Chapter Twenty-Five: Revenge

Anne smiled shyly at David as she opened the door and gestured for him to enter her small apartment. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and turned towards the only other person in the room, a woman sitting at the table.

"Mia, this is David."

Mia rose to her feet and extended her hand in greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, David," she said. "Anne has just been telling me all about your…" she smiled wryly, "situation."

She was not what David had expected. He had assumed Anne's friend would be similar to Anne. Young, strangely-colored hair, perhaps a bit timid and skittish. But Mia appeared to be in her late forties, and she was impeccably dressed in an expensive tailored skirt and suit jacket. Her dark skin was flawless, her dark hair was twisted into an simple and elegant knot at the nape of her neck, and her dark gaze was confident and self-assured.

Clearly, David had to rethink his assumptions about Anne's friends. And witches.

David took a seat at the table opposite Mia while Anne hovered behind him, watching the interaction anxiously.

"Thank you for your help," David said.

Mia waved away his gratitude. "There is no need to thank me," she replied, resting one hand on a book that lay on the table in front of her. "Anyone would do this."

David sincerely doubted the truth of that statement, but thought it wise not to argue. Instead, he looked at the book curiously. "What is that?"

"It is my Book of Shadows," Mia replied. It was a small book, but well-worn with bent corners and frayed edges. She ran her fingers gingerly over the cover and continued, "It contains all my family's experiences with magic, going back three generations." She studied David's expression as she spoke, and when he showed no signs of comprehension, she sighed and said, "You truly have lost all your memory, haven't you?"

"Am I suppose to recognize that?" David asked worriedly.

Mia nodded. "Most witches have something like this, or at least have heard of it. Particularly if there has been magic in their family for a few generations as there must have been in yours."

"My… my family is magical?" David demanded. The idea that his family – whoever and wherever they were – could have magic had not occurred to him.

He'd spent most of the night wrestling with what Anne had told him, with all this new information that still didn't make sense. He'd laid awake in bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling of his shabby motel room and thinking that this had to be some elaborate practical joke because it just couldn't be real. But he had struggled to push aside his doubts, convincing himself that this path would finally send him home because what other option did he have, and…

And Mia thought his family had magic?

"I would assume so," Mia said casually. She paused then, noting the look of surprise on David's face, and leaned forward. Studying David intently, she said slowly, "The most common type of magic is of Wiccan heritage, and when it first shows up in a family, it usually affects just the women. It only makes its way into men after a few generations, and even then it only does it if the magic is sufficiently strong. So while there are male witches like yourself, they are less common."

David swallowed uneasily. He wasn't sure if the fact that his family might have magic made everything better or worse.

"How do you know all this?" he asked after a moment of silence. "Is this…" He turned to look at Anne before returning his gaze to Mia, "I mean, do all witches know this?"

"No," Mia answered. "It is not a secret or anything like that, but very few witches study magic the way I do." At David's confused look, she explained, "I'm a professor of the occult at UCLA."

"Oh." David really wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Well. Okay."

Mia flipped open her book. "I took the liberty of noting a few potential spells. I have one here to restore lost memories. Shall we start with that?"

David nodded wordlessly, fear suddenly rising in his throat, preventing him from speaking. He'd accepted that magic was real – had seen it, even – but that was not the same thing as having it used on himself. And yet here he was, sitting in the squalid apartment of a girl he'd only just met, giving his permission for a complete stranger to cast a spell on him.

Was he really that desperate?

The answer, of course, was yes. Yes, he was. And somehow, that revelation made him uneasy. Was he letting his loneliness and frustration, cloud his judgment? Was he so desperate for answers that he would grab at anything, even things that should have been impossible?

It was not easy to assess how clearly he was thinking while he was sitting at a table discussing magic. He was a grown man, and he shouldn't believe in any of this but he did.

He pushed his chair back suddenly, startling Anne. She jumped out of his way, eyes wide, and the movement made her wince in pain. She was still limping slightly on that injured ankle, although now it had a bandage wrapped tightly around it.

"Sorry," David muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I just – I need a minute."

He turned away from the two women – witches – and walked over to the window. Sunlight poured through the warped glass, illuminating dust motes floating in the air. He inhaled slowly, trying to clear his mind, trying to think logically about what he was doing. But nothing made sense, and there was a giant hole in his chest, an emptiness that just kept growing with every passing day.

"You believe."

He turned sharply at Mia's words. Anne had taken a seat at the table, and was rapidly shifting her gaze between Mia and David in silent worry. But Mia's eyes were focused intently on David, measuring him.

"I didn't want to help," Mia continued. "When Anne first told me about you, I didn't believe that you could really be a witch. The story seemed too far-fetched, too crazy, and the coincidence of you being in exactly the right place at the right time to find Anne…" She trailed off, shaking her head, then finished quietly, "But Anne said if I just met you, I would see."

"See what?" David asked, his throat dry.

She leaned back in her seat. "You believe in this. You believe in magic. You shouldn't. Not really – it's not the logical thing to do. But you do – you believe it exists, you believe that we have it. From what Anne has told me, you've even seen her use it." She paused, tapping her fingers on the book and choosing her words carefully. "And you're not afraid of that, or of us."

David blinked, surprised and unnerved by Mia's statement.

It was true. He wasn't afraid of them, even though he probably should be. He'd felt the effects of Anne's panicked scream, and knew just how much pain and damage she could cause. And yet he'd shrugged that off, never really fearing her. In fact, he'd been more concerned with putting her at ease, consoling her over the loss of her guardian angel, helping her, than with protecting himself from her.

"And that," Mia continued, "suggests to me that some part of you subconsciously recognizes this. Some part of you knows that you have magic, and that it is nothing to fear." When David didn't immediately respond, Mia gestured to her book and murmured softly, "May I?"

And before he could lose his nerve, David nodded.

Mia smiled encouragingly, and Anne shifted eagerly in her seat, eyes now fixed solely on David. Mia began to recite, "Powers and emotions tied, a witch's heart is where it hides. Help him through his agony, bless him with his memory."

Tiny white orbs of light appeared in front of Mia, circling around each other in midair. David stared at them, awestruck, his breath catching in his throat. They were beautiful.

And then they careened forward haphazardly, and struck him fully in the chest.

He stumbled backwards, his hands grasping at the windowsill to keep his balance. The light seemed to grow, glowing fiercely, and he waited, holding his breath. What would it feel like, when he finally remembered? A sudden onslaught of memories overwhelming him, or a more subtle, gentle shift? Would it all come back at once, or would it be a patchwork of bits and pieces that he had to fit together himself?

And then the light faded, and he felt nothing.

Anne was looking at him expectantly, but Mia was frowning, and David slowly shook his head. "I don't think…" He trailed off, running a hand over his chest. The warmth of the light was gone, and with it any chance of remembering. He swallowed back his disappointment, his frustration, his anger, and said quietly, "It didn't work."

Several spells later – to provide answers, to locate family, to find what was lost – and David still had no idea who he was. Mia had promised to look into this more and let him know if she had any other ideas, but she and Anne had exchanged several meaningful looks, and David had a feeling that there was more going on that he didn't understand.

Mia left, and David was once more alone with Anne, but now the young witch wouldn't meet his gaze, and kept moving in circles around him, as though afraid to get too close.

"Anne?" David asked finally, unable to take the tension.

She stopped and stared at him. She opened and closed her mouth several times, but evidently couldn't think of the right words to say. Finally, she said weakly, "We don't know how you lost your memories."

"No, we don't," David agreed slowly, frowning. "What of it?" It was true that the brief trip to the hospital upon waking up without memories had provided no clues whatsoever about what could have happened. David had originally assumed that that was a good thing - no sign of assault or trauma couldn't really be viewed as bad.

But Anne seemed to think differently.

"Well…" she chewed her lip, then edged into the seat next to David and said, "Mia is really powerful. I don't know why her spells wouldn't have worked."

David furrowed his brow. "Okay. So what does that mean?"

"Um…" Again, Anne paused. Then she shrugged and said, "Sometimes magic can't always fix non-magical problems. Like… if you got hit on the head and got amnesia that way, magic might not be able to fix it. At least, that's what Mia said before, when I first talked to her. So that's possible."

David sagged. "So there might not be any answer at all," he said, his spirits sinking. He'd been so hopeful, so optimistic, so sure that all of the answers were within reach…

"But you probably didn't get hit on the head," Anne continued. She twisted a strand of hair around one finger and once more averted her gaze. "I mean... that's what you said. That you didn't think you'd been physically hurt." She hesitated, swallowing nervously. Then she pressed on in a rush, her words running together as though if she said them all quickly enough it would somehow lessen the blow, "So it could be magic that did this. But if you lost your memories through magic, then magic should be able to restore it. And the fact that Mia couldn't restore your memories means that whoever took them is more powerful than she is. And that is – Mia is really powerful. So someone more powerful… yeah. Not good."

David accepted this in silence, mulling over his options. Either someone very powerful had taken away his memories, his identity, his sense of self, or he had lost them in a more mundane way and might never get them back.

He wasn't entirely sure which of those possibilities worried him more.

To take his mind off that particularly concern, he changed the subject, asking, "How did you and Mia meet?" He just couldn't imagine two women more unlike each other, and had no idea how they could have crossed paths.

Anne flushed a deep pink and said with a great deal of embarrassment, "Oh… I snuck into her class. At UCLA." At David's surprised look, she elaborated, "I wanted to learn more about magic, and she teaches a course on the history of the occult in the United States, and I… well, I wasn't able to go to college, so I just snuck in and hoped that she wouldn't notice I wasn't on the roster. She… um… well, she did notice. But she was really nice about it, and so even though I couldn't take the class, she offered to teach me some stuff on her own time." She gave David a sheepish grin, and explained, "I think she knew from the beginning that I was a witch."

David smiled.

They were both silent for a long moment, David staring blankly at the wall, lost in his own thoughts, and Anne tracing shapes on the table with her fingers.

Then David asked, "And you haven't heard anything more about what might have happened to your… to Talia?"

Anne shook her head, still staring at the table. "No – nothing," she said in a shaky voice.

David searched desperately for the right words to say, but kept coming up blank. He didn't want to offer Anne any false hope, and it did seem likely that something bad had happened to Talia. But at the same time, he didn't want to just leave it like that, with Anne so heartbroken over her friend's presumed demise.

Finally, he asked, "If Talia could tell you how to deal with her absence, what would she say?"

Anne wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears. "To believe in myself," she said thickly. "To believe that I am strong enough and smart enough and resourceful enough to succeed."

David reached out and touched her arm gently. "That seems like very good advice."

Anne looked at him then. "Women have been dying," she said flatly. "I've been attacked more times in the past several days than usually happens in months, and I saw on the news that several women have been stabbed with some form of athame, and Talia is missing. Something bad is happening. I don't know what it is, and I don't know how to stop, and… and I'm afraid. And without Talia, I'm alone."

"You're not alone," David countered. "You have Mia and," he grinned dryly, "you seem to be stuck with me for at least a little while longer."

Anne returned his smile, albeit a bit weakly. "Yeah…"

"And, anyway, it is fine to be scared. When things are dangerous, it's probably even smart to be scared," David continued. "It means you know how high the stakes are. It means you're not fooling yourself. Just don't let the fear control you. Find the courage to make it from one moment to the next."

Anne rolled her eyes. "God, you sound like Talia," she muttered, and even though she grumbled as she said it, David knew it was a compliment.

"Victor is worried about you. He thinks you're obsessing."

Chris glanced up as Bianca shoved a sandwich at him and then stared down at the maps and diagrams strewn over the table. Her eyes darted over everything, taking it all in, and as she started to scrawl notes over the maps, Chris wished, not for the first time, that he'd had her training.

And how screwed up did the world have to be for him to wish he'd been forced through the strategic instruction required of an assassin witch?

"Grandpa's always worried about me," he replied, taking a bite of his sandwich and then setting it aside. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat down to a meal, and surviving on just a few rushed bites of food here and there was getting old – but they had to figure this out. And time was not on their side.

Bianca slanted a look at him and quirked a smile. "And how often does he get worried enough that he actually talks to me about it?"

Chris frowned. "Grandpa likes you," he protested. At Bianca's incredulous stare, he added defensively, "He does! More than Aunt Paige, at any rate."

Bianca snorted. "That's not saying much," she muttered under her breath. But instead of pursuing the subject, she tapped her finger against the map closest to Chris and said, "This is not going to work, Chris. You can't get in and out of the building without alerting every demon there."

Chris glanced at the map of the building and sighed. "I know," he said in resignation. "That's why we're taking fighters. We'll engage the demons, and then…"

"They will kill all of us," Bianca finished grimly. She straightened, shaking her head. "No, Chris. We're too outnumbered. This isn't going to work."

Chris folded his arms over his chest and said stubbornly, "What other choice do we have? I'm not leaving a bunch of children to be slaughtered."

Bianca shrugged carelessly, dismissively. "You're not much use to them if you're dead. You aren't much use to any of us if you're dead."

Chris turned away from her cold assessment. He knew there were a million small details that could go wrong, and if even a single one of them did, it would likely throw off the entire mission. It was stupid and reckless and dangerous, but he had yet to come up with a better idea. And he couldn't just do nothing.

"Besides," she added, "you don't know that Wyatt is going to let his demons kill them."

Chris turned to glare at her. "Don't," he snapped, bitter and resentful. "Don't pretend that he has a conscience. Not now, not anymore." And he walked around the table, putting distance between them.

There was a time when he had believed that there was still good in Wyatt. There was a time when he had believed that Wyatt could still be saved, could still be brought back to the light. But things had changed over the last several years, and he didn't believe that anymore.

Wyatt had kidnapped some of the most magically powerful children left in the world, and he would give them a choice – join him or die.

"He's never intentionally ordered children killed before," Bianca murmured. "They've died as collateral damage, of course, but he's never… he's never deliberately targeted children."

Chris gave her a wry, vicious smile. "Well, there's always time for a first."

Bianca laughed hollowly. "Isn't this an interesting role reversal? Normally you're the one insisting that Wyatt isn't pure evil."

Chris pressed his hands flat against the table and refused to look at Bianca. A thousand different retorts lingered on the tip of his tongue – most of them malicious, cutting remarks. They'd been arguing constantly for the past few days, ever since Chris had suggested this plan, and it scared him how often he wanted to lash out at her, to make her hurt.

Of course, it wasn't just their arguments that had put him in this unrelentingly hostile mood. It was the other thing he'd been forced to do only a month ago, the metaphorical blood still on his hands…

And as if reading his thoughts, Bianca stated flatly, "We both know this is really about Prue."

Chris snapped his gaze to her face. "Don't-"

"What?" she cut in caustically. "Don't say her name? Don't bring up what happened? Don't point out that you are willing to get yourself and all the people who follow you killed because of her?"

"She's dead and I…" Chris started, but again, Bianca didn't let him finish.

"You decided you had to kill Wyatt."

Chris inhaled sharply, and then there was a complete silence in the room. Bianca's words echoed in his mind, taunting him. He wanted to deny them, wanted to yell at her that she had no idea what she was talking about, that she was wrong, that she was being needlessly cruel.

But.

The night after he'd killed Prue, Darius had told him that if he could kill Prue, he could kill Wyatt, too. And Darius – stubborn, pompous, condescending Elder that he was – was right. Prue was dead, and the world hadn't ended, and if Chris could just convince himself that Wyatt was beyond saving, that Wyatt was evil, that Wyatt was the enemy, then…

He dug his fingers into the wood of the table, trying to control his anger.

"That's why you are so determined to do this rescue mission with Wyatt there," Bianca said harshly. "You're not worried that Wyatt will kill the children – you're worried that once he leaves, you won't get another shot at him. And you're willing to kill yourself to get that shot." She leaned across the table suddenly and caught his chin, forcing it upwards so that their gazes met. "A willingness to die that has not been lost on Victor or Paige. Or me."

Chris wrenched herself free of his grasp. "Shut up," he snarled. "You have no idea what you are talking about. Do you think I want to kill Wyatt? Do you think this is easy? Do you have any idea how hard I have had to work these past few weeks to convince myself that this is necessary? That he can't be saved, that I have to stop him."

He turned away from Bianca and started pacing with loud, angry steps. Four weeks worth of doubt, fear, guilt, and fury reached their boiling point, and he found himself lashing out, "It's what you believe, anyway. Isn't it? You think Wyatt is past saving, and you've thought that from the very beginning. You want me to kill Wyatt, you just don't want me to take any risks doing it."

"I don't…"

But it was Chris' turn to interrupt her, to refuse to let Bianca get a word in edgewise, and he continued acerbically, "You think I should have killed him years ago. I really thought you'd be happy that I'm finally doing what you've always wanted."

"Not like this," Bianca murmured. "I didn't want it to be like this. This stupid martyr complex…"

"Is not a martyr complex!" Chris practically shouted at her. He was so damned tired of everyone worrying about a complex that didn't exist. "I don't want to die. I'm terrified of it, actually. But I'm willing to do it to save the world. To save you and Grandpa and Aunt Paige. I'm willing to do it if there is no other option."

"Then find another option!" Bianca shouted back.

"Don't you think I've tried?" Chris snarled, breathing heavily. "Prue is dead, Bianca. I killed her because I didn't have any other choice. Wyatt turned her into a monster, and if I don't stop him-" he stopped abruptly, choking on the words.

"He'll turn everyone else into a monster? All those children he's trying to corrupt? All the witches who have joined him to save themselves? He'll turn them into monsters?" Bianca questioned softly, knowingly. "He'll turn you into a monster?"

Chris laughed harshly. "If he hasn't already," he muttered, and ran a hand through his hair. He looked down at the maps and sighed. "You're right – I don't know if Wyatt will kill the children. And yes, it would be far easier to get in and out without Wyatt there, without having to face him and all the extra demons he brings with him everywhere. But he'll be there. Wyatt will be out in the open for the first time in months and I can't just ignore that."

"Then let me go," Bianca said.

"What?"

"Let me go in your place," Bianca pressed. "Or Darius, even. You don't have to be the one to go."

"I'm not letting someone else die for me," Chris snapped back, angry that she would even suggest that.

"Well, maybe other people don't want you to die for them," Bianca retorted, huffing impatiently. Before Chris could argue with her statement – and, really, what would he say to that exactly? – she added, "There are people here who are just as magically powerful as you. They might not be Halliwells, they might not have your ability to lead or strategize, they might not know Wyatt the same way you do, but that doesn't mean they won't be able to succeed."

Chris stared at her for a long, tense moment, and then said, "And that's the real issue, isn't it? It's not about whether this plan is good or not; it's not about if we'll ever get another shot at Wyatt; it's not about my supposed martyr complex. You just don't think I can kill Wyatt."

Bianca rubbed at her eyes wearily. "It's about all of those things, Chris. Every single one of them is an issue. It's a bad plan, we might get another shot at Wyatt, and you do have a martyr complex which is pretty damn annoying to deal with." She paused, and then added in a softer voice, "And despite Prue's death, despite your obsessive fears, despite all the time you have spent convincing yourself that Wyatt has to be stopped, that there is no other way…" she shrugged almost helplessly, "I think when it comes down to it, you still won't be able to bring yourself to kill him."

Chris stalked out of the room.

"No!" Piper surged out of the bed, stumbling over her own feet and clutching at the wall to stay upright. The blankets tangled around her torso and legs, the pillows frantically knocked aside fell to the floor, tripping her.

And Chris froze.

He had an explanation ready, a defense for his decision. He hadn't quite worked through all the details, but he just knew that he was on the right track, that he had a way to hurt Lucifer. He also knew, though he was loathe to admit it, that he would probably need some help figuring out the plan, and as he really didn't want to deal with Darius again, the sisters were his best bet.

But all of those thoughts immediately disappeared when he caught sight of just how damaged they were.

He'd seen Paige's injuries, but not Piper's or Phoebe's.

Piper's face was drained of blood, and it wasn't just shock at his announcement that had done it. He saw the pain flicker through her eyes, saw her clench her teeth against the agony of her wounds.

He clenched his hands into fists, wishing desperately that he had the power to heal. But that was not a gift he had been given, and wasn't it ironic that Wyatt was the one blessed with healing when he'd spent years doing nothing but tearing things apart?

"Why?" Paige asked, her gaze fixed on Chris even as she moved to Piper's side and gently eased her back onto the bed. "What would telling the Elders about the second deal accomplish?"

"Lucifer thinks he's won," Chris explained, frowning as Piper winced and gingerly ran her fingers over her stomach. He tore his eyes away from her and focused on Paige, the only one who would be calm and rational enough to actually listen to him. "He's basically walking away from all of this. We have to hit him now, before we lose the chance."

"What do you mean, walking away?" Phoebe questioned. Her expression was drawn, her face pale, and a bruise had formed on her cheek. Any other injuries were hidden underneath a long-sleeved sweater and jeans, but she was hunched over in a way Chris had seen in far too many soldiers in the future.

He didn't want to contemplate how bad the battle Up There had been, or how injured the sisters were. Paige had alluded to it, of course, but...

"He did what he set out to do," Chris replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Civil war. He won."

"So… he thinks it is over?" Phoebe asked. When Chris nodded, she pressed, "And he's not going to come after us anymore?" Again, Chris nodded, and again, Phoebe pressed on, "But… if that's true, why would we go after him?"

Chris gaped at her, and noted dimly that Paige and Piper were wearing identical expressions of disbelief. "Because he's the devil?" Chris suggested, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"Yes. He's the devil," Phoebe argued. "We can't kill him, we can't even hurt him. And if he's already finish his plan, then there's nothing to stop."

"He started a civil war! He's destroying our world. Good is dying because of him," Piper protested, shaking her head. She turned a fierce gaze on Phoebe, echoing Chris' bitterness as she practically spat, "He tried to tear this family apart." Then she paused, licking dry lips, and stumbled over the next statement, "We… we lost L-Leo because of him."

"We haven't lost Leo," Chris countered automatically, waving away Piper's concern. "He might still come back to us."

Piper smiled somewhat tearfully, and Chris realized that she'd assumed he was trying to cheer her up. That thought hadn't even occurred to him; he'd only offered hope of Leo's return because he still believed, on some level, that Leo was out there, trying to find his way back. He was less optimistic that Leo would actually succeed at that, but…

"But this is exactly my point," Phoebe murmured tiredly, leaning heavily against the bedroom wall. "Instead of focusing on Lucifer, we should put our energy into finding Leo and stopping this war. And," she turned sharply to Chris, "I don't think you revealing the truth is going to stop the war. It's not like it is even really about us anymore."

Chris grimaced. Lola had said the same thing before he'd vanquished her.

"Phoebe, we can't just ignore what he did," Paige argued, pursing her lips in annoyance, the desire for revenge written clearly on her face.

"But how are we going to stop him?" Phoebe replied. "He can't be vanquished. It's not like…" she hesitated for a moment, seeing the three looks of frustration and incredulity fixed her way, then rushed on defiantly, "It's not like he's the Source. It's not like stopping him would only be hard or dangerous or… or whatever. After what he did, of course I would want to go after him, to stop him, to make sure he never does anything like this ever again. But we can't, because it's impossible." She turned to Piper, crossing the room and crouching down in front of her sister. Taking Piper's hands, she said gently, "Stopping Lucifer is impossible, but fixing the world, saving Leo – that isn't."

"We don't have to stop Lucifer," Chris cut it, even as he saw Piper's expression waver, saw the doubt creep into her eyes. How had he lost control of this conversation so quickly? How were they now discussing letting Lucifer go free? Desperately, he argued, "We just have to hurt him. We just have to make him bleed."

"Can we? Does he bleed?" Paige asked curiously.

"That was… I meant that metaphorically," Chris muttered, struggling to refrain from rolling his eyes at her question. He took a few steps back, and leaned against the doorframe, physically distancing himself from the sisters. Phoebe was set against him, and Piper was uncertain, but maybe, if he could just keep Paige on his side…

But Phoebe turned to him and said softly, "I know you want to hurt him, Chris. After everything he's done, I want to hurt him, too. But I'm not willing to pay the price."

"We've already paid the price," Paige interjected.

"And you think if we go after Lucifer we're not going to end up paying more?" Phoebe countered, eyes flashing. She reached up to massage her temples as she sank onto the bed next to Piper. "This isn't about protecting ourselves anymore. If Lucifer was still after us, then I would be the first person to charge into that battle to defend this family. But," she glanced at Chris," you said he wasn't. You said he was done. You said he was going to leave us alone."

"I can't believe you are seriously suggesting we just let him go," Chris practically growled, flushing darkly.

Phoebe held his gaze for a long moment, then shrugged and said softly, "And I can't believe that you want to invite him back into our lives."

Chris blanched, his face losing all color at her words. Phoebe's quiet accusation cut under his skin the way none of her louder, more impassioned arguments had, and for a moment, he second-guessed himself.

"Phoebe!" Paige hissed under her breath, looking ready to slap her sister. It was such a strong reaction, so seemingly out of proportion with what Phoebe had said, that it took Chris a moment to understand why Paige was upset.

Then he grew even paler.

Of course Paige had repeated their conversation to her sisters. Of course she had confided in them about her belief that Chris had a martyr complex. Aunt Paige would have done the same in the future, too, enlisting her sisters' help to prove her point – if only her sisters had been alive to help her.

Phoebe glanced once at Paige, and then deflated perceptibly. Shoulders hunched, she said in an abashed tone, "That first deal with Lucifer saved Wyatt. And, given what your future looked like, it probably saved the world. I'm not – no one thinks any of this is your fault, Chris."

"Because it isn't," Piper agreed fiercely.

"I just… I don't think it is a good idea to start a fight with Lucifer," Phoebe concluded tiredly.

Paige continued to glare, although now she didn't seem to want to meet Chris' gaze, obviously embarrassed by what Phoebe had said. But Phoebe was stubborn, and Piper still hadn't made up her mind.

After a moment, when it became clear that the four of them had reached an impasse, Phoebe said, "We're not in any shape to fight. Shouldn't we at least wait until we are all healed, until the magical world is fixed… until Leo is back… before we try to take on the most powerful and completely indestructible evil out there?"

Chris shook his head. "Fine," he grumbled. "Do whatever you want."

And he stalked out the room.

Piper followed him.

She moved slowly, awkwardly, and had only reached the doorway to the bedroom by the time he was down the stairs, but when she called out his name, he found himself pausing, turning back.

She wasn't his mother.

But, God, he wanted her to be.

Lucifer had taken away his ability to be impartial around her, and if there was anything that Chris would never forgive the devil for doing to him, it was that.

She came down the stairs clumsily, gracelessly, and then sank onto the bottom step. Chris hesitated, unsure what to do, then finally sat down next to her. Somehow, he couldn't quite bring himself to just walk away.

They were both silent for a moment, then Piper said, "This doesn't seem like you." Chris glanced at her, raised an eyebrow. "This – what you're doing. It's all about vengeance." Piper leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her long hair fell in front of her eyes, obscuring her expression from view, and Chris couldn't get a read on her emotions as she added, "You're so determined to hurt Lucifer. It just doesn't seem like you."

Chris laughed darkly. "You really don't know the type of person I am, Piper," he said pointedly. She never had, and she was still trying to fit her own ideas of who he should be on to who he actually was.

Piper didn't respond right away, and then she sighed heavily and said, "Maybe not." Chris would have been content to leave the conversation there, or to never have had it at all, but Piper wasn't finished. "Still, everything you did before was about protecting Wyatt. Or us. Or the world. But going after Lucifer…"

"Will protect the world," Chris said angrily. "And I'm not going after Lucifer – not directly." He gave a frustrated, helpless shrug. "We got off topic back there," he gestured up towards Piper's bedroom where Paige and Phoebe still were, "but me telling the Elders about the deal…"

"Is a horrible idea," Piper snapped, her voice raw with anger and pain. She took a breath, held it for a moment, then tilted her head back so that she was staring at the ceiling and exhaled slowly. "What do you think it will accomplish?"

"It's the fastest way to end the war," Chris replied coolly. "We could maybe work things out with the Elders – through Darius," and he grimaced at the idea of having to continue to work with that particular Elder for an extended period of time, "but that would take too long. We need to end the war, and we need to do it now."

Piper said nothing.

"You and Phoebe and Paige – you've had a brief respite. But that is only because you're the Charmed Ones, and even with the Elders in disarray, demons are afraid of you. But most of the good witches out there depend on Elders and white-lighters for their protection, and they're being slaughtered as we speak."

"What if it doesn't end anything?" Piper countered, frowning. "The Elders know why you made the first deal, why Leo traded his soul for yours, and they still distrust us. They still took Leo. They believe that Lucifer corrupted us, and I don't think you revealing the truth will change anything."

Chris paused, unsure what to say. Reassurances would be the best, promises that it would work, because he couldn't imagine Piper agreeing to anything that cost Chris his soul unless it was absolutely guaranteed to accomplish what they wanted.

Actually, she probably wouldn't agree to anything that cost Chris' soul, period.

But the reassurances would be empty because he wasn't convinced revealing the truth to the Elders would end the war. But it might – and it was their only chance.

"It might not," he admitted. "But if it does, we can hurt Lucifer. If we can stop the war, if we can get the Elders to trust again... we can hurt him. We can hurt him badly."

Piper chewed her lip. "Whatever your plan is, it's not worth your soul, Chris. I'm not willing to sacrifice that, not for hurting Lucifer, not for anything."

Chris stood up. "I am," he said flatly, towering over her.

Piper nodded, her eyes lowered. "I can tell that," she agreed. "So it seems we have a problem."