Finn knew it would be difficult, especially knowing that Octavia was absolutely head over heels for Jasper. But he had to tell the sisters about his findings; even if it turned out to be nothing. He felt an odd obligation to keep them safe –it seemed like Bellamy and his whitelighter duties had really been rubbing off on h

Finn's knuckles crashed against the window pane of the Halliwell's front door, he knocked for about three seconds, waited a moment, and then was greeted by a smiling Raven. The two had become close friends in the past few weeks and Finn was always glad to see her alive and well.

"Finn, hey! What's up?" Raven asked rather cheerfully.

"Hey Raven, are your sisters home?" Finn asked, his fingers nervously playing with each other.

Raven immediately detected the nervousness in Finn's tone, "Yeah, why? Is everything okay?" Raven opened the door wider and gestured for Finn to take a seat in the living room.

Finn sat on their antique ruby red couch and rubbed his sweaty palms together, "I just uh- have some news. Not so good news."

Raven called upstairs for her sisters and they immediately came barging down the stairs. "Demon?" Clarke shouted with her hands up in preparation for an attack.

"No, it's just Finn. He needs to talk to us." Raven spoke, her words drifting off towards the end of her sentence. Raven began to build up her walls, this news was going to send a panic through her and her sisters she could already feel it. Whatever the news was though, she couldn't let her sisters see that she was worried. She was the strong one, she had to be.

Clarke and Octavia walked into the living room side by side and all three sisters sat on the opposite couch from Finn. Finn didn't know how to say it, he didn't want to beat around the bush, but he did want to ease the sisters into his startling discovery. "Okay, so you guys know that I've been working with potions, and trying to track down that darklighter that's been attacking us and Bellamy, right?"

The sisters nodded, waiting for Finn to continue.

"Well, after a whole bunch of failed tests, I was finally able to cross whatever magical barrier that had the guy protected…" Finn drifted.

"… And?" Raven asked, eager for Finn to tell them the news. "You found the guy and vanquished him?"

Finn shook his head, "No. I did use the potion though, and it took me to… Jasper's house."

Octaiva's titled her head to the side, her eyebrows raised in confusion, "I thought you said the potion was working? Jasper isn't the darklighter."

Finn pursed his lips, "The potion is working, that's the thing. I think Jasper and the darklighter have some sort of blood link. Instead of taking me to the darklighter directly, the potion took me to the next best thing: his son."

Octavia shook her head, rejecting all words that Finn was throwing her way. "That doesn't make sense. No, no, no." She slammed her fists down on her thighs, her eyelids squeezing shut in a vain attempt to make sense of the situation, just trying to come up with some possible explanation for all of this. "Jasper is human. He doesn't even know I'm a witch. Even if he was a darklighter, why hasn't he tried to kill me? We're… we're in love."

Raven rubbed circles on Octavia's back, trying to comfort her. The eldest sister looked towards Finn, "You think he's a spy or something?"

"He's not a spy." Octavia mumbled.

Finn shrugged his shoulders, "I really don't know. All I know is that there's something strange about Jasper. The kid practically turned up out of nowhere, and now the potion? It can't be a coincidence."

"Get out." A now teary eyed Octavia stood from the couch. "Get out."

"What?" Finn asked confusingly. "I'm just-"

Octavia cut him off, "Get out of my house now!'

"Octavia, stop." Clarke pleaded.

"I think I should go.." Finn spoke softly, rising from the couch to head for the front door.

"I don't know what your problem is, Finn." Octavia wiped at her damp eyes. "You come in here and spread lies; you're trying to get my sisters to turn against Jasper."

"I'm telling you the truth, Octavia." Finn sincerely pleaded.

The youngest sister furiously shook her head, "Just get out! Don't ever come back again!" She yelled, slamming the door shut behind him. Octavia frustratingly ran a hand through her hair before turning towards her shocked sisters, the sisters who had never seen this side of her. "Don't talk to him again." She warned. "It's me, your sister, or him. Make your choice."

Octavia stomped up the stairs, leaving her sisters dumbfounded and with an ultimatum.


"Bellamy?" her voice was sweet and soft, floating through the open air. Her platinum blonde hair splattered in different directions as her head lay delicately on the green grass of summer. It was August, the year 1960. Her blue eyes stared up at the sky, but once the sun began to blind her, she turned her head ever so slightly to look at the olive skin of her lover.

"Yes, Claire?" he responded, his hands over his chest; his head turning to meet the gaze of the light of his life. The moment was sweet – the two lovers lying on an open field in the middle of nowhere, just the two, with no stress or no worries.

"What is our future going to be like?" She asked curiously, knowing exactly what she wanted from this relationship – a loving partnership, marriage, some children, and a blissful life.

Bellamy, on the other hand, had no idea. He was immortal, destined to live out an infinite number of days and never aging. She would grow old, her skin would wrinkle, her bones would become weak and one day her beautiful body would fail her. How could Bellamy possibly thinking of the future when she wasn't going to be in it? "I don't know, Claire." It was the truth.

"Well.." Claire placed a finger on her chin, "How many children do you want?'

"Two." Bellamy responded immediately, it was an easy question, he had knew this answer for the last 30 years. "One boy, one girl. Preferably the boy first."

"Two is a nice number." Claire smiled contently, thinking of the day when there would be a little her and little Bellamy running around their house. "What about a wedding, what is your dream wedding?"

Bellamy never really thought about it before, what did we want from a wedding? "Something traditional, a nice suit, a nice lady in a nice white dress. Surrounded by family and loved ones." Bellamy didn't care about the wedding really, as long as Claire was the one he was getting married too.

"I agree." Claire stated simply. Her mind racing with pictures and fantasies of a beautiful wedding; she could almost see it so clearly, walking down the wooden aisle in a beautiful white dress, her father by her side and Bellamy up on the stand, smiling and crying at his soon to be wife's beauty.

Bellamy and Claire had only known each other for five months, ever since Bellamy was assigned as Claire's whitelighter. Claire was a powerful witch who only learned of her abilities half a year ago, she was particularly gifted with spirits and the dead; ironic for someone so beautiful to possess something so evil and ugly in nature.

The last five months were the best of Bellamy's whitelighter life. He thoroughly enjoyed Claire's presence and their love is truly a work of magic.

There was only one other time when Bellamy loved someone so much as he loves Claire, but that was a long time ago, and even then, it all went wrong.


Bellamy threw articles of clothing haphazardly into his inexpensive leather suitcase. He was finally leaving; he couldn't put himself through such a difficult situation any longer. The year was 1931 and he was relocating from his home in New York City back to his family in San Francisco. He wiped tears from his eyes and dried his moist hand on the corduroy fabric of his trousers while the dim lights of the motel room threw shadows and silhouettes against the wall.

Bellamy froze in his tracks when the door opened and closed; his eyes wide in fear and anticipation.

"What are ya' doing?" The husky voice asked, alcohol radiating from his breath.

Bellamy breathed in, "I'm leaving George." He moved across the room to get more of his clothing and then back to toss them into his suitcase.

"Leaving?" George moved closer to Bellamy, his fingertips brushing against the skin of the other man's arm – sending shivers down Bellamy's spine. "You can't leave."

Bellamy stopped packing for a second, opening his mouth to speak but no words came out – thinking about how bad George had hit him just last week, he still had the purple bruises to prove it. Bellamy gulped, "I have too." He spoke softly, his eyes looking anywhere but at George.

George's face turned a deep crimson as his fists clenched and his nose crinkled up, in a sudden fit of anger, he pushed Bellamy's suitcase off of the bed, sending clothes flying in several different directions. Bellamy winced, kneeling down, scooping up piles of clothes in his arms. "Get up." George spat, towering over Bellamy. "You're not going anywhere."

"I'm leaving, George." Bellamy stated simply through gritted teeth, his eyes becoming wet once more.

And then it happened, like it always does. George would be angry beyond belief, ready to take out all his anger on whoever was the closest, and then he would change. His muscles would relax and his fists would unclench, softness would rush over him and he would apologize and whisper sweet nothings into Bellamy's ear. And Bellamy, being the extremely caring person he was, would eat it all up and forgive George. Bellamy was caught in the vicious cycle.

George kneeled down beside Bellamy and began helping him pick up things off of the floor. "I'm sorry Bell." He whispered softly, his vodka soaked breath punching Bellamy in the face. "I'll change, I swear, I'll – I'll stop drinking. I promise." George's puppy dog eyes stared into Bellamy's. There was a time when Bellamy used to be able to look into George, into the crevices of the soul and mind of the one he loved; but that stopped long ago. "Please don't leave me." George mumbled through lips wet with drunken tears.

Bellamy finished putting everything back into his suitcase before standing up, "It's too late." And with those three words, Bellamy left, not once looking back.


Finn really did not understand why Octavia was so upset with him. He was trying to help; Jasper could pose a serious threat to Octavia and her sisters. And even if Octavia refused to believe him, he would not give up. He'd protect those sisters with his last dying breath; they were practically family at this point.

Finn wondered into his living room and slumped onto his couch, his arms hanging off the sides, and his head sinking into the fabric of a pillow. Finn's eyes were slowly drifting off into sleep until he was awoken by a bright, twinkling light – Bellamy orbing in.

"Hey, Finn. How'd it go?" Bellamy asked, taking a seat on the couch, lifting Finn's feet up so they could rest on Bellamy's lap.

"Terrible." Finn mumbled, his eyes still closed. "Octavia pretty much hates me now."

"She didn't believe you?"

"She told me to never talk to her again, so I guess so yeah."

Bellamy winced, "Ouch. Well for what it's worth, I believe you."

Finn chuckled sarcastically, "Thanks Bellamy, you always know how to cheer me up."

"Look, Finn. Magic is tricky sometimes. Spells and potions don't always have the desired effect."

"I know that, but I'm almost positive I'm right about this. That potion took me ages to make, it worked. It did what it was supposed to do." Finn began to think about his concoction, how he made it so it would explicitly track down the darklighter. But if it couldn't find the darklighter it would find the next best thing, a blood relative: Jasper. It was the only viable explanation for the whole thing. Finn had been making potions for the past 8 years; he didn't make any silly mistake. The potion worked. Point, blank period. "Can you ask the elders if they know anything? About Jasper? Or the darklighter?"

Bellamy nodded, "Sure thing Finn." He reached over to ruffle up Finn's hair before promptly orbing out, leaving Finn alone with his thoughts.


It was a train ride in 1932 from New York to San Francisco; a multiple day train ride that left Bellamy exhausted. But he was glad to finally be home and away from his abusive boyfriend, George. Correction: abusive ex-boyfriend.

It was a crazy relationship that started with nothing but love and passion, but quickly turned to destruction and pain. Bellamy didn't know what it was, maybe it was the economic depression that got to George and pushed him towards alcohol. Or maybe it was the fact that George was a self-loathing homosexual, they were two men in love, and the times did not approve.

Bellamy hopped out of his taxi cab and paid the driver before getting his one suitcase out of the trunk. He approached his front door, a door he hadn't seen for the past few years. The key still worked, his parents never changed the locks. Bellamy was instantly bombarded with comforting smells and sights that were so familiar to him when he pushed open the door. "Mom?" he called out into the warm silence. His mother appeared from the kitchen doorway and immediately rushed over to the son she had not seen in years, throwing his arms over him and pulling him into a motherly embrace.

"Oh Bellamy!" she exclaimed, "I've been worried sick about you. You never called!" Bellamy had called once, the week before to let his family know he was coming back. They told him he would always be welcome.

"I'm sorry Ma," he apologized. "Phones don't work in New York." Bellamy joked.

His mother slapped him on the arm, "Not funny." Bellamy's mother took the suitcase off his son and set it down before leading him into the kitchen. "Come eat, dinner's ready." Bellamy walked into the kitchen and was met with a crowd of family and a huge meal. Welcomes and warm hugs were exchanged, and the love in the room was something Bellamy had not felt for a while. Love was something George rarely showed him. Man, was Bellamy glad to be back home.

After dinner, Bellamy decided on going out. He kissed his mother on the cheek before leaving the small home and heading off down the streets of San Francisco. Bellamy found himself at a popular nightclub he used to sneak into a lot before he had left for New York. The place used to be incredibly lively, always something going on. But it was clear that the economic crisis during the time had taken its toll on the nightclub; sure there were a lot of people inside, but it wasn't a party, it was just a place everyone came to drink away their problems and Bellamy was fine with that, he rarely drank while he was with George. But, now he didn't mind having a drink or two.

Bellamy sat down at the bar and ordered a familiar drink. The bitter liquid slid down his throat and burned his insides on the way down. One punch. He took another sip. One evil remark. Another sip. More pain. Every sip of alcohol reminded Bellamy of nothing but George, every time he closed his eyes, George was there. It seemed like the man was permanently etched into Bellamy's eyelids and mind. He would never go away, he wouldn't leave him alone.

All Bellamy wanted was to forget. Forget about all of it.

Then it happened, a loud violent rumbling that shook through the walls and floors of the nightclub. "Earthquake!" a patron yelled. Earthquakes were common in San Francisco; Bellamy followed everyone's lead and got down on the floor. But something was off, something was strange. It was just this building that was shaking, everything outside looked eerily still. Why was the floor so warm?

Bellamy rose quickly, he was just about to tell everyone to get out, but then it happened again. Another rumbling, no, an explosion that came from below Bellamy's feet; knocking him across the room. The man blacked out momentarily, when he came too, he groaned with pain. Everything hurt. His eyes blinked open slowly, and the faint sounds of the room began to flood his ears. He could faintly make charred, bloodied bodies on the floor, but the more his eyes wandered up towards the ceiling, the less he could see: the smoke and flames were starting to take out. Bellamy tried hard to concentrate, to figure out a way out of this situation, but he just couldn't focus, he could barely hear his own thoughts over the sounds of screaming and panic.

Bellamy knew one thing for sure.

He was going to die.