- Of Breakthroughs and Bedtime Whispers -
"Silence is the most powerful scream." - anonymous

The next afternoon, when Wyatt, Chris, and Prue returned from school, Leo assured them that, according to Phoebe's update, Katie was acting much more like herself again. Perhaps it had been the long hours that got to her, over-exhaustion. Piper, their father had added, stayed late at P3 to train a new bartender and wouldn't be home until some time that evening. As soon as he offered to throw together a quick dinner, however, each suddenly had somewhere to be.

"I've got to spend time with my charge," Chris said as he slipped past his father to grab an apple from the fridge. Biting into it, he added, crunching, "Don't want the kid to think I've forgotten about him, and I didn't see him at all over the weekend." Patting his father's shoulder as he passed, the boy offered a sympathetic, "Sorry, Pops," and then exited the room.

Wyatt was quick to follow with, "Goin' over to Sam's to study. I'll probably be there late," and orbed to his room to change into a smelly trench coat and his leather hunting boots.

Expression somewhat desperate, Leo turned to his daughter, the only hope left for some company that afternoon. "What about you, kiddo?" he asked in a last-ditch effort, "Can I make you something for dinner?"

She smiled too widely. "Gee, Dad, I really would love that, but Morgan invited me over for supper and I already agreed to go." She shouldered her knapsack, fidgeting with the strap.

Frowning, Leo remarked, "On a school night? You sure that's a good idea? Don't you have homework you should probably do?"

"Well… Mom okayed it yesterday, so…" She nibbled at her lip, eyeing him with wide eyes.

"Oh." Another frown. "Okay, then. I guess if your mother's okay with it… Do you need a ride?"

"Nah," she called, already halfway out of the room, "I'll walk. Thanks, Dad." Before he could call her back, she raced up to her room to call Morgan and invite herself over for dinner.

It wasn't so much that their father couldn't cook. Certainly he wasn't as bad as Aunt Phoebe, and he could even whip up a fairly decent omelet when the need arose. But… well… he wasn't a Piper Halliwell, and no one could deny that.

A knock on the door made Chris look up from his open knapsack, which he had begun to root through in search of—what did he need again? Homework? Unlikely. But why had he opened…?

"Are you busy?" Prue's voice chirped. She stood outside his door, her face peering in front around the corner. When his eyes met hers briefly, she took that as an invitation and shuffled past the threshold.

For a fraction of a second he paused, threw a second glance her way, and—resuming—grunted, "What's it look like?"

"Oh…" She waited a beat to see if he would look at her again. When he didn't, she tiptoed further into the room and said, "Well, I was just wondering if, you know, on your way to your charge you could sort of, you know, drop me off at Morgan's house?"

"Go ask Wyatt," he muttered without looking up. "I have to finish stuff first."

"Okay, thanks." She bounded out of the room, shrugging her shoulders at Chris's rejection. He had a good point, after all, if he didn't plan on leaving for a while. Asking Wyatt would probably get her there faster.

After a couple more seconds, Chris renounced his fruitless endeavor. If he couldn't remember what he was looking for, how would he know even if he found it? Deciding his time could be better utilized elsewhere, he zipped up the knapsack and dumped it on the floor, kicking it beneath his bed. Instead, he shrugged on a light coat, shut his bedroom light, and orbed to Jake.

Meanwhile, Prue knocked on Wyatt's bedroom door. She waited a beat and then, receiving no answer, pushed open the door just in time to see the last of Wyatt's orbs melt away. A part of her considered calling him back, but he had said he needed to study. She didn't want to waste his time like that. Sighing, she backed out of his room and closed the door, heading back down the hall. Maybe she could convince Chris now that her other option had been exhausted. "Chris!" she called, not surprised when she got no response. "Chris, Wyatt already left, so could you…" She pushed open his door without knocking this time, figuring yelling his name had been enough of a warning—but the room was altogether empty. It was dark and Chris was nowhere to be found. Apparently he had left earlier than anticipated.

He must've finished his stuff quicker than he thought he would, Prue told herself as she returned to her own bedroom to find her coat. She slipped into it and headed downstairs, hesitating only briefly at the front door. The walk spanned only a few blocks, of course, but the evening was rather chilly, and she never felt comfortable walking in the dark.

When Chris orbed into Jake's room, it was empty. Clothes had been left strewn across the floor in a mess that would have given his own mother conniptions. His thoughts automatically jumped to pawn this on Jake's mom as yet another display of her glaring inadequacy, but as vile a creature as she happened to be, Chris knew he couldn't fault her for a bedroom in disarray. His Aunt Paige's house looked about the same on any given day. Besides, even with a perfectly competent and obsessively organized mother, Chris's own room often got out of hand. She's done plenty wrong, he forced himself to realize, but you can't blame her for things she didn't actually do.

He heard the light pitter-patter of footsteps in the hall that got louder as they grew closer, and then the door opened. Jake stood with his shoes in one hand, other hand on the doorknob. He stopped when he saw Chris, somewhat taken aback, but then continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "Oh," he said, "hi," and then walked around Chris to dump his sneakers beside his bed.

"Why'd you have your sneakers off?" Chris wondered, backing up so he could sit on Jake's unmade bed as the boy circled the room, picking up the pajamas he'd discarded on the floor earlier that morning.

"Thought Mommy was sleeping," the boy responded. "Didn't wanna wake her." After a few minutes of silence (during which Chris had to clench his teeth to refrain from restarting the conversation himself), Jake paused, hands laden with dirty laundry. Quietly and of his own volition, he added, "She's not. Sleeping, I mean."

Chris forced his tone to remain casual, as before. "Oh?"

Without looking up from the clothes in his arms, the boy shook his head. "No." He kicked open the hamper with his knee and began to stuff the clothes inside. "She left me a note on the table. She went to ask for a job."

Jake still wouldn't look up, which gave Chris pause to ponder the care with which his charge spoke. Whatever the importance or insignificance of this news, Jake wanted him to know—so Chris paid attention. "You mean, like an interview?" he asked.

"Dunno. That's just what she said in her note." As long as he didn't look up, he didn't actually have to admit he was talking to someone. Instead, he kept his eyes on the clothes bulging out of his hamper. Generally they remained there until laundry day, the last day of every month, but September thirtieth Mommy'd forgotten. It had been a long month. So now his hamper was overflowing, and how could he keep stuffing it for another nine days when already the lid wouldn't close—?

Suddenly, his angel was beside him, waiting for him to look up. With an inward sigh, Jake stopped his futile effort and finally acknowledged his angel's presence. Chris was grinning—in that way that made Jake really nervous, like he was about to break the rules and, from the looks of it, get Jake in trouble with him. Fidgeting, Jake stared at him.

"My mom used to have a rule that when my hamper got full, I had to carry it all the way down to the washing machine." Jake's eyes grew wide with surprise. His angel had a mom, too, just like he did. Was Chris's mom an angel, like him? Or perhaps were angels all G-d's children, and Chris's mother was G-d's wife? "You know what me and my brother used to do to make the dirty clothes stay down?"

A brother? How many angels lived up there in Heaven? If they were all really G-d's children, how many brothers and sisters did Chris have?

In wonderment, Jake shook his head.

"I can show you," Chris offered.

"Okay…"

When Chris stepped closer and extended his hands, Jake jumped back in surprise. The grin on Chris's face shrank, and Jake immediately felt guilty—but he couldn't bring himself to apologize. Lowering his head, he instead mumbled, "N-never mind. I don't wanna see…"

"Jake." The boy blushed. "Hey, Jake, look at me." When he did so, glancing out through the spaces between his bangs, Chris forced himself to smile. "Do I look mad?" No response was forthcoming. "Hey, do I?" A shrug. After a moment of uncomfortable quiet, Chris said, "You know… there is a way I can show you without… you know." He motioned lifting something, and Jake watched his hands with caution.

Curiosity getting the better of him, the boy eventually squeaked, "How?"

"You have to hold very still," Chris instructed. "D'you think you can do that?"

Eagerly, Jake nodded. He felt a lot calmer when, rubbing his hands together, Chris took two steps back. Holding his breath, Jake kept as still as he could, trying to imagine himself in the most dangerous position in the world, where one movement could mean his gruesome demise—a vicious dog, teeth bared and glittering, circling him, sniffing out its prey; standing at the edge of a volcano they'd just learned about in school, red-and-orange lava bubbling only feet below, ready to explode; hiding under the slide all recess to avoid Dustin's meaty fingers; his mother's voice behind the door, scr—

"Okay, open your eyes," Chris instructed, because, without intending to, Jake had shut them. He debated opening them one at a time but, after a split-second decision, threw them both open at once. Chris was standing only a foot away, hands outstretched but making no move to touch his charge. His arms trembled slightly. And then Jake realized—his feet weren't touching the ground!

"I'm… flying," he whispered in awe. He wanted to flap his arms to see if he could direct himself but remembered at the last second Chris's instruction to stay still. He stopped himself just in time but ended up wobbling a bit as a result.

"Whoa there," Chris said, voice straining with exertion. "Time to put you down."

Jake didn't want to go back to the floor, not ever. He wanted to go higher and higher until he couldn't see his house anymore, and he wanted to never come back down again—but he was already being lowered to the hamper, still overstuffed with clothes. How oddly… normal.

"This is what me and my brother would do," Chris said, and then suddenly Jake was sitting on top of a pile of dirty laundry. With his added weight, the pile sank down. When Chris prompted, "Try jumping," the pile shrank even more, so much so that, once Jake hopped off, the hamper could close. Only the cover, slightly raised, gave any indication of the amount of clothes stuffed within.

When Jake looked up, he was grinning from ear to ear. Chris smiled back.

At length, he said, "So. It sounds like your mom's not coming home for dinner, so what about if I take you to get something to eat?"

Jake stood blinking for a moment, bewildered. "You mean like… a restaurant?"

"Nothing fancy," Chris said, "just pizza or something. What d'you say?"

"Uh, well… Mommy could come home while we were away and…"

"Not if she's getting interviewed," Chris pointed out. "Come on, kiddo. We'll be back before your mom gets in. Let's get you something to eat. Do you like pizza?"

"Yeah," Jake admitted, softly, as though his admission betrayed his mother somehow.

"Well, come on, then." Chris headed toward the door, saying, "I know just the place." As soon as he got to the front door, Jake trailing after him with reluctant steps, he stopped. "Hang on, it'll be faster if we orb."

"If we what?" Jake echoed.

"Orb," Chris said, and then explained, "That's how angels get from place to place."

"You mean the blue lights?"

"Exactly. That'll be faster. It'll make sure we get back in time. But… I have to be touching you to take you along with me."

"Oh." Jake seemed to ponder that for a moment, eyes moving from Chris's face to his hand and then back to his face. Very slowly, he said, "O-kay. I guess."

Chris tried to swallow his grin. To cover it, he quickly promised, "I'll only hold your hand, if you want." Jake nodded at this, blessed his angel with a grateful smile, and dipped his hand into the outstretched one offered to him. They were gone in a swirl of blue before Jake knew what happened.

Chris returned home a couple of hours later, his grin almost drunk with satisfaction. His parents were sitting together in the living room, Piper having arrived home only half an hour before her son. They spoke in murmurs, leaning close to one another with quiet solemnity, something Chris's curiosity normally would have flagged. This time, distracted, he almost didn't even see them sitting there. When he passed the living room, Piper looked up. Her own expression softened when confronted with the obvious satisfaction reflected on her son's face.

"What's put you in such a good mood?" she wondered.

"Nothin'. Just in a good mood."

Leo piped up, "How was it with your charge tonight?"

"It was fine. Just went out for some pizza, that's all. Nothing too special." Despite the casualty forced into his tone, his father knew to appreciate the small step Chris had achieved. He broke into a grin.

"Chris, that's excellent! I'm so glad you seem to be getting somewhere with him. I knew you wouldn't have a problem forging a connection."

Chris's eyes lit up, eager to share his excitement with someone who seemed to understand the significance of this simple milestone. "Yeah, I know. I totally didn't think today would be any different. I don't know what it was, even. We were just hanging out and whatever and he just—yeah, I don't know what changed."

"He's coming to recognize that you're willing to give him the time he needs, that you aren't going anywhere." Leo patted his son's arm.

"Yeah," Chris murmured as he glided past them; then, with more confidence, "Yeah. Thanks, Dad." A moment later they heard his footsteps thumping up the stairs.

With a sigh, Piper turned back to her husband. "Why does he talk to you about his charge but he won't tell me a thing?"

"Piper…"

"No," she interrupted, "don't tell me I'm imagining it because I'm not. You know all about this Jake boy. You get to share in Chris's achievements while I sit here completely in the dark. Why won't he talk to me?"

"Because you're his mother," Leo reasoned.

"And you're his father," she grumpily returned. "What's that got to do with it?"

"But I'm also a former whitelighter. If I were just 'Dad,' he probably wouldn't tell me either. Besides," he continued when Piper opened her mouth to argue, "let's not get sidetracked. We can only worry about one kid at a time."

Piper closed her mouth. At length, she acknowledged, "Right. Prue." After a brief pause, she murmured, "So what do we do?"

"I could try talking to her," her husband offered.

"No, no. She wouldn't appreciate that. Paige is right—I need to treat her like an adult." She moved to stand, but Leo pulled her back down beside him on the couch. When she looked up at him, bewildered, he said, words soft, "You're a great mother, Piper."

Dryly, she remarked, "Tell that to my kids, maybe. I think they forget it sometimes."

When she got up this time, he let her go, and said after her, "So do you," as she headed toward the stairs.

When Prue heard a soft knock on her door, she paused momentarily to calculate. Wyatt didn't knock and Chris never came to her room anyway, which left one of two options, both of which likely meant she was in for it. Snapping her diary shut and tucking it under her pillow, she called, "Come in." Her mother's face peered past the door.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said, smiling.

"Look," Prue began before her mother could utter a word, "Morgan really did invite me for dinner, and I meant to ask you about it. I just forgot, that's all."

Piper blinked for a moment just to make sure Prue had finished, and then replied, "Huh?"

"You… Didn't Dad tell you? I mean, isn't that why you came up to talk to me?"

"No, sweetheart, not at all. I hope her mom served something good, though. I'm glad you got to spend some time there. Morgan seems like a really sweet girl."

Prue said nothing, opting for silence so she wouldn't miss the catch when it came. No mention of unfinished homework or of lying to her dad—what was going on here?

When Piper realized Prue didn't plan to respond, she forced the discussion forward. "Actually, I came up here to talk about what happened the other day… With your dreams, that is."

The girl remembered suddenly that she was supposed to be mad at her mother, and promptly switched on a glower. "I don't want to talk about it," she said, her voice brittle.

"I know, I know," Piper said quickly. "What I wanted to say really is that I'm sorry for how I've been treating you since then." Prue stood frozen before her mother, who had shuffled forward to sit on the unmade bed. The girl's hands remained in fists at her sides, white-knuckled; her teeth clenched; eyes like stone. Piper continued, "I didn't know what to do to help. I was worried about you. I wish you'd tell me what you saw so I could understand what you're going through—but that's your choice to make. Until you make it, I need to treat you like the adult you are. I'm sorry I wasn't doing that. It's just that I love you and I didn't want anything to happen to you."

"That's no excuse," Prue snapped, latching onto the only statement that allowed her to cling to her ebbing anger. Even with that, the intensity of emotion continued to bleed out of her. She tried to retrieve it, but all she really wanted by this point was to forget about the brick wall she had wedged between herself and her mommy.

"You're right, it isn't," Piper agreed. She stood up then. Prue thought that if her mom tried to hug her now, she probably wouldn't resist—but she couldn't bring herself to initiate one and Piper was moving toward the door. Piper said, "I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do. I just want you to know that if you want to talk—about anything, not just this—I'd love to hear." She left Prue alone with weighted words, tumultuous thoughts, and her own heavy breaths.

Later that night, though, after Prue had spent an hour in bed, unable to sleep, her resolve finally crumbled. Pillow wet with frustrated tears, the twelve-year-old slipped out from under her blanket, padded across the hall, and crawled into her mother's bed.

"Mommy?" she whispered. Piper rolled over to face the voice. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, waiting for her daughter to make the first move.

After a moment's hesitation, Prue finally found her voice. In a whisper, she told her mother, "Morgan's mom bought dessert from Pathmark."

Author's Note: Chapter twelve, nine months in waiting. Many apologies to whoever might still be reading. I have been away from internet for - you guessed it (or maybe you didn't) - nine months. Been studying abroad for a year, and the school I'm in doesn't provide or allow internet access, except under certain circumstances and at specific times. Those circumstances do not happen to include updating a story you've been working on for the last few years. I've been working diligently to further this story to update for when I get back. I happen to be on a short vacation, back home for a few days. I was determined to update at least one chapter while here. I'm going back in a few days, and I'll be there until summer - so apologies in advance for the next five and a half to six weeks. However, you'll be pleased to know that, since I have been working on BLD in the meantime, when I get back updating will (hopefully) be a cinch!

Miss you guys very much, and I'm sorry to those of you who gave up on waiting. It's unfortunate, though understandable.

Looking forward to "seeing" you guys in six weeks' time! In the meantime, stay safe, stay happy, and be well.

P.S. A quote I didn't end up using for the chapter but find so beautiful that I can't deny my remaining audience the poetry of its words: "A sudden silence... reveals how dearly we must pay for the invention of speech." - Emile M. Cioran. It'll mean its own thing to each person and certainly won't mean for you what it does for me, but I wanted to share it nonetheless. So here it is, shared. Viola. Interpret it as it pleases you.