge afforded him. Breathing deeply, he seemed to come to a decision, "Okay."
"If it makes you feel better, I don't want to have to use it any more than you want me to," Michael offered.
"It doesn't but you get points for trying," Kyle replied resignedly. Looking over at DJ, "Are we ready to go then?"
Shooting Michael a furtive look, DJ fumbled as he spoke to Kyle, "Uh. Yeah. Look – Kyle…"
"Yeah?" Kyle said a little impatiently.
"Look," Waiting for Michael's nod, DJ plunged forward, "look, if something…if things look like they're going sour…someone has to make it back here to tell Chris."
"What are you talking about?" Kyle asked, bewildered. "What do you mean, someone has to make it back?"
Spelling it out for his friend, DJ continued as Michael looked at him encouragingly, "Look – we don't know how we'll be received. So…Michael and I discussed. If it looks like things are going to get out of hand, we split up. Give them more targets to chase. And you get your ass back here."
"You mean, you and Michael will distract them as bait while I'm suppose to leave you behind to orb back here?" Kyle asked shrewdly. He shook his head adamantly, "No way, man. That's not how things work. We go together, we leave together." He glared at the two brothers, "I've never, and I mean never, left a man behind."
"Look Kyle, we're not saying it'll come to that…but if it does, you have the best, the best, chance of getting back here to warn the others. We have to know – if you need to leave us, you will," DJ stared his friend down, his tone firm.
"Are you fucking crazy?" Kyle shook his head. Holding his hand to forestall DJ's arguments, "Chances are, if things 'go sour' like you're worried it might, the first person they're going to go after is me. They know I can orb – I'm your meal ticket. If they're gunning for us, you can be sure I'm going to be the turkey."
As DJ opened his mouth to argue again, Michael stepped in, "No, DJ. Kyle's right. These folks – they'll know Kyle's a whitelighter. They know what that means, what powers he has. It makes tactical sense to take out our only means of transportation first. Kyle would be the primary target and we'd be secondary." Michael swore, "Christ, I can't fucking believe we're talking like this."
"Better to be prepared, I say," DJ shrugged. "Fine – if things go south, one of us needs to get back here. We all split up, give them too many targets to choose from, hopefully, with the main goal that one of us makes it back to alert Chris." He looked gravely at his companions, "Agreed?"
The three men exchanged sobering glances. Nodding firmly, Michael stuck his fist out as DJ did the same, their knuckles touching. The two brothers turned their gaze on Kyle, who was clearly conflicted.
Gazing at the faces of his two friends, he could feel the weight of their unspoken agreement deep in his gut. He knew it was the most logical contingency plan but he wasn't sure he'd be able to, if the time came. Seeing the same fears and doubts in their eyes reflected back at him, Kyle swallowed resolutely, "All right. Let's do this."
Knowing he was swearing to something he hoped would never come to pass, the whitelighter touched his fist to theirs in camaraderie, silently whispering up a prayer.
Please, God.
Chris scowled, squinting at the hazy writing on the page in front of him, willing for the blurred images to meld into one. As his tired eyes refused to accommodate him, he swore and fed up, with a quick flick of his wrist, tossed the report across the table away from him in disgust. Sighing, he stretched slightly, leaning back against his chair.
God, he felt ill.
And not your sick to the stomach kind of ill. No – at this point that would have been a welcome, if inconvenient, respite from his current infliction. No, this was a deep seeded, energy draining, soul-sucking, determination rotting disease. It permeated through his body, entwining itself into the very fabric of his breath – making every effort to move, let alone breathe, a battle of sheer willpower.
Seated across from him, Leo eyed his son worriedly, "You okay?"
"How the hell do you think I am?" Chris snapped, his temper short from lack of sleep and the dull, throbbing pain currently stabbing his head. Seeing Leo's expression, he quickly backtracked, "Sorry. I guess I'm irritable."
Accepting the apology, Leo tilted his head in his son's direction, his eyes still gravely watching him, "I think, under the circumstances, you're allowed."
"Now you're just trying to make me feel bad," Chris accused his father half-jokingly as he groaned. "Any luck so far?"
The two men were currently ensconced in Chris' room – a welcome change from the chaos of activity in the command centre. A map of San Francisco was unrolled in front of them and a small pad of paper lay to Chris' right, small neat markings littering its surface.
Leo shook his head. "I think your original assessment is right. San Francisco is the best strategic location – if you can lure him close enough, we can trap him in the no-orbing zone."
"Of course the million dollar question is how do we lure him," Chris quipped, his frustration seeping through a touch and colouring his voice. He looked down at the pad, "Are you sure this is the spell Mom and the girls used before?"
"Yes – and they're your 'aunts', not girls," Leo reminded his son rather absentmindedly as he went over the words again. "I'm fairly sure, anyways."
"Fairly sure?" Chris' eyebrows shot up, ignoring Leo's other choice comment. "We have enough uncertainty going into this thing as it is – and you're 'fairly sure' we have the right spell?"
"Nothing is certain – you know that," Leo pointed out, watching as fear flitted across Chris' face so quickly that Leo thought he might have imagined it. "And if it doesn't work, the girls will figure something out. You have to trust that."
A flash of something else flared in Chris' eyes but he only said, "How come you get to call them 'girls' and I can't? I did when I was acting as their whitelighter and you never said anything."
"That was before we knew who you were," Leo replied patiently. "But now that we know who you are, you should show a little respect to your elders, particularly your mother and her sisters."
"Are you parenting me?" Chris blinked rapidly in disbelief as the conversation began to take on a direction he would have never anticipated. "Man, being an Elder has really melted your brain, hasn't it? Or has it escaped your notice that I'm an adult and maybe just a touch old for you to start giving me advice now?"
Leo looked at his son sternly, "You may be an adult but you will always be my son. And my children treat their elders with respect."
Chris gaped at his father, "This is unbelievable. I'm trying to prevent a war and you're telling me to mind my manners. Have I entered the twilight zone?"
The corners of Leo's mouth turned up in a small smile, "No need to be so dramatic. It was just a gentle reminder, that's all."
Snorting slightly, Chris responded rather sarcastically, "Jesus Christ. What's next? A lesson on cursing?"
"Actually…" Leo let his voice trail off as the look on his son's face began to resemble a deer caught in headlights. Slightly amused, Leo tried to keep a straight face, "Tell you what, champ. I think you have enough on your mind lately. We'll save that for another day."
Narrowing his eyes at his father, Chris wasn't sure if Leo was completely joking. Deciding to take advantage of the reprieve while he could, he switched back to the topic at hand, "All right then. We're agreed. The outskirts of San Francisco should do it." Chris pointed at a small mark on the map, "I think this is the best place. The surrounding hills can give us a strategic view of the area undetected. And it's far enough from the main gate that we shouldn't have any stray innocents wandering around."
Leo nodded, "I came to the same conclusion. Now how exactly were you planning to lure Zankou there?"
Chris grimaced, "Actually – I don't really know yet."
His mouth hanging open, Leo stared at Chris, "What? I thought that was the whole point of this planning session. To work out the details."
"I'm working on it," Chris protested defensively at his father's accusatory gaze.
"Why doesn't your tone exactly inspire confidence in me?" Leo sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily. Leo looked at little exasperatedly at his son, "Do you even have some sort of – idea on how you're going to get him there?"
"I was sort of hoping DJ and those guys will stumble across a lead with Jeremiah," Chris confessed. "That's sort of where I was going with this…"
"Did I never teach you about putting all your eggs in one basket?" Leo shook his head.
"You never really taught me anything at all," Chris shot back, his temper frayed. Again, he felt remorse as he registered at Leo's pained expression. Damn it, why can't I keep my mouth shut? After all, he knew it wasn't this version of Leo with which he had issues. "Sorry. I didn't mean that." Seeing Leo's sceptical look, Chris reiterated, "No, really. I…" Chris cursed, running his hand through his hair in frustration as he tried to explain himself, "I know it's not you, per se. I mean – it's not like you've done anything…yet. But sometimes…you are him, in a way." The words were jumbled as Chris struggled to voice his feelings, "I don't mean to hurt you. It's…it's not a conscious thing. I know you're different from…him…but…it's hard." He glanced up at his father from beneath his lashes contritely, "Okay?"
Leo studied his son, weighing his own response carefully before saying, "I understand. But you are right – I am him, in a way. And as much as I'd like to think I'm going to be a good father to you…when you let things slip like you just did – I don't know what to think."
Chris' eyes dropped to the table, "Look – we've gotten to know each other pretty well this past year, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I'd say so," Leo agreed, a little bewildered with where Chris was going with this line of questioning.
"Then trust me when I say that the dad I grew up with would never, never have bonded with me the way we have these past few months," Chris raised his eyes to meet his father's, regret clearly reflected in them, "We never had the same rapport that you and I have." His tone was curiously flat as he finished, "Ever."
Hating to hear the sadness in Chris' voice and knowing he was, no matter what Chris said, in some way responsible, Leo swallowed, "I'm sorry."
Chris shrugged it off, focusing his attention back on the map, "Don't be. It never – it isn't your fault." Chris shot a sharp look at his father, "Not yet, anyways."
Leo winced, "Message received loud and clear." Hesitantly, Leo reached across to grip his son's arm tightly, "I'm going to be a good father to you, Chris. I swear it."
"I know." He cleared his throat awkwardly, uncomfortable with the emotional tension in the air. Ostensibly, Chris made a couple more notes before asking, "Where's mom?"
Able to read between the lines, Leo withdrew his hand and allowed his son to change the topic of conversation, "I think she went to check on her sisters. They've been trying to work on a potion or spell to help you with your illness."
Chris' right eyebrow shot up, "I hate to burst your bubble, but you do realize that Ben and Lilah are probably the ultimate resources on magic right now and if they can't help me…Anyways, Mom should be helping us trying to figure out how to trap Zankou."
"You said it yourself," Leo quickly latched onto Chris' words. "They're the most knowledgeable on magic – right now. Maybe your mom and aunts can bring a bit of their own experiences to the table."
Almost angrily, Chris gathered the papers into a messy pile and headed for the door, abruptly bringing their conversation to an end, "You'll forgive me if I don't hold my breath."
"What are you afraid of?" Leo pushed away from the table to quickly chase after his son. "That they might actually find a cure? That maybe things will work out?"
Whirling on his father, Chris' green eyes flared as he retorted, "You think I want to die? You think I want this?" He waved his hand up and down his body length, agitated with his father's words, "You think I want to be like this? That I like hearing this constant buzzing noise in my brain that makes me want to drill holes in my skull? That I enjoy this dull, throbbing ache in my bones that just won't go away? That I like having my hair fall out, my skin turn red and see myself rotting away slowly every day I wake up and look in the mirror? That I get off on being tired, irritable…weak?" As Leo blanched at his son's harsh words, Chris snorted, "If you think that, then maybe you don't know me as well as I thought you did."
Leo heard the bitterness in Chris' voice but could offer no comfort. Instead, Leo pleaded hoarsely, trying to understand, "Then why?"
"Why do I think the sisters should be focusing on helping us with Zankou?" Chris shook his head slowly as he pointed out the obvious, at least to him, "Because there are more important things at stake here. Like I told mom and like I'm telling you. In the grand scheme of things…I don't matter."
Biting his lip, Leo studied his son. The skin around Chris' eyes was bruised; the blood vessels likely broken. His lips were dry and cracked, even bleeding in some places. His skin was a ghastly yellow, with unsightly red splotches now completely leeching everywhere. Everything about his son screamed to Leo that Chris was dying.
And there was nothing Leo could do.
God, he wanted to wail his fists against fate at that moment. He had never felt so helpless in his entire life, as a human or as a whitelighter. His son – a good, decent man – was dying and he, the father, couldn't save or help him.
Leo held Chris' steadfast gaze with one of his own, seeing the sheer determination and resolution in Chris' eyes. If Chris could be strong, then by God, so could he. It was the very least that a father could do for his son. Inclining his head slightly, Leo's voice was firm, "You're right. Let's go find your mother. She needs to help us with this."
"You took your sweet time getting here," Sheridan said waspishly as she eyed the three men approaching her. She looked at her watch rather pointedly, "I was told you'd be here an hour ago. And considering your transportation consists of orbing…"
"Hello to you, too," D.J. replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The look she gave him could have levelled a building. How does Chris put up with this? "Sorry – we got held up."
"You're damn lucky I didn't have any meetings scheduled today." Turning crisply on her heel, Sheridan began to lead the way back to city hall. "Well, now that you're here, I guess we can get on with this." Motioning for them to follow her, she looked over at D.J. and asked him point blank, "Any problems with the border patrol when you checked in?"
The three men quickly fell in step, with D.J. stretching his legs slightly to keep abreast with the current mayor of San Francisco. He shook his head, "No. Although I think one of the guards was giving Kyle a strange look. Anything I need to be concerned about?"
Sheridan continued to quickly stride through the halls, taking a left before halting at a nearby staircase. She paused at the top of the stairs to address her visitors, "No. At least – I don't think so. I had to make a couple of rearrangements."
As the quartet began to descend the stairs in a light jog, Michael was intrigued, "What do you mean?"
Pausing at one of the landings, Sheridan looked up at Michael who was a couple of paces behind. "Did you know Jeremiah was in charge of staffing the border guards?"
"No," Kyle shot an unreadable glance at Michael. "So?"
"So, I think he was staffing them with all his cronies," Sheridan explained, once again continuing her way down the stairs. "People who reported to him, as opposed to, say me." At the third landing, she stopped and gestured at the hallway leading away. "We're holding him down here."
"Love what you've done with the place," Michael murmured, his eyes taking in the lack of lighting and general run down condition of the underground floors. A layer of dust seemed to coat everything, dulling the colours of the walls and floors – not necessarily a bad thing in Michael's mind, given the rather alarming shade of orange. He shuddered, wondering how much on sale the paint colour had been because he couldn't imagine anyone actually wanting that colour.
Sheridan ignored him, "We've converted the basement floors as temporary holding cells."
"You need holding cells?" Kyle asked in astonishment.
"As much as I would love to believe that mankind is sweetness and light, you know that isn't the case. It's human nature. We've gotten the odd mugging and disorderly conduct so far. At least – until Jeremiah," Sheridan said darkly. She turned down another hallway that was lined with doors. At a card table nearby, two guards were seated playing cards. She nodded at them, "Gentlemen. How's our house guest doing?"
The thinner one answered as his companion glanced over at him, "Okay, I guess. Haven't heard a peek from him since lunch." He looked down at the log book next to him, "We just checked on him five minutes ago and he was fine."
Smiling at the guard, Sheridan reached across to fill out her information in the log book. "Thanks, Greg. Who's winning? You or Dan?"
Dan grinned, waving at the stack of chips in front of him, "I think I may have to take pity on him soon and switch from no limit hold 'em to 'go fish'."
Laughing as Greg scowled at Dan, Sheridan flipped the log book back to Greg. She pointed at the three men behind her, "You know DJ, Michael and Kyle, right? I think you all worked together in the Resistance, right? Well, they'll be conducting the interview with Jeremiah."
"Of course we know these bastards," Greg and Dan both smiled at the Resistance scouts indicating they were clearly joking. Greg reached across the table to clasp DJ in a strong handshake, "Hey man. How's it going?"
DJ smiled at the older gentleman, "Good. How are you doing? I haven't seen either the two of you since you moved back up world."
The two poker players traded grins. Dan spoke for both, "Things have been good. We've been helping out where we can – you know how things are." His expression turned serious for a moment, "I hope you know all that recent trouble with folks in a tizzy over magic is just a small part of the population. Most of us aren't like that – we know Chris. We know he's a good man."
Michael traded a significant glance with DJ, "Yeah. We know. Chris knows. But it's still alarming."
Greg grimaced, "No kidding. But like Dan said – most people aren't like that. I hope Chris will remember that."
"Why? You planning on doing something that will make him forget?" Kyle stepped forward, regarding the two guards steadily.
"No!" Greg held up his hands in protest, flushing under the whitelighter's scrutiny. Tugging at his collar uncomfortably, "No! I just – I was just talking, that's all."
"Look, you want to question Jeremiah or not?" Sheridan glared at the Resistance fighters impatiently. "I don't have all day."
"Yeah, yeah we do," DJ nodded, letting his gaze move towards the closed door. "Let's get this over with."
Sweeping her hand towards the door, Sheridan mock bowed, "After you, gentlemen."
The loud bang was quickly followed by the emergence of a greyish cloud and a distinctly odourous smell.
POOF!
"Bloody hell!" Paige coughed, waving her hands around frantically trying to dissipate the toxic fumes in the room. "Okay, definitely too much moordock root that time."
"Damn it! I was sure we got it that time," Phoebe wrinkled her nose in disgust as the waft of burnt witches' brew teased her nostrils. "Man, this stuff stinks!"
"That's the tenth time that's happened," Paige sighed, checking the figures on a nearby piece of paper. "I think we can safely assume that this concoction will NOT heal Chris."
"Are you sure? I mean, maybe we can cut back on the bat wing or something," Phoebe peered over Paige's shoulder at their notes.
"Yes, I'm sure," Paige sounded exasperated. "We've tried just about every combination. Nothing works, Phoebe. It just doesn't add up."
"All right," Phoebe pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine, let's try working on that spell again. Maybe we'll have better luck with that."
"You mean like the last fifteen versions?" Paige replied sceptically, her stomach growling slightly making her wonder when the last time she had eaten. They'd been at it ever since they'd split up from Leo and Piper. She chewed on the end of her pencil, "Phoebe – maybe we should just face facts. We're no closer to finding a cure to Chris' illness than we were 24 hours ago."
"Do you want to be the one to tell Piper that?" Phoebe pointed out. As Paige blanched, Phoebe continued, "Right. Let's try this again."
"Hey guys."
Startled, Piper's voice caused both her sisters to jump. Taken aback, Phoebe began to babble as her older sister entered, "Piper! Hello! Hey! How…how are you? What's going on? Where've you been? You been standing there long?"
Narrowing her eyes at Phoebe's stream of nonsensical words, Piper asked suspiciously, "How are things going?"
Trading a quick glance with Paige, Phoebe laughed awkwardly, "Oh, you know – writer's block. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find a word that rhymes with disease."
"How about the potion? Is that going any better?" Piper asked Paige, still eyeing Phoebe warily. Entering fully into the room, Piper craned her neck to look at the scribbles on Paige's notepad. "Wow. That's a lot of potion recipes you've got there."
Swallowing nervously, Paige replied slowly, "Yeah. We, uh, haven't really had much success with the potions…" Seeing Piper's expression, Paige quickly tacked on, "Yet."
"You're not giving up are you?"
"Giving up? No, no. Of course not. What would make you say that?" Paige's breath came out in a rush.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because that's what you were saying before I entered the room," Piper glared at both her sisters.
Sighing, Phoebe tried to explain. "Look, Piper. We're doing the best we can. You just got to hang in there okay? We're working on it."
"Good, because you've got a nephew who's counting on you."
"Look, if…if things don't go as planned," Phoebe rushed to continue her sentence as Piper glared daggers at her, "not that I'm saying it won't – at least we know when we get back to our time to get rid of that damn sword for real this time. That should solve everything, right Piper?"
About to reply, Piper paused as she felt the hair on her neck rise. With almost an inherent sixth sense, she turned around slowly to face her son who was staring at her in shock.
He was standing the doorway with Leo right behind him. Chris' face was paper white as he whispered in disbelief, "You didn't get rid of it?"
Stunned to realize that Chris had overheard Phoebe, Piper stuttered, "Chris…how…how long have you been standing there?"
"How could you?" His voice was sharp. "How could you not after I specifically asked you to?"
At the time, she had been sure she was doing the right thing to ensure her son's destiny. But now…Piper shook her head, feeling thoroughly ashamed and unable to speak as she heard the accusation in her son's tone.
"After everything you've seen, after everything you've experienced here," Chris gestured with a sweeping motion. "How could you even make that sort of decision?"
"I just…I thought…I just wanted to do what I thought was right. Right for you," Piper tried to explain. "You have a destiny, Chris. I didn't want to deny you that…"
"It's not about me!" Chris suddenly drew himself up, fury darkening his face. His eyes were shadowed as he recalled similar words spoken to him, "It's not about me…or you…or even Wyatt." His voice dropped to a whisper, echoing the same haunting words he'd been told, "It's about everyone else."
Leo, who had been standing quietly behind his son chose to interrupt, alarmed at Chris' anger seemingly solely directed at Piper, "Hey. Your mom and I – we made a mistake. Okay?"
"We can fix this. I can still fix this," Piper looked at her son beseechingly, her heart torn as she realized how disappointed and angry Chris was with her. "Chris – I know what I did was wrong. But baby, you got to believe me, I swear to you – I'll fix this."
Chris gazed into his mother's eyes, hearing her plea. But how could he respond? He didn't want to hurt her, but God! To not get rid of that sword? What could she have possibly been thinking? He'd lost all of his family, most of his friends and she wanted him to forgive her? Like it was all some sort of small error that could be corrected, no harm no foul? All he could do was stare at her in sheer disbelief.
"Please…please don't be angry at me," Piper pleaded hopefully, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears. "It was a mistake – I know that now."
Chris closed his eyes briefly, "It's…it's not that simple, mom."
Feeling her heart pierce with every word, Piper begged, "Chris – please. I can't…I don't think I could bear it if you were angry with me. Baby – I'm so sorry."
He opened his eyes and staring into his mother's soft brown ones, he could feel the power of her regret. But he couldn't forgive her. Not yet…not when things were going straight to hell and it could have so easily been prevented.
But he couldn't stay mad at her either – she was his mother.
"Mom," He started, seeing the hope alight in her eyes. "I…" Unable to help himself, he turned away abruptly heading for the door, "Just – forget it. I can't deal with this right now. I don't have the time."
"Chris!" Piper's plea fell on deaf ears as her son quickly exited the room without a backwards glance. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Chris."
Stepping forward, Paige wrapped her arms around Piper in support, "I'm sure he'll forgive you. Just give him some time."
Tearfully, Piper glanced up at her sister, "He hates me."
"He doesn't hate you," Paige rushed to reassure her sister. Searching blindly for the right thing to say to explain Chris' behaviour, "He's just…distracted. You know, by imminent death."
"That's no excuse," Piper wiped at her eyes. "Not in this family."
"He's scared", Phoebe said, her voice full of amazement. She had been silent during the mother and son exchange, feeling overwhelmed by the emotion in the room. With Chris gone and his whirlwind of emotions with him too, she began to pick apart what had just happened.
"He didn't sound scared to me," Paige pointed out dryly. "If anything, he sounded downright ornery."
"Haven't you ever hid your fear with anger before?" Phoebe looked at her sister. "Paige, he's facing his own mortality. He's terrified. Terrified of dying. Terrified of failing," Phoebe shook her head, trying to sort out what she had felt from her nephew. "Terrified that everything will come to naught. Us not getting rid of the sword was just the last straw that broke the camel's back."
"So why doesn't he just say something?" Paige pointed out irritably.
"What is he supposed to say, Paige? I'm scared that I'm going to die in pain? That I'm going to suffer? That I'm going to die alone and it will hurt like hell? That I have absolutely no control over any of it?" Phoebe retorted quickly.
"Stop it!" Piper burst out, tearfully. She couldn't bear to hear her sisters discuss Chris' fate so callously. "Just – stop it! Please!"
"I'm sorry," Phoebe said shamefully.
"No, don't be," Leo came forward. "We needed to hear that…I needed to. Sometimes I forget…He's just so…self-contained. He projects such a strong façade – sometimes, I forgot he's so young…" Rubbing his eyes wearily for a minute, Leo looked at Phoebe, "You said he's also terrified of failing? What do you mean? Failing what?"
Phoebe shook her head as she comforted her sister, wrapping her arms around Piper as she answered Leo, "Failing to save everyone, I think."
"That's because he's well aware of the consequences if he fails," Darryl's voice interrupted. The quartet turned to find Darryl in the doorway, his eyes studying them gravely. "Sorry, I was passing by and couldn't help but overhear. I assume we're talking about Chris?"
At Paige's nod, Darryl continued, "Chris knows that if we don't stop this collision course with the valkyries and the mortals we could very well find ourselves in another war. He knows stopping Wyatt wasn't enough – he's got to somehow bring the world back to where it was before the war."
"He's not responsible for saving the world," Piper protested. "No one person can handle that kind of responsibility. No one should have to."
Darryl shrugged, his eyes weary, "Maybe not – but somebody has to do it and right now, that somebody is Chris."
Piper shook her head, her heart aching for her son, "But why? Why Chris?"
"Because of who and what he is – the son of a Charmed One," Darryl explained patiently.
"That's not fair – I don't want my children to grow up with that kind of burden hanging over their heads," Piper protested, her head swirling with the knowledge that because of her heritage, her sons would always bear the weight of responsibilities others would never experience.
Darryl just shook his head, unable to provide Piper with what she wanted to hear, "He didn't. He just grew up."
"It's not fair," Piper said, her voice trembling with emotion, glancing over at her husband who was regarding Darryl solemnly.
"Was it fair that Wyatt grew up and terrorized the world? Was it fair that the burden of stopping his own brother fell to Chris? Was it fair that a young man barely out of his teens had to shoulder the responsibility for not just his own, but thousands of lives?" Darryl shot back easily. His steady gaze made Piper feel about three inches tall. "Chris would be the first one to tell you life isn't fair."
Her voice was accusatory, "You're telling me I have to let go."
"I'm telling you – Chris has a job to do and he knows it," Darryl nodded at the girls as he left the room. "Maybe it's time you do yours."
Zach grimaced as the small truck hit a particularly nasty pothole, causing him to bump his head hard against the side of the cab, jolting him awake.
Duncan shot a look at his friend as Zach let loose a string of curses, "You okay?"
Rubbing his head tenderly, Zach waved off his friend's concern, "Yeah, yeah. Just keep your eyes on the road, okay?"
The two lapsed into silence and Zach turned away to return to his gazing out the window. They were on the outskirts of San Francisco – Oakland to be exact. One of the hardest hit areas during the war, it had been deemed too 'hot' with magical energies for repopulation. Chris had dispatched a Resistance team of scouts, mostly made up of witches, to the local area months ago to try and clean up the negative magical energies in the hopes of making it liveable once again. Zach and Duncan, with Eddie, were on their way to the sweeper team with much needed basic supplies. Tents, blankets, dry and packaged food were neatly packed away in the boxes, stacked and secured against the sides of the truck right next to boxes of potions.
As the truck made its way slowly along the dirt road, Zach shaded his eyes, seeing something in the distance. Apprehension knotting his stomach, he turned around to rap on the back of the cab.
The small window that opened to the back of the U-Haul slid wide as Eddie's face appeared in the opening. He was riding in the back with the supplies because the truck cab only had room for two people. "Yeah?"
"Something may be up," Zach's eyes darted back to the front. "Keep on your toes."
"Right," Eddie said, unnecessarily, shutting the window closed once again. The whole team had been on edge. The last supply truck the Resistance had sent out had been stopped and thoroughly looted by unruly locals. And while no one had been hurt that time, the tension had been palpable. The Resistance had narrowly avoided becoming injured themselves, escaping by the skin of their teeth.
Zach, who had been making the runs for months now, had been concerned about the recent escalation in violence. He'd voiced his concerns to Duncan, who could only shrug and repeat Chris' orders to not engage. He'd been livid as hell and given Duncan a piece of his mind. As a compromise, Duncan had volunteered to come on the next supply run so that he could see the situation for himself and hopefully, report back to Chris that passiveness was becoming more dangerous. Hence, the ride-along.
"You think there could be trouble ahead?" Duncan asked, his entire focus on the road ahead as they came upon a pile of debris in the middle of the road. He shifted down a gear, carefully steering around the general debris, braking lightly.
"I'm not sure but I –,"
"Hold!"
A man suddenly jumped out onto the road in front of the truck's path. Swearing, Duncan jammed his foot down hard on the break, swerving to narrowly avoid the idiot. Luckily, because he had already been in the process of slowing down, Duncan was able to bring the truck to a rolling stop without mishap, "What the hell!"
Before Zach could respond, the door on his right was yanked open. A hard, mean-looking man stared up belligerently at him, holding a pitchfork against Zach's chest as he threatened, "You make one funny move…"
Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Zach was alarmed to see another fifteen people emerge, surrounding the truck with various pitchforks and sticks, "Hey, man. Just take it easy. We're just on our way through…"
"I know where you're going," the man sneered, before reaching out and grabbing Zach by the collar. Yanking the Resistance scout down, the man pushed Zach towards his cronies. "Hold him."
"Look, I don't know what's going on," Duncan started, his arms held by a pair of hulking brutes, eyeing the crossbow trained on him nervously. He threw a concerned glance in Zach's direction, "We're just minding our own business…"
"You have supplies. We need supplies." The dark eyed man said simply.
"Those supplies are destined for a team about 20 miles from here who are cleaning up the area from negative magical energies," Duncan protested. "They need those supplies if they're going to be able to keep doing their jobs."
"We appreciate that, but I've got hungry mouths to feed. My wife and kids – they haven't had anything decent to eat in days," The man on Zach's left said sympathetically. Zach simply sighed as he poked Zach gently with his stick, "Nobody makes a move and nobody gets hurt, okay?"
Duncan tried to argue with their captors, "Hey! The team these supplies are for are doing YOU a service. They're going into a hot zone to clean it up so humans can move back into the area. How can you take those supplies away from them?"
The leader of the group of scruffy men ignored him, instead motioning to his followers to circle around to the back of the truck. Gesturing silently, the man indicated for his friends to get into position.
Clearly they had known about the supplies run and had been laying in wait for the unsuspecting Resistance fighters. Quickly evaluating the situation, Zach focused hard, sending his telepathetic thoughts out:Eddie! They've got you surrounded – get ready:
:How many?...:
Zach could hear the tension in Eddie's mind voice. :Sixteen. But four of them are watching Duncan and me.: He looped Duncan into the conversation, :Eddie – you make your way to the front and get us the hell out of here, okay? All right – on the count of three…:
The mortals readied themselves, their eagerness for the supplies revealing itself as they moved forward carelessly.
:One…:
Zach continued to count, keeping his eyes carefully averted from Duncan's and the truck as he tried to freeze-frame the surroundings into his mind's eye.
:Two…:
The leader reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he tightened his grip on the silver door handle.
:Three!...:
Before the men could open the doors, they abruptly swung outwards with a metallic bang as they crashed forcibly against the sides of the truck. Taken by surprise, the mortals jumped back as Eddie sprang forward, whipping a glass bottle on the ground. As the glass broke and released the potion, a cloud of smoke engulfed the general vicinity, giving the Resistance scouts much needed cover.
Taking advantage of the momentary surprise, Zach quickly elbowed the guard to his left with a sharp jab to the ribs. Dropping down, he kicked out with his left leg, knocking his other captor to the ground. Swiftly, he rolled away, trying not to cough from the smoke and give away his position. :Duncan? Where the hell are you?...:
:Right beside you: Duncan replied, as he touched Zach's arm in confirmation. :What about Eddie?...:
:Where he should be, I hope…: Zach pulled Duncan along behind him. :Come on, we don't have much time.: Making his way blindly towards the truck, luck was with them as Zach stumbled into the back without encountering any hostiles. As he banged his knee hard against the metallic side door, he cursed silently as the distinctive sound alerted their captors to their pending escape.
"Stop them!"
Grabbing at Duncan, Zach pushed his friend up into the back of the truck. As Duncan leaned over to forcibly drag Zach into the trailer as well, Zach prayed Eddie had made it to the truck cab, :Go! Go! Go!...:
Shouts, yells and assorted scuffling noises sounded as the mortals quickly realized their quarry was about to escape.
The truck suddenly shot forward as Eddie slammed his foot on the gas. Duncan tumbled backwards at the sudden lurch, his grip on Zach coming loose. For a moment, Zach seemed to hang precariously in the air, about to tumble either way equally before fate intervened and something tipped Zach's balance, causing him to fall forward.
The tires squealed as the truck tore down the road, leaving behind a cloud of dust and the frustrated yells of the enraged looters. "You okay back there?" Eddie yelled through the rear window as he drove like a bat out of hell.
"Yeah, I think so," Duncan said unsteadily, as he got to his feet. Already the would be robbers were small specks on the horizon. Falling against the side of the truck as Eddie took another sharp corner, he yelled over his shoulder, "I think you can stop – I think we're out of danger now…"
As Eddie began to ease up on the gas, bringing the truck to a gentle stop, Duncan glanced over at his friend, "Zach?"
Eddie threw the truck into park, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. That had been too close a call. "You guys okay?"
"Zach?" Duncan whispered, frozen in place.
Eddie glanced through the window, the small cut out allowing him to only see Duncan who was currently looking down, an expression of pure horror on his face. "Duncan? Where's Zach?" As Duncan ignored him, Eddie leapt out of the driver's seat, rushing around to the back to where his friends were, sensing something was terribly wrong. Clambering into the back, he came to an abrupt halt behind Duncan as he finally caught a glimpse of the sight that had greeted Duncan.
Zach was lying facedown, an arrow buried deep into his back, his eyes open and his face frozen in surprise.
"Jesus…" Eddie whispered and not knowing what else to do, he closed his eyes against the horrific image.
That soft curse seemed to snap Duncan out of his trance and sinking to his knees next to Zach, he pulled Zach's head towards him. Shaking his friend slightly, Duncan said hoarsely, "Zach?" Duncan shook him harder, "Christ, Zach. Don't do this. Zach! Zach!"
No response.
"Shit!" Duncan was cradling his friend's head now, "Zach! Zach! Open your goddamned eyes, you son of a bitch! Zach!" Even as he spoke the words, he knew it was useless – Zach was gone. "Get a whitelighter! Now! Fuck! Oh Christ…Zach!" Tears streaming down his face now, Duncan looked helplessly at Eddie in shared pain, before covering his face with his blood stained hands.
Zach...
To be continued….
