Chapter Twenty-Two: Fine Lines
Daryl glanced around the room, and felt sick.
The room was circular, with a sloping domed ceiling. There were no windows, but the center of the ceiling held a large skylight that let in bright sunlight. The light cascaded over everything – the chairs in the center of the room, the strange symbols painted on the walls, and the bloody, broken bodies of the women sprawled everywhere.
"It's a Romani temple," a voice said, and a woman appeared at his side. She had long, wavy hair and an angular face, and her lips were set into a hard, straight line. She glanced at him once, sizing him up, then held out her hand, "Inspector Kathleen Sheridan. You're Daryl Morris, right?"
Daryl nodded and shook her hand. "Romani?" he asked uneasily. "Like gypsies?"
Sheridan nodded and glanced down at her notepad. "The man who found them – the janitor, a Thomas Bell – says this was a meeting of high priestesses." She looked up, and scanned the room. Her pale skin went even whiter as she took in the scene once more, and she shook her. "Eighteen bodies."
Daryl nodded slowly. The air was heavy with the stench of decay – the bodies had been here for a couple days.
"Eighteen deaths," he said softly, "and no one heard anything? No one saw anything?" He turned to face Sheridan fully. "No one reported any of these women missing?"
"Yeah. I thought that seemed a bit strange, also," she replied grimly. "This kind of slaughter, combined with the increase in missing and murdered women throughout the city…"
"Not just the city," Daryl interjected quickly. "I had a call from a friend of mine, an officer in L.A. They've got a serial killer there."
Sheridan pursed her lips. "Same M.O.?" she asked.
"No," Daryl replied with a sigh. "But a simultaneous increase in violent crime mainly targeted against women has to mean something."
Sheridan nodded thoughtfully, accepting that explanation, and then stepped away from him. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and held it over her mouth and nose to block out the stench, then walked further into the room. A medical examiner was kneeling down next to one of the bodies, and looked up quickly as Sheridan approached. They exchanged brief words, too quiet for Daryl to hear, and Sheridan's expression grew, if possible, even more grim.
Daryl turned away.
He didn't know anything about the Romani, but there was no way this attack was not related to magic. Yet his attempts to reach Piper had been met with silence. She wasn't answering her cellphone, wasn't returning calls, and didn't appear to even be living at her house any more. And this silence, this lack of answers, was unnerving.
Particularly because Piper had left Wyatt in his charge. She had left her son and disappeared, and Daryl still couldn't imagine what would have driven her to do something that drastic.
At least he knew his house was safe. Piper had doused it with fairy dust – which, apparently, was supposed to do something, although he wasn't really sure what – and protection spells, and Wyatt had a force-field that could protect him, could protect all of them. Despite whatever was happening in the rest of the city, perhaps in the rest of the state, his house was probably the safest one in the world.
And yet even that was of little comfort. He didn't have to worry about his family when they were there, but the world seemed to be falling apart all around him. And the only people who could explain what was happening, the people he trusted to put everything back together when things fell apart like this, had disappeared.
He glanced up at the ceiling, at the skylight. "Where are you, Piper?" he whispered.
The premonition caught Phoebe completely by surprise. One moment she was arguing with Paige about their plans going forward, the next her hand had skimmed against her half-sister's arm and she'd been thrown forward into a violently disturbing premonition.
The white marble ground was slick with blood, and the white fog that rolled gently through the air did little to block the dead bodies from view. Dark shapes moved quickly through the marble landscape, destroying everything in their path. Several Elders were fighting back, but they were outnumbered by the demons and dark-lighters that seemed to be everywhere.
"Phoebe?"
She heard Piper calling her name as though from a long ways away, and slid slowly to a sitting position on the floor of the cave. Her head throbbed, but the real pain was emotional, a sense of grief and fear and loss that had lodged itself in her chest, leaving her breathless.
She blinked, and cleared away the darkness from her vision. "An attack," she said, forcing out the words, surprised at how much they hurt, "Up There. It's… Oh, God. It's horrible."
Paige was crouching at her side, confusion in her gaze. "But what does that have to do with me?" she asked, glancing between Phoebe and Piper. When both sisters gazed at her with a nonplussed look, she said, "Phoebe touched my arm. That's what gave her the premonition. What does it have to do with me?"
"White-lighter blood," Chris offered, his expression distant. "White-lighters are under attack, and you have white-lighter blood in your veins." Paige raised an eyebrow at him, and he cleared his throat and said, "I learned about it at Magic School. Getting premonitions that way. It's… not common, but not unheard of."
Phoebe closed her eyes. The wounds she had sustained from the recent battle still hurt, and that had combined with the premonition's side effects to leave her feeling weak. But though the exhaustion was seeping into her bones, she found herself saying, "We have to orb Up There. Paige, you can do that, right?"
"What?"
That was Piper, outraged and angry, and Phoebe opened her eyes to give her older sister a defiant look. "I'm not going to ignore a premonition, Piper," she said.
Piper shook her head in disbelief. "The Elders probably sent you that premonition. It's a trap."
"Or it could be real. The Elders could be in actual danger," Phoebe countered. She shifted, and winced as the movement caused a sharp pain to lance through her stomach. But she pushed herself back to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. "I didn't ignore my premonitions when I turned evil and became Queen of the Underworld, and I'm not going to start now."
"Wait. What?"
Phoebe glanced over at Chris, surprised at his obvious shock. She blinked, and traded a quick, incredulous look with Piper. "You don't know about that?"
Chris shook his head. "No. It's not in the history books." He was frowning, seemingly upset by this bit of information. But Phoebe couldn't tell if he was upset at the knowledge that she had turned evil, or at the fact that he hadn't known about it before. He chewed his lower lip. "You became the Queen of the Underworld?"
"Long story," Phoebe replied, dismissing it. She turned back to Piper. "We have to go, Piper. I won't ignore this."
"Phoebe, don't be stupid," Piper snapped. "The Elders aren't on our side anymore. You don't owe them anything."
"So you want me to ignore the fact that they are being slaughtered?" Phoebe demanded, feeling her temper rise. Her mind was clouded by physical pain and the memory of the premonition, and she wasn't completely sure if it was her own anger she was feeling, or someone else's. But she was mad, and the words came pouring out. "They're not all our enemies, Piper. Some of them are perfectly innocent. A couple of them even tried to help us, to warn us. And regardless of who they are or what they've done, they still don't deserve to be murdered. Don't you know that?"
Piper looked momentarily taken aback, then she retorted heatedly, "They kidnapped Leo. Erased his identity, separated him from his family. They're want to recycle us. We have no idea what they'll do to Chris if they catch him, but I'm guessing it is nothing good. And you want me to protect them?"
"I can't just ignore a premonition! I got it for a reason."
"Yeah," Piper snorted derisively, "the reason being that the Elders want you to bail them out of their newest problem. Like always."
"Or," Paige offered diffidently, clearly not wanting to be in the middle of this argument, "this is a chance for us to prove to the Elders that we are on their side."
"What do you want to bet that they will just accuse us of setting up the attack just so we can save them and therefore trick them into trusting us?" Piper countered.
"I'll take you," Chris said suddenly.
Phoebe turned to him again. "What?"
"I can orb you Up There. You want to protect the Elders? I'll take you." And he extended his hand.
"No, Chris," Piper said swiftly, stepping between the two. She looked actually panicked as she said, "You can't. If you show up there, they'll never let you go."
Chris shrugged. "If Phoebe wants to act on the premonition, she should be able to act on the premonition," he said calmly.
His expression was unreadable, but Phoebe could feel the determination coming off of him in waves. He had made up his mind, and Piper wasn't going to change it. In fact, her protests only made her more determined.
"Fine," Piper snapped. "But she shouldn't have to sacrifice you to do it!"
"I'm not…" Phoebe started, and then stopped. If she allowed Chris to orb her Up There, she would be sacrificing him. She agreed with Piper about that – the Elders would not let him go. That was the whole reason they were all hiding in the Underworld in the first place, and Chris was the main target.
She closed her eyes again. She was tired.
"I don't want anything to happen to you, Chris," she said softly. "Can you just orb me? Not yourself?"
"No," came Chris' almost apologetic answer. "Up There doesn't work like that. You can't orb objects or other people without going yourself." Phoebe opened her eyes in time to see him give a bleak smile. "It's a safety precaution."
"This is ridiculous," Piper grumbled. "I can't believe we're even talking about it." She shot an annoyed look at Chris. "Why would you even care?"
He met her gaze unblinkingly. "They're being murdered, Piper," he replied coolly. "Believe me, I dislike the Elders even more than you do – and with good reason. But I know the difference between right and wrong."
Piper's face drained of all color. Chris' comment had been calculated to hurt, and it had clearly struck home. Phoebe was startled by the venom of his words. Even Chris seemed shocked that he had actually said that aloud.
"It isn't that simple," Piper said finally, her voice hoarse and pained. "And you know that, Chris."
Chris swallowed uneasily. Phoebe had a feeling he wanted to take back what he had said, but it was too late and he was too stubborn to back down now. He remained silent, his expression impassive, as though daring Piper to argue further.
Paige broke the impasse.
"I can orb Phoebe Up There. Piper's right, Chris, you should stay." Her eyes flicked to Piper's stomach. "And maybe Piper should stay, too. But Phoebe and I can go."
"What if you need the Power of Three?" Chris protested.
Paige looked uneasy. She had obviously thought of that particular concern, but didn't want to dwell on it. Piper's reluctance to follow-up on this premonition made using the Power of Three doubtful, and without her, there was little Paige or Phoebe would be able to do if they faced a demon they couldn't vanquish on their own.
But Phoebe was determined, and Paige was clearly – hesitantly – on her side.
Piper sighed. "Fine," she acquiesced ungracefully, extending her hand to Paige. "Let's all go. I'm not taking the risk of losing either of you to an upper level demon." Her expression hardened. "And I will vanquish any Elder that comes after us."
Paige took Piper's hand, and then reached for Phoebe, and a moment later they disappeared in a flutter or orbs.
And so Chris found himself once again alone. It was starting to become a pattern – he would say something, Piper would counter, they'd argue and he'd orb away. Or, in this case, Paige would orb the three sisters away. Either way, he was running from his problems and he knew it, but with the world going up in flames all around him, he didn't have the time or energy to waste on his relationships.
Phoebe had given him a pained look as he'd orbed away, and that had made him feel guilty. He didn't want to feel the guilt, but it clung to him nonetheless, reminding him that – even if the sisters weren't family yet, even if they weren't the people he remembered, the people he loved – they were still his charges, and his continual arguments with Piper were causing the empath pain.
Of course, there was little he could do about it. Try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from snapping every time Piper tried to mother him, and he couldn't stop her from acting like she had the right.
He also couldn't quite ignore Paige's previous words. How could he tell her that it wasn't enough to be loved simply because he was family when that was exactly the reason she'd been accepted into Piper and Phoebe's lives in the first place?
He started pacing.
The memories of Leo filled his mind. He shut his eyes tight, trying to force away the thoughts. He'd spent years in the future perfecting his mask and his walls, building up the ability to compartmentalize, to shut down, to forget. His stay in hell had ruined that, tearing down every emotional protection he'd had, and leaving him feeling vulnerable and raw.
And Leo…
Leo had always found a way of getting underneath his skin even when those barriers had been in place.
He rubbed his eyes. The memories of his father haunted him. Some of them were vivid, memories that had been etched into his mind, burned into the back of his eyes. That first argument about Wyatt, his mother's death, his father's painful absence. But others – the demon attack when he was just a child – had been drawn from the recesses of his mind, events he barely remembered and spent little time thinking of.
He could still feel the warmth of that golden glow, his father's gentle voice, a hand on his shoulder, fingers running through his hair. He hadn't consciously remembered any of it until the spell. Until he'd conjured up his own memories and – hopefully – shoved them across space and into Leo's mind.
But he had always known that, once upon a time, his father had been different. Their relationship had been different. Perhaps he hadn't remembered those events clearly in the past, but he'd at least held onto the feelings they had imparted. The safety of his father's voice, the tight grip of his mother's arms, the sense of family that had pervaded everything.
How had he lost all of that? What had happened to pull them so far apart?
He wondered vaguely if Leo had received the memories. Had they penetrated the Elders' magic? The memories might not make much sense – might be disjointed, fragmented. And they were Chris' memories, so they wouldn't even be from Leo's point of view. But they were all Chris could offer, and he could only pray that it would be enough.
Would Leo understand what he was being given? Would he follow the clues back home?
And would his home, and his family, still be standing when he got here?
Chris sighed. There was nothing else he could do for Leo at the moment, and thoughts of his father were even harder to deal with right now.
Instead, he thought about the fact that Phoebe had become Queen of the Underworld. He had no recollection of learning that in Magic School, and the exploits of the Charmed Ones filled the pages of several text books. But the textbooks had been rewritten after Wyatt had seized power, so perhaps he had edited out that bit of information? Maybe it didn't fit in with the story he wanted to tell, the story he wanted the world to know.
Chris wondered vaguely what other information Wyatt had edited away.
But thinking about that question, while intriguing, also wasn't particularly useful at the moment. Gideon was gone, Wyatt was safe, and this new future would undoubtedly be different from Chris' past. But with the magical community at war and evil quickly gaining the upper hand, it seemed unlikely the new future would be much better than the old one, and Chris had not come to the past and gone through hell – metaphorical and literal – just to exchange one bad future for another.
Lucifer nearly destroyed the world once. Chris knew very little about that, though Leo had alluded to it a few times. It hadn't been in the history books, but then, the history books didn't go back the few millennia necessary to cover this specific event. The Elders were the only ones who knew how that war had ended – at least, the ones who had actually survived it.
But that was the important point. They had survived it – some of them, anyway. Lucifer had nearly destroyed the world, but he hadn't. Why not? What had stopped him that time?
Given the state of things, Chris sincerely doubted that he'd be able to convince any demons to turn on Lucifer – yet. Betraying the devil was suicide, or at least close to it, and it wasn't something any demon would do while Good was crumbling. He needed some kind of leverage, needed to convince them that Good could win before they would even consider it.
Chris chewed his lip for a moment, thinking.
If Phoebe's premonition was true – and there was no reason to think that it wasn't – then the Elders would be fleeing Up There. And some Elders had indicated that they still trusted the Charmed Ones, that they didn't think Leo and the sisters had been corrupted. If Chris could find an Elder who was sympathetic to his cause – or, at least, would be willing to hear him out – and who had survived the previous civil war...
But who would that be?
No matter how many times he washed his hands, they would never be clean. He could still see Prue's blood dried underneath his nails, pooled in the lines on his palms.
He rubbed his hands on his jeans.
The room was silent. Bianca had slipped away only moments before, leaving Chris to his thoughts. Her silent understanding had been excruciatingly painful – he would have preferred condemnation and judgment. He would have preferred anger. He would have preferred something loud and heated, something that matched his own furious mood. He would have preferred to be yelled at, to be blamed. This gentle sympathy…
He blamed himself. Why wouldn't anyone else?
He saw it, sometimes, in Aunt Paige's gaze. She would never say the words aloud, but when she thought he wasn't looking, a question would flicker through her eyes. A what if.
What if Chris had gotten to Prue sooner? Or what if she had gone instead? What if they'd all known more, worked harder, moved faster?
What if Prue could have been saved?
The door to the room opened, and Chris turned.
Darius stood there.
Chris had never felt comfortable around the other Elder. It was more than his own dislike of Elders, more than a lingering sense that they should have been able to protect his family better. Darius himself bothered Chris. He was the oldest Elder Chris had ever met, and the mostly coldly calculating. He was constantly looking at the bigger picture, the Greater Good, willing to sacrifice anyone and anything to save the world.
Of course, Chris thought bitterly, he had just murdered his own cousin, so perhaps he no longer had a right to judge Darius.
Darius held the potion bottle in his hand. Chris couldn't even bring himself to look at it. He'd killed Prue for this – this tiny, insignificant bottle. Yes, the potion would have killed countless people, destroyed society, torn it apart at the seems. And yet, looking at it now, it was just a nondescript potion in a nondescript bottle.
Was it really worth Prue's life?
Darius studied Chris face intently, then said, "I've analyzed the potion." He held up a notepad covered in scrawled details, information that would allow Chris to manufacture the counter-potion. "We should be able to create the antidote before Wyatt can brew another."
Chris nodded. "I'll get on it," he said, reaching to take the potion and notepad from Darius. He was the best potion maker in the Resistance, and he was better at it than even Wyatt was.
It was possibly the only thing he was better at than Wyatt.
He stepped past Darius, intent on leaving the room, but the Elder held out a hand to block Chris' path. His eyes were unreadable as he searched Chris' face, and his lips flattened into a thin line. "It was necessary," he said bluntly.
Chris bristled. "She was my family," he hissed angrily, green eyes flashing at the Elder who dared to so casually dismiss Prue's death.
"Yes," Darius answered, "and you killed her because it was necessary." He paused just long enough for Chris to know what was coming before adding, "If you can kill Prudence, you can kill Wyatt, too."
Everything was chaos, and Piper found herself fighting back.
The white marble was slick with blood and the air vibrated with power as an all out war raged all around them. It was a kind of battle the sisters had never seen before, a fight that took on everyone, and left nothing untouched. It was messy and bloody and painful, and Piper doubted she would ever forget the sights and smells that assaulted her senses. It was chaos – too out of control to be understandable, discernible. There was movement everywhere, lines and colors bleeding together, jumbled words and screams mixing into an indecipherable clamor.
Despite her anger, despite her grief, despite her fear, despite her determination to stop helping the Elders, to just give up – Piper found herself fighting back.
Demons exploded into ash and fire all around her, but more kept taking their place. This wasn't the relatively neat and orderly vanquishes she had been used to – and wasn't it strange to now realize that those vanquishes had been neat and orderly? They'd been nothing at all like this.
Was this what a war looked like?
A demon grabbed her arm, a cold metal athame sliding across her skin, just barely catching her shoulder. She exhaled sharply at the stab of pain, and slammed her elbow backwards, blinding connecting with her attacker. It was not a graceful move, not even particularly coordinated, and she nearly tripped over the rubble on the floor as she spun around to face the demon.
Yellow eyes. Black tongue. She barely registered anything else as she flicked her wrists and vanquished the being.
And another took its place.
Her feet slid over the damp ground as she stumbled towards the nearest pillar – half-broken, chunks of marble everywhere. But if offered her some shelter, and she took it gratefully. She'd lost sight of Phoebe in the fray, but she pushed the panic down. She couldn't lose her focus or she'd die, and then what good would she be to anyone?
She touched her stomach, fingers running lightly over the skin. She shouldn't be here – she'd put Chris in danger.
She had to get out. She had to get her sisters out. They shouldn't have come – and she certainly shouldn't have come. She'd thought it be different – like the Titans, maybe, or the Source. A single demon, or just a few, and no matter how powerful they were, no matter what those enemies had taken from Piper in the past, it still would have been… not this – not this.
Bile rose in her throat, choking her.
She had to get out.
But.
How could she leave the Elders now, seeing this destruction? It was one thing to dismiss it all when it was only something Phoebe had seen, when she herself hadn't witnessed it. But now – no. She shook her head. She couldn't just – just leave.
Everything was chaos, but Piper got up and continued fighting.
The man – David – typed the name Chris Halliwell into the search engine. No websites or news articles came up, and he leaned back in his chair, trying to recall more from the dream. There was another name on the tip of his tongue, lingering, waiting to be said, if only he could remember…
But it wouldn't come.
He got up and left the computer terminal at the library. He glanced around once, quickly. School-age children gathered in groups around the shelves of books in the youth section, whispering to each other and flipping through titles. A handful of toddlers sat in a semi-circle around a librarian, listening with rapt attention to the weekly storytime reading while their mothers and fathers mingled about, chatting with each other. A few older students – college, probably – sat with their laptops open at a row of tables, flipping through reference manuals and taking copious notes. An elderly couple stood nearby, asking a librarian for help.
David let out a long breath. Everything looked so peaceful here. Would he ever have that? Had he had that at one time?
Although the dreams were finally offering him hope that he might soon remember who he was, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he didn't actually want to know. The dreams had left him uneasy, feeling bitter and scared and filled with grief for things he didn't remember, things he couldn't explain.
Was this really a life he wanted to remember?
Still, if he had indeed left behind a family, what other choice did he have but to try?
He glanced at the clock. It was almost time to get to work. No matter how progress he made, or didn't make, in remembering his past, he still had to live in the present. And that meant surviving in the here and now.
He swung his coat over his shoulders and started towards the exit of the library. As he did so, a small, brown-haired boy ran directly in front of him, forcing him to stop abruptly and nearly lose his balance in order to avoid a collision. "Sorry, mister," the child called over his shoulder as he raced towards the children's section.
David stared after the boy, and felt a pang of longing in his chest.
"Sorry about that," a voice said, and a harried blonde woman appeared at his side. She looked to be about David's age, though a bit more frayed around the edges. "My son doesn't always watch where he is going." She glanced towards the boy in question, and added with a rueful smile, "Actually, he pretty much never watches where he is going. But he loves reading, so how can I argue with his enthusiasm?"
David waved away the apology. "It's fine," he said with a smile of his own. "No harm done."
The woman was carrying a bunch of fliers in her arms, things she had evidently just picked up from the librarian's desk. David glanced at the top one.
Community college.
The woman followed his gaze. "Yeah," she said sheepishly. "I just… I know it's strange. I mean – I'm too old for college, right? It would just be a waste of time."
"I wasn't thinking that at all," David rushed to assure her.
She barely noticed that he had spoken, instead continuing, "It's just that – things happen, you know? Life changes. All of sudden, everything is different and you just have to…" She shook her head, a defiant, angry move. "It would be so easy to sink, but I can't. I've got – responsibilities. I have to – things change, and I have to keep going. I have to figure out how to… to…"
"Start over?" David suggested.
She started, as though just then realizing that she was actually talking aloud. "I'm sorry – I don't know why I'm telling you all this," she said, tripping over her words. "I just… you're easy to talk to, and I needed to… to say that. I need to…"
"Hear yourself say the words so that you could believe in them?" David again finished her thoughts.
"Yeah… Starting over isn't easy, and I… I don't know…" She trailed off for a moment. "I'm sorry. Really. I should just… I'm going to stop talking now."
David smiled warmly. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I understand completely. Sometimes you just need someone to listen."
She nodded, gave him one last, thoughtful look, and then hurried after her son.
"How did you find me?" Darius asked.
"I knew you in the future," Chris replied. He glanced around at the view from the top of the Golden Gate bridge. How many times had he come here in the past? How many times had he wanted solace and solitude, only to have Darius track him down and demand that he face up to his responsibilities – namely, defeating Wyatt?
He smiled grimly. The irony wasn't lost on him.
There was blood on Darius' robes. Not much, just a small stain spreading upwards from the golden hem and a few splotches on his hood.
"Also," Chris added, "you're not exactly hiding."
Darius stared at him with unreadable eyes. The lines in his skin seemed to grow deeper as he regarded Chris, and it struck Chris for a moment, how very old Darius was. He'd known that, of course – that's why he's sought out this particular Elder. Because he was old enough to have survived the last civil war. But somehow he hadn't expected Darius to actually look his age.
He hadn't looked it in the future.
Or perhaps Chris' memories were all tainted by his own bias, by how unbending, how harsh, how larger-than-life Darius had always seemed.
"I oversaw Leo's trial," Darius said. "We called a Council of Elders." He looked away from Chris, out over the city. "Michael did most of the talking, as usual," he added, a slightly disdainful inflection on Michael's name. "Of course – he's dead now."
"Michael?"
"Yes." Darius slanted a sideways look at Chris, a gleam in his eyes. "Did you think I meant Leo?"
Chris didn't reply – he didn't trust his voice not to give away the triumph he felt at the confirmation that he had been right – that Leo was alive. And somewhere out there.
"How many Elders got out?" Chris asked finally, glancing up towards the sky.
"Not many," Darius said flatly, unemotionally. "Enough, though, to start over – start again." He ran a hand over his robe, smoothing out the wrinkles with a thoughtful frown. "Though it will be a long time before our home is safe again."
Chris blinked. Darius' words were so calm, so calculated. The fact that individual Elders had died did not seem to bother him so long as enough had survived to continue.
Well, that was not a surprise, was it? Darius believed in protecting the world at all costs, and if the Greater Good demanded a sacrifice…
"Did you know of Gideon's plans?" Chris demanded suddenly, angrily, forgetting his original reason for seeking out this particular Elder.
But Darius gave him a blank look. "What?" he asked, puzzled. "Oh – you mean with regards to Wyatt Halliwell?" He shook his head grimly. "No. I would have stopped him if I had."
"Because you're against killing?" Chris said, almost mockingly, memories of Prue haunting him.
"Because it was ill planned," Darius replied derisively. "Only a fool rushes so blindly into something like that."
Chris was momentarily speechless, anger thudding in his chest. He knew Darius would always favor the Greater Good, the bigger picture, but he honestly hadn't expected the Elder to say his main reason for opposing Gideon's plan to kill an innocent child was because it was poorly thought out. It was almost as though right and wrong didn't enter into it at all.
Darius heaved a sigh. "What are you doing here, Christopher?"
Chris shook his head, trying to clear away his thoughts. Could he trust Darius? Should he even continue down this path?
"The last time Lucifer did this, the last civil war – how did it end?" Chris asked at last.
Darius' expression grew hard, his brow furrowing, his eyes darkening dangerously, and Chris inhaled sharply. This was the Darius he knew in the future.
"Everyone died," Darius said simply, bluntly. "It ended when there was no one left to fight."
Chris folded his arms over his chest. "There has to be more to it than that," he countered. "If Lucifer had had his way, he wouldn't have left anyone."
"Are you fool enough to claim you understand the way Lucifer thinks?" Darius snapped back, eyebrows raised.
Chris winced inwardly, but kept his face carefully impassive. Darius was right, of course. He didn't know how Lucifer thought, and he supposed it was entirely possible that the devil would have allowed some of Good to remain. Perhaps he'd wanted to save their destruction for a later date. After all, he'd admitted to liking a challenge.
Still, Darius' response had been sharp, defensive. Chris' words had struck a nerve, though he was at a loss as to what exactly it could be.
"Well, how did the war start, then?" Chris asked.
"Some fool made a deal with the devil, thinking he was smart enough to outrun the consequences," Darius replied.
Chris looked away – the Elder's barb had struck home. He'd made the first deal with Lucifer, opened the can of worms that had allowed this all to play out, that had brought about the war. It might not be entirely his fault that things had ended up this way, but he'd started it.
And he really should have known better.
"I'm just trying to help," Chris said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "Don't you want to stop all this?"
"Do you really think it is that simple?" Darius countered. "We are well past the point of no return, Christopher. This war is no longer about you or the Charmed Ones or Leo. And there is no going back."
"I don't believe that," Chris argued, refusing to back down. "Evil is tearing us apart. Do you really want to just give up? Don't you want to fight them? Don't you care?"
Darius' eyes grew darker, his expression thunderous. "More than you do, certainly," he replied, his tone dangerously soft. "Was it worth it? Saving your brother – was it worth the destruction it caused?"
Chris did not answer, and Darius turned his back on the younger man.
Darius had refused to be helpful, his own self-righteous spite blinding him. But Chris knew the Elder. And despite being an Elder, Darius had always valued actions over words, and had never wasted time with pretty speech's or suggestions of meditating.
Darius simply never wasted time – period.
And he hadn't left yet.
"You wanted me to kill Wyatt," Chris said. Darius tossed a confused look over his shoulder, and Chris elaborated, "In the future. After he'd turned evil, destroyed everything… you wanted me to kill him. You said it was the only way. But I didn't – couldn't. My reluctance never mattered to you," and here he could not keep the bitterness out of words, "you didn't care about the pain a single individual would feel. You saw the world destroyed, and decided killing Wyatt would be for the best, and to hell with whoever got hurt in the process."
Darius gazed at him. "Was I wrong?"
Chris forced himself to take a deep breath and ignore the question. Pressing on, he said, "You didn't attack me when I showed up. You've stood here and talked, and even though you haven't been particularly helpful, you also haven't tried to hand me over to whichever Elders remain."
"Your point, Christopher?"
"You're interested in the bigger picture, Darius. You don't care about individual people, you don't think about their wants and needs. You think only about how they can help protect the world."
Again, Darius repeated the same sentiment, "Is that wrong?"
"You haven't attacked me because you don't think I'm a threat," Chris suggested. "And you haven't left yet because you think I might actually be able to help."
Darius hesitated, then ever so slowly inclined his head.