Disclaimer: I own nada. (Just in case you forgot. I didn't.)

Author's Note: I'm sorry this update is so late. It was a long time coming. Unfortunately I had the flu, writer's block, and then life in general kept me from writing. The good news is there's only one more chapter, which will be up by the end of the week. Hooray! So please review and let me know what you think!

Chapter Five

Wyatt stormed into the Manor, slamming the front door behind him. "Damnit!" he exclaimed, disgusted and frustrated with his failure to get through to his charge. Introducing magic to her had been easier than he anticipated, thanks to the power broker demon. She had helped him and Chris vanquish the demon, but had not reacted well to all that had transpired in the attic.

He continued to storm through the Manor, making his way through the conservatory and out the French doors to the patio. He paced the length of the cobblestone area and back, reviewing recent events in an effort to blow of some steam. Cassie had stepped up to the plate and she hit a homerun her first at bat, vanquishing the demon. But instead of that giving her an incentive to continue, she wanted to quit 'team good.' He let out a frustrated growl, remembering her reaction when he tried to check up on her. He did not take kindly to having the door shut in his face. He flopped down onto a nearby lounge chair in dramatic fashion, arms and legs spread eagle. "This is useless," he said aloud.

"Since when did you become such a defeatist?"

Wyatt opened his eyes at the sound of his father's voice. He raised himself into a sitting position. "Hey, Dad," he greeted the older man.

"I heard you slam the door before. What's going on?" he asked as he sat down on the chair next to his son, his voice filled with concern and worry. Wyatt had his mother temper; that was no surprise. But it was unnerving to see him laying there, looking defeated and vulnerable. Just like his mother, he was a fighter. He didn't know the meaning of the word defeat. Or so Leo had thought.

"It's my charge," the young man said, feeling a bit ashamed and unable to meet his father's gaze. His father had been so proud when he first heard the call from the Elders, but so far he was falling flat on his face in his first attempt at becoming a Whitelighter.

"A little reluctant to go demon hunting?" Leo asked, an all-knowing smile forming on his aging, but still handsome, features.

"Yeah, you could say that," Wyatt responded. "And the thing is, I can't say I blame her. She's lost both of her parents, so I understand why she's not keen on putting herself in harm's way." He ran his fingers through his hair, and gave a small tug out of frustration. "But she won't even listen to me. What do I do?"

"First, you stop feeling sorry for yourself," Leo instructed, his voice stern. When his son's eyes widened with surprise at this statement, he continued, knowing he had his undivided attention. "You're not the first Whitelighter to be assigned to a stubborn witch and doubt himself, and you won't be the last. The pity party is helping no one."

"But, I--" Wyatt started to defend himself.

Leo held up a hand to silence his eldest. "No, you asked, so let me continue," he interrupted. "It's a common mistake to forget that your charge has a choice in all this. Yes, Wyatt," he said, seeing the expression on his son's face, "a choice. I know it seems hard to believe but these are choices this whole family has made. I chose to become a Whiteligher, and I chose to fall from grace. Aunt Paige chose to accept her powers and reconstitute the Charmed Ones. Your mother, Aunt Paige and Aunt Phoebe chose to continue the fight, even after they defeated the Source and were offered the opportunity to live life as mortals. And you and Chris choose to continue on that path and follow in their footsteps. Right now your charge is faced with the same decision, and deserves the time, space and respect to make it in her own time, just like you choose to leave Excalibur in the stone in the attic."

Wyatt's head had been lowered as he stared as his sneakers, letting his father's words sink in, but his head snapped up at that last statement. "What are you talking about? Excalibur has nothing to do with this."

"Doesn't it?" Leo asked, an eyebrow raised, an indication he was questioning his son's denial. "It's sitting in the attic, waiting for you, whenever you feel ready to take on the responsibility, and your mother and I have never forced the issue on you. We accept your choice not to use it at this time -- or ever, if that's the case. The same goes for your charge; you can't force her or allow her to feel like she's being forced to accept this. She has the right to choose to not be a witch."

Wyatt nodded, understanding where his father was coming from. He had grown up with magic his whole life, and couldn't imagine not having it. But he did understand what it was like to be faced with a responsibility you weren't sure you were ready for, or even wanted for that matter. And that was his bond with his charge. Hopefully she would allow him to get that point across. "And what if she chooses not to be a witch? Demons will still come after her."

"Will they?"

"Yeah, unless I bind her powers . . . Wait, I can't do that, can I? Bind her powers?" He felt safe in thinking that was not the reason the Elders assigned this young woman to him, and they would be less than thrilled if that was the end result.

"You're a Whitelighter, Wyatt, and your job, first and foremost, is to guide and protect. And because you're my son, I know you'll do whatever you feel is necessary to accomplish that. Why don't you think on that?" Leo said. He patted his son's knee before standing and returning to the Manor.

Wyatt leaned back into the lounge chair, his father's words running through his mind. For days he had wondered how he would approach his charge and introduce magic, seeing himself as a wealth of knowledge since he had grown up around it. He had envisioned more of a teacher-student relationship than one where they would be equals. But the more he thought about it, he realized his father was right. It all came down to choices, and perhaps he had more in common with his charge than he originally thought.

Cassie sighed as she hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder, surveying everyone around her as she crossed the Quad. It was a sunny Monday and her first day back on campus since her mother had died. The area was a flurry of activity, but she felt detached from it all. Her aunt had returned to the East Caost so she had the condo to herself, and without the hospital to go to she felt anxious and uncomfortable at home. She came to school early, hoping to get her mind off her loneliness and grief, but instead it felt amplified. It didn't matter where she went or how many people she surrounded herself with, the bottom line was she'd still be alone.

She sat down on a bench and placed her bag between her feet. She leaned back and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. She continued to soak up the rays until a shadow hung over her. She cracked an eye open and found herself frowning at the sight. "You lost?" she asked.

"Seeing as I take classes here, no, I'm quite familiar with the campus," Wyatt replied. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Would you go away if I said yes?" Cassie asked.

"No," the young man responded, sitting down next to his charge. "So, how are you holding up?"

Cassie sighed. "I managed to get out of bed this morning. That's really the best I can say for myself." She kept her eyes closed and her face in the direction of the sun, wishing the warmth could wash away her sadness.

"My Aunt Paige said it'll never be okay, but it will get better," Wyatt offered the words of encouragement, tilting his head back and enjoying the sun's rays as well.

"Oh? And what would she know about it?"

"Her parents died in a car accident when she was in high school," the Whitelighter explained.

With those words Cassie's eyes snapped open. She sat up straight and turned to face Wyatt. He was still leaned back on the bench, his eyes closed, a feeling of content on his face, the rays of the sun giving him an angelic glow. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. I didn't realize . . . your grandparents . . . " Her voice trailed off as she stumbled over the words, the apology dieing on her lips.

"No, they weren't my grandparents. My aunt was adopted," Wyatt explained, opening his eyes and adjusting in his seat. "She found my mom and Aunt Phoebe after Aunt Prue died." He raised his arms to stretch, feeling like a lazy cat in the sun. "But since you mentioned it, only my mother's father is still alive. The rest of my grandparents died before I was born."

"I know what that's like," Cassie commented, thinking of her own family tree. "Do you have any cousins at least?"

"Yeah, six of them, and five are girls," Wyatt said, smiling.

"Just swimming in a pool of estrogen, aren't ya?" The corners of her mouth turned upwards in a small smile.

"No kidding. I was the first male born into the family," Wyatt told her.

"No!" Cassie's jaw dropped. "That can't be!"

"I'm afraid it is. The Warren line was all female until I was born."

"The Warren line?" Cassie asked, a puzzled expression on her face. "I thought your last name was Halliwell."

"It is. But Melinda Warren was the first witch in my family, and since the family was all women, the surname changed many times. My great-grandmother changed her last name to Halliwell when she married her first husband. My grandmother and mom kept the name, so . . . " He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say 'and here we are.'

"And your Dad doesn't mind, you not having his last name?"

"Nah. At least, I don't think so. He always said good magic respected the name 'Halliwell' and evil feared it, so it would be best to be my last name, as well. I was named after him, though. His last name is Wyatt." He opened his school bag and removed a pack of gum. He popped a piece into his mouth, and held out the pack to his charge, offering her a piece. "What about you? Named after anyone special?" he asked.

Cassie removed a piece of gum from the pack and smiled. "Not exactly. My mother's name was Catherine and my father's was Cameron. So they thought it would be neat if my name started with a C, too. I don't know how they decided on Cassandra, though." She popped the piece of gum into her mouth.

Wyatt chuckled. "Sounds like my family. Many generations of P names."

"P names?"

"Yeah. Penny, Patty, Prudence, Piper, Phoebe and Paige," he counted them off on his fingers. "And I know there are more." He smiled. "I don't know what was so special about the letter P, but I am glad that particular family tradition ended with Chris and I," he mused.

"Names are important," Cassie told him and she looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Possessions, things, they come and go. But a name . . . it's with you forever, describes who are you. And sometimes they become self-fulfilling prophecies."

"Self-fulfilling prophecies?" Wyatt asked, his interest piqued. "How so?"

"Well," she went on, raising her head so she could look the young man in the eye. "Take your name for example. It means brave, strong, a powerful warrior. And you'd have to be, to do what you do." When he raised an eyebrow questioningly at her statement she added, "You know, the hocus pocus stuff."

The Whitelighter laughed. "Well, that's one way of putting it." He leaned in and nudged her with his shoulder. "And what about you? If I'm not mistaken, Cassandra was a Greek Goddess."

"Daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy, and blessed with the gift of prophecy," Cassie explained.

"Impressive."

"Nah," she replied. "Old hat for a history major. And I've always had an interest in the origin of names." She thought for a moment before speaking. "In my case, though, my name hardly describes me. I'm not a goddess and I don't have the gift of prophecy."

"Oh, you never know. There's always a chance that could develop," Wyatt told her as he looked out across the Quad, squinting his eyes from the light of the sun. After a few moments of silence he spoke again. "That is, if you're willing to see where magic leads you."

Cassie sighed. "Look, Wyatt--"

"Wait. Let me say this first," he interrupted her. "Believe it or not, I understand your doubts and hesitation." When she opened her mouth to protest he held up a hand to silence her. "No, really, I do. I know I grew up with magic and am more comfortable with it and all, but that doesn't mean I don't know what it's like to be faced with a responsibility you're not sure you can handle, and wonder if it was really meant for you." He reached out and took her hand in his. "I'll be here for you, whatever you decide. If you want to go back to being powerless, we can do that. I can bind your powers like your mother did. Or, if you decide you want to see what magic has to offer, help make the world a safer place and vanquish some demons in the process, I'm here to guide and protect you. And truthfully, I can't say I mind kicking some demon ass." A small laugh escaped her lips at his last statement, and he smiled. "Just know that whatever you decide, you're not alone."

Cassie looked down at their joined hands before nodding her head. "Thanks," she whispered.

Cassie stood on the front porch of the old, red Victorian on Prescott Street, fidgeting nervously. A clean casserole dish and oven mitts in hand, she was debating whether to ring the bell or just leave the items on the porch and make a run for it. She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes towards the heavens. "Chicken," she taunted herself. She sighed one more time before swallowing hard then ringing the doorbell.

The front door swung open, revealing an older man with hair graying around the temples. "May I help you?" he asked with a friendly smile.

"Umm, yeah," Cassie responded, and inwardly cringed at her lack of eloquence. "I'm just returning Mrs. Halliwell's casserole dish and oven mitts," she said, holding out the items to the man before her.

"Sure. Won't you come in?" he asked, gesturing for her to step in from the front porch, and after a moment's hesitation, she did. "Piper!" he called.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Wyatt," Cassie said, not wanting to appear rude as she entered the Manor. It was clear Wyatt took after his father in build, stature, and coloring. The exception, though, was the eyes. Chris was the son with his father's eyes. "I'm Cassie."

"Hello, Cassie. And please, call me Leo," he instructed, shutting the door. "Piper!" he called out again. "Please, make yourself at home," he said, leading the young woman into the living room.

"Geez, Leo, what's with the yelling?" Piper's voice floated into the living room, increasing in volume as she drew nearer. "You know how I feel about raised voices in the house. You're as bad as the boys." The Halliwell matriarch walked into the room, drying her hands on a towel. She came to a stop when she saw the young woman sitting on her couch and smiled. "You must be Cassie," she said.

"Hello, Mrs. Halliwell," the young woman said, returning the greeting. "I just wanted to return these and thank you for the meal," she said, handing the older woman her casserole dish and oven mitts.

"Please, call me Piper," the matriarch instructed. "Do me a favor and put these in the kitchen," she said, handing Leo the items. "And while you're in there, can you give the sauce a quick stir, please?"

"Sure thing," Leo said. He knew his wife had been interested in speaking with his son's charge ever since she found out her mother died. Perhaps it would be therapeutic for the both of them. He nodded his head at the twosome. "Nice to meet you, Cassie."

"Nice to meet you . . . Leo," Cassie responded, smiling despite her hesitance at addressing him by his first name. That's just not how she was raised. But she felt more at ease when he returned her grin before leaving the room. She turned to the woman standing next to her. "Thank you again for the casserole, Mrs. . . . Piper," she corrected herself. "It was nice to have a home cooked meal."

"Don't mention it." Piper sat down on the couch and gestured for the young woman to do the same. "So, how are you doing?"

"I'm . . ." Cassie was about to say 'hanging in there,' which had become her standard response to that question since her mother died. But here was this woman, who was also familiar with losing a loved one, asking how she was, and so she decided to give honesty a try. "A bit of a wreck," she admitted, exhaling. "Some days . . . I feel . . . " She sighed and shook her head slightly. "Really, I just can't wrap my brain around it all. Everything happened so fast," she rambled, her hands waving as frantically as her words, seeming to emphasize how quickly all the changes in her life had transpired.

"I know this probably isn't what you want to hear, but it's to be expected, everything you're feeling." Piper nodded her head, offering reassurance and support.

Cassie nodded. "That's what Wyatt keeps telling me, but I don't know. I just . . . " At a loss for words, she dropped her head to stare intently at her thumbs while she twiddled them.

Piper sighed, studying the young woman, her heart aching for her. Not a day went by that she didn't stop and think about her mother or Prue. And it took her a long time to learn that instead of feeling pain and hurt from it all, it was better to appreciate everything, everyone, and every single day that much more. But it's hard to come to that realization when you're going through it alone.

The young woman sitting next to her reminded her so much of herself. Motherly instinct kicking in, she reached out and touched Cassie's chin, raising her head so their eyes could meet. "You know, I could be biased because he's my son and all," she said with a smile, "but give it a shot and listen to him." She tilted her head to one side, pointing towards another set of doors. "He's working on a project in the conservatory." She rose from the couch. "You're welcome to stay for dinner," she offered with a smile.

"Thanks," Cassie replied. And after a moment's hesitation accepted the offer, nodding her assent. "I think I will."

"Good. I'm just going to go check on everything and set an extra place at the table," Piper said, standing up. "I'm glad you decided to stay," she said before leaving the room.

Cassie turned to face the entry to the conservatory and inhaled deeply. She began to tap the heel of her right foot up and down at a rapid pace, her nerves beginning to take over. Her conversation with Wyatt on campus had been on permanent repeat in her mind. And now that she'd made a decision, instead of feeling less anxious about it all she felt it in spades. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said softly, "Here goes nothing," before walking into the room.

Wyatt was sitting at a table, his back to the entryway, and completely unaware he had company. Cassie could tell by his posture that he was work intently, his concentration devoted to the project before him. She took a step closer and saw it was a model of a Victorian house. Even with her untrained eye, she could see the detail in the work, and was impressed that something so small could be so exquisite.

"How long were you planning to stand there?" Wyatt asked, his deep, soothing voice cutting through the silence.

Cassie jumped in surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you even knew I was here."

"I sensed you enter the room. One of the perks of being your Whitelighter," he explained. He sat back to allow his charge a better look at his project. "Any thoughts?" he asked.

"Pretty impressive," Cassie complimented his handiwork.

"Thanks, although this isn't really how I envisioned it."

"What's it for?"

"My internship. I'm studying to be an architect. I have a particular interest in 'old' houses, not surprising considering I grew up in the Manor, I guess," he said, scratching his head as he scrutinized his work. "So I'm working on a project where the house will have the craftsmanship and charm of the early 20th century, but with some modern conveniences like closet space."

"There's a market for 'old' homes?"

"Everything moves in cycles, and I think we're about due to revisit this architectural era." He looked up. "So, what brings you here?"

"I was just returning your mom's casserole dish and oven mitts," Cassie explained. She pointed over her shoulder towards the kitchen, as if that was somehow proof of her visit. She paused for a moment before continuing. "She invited me to stay for dinner," she said softly.

"Are you?"

"Yeah, I am." When Wyatt didn't responded, instead resuming his work, Cassie took in her surroundings. The room was bright and airy, with plenty of potted plants. There was a definite warmth to the space, and not just from the steady stream of sunshine. She slowly walked around, observing the stained-glass windows and French doors leading out to the cobblestone patio. Then she spied a beautiful dollhouse sitting on the table of a bistro carefully placed in the corner of the room. "Did you build this too?" she asked her Whitelighter, pointing to the replica of the Manor.

"No, my great-grandmother made that," Wyatt explained. He abandoned his project and walked over to stand next to his charge and admire Grams' handiwork. "Although we suspect she had some magical assistance."

"Magic, huh?" It just seemed to be everywhere. And if she chose not to use her powers, to not be a witch, could she continue 'business as usual' knowing what is out there? "Can't seem to get away from it. Is it even possible?"

"We've all tried at some point. But my family's learned that you can't run from or deny your destiny, or who you are for that matter. We've come to embrace it, some of us begrudgingly, but we've embraced it nevertheless."

She turned to look at the young man standing beside her. He was returning her gaze, and offered her a gentle smile. She looked into his blue eyes, and saw nothing but compassion and support. It was true what he had said earlier; she wasn't alone. And it was because of that realization she was able to sum up the courage to ask, "Can you show me how?"

Wyatt's smile grew brighter. "I thought you'd never ask."

Author's Note: One chapter to go. Please let me know what you think so far.