for klutzy_girl

1.

"Maybe this is a stupid question," Phoebe says, "but hey, I'm gonna ask anyway. How are you?"

"Well, my husband just left me," Piper says, stirring the chowder with great concentration. "So all in all, I've had better weeks."

"Right." Phoebe visibly winces. "And...with Chris?"

"What about him?"

"You know, him...being here. How are you, you know...handling that?" Phoebe trails off curiously, leaning the entire upper half of her body over the kitchen counter, which is what she's always done when trying to approach something sensitive. Like if she widens her eyes and makes herself look shorter nobody will get mad at her for being blunt.

"Well I'm not especially thrilled that out of all the Whitelighters in the world they gave us the neurotic, homeless one from the future, but what are ya gonna do," Piper says, and plunks down a bowl. "Here, eat some of this. I made way too much."

Phoebe's blinking at her, mouth turned down at the corners like she's concerned. "Piper," she says, "you - don't tell me you don't know."

"Know what?"

"You know." Phoebe bobbles her head back and forth. "About Chris."

"Know what about Chris," Piper says, feeling the spike of an oncoming migraine.

"That he's - oh. Oh no." Phoebe claps one hand over her mouth. "You really don't know."

"Know what?!"

"Hey guys!" Paige skips into the kitchen. "Ooh, chowder. Ooh, it's corn chowder. Should we invite our new nephew? I overheard him saying he hasn't eaten anything a hot meal since he was like, ten, which is just ridiculous. I mean, I know we're probably all dead there, but does the future not have In 'n Out, at least?!"

Piper's jaw drops. "Did you just say…nephew?"

Paige freezes, looking over at Phoebe, who has her head buried in her hands. "No way, you didn't know? Pheebs, she didn't know?!"

"Obviously I don't fucking know!" Piper says, dropping her spoon with a clatter. Her chest feels tight.

"Piper," Phoebe says, "don't - don't freak out, honey. Just - deep breaths - "

"Don't tell me not to freak out! Don't make that face either, you know I hate it - !"

"I totally thought everybody knew by now," Paige says, panicky, "Leo was all torn up about it so I just assumed - "

"Leo knew?!" A glass vase on the top of the cupboard behind Piper's head shatters, the shards embedding themselves neatly in the ceiling.

Phoebe practically sprints around the counter to rub Piper's arms. "Honey, oh honey - "

"Stop it!" Piper shakes her off, pointing one finger in her face, so close she's practically poking her nose. "How do you know this?! How - how - "

"I had a vision," Phoebe says quickly, "and um, Leo - uh, how shall we say…confronted Chris, and - "

"More like they beat each other up," Paige mutters.

"Anyway," Phoebe says quickly, "they worked it out, um, sort of, and - honey, we really thought you knew, that that was why you were so, er, weird around him earlier - "

"My - my - " Piper can't seem to make herself say the word. "He's my - "

"Deep breaths," Phoebe says, tentatively touching Piper's shoulders again. Piper allows it this time, mostly because she's somewhat hyperventilating. "Ohhh my. Paige, grab that chair - "

"Here." Paige orbs it over with a wave of her hand. "Should she drink some water? I read somewhere that's what you do when someone's having a panic attack."

"No, she should splash it on her face. That's what Grams always did when she'd get like this, nothing else - "

"Would you both stop talking about me like I'm not sitting right fucking here," Piper says, through gritted teeth. She kicks the chair away from her with one angry foot.

"Cursing," Phoebe says dryly. "Twice in one conversation - you really are freaking out, huh?"

"I didn't know," Piper says, pacing, rubbing her face. "I - I didn't - "

"I think it's cool!" Paige says brightly, a determined grin on her face. "I mean, not so cool that he's from a terrible, apocalyptic future, but...he came back to stop it, and that's cool. He's like John Connor, Piper! Which makes you Sarah Connor, and that's totally badass."

"Okay, first of all," Piper says, whirling around, "I am no Sarah Connor, okay? My family is not fated, my children do not have destinies - in fact, they're the very opposite of destined, considering who their parents are! And also,John Connor never time travelled, okay? He stayed in the future where he belonged."

"Uh, Piper," Phoebe says, with the tone of someone who's just had an unpleasant revelation, "did you just admit to marrying our whitelighter because you were being contrary?"

"No! What?! No!"

"Might I also point out that you just said 'children'?" Paige says. "As in...plural?"

"I - " Piper stops mid-pace, her heart and her head both throbbing painfully. "He's…"

"He looks exactly like Dad," Phoebe says softly, wistfully. "You remember that picture Mom had of him when he was really young? The two of them at the art museum? It hung in the foyer for years. That's the very first thing I thought of when I first saw him, when he orbed into the attic. He could be his twin."

"Oh God," Piper says faintly, reaching out. Paige and Phoebe are there in a second, guiding her into the waiting chair. "Oh, oh…God."

"It's okay, honey, it's okay," Phoebe says mindlessly, rubbing her shoulders. Paige squeezes her other hand, sinking to her knees next to her on the floor, smiling encouragingly. "It's gonna be okay. Just breathe."

"He's mine," Piper says, "he's...he's mine? He's my…"

The familiar chime of orbs breaks up the rest of her half-hearted sentence, and the three of them look up to the young man in question, who is already frowning, already halfway into an argument that hasn't started yet. "We have a problem," he announces, and oh God, the way he sticks out his chin, his little gestures as he takes in his surroundings - that's Prue, he looks like Prue, when she astral projected.

Oh God.

"Chris," Paige says, sort of neutrally, like she's not sure how she should be reacting.

Chris takes in the scene, frowning severely. I don't look like that, Piper thinks. Do I look like that? Oh God. "Is now a bad time?"

"Uh," Phoebe says, looking nervously at Piper.

"Wait, did you just tell her?" Chris asks. "Did she just find out? You told me she knew already!"

"Well, we might have assumed one or two things," Paige says delicately.

"Jesus Christ, we don't have time for this," Chris says impatiently. "Do you know who I just ran into? Adramalech. The Adramalech, just waltzing around the Underworld like it's no big deal! Do you have any idea what that means - "

"Who the heck is Andormalesh?" Paige asks, at the same time Phoebe snaps, "what were you doing in the Underworld by yourself?"

"Adramalech is a Sumerian fire demon who was instrumental in the spell that eventually compromised the Book of Shadows enough to null the protections against corruption on it in my timeline, which I told you already, which is what I'm here to fix, Phoebe - "

"Everyone shut up!" Piper explodes. "Just - shut up. Especially you," she points at Chris. "You, just...shut up for just a minute."

Miraculously, Chris does, and Piper just looks at him for a minute, taking in his face, the defensive set of his shoulders, his familiar/unfamiliar frown, the trademark Halliwell grump that really should have clued her in. To his credit, he doesn't flinch or look away - he just stands there, looking impatient, waiting for her to be done. Waiting for her to get it.

"You're my son," she says, clearly. "You're my boy, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he says, like it's no big deal.

"Okay," Piper says, taking a deep breath. Nodding to herself, fixing it in her head. "Okay."

"Okay." Chris is tapping his knuckles against the edge of the counter, but not nervously, more like he wants to be doing something else with his hands instead. Does he smoke, Piper wonders. Does he...do something else, that would be the future-equivalent of smoking? Would he tell her the truth, if she asked?

A grown man, standing in her kitchen, that another version of her body gave birth to. Piper's heart feels like it's rebooting, starting back up again with an entirely fresh set of rules and worries and aches.

"Andramalet," Paige says, always ready to break a silence.

"Adramalech," Chris corrects, sharp in the way that Prue and Grams used to be: impatient with error, too focused to care about tone.

"Right, that's what I said," Paige says. "Is he vanquishable, is there a spell in the book?"

"No," Chris says, "but I wrote one that should work. We'll need a potion, though - Piper?" Piper doesn't react, still feeling woozy enough that she's focusing on breathing normally and also, not bursting into hysterical tears. "Piper."

Piper blinks. "Huh?"

"I hope you don't expect me to call you 'Mom,'" Chris says, but not cruelly: crisply, efficiently.

"No," Piper says faintly, "no, I imagine that you...had one."

"Yes, I did," Chris says, betraying nothing at all in his face, his voice, his hands, anything. A grown man, indeed.

"I can make a vanquishing potion," Piper says quietly. Phoebe reaches down and gently, subtly, squeezes her shoulder. Piper doesn't react, and neither does Chris.

"Well," he says, "good." He knocks his hand against the counter again, louder this time, like he's just won an argument. "Let's get to work."

2.

"I don't understand," Grams keeps saying, shaking her translucent head over and over, "one boy, I can chalk up to genetics, but two - "

"I want to talk to Prue," Piper says, again. This is maybe the millionth time she's said that sentence, in the three years since her death. Three years of summonings, three years of neither of you are ready yet, my darlings, three years of empty, quiet, silent, nothingness.

As is usual for her at this point, Grams ignores the question. "Are you sure we can...trust him, Piper? I mean, no offense, but if I just believed every random stranger who waltzed up to me on the street, telling me they were my long lost son, you'd have grown up with half a dozen more siblings, at least!"

"Grams, for the last time, I've read your diaries, and you weren't that wild in the 60s," Piper says.

"Oh, hush," Grams says. "Let a dead old lady keep her ego, for Goddess's sake."

Piper sighs. "I want," she says slowly, over-enunciating each syllable, "to talk to Prue."

Grams links her hands and lets them fall, tilting her head in sympathy. The trademark I'm sorry, but you can't go to that party. No, I can't give you a real reason, I'm just going to insist that it's for your own good, look. In retrospect, a lot more of Piper's childhood makes sense, now that she knows the reason behind Grams's intense hatred of Christians. "Piper, you know you can't."

"I know you say I can't, and your reasoning is that I haven't accepted her death, which is the same reason you've given me for three goddamn years," Piper says angrily. "But explain to me how I haven't accepted it. Explain to me how I haven't moved on. I have a son, I have Paige. I have a tactful antique dealer who donated her furniture and her cameras to charity. I have a grown son from the future, who tells me he talked to her ghost all the time when he was growing up. So tell me, to my face, no bullshit, why you're telling me no. The real reason."

Grams frowns, looking pained. "Piper, you know that I would never lie to you - "

"Oh, please," Piper says.

"Well, unless I had a very, very good reason," Grams says quickly. "Or," she pauses, and rolls her eyes to the ceiling significantly, "perhaps, several very…influential reasons."

"Well, your reasons are dead now too," Piper says. "So, time to fess up."

"Not all of them," Grams says, ominously. "Listen, my darling. Piper. My beautiful, high strung violin." She reaches out a ghostly hand, just barely brushing it along the air next to Piper's cheek. "Who do you think you're talking to right now? Think about it honestly."

A chill settles over the room, sinking deep into Piper's bones. The hair on her arms stands straight up. "What the hell does that mean," she says, flatly.

"I mean, death is not just a trip to another dimension," Grams says, taking her hand back. "Now, you know that I'm your Grams. You can feel it, can't you? You felt it the first time you summoned me - the part of your heart where your magic lives could tell. But you can't tell how long it's been for me, can you? You can't tell where I go when I'm not here. And I couldn't tell you, either. I wouldn't even know how to describe it."

Piper crosses her arms across her chest, feeling suddenly cold. "I - I assumed it was...heaven. Or the...witch version of it."

"Well, that's one word for it. But it certainly isn't just...sitting around on clouds, drinking cocktails with Frank Sinatra. That sweet piece of fiction came courtesy of…you know who," Grams says. She shakes her head briskly. "Like I said - I couldn't describe it. It's not even a place, it's...a concept. An idea. It's unknowable, being dead. I don't know how to...explain to you what I am. I'm your Grams, and I always will be, but I'm also...more, when I'm not here."

Piper has a terrible thought, suddenly, that freezes her in place: "are we hurting you, making it worse, when we summon you? Grams, are you - "

"No! No, no, no, perish the thought. Of course not." Grams reaches out again, palms outward, like she's warding off the thought. "I'm much more...connected to my mortal life, when you summon me. I remember things that I don't, usually, and feel things…well, anyway. Of course you're not hurting me - I love you to pieces, my dear. All of you. I would never, ever want to stop seeing you."

"What does that mean?" PIper asks, aching to know. "What did you mean, did I know who I'm talking to? Are you...someone else, too, is that what you're saying?"

Grams is quiet for a very long moment, and for the very first time in Piper's memory, she actually does look like a ghost: ethereal, flimsy, otherworldly. Even her dress seems to take on character, flowing gently around her ankles in an unseen wind.

"There are many mysteries that you would not wish to know the answers to, my dear Piper," she finally says. "I only meant to remind you, if only for a moment, of the gravity of what you've been asking of me. The gravity of our situation, here. How lucky we are, out of all those who have loved and lost each other to death, and must simply live with it."

Piper finds herself feeling small and shamed, like a child who's been scolded. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful," she snaps, defensively, but Grams is already smiling, waving it away.

"Just a reminder," she says. "Don't dwell on it, my darling."

"So what does that mean for Prue?" Piper asks, and finally gathers the courage to ask what she's been wondering, obsessively, for these past three years of questions and grieving and no answers whatsoever: "you appeared to us for the first time not even a year after your death. And you were...helping us before that, even. Directing us to spells in the book. Why is Prue different?" Piper demands, feeling her composure break, as it always does, when it comes to Prue. "Why can I summon you and Mom, but not her?"

"Piper," Grams says, infinitely gentle.

"She knows my son. Knew - will know my son. Sons. Both my sons," Piper says, stuttering over it still, "Chris, he - he talks about her like he knows her better than he knew me. He calls her 'Aunt Prue,' it's the only time I've actually seen him smile. Is that why?" Piper clasps her hands together, pressing them tight beneath her chin. "Is that why she won't see me? She knows...she knows what's going to happen. Or...she remembers, somehow - time must be different, for you, right? She doesn't want to see me because she knows how I die. She knows all my mistakes, she knows why he can't even look at me - "

"Piper, Piper," Grams says, holding up her hands again. "If there's one thing I can tell you with all the certainty in the world, it's that your sister loves you fiercely. Never ever think that this is a choice she makes easily."

"So it is a choice." Piper feels a bit lightheaded, to have it finally confirmed. "It is her choice."

Grams just looks sad. "As I said," she murmurs, "death is unknowable, Piper."

Piper buries her face in her hands and tries to breathe.

"To be truthful," Grams says, taking a steadying breath, "Prue is as unreachable to me as she is to you. In the beginning, it was different, I had thought that she might...be like Patty and I. More present. But…" she trails off, gaze far away. "I don't have answers for you, my dear. I wish I did."

Piper takes another minute, holding her face in her hands and shaking, before pushing it down. Push it down, deal with it later: the story of her life. "Well," she says, wiping her eyes roughly. "Me too."

Grams doesn't reply, her face creased in pain and sympathy. Piper wishes she were mean enough, spiteful enough to throw something at her. Just lob a book right through her beautiful, all-knowing, transparent head.

"Thanks for coming," she says instead. "I - yeah. Thanks."

"Anytime, my darling." Grams seems to hold her tongue, for once, visibly biting back something else. "Until next time?"

Piper shrugs, feeling like a sullen teenager, and Grams sighs once more, sadly, and disappears in a cyclone of pale light.

She stands there for a long, long time, just thinking about Prue when she was a kid: stubborn, outspoken, extremely proud of herself. One time, she caught pneumonia, and tried to hide it from them. Just coughed and hacked by herself in her room, trying to beat the sickness out of sheer determination. It was Roger - of all people, fucking Roger - Piper hasn't thought about that guy in years - that clued them in. The same way that Piper had been clued in about Chris, actually: he'd called the house one night to check on Prue, assuming they all already knew.

Grams was snappish and hurt for weeks afterward. Prue acted like she hadn't done anything wrong at all. Which - maybe she hadn't.

Is she entitled to Prue's secrets any more now, than when she was alive? Or is it her time? Her presence, her attention? Piper always had it, for years, much moreso than Phoebe did. It's why she and Prue didn't get along - deep down, all Pheebs ever wanted was attention and care. Once she got it, everything was fine. Is it selfish of her now, to want it back? Now, that Prue is…more?

Whatever, Piper thinks, irritated with herself. Jealous of her own grown-kid-from-the-future: a very bad look.

The candles always blow out when Grams leaves, but Piper checks them on her way out, anyway. Always the responsible middle child, even now - she really can't help herself.

3.

"I don't hate Leo," Chris says irritably. Not even a full minute in and already pissed off: he really is a Halliwell. "I just don't find him useful or relevant for our current task."

"'Hate' is maybe a strong word," Piper says, while thinking, somewhat incredulously: useful or relevant?!

"If you want to yell at him for not telling you about me before he left, call him on your own," Chris says.

Piper huffs her way down into an armchair, watching carefully for a reaction. There's none, of course. "I'm not asking you to tell me any sensitive details about the future, but if you would just clue me in on the history there, maybe - "

"There's no history," Chris says, nose buried in the Book of Shadows.

"You literally just - strong armed him out of my life," Piper says. "Before you were conceived, I might add. Unless I'm really missing something."

Chris pauses, mid page turn.

"Didn't think I put that together yet, huh," Piper says dryly. "It concerns me, either way. Whether you're...I don't know, just generally resentful of his presence, or maybe you're suicidal in the 'preventing your own birth' sort of way - either option is a big no-no for me. Or," Piper tilts her chin, "if he turns evil, I don't wanna know. For real. I'm drawing that line right now."

Chris's hands tighten dangerously on the Book. "He doesn't turn evil." He sounds extremely neutral again, a dead tone of non-emotion. Piper eyes his shoulders though, which are clearly his tell: a straight line of tension.

"Oh." Piper blows a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. "Well. That's something."

Chris turns back to his reading, face dark.

"I notice you didn't react to my other presented options," Piper says leadingly, but he doesn't reply. "Well," she says finally, clapping her hands. "This is a great talk. Feeling good about it."

"I thought we agreed we weren't going to try and…" Chris swallows, looking vaguely nauseated. "Bond."

"Who's bonding? Definitely not us. Listen," Piper sits forward, elbows on her knees, trying to emulate the Spirit of Prue, like she always does when faced with something that seems insurmountable. "I know something bad happened to me. In the future, I mean. You don't have to say it - in fact, please don't - " Chris looks up sharply, brow furrowed, but Piper waves him back firmly, "don't treat me like I'm an idiot. I'm not trying to be your mom - I know I'm not."

"You are," Chris says quietly, "but you're not. At the same time. It's…" he grimaces, "a weird feeling for me. Generally speaking."

"No kidding," Piper says dryly. "But you know what? What you can't do is manipulate our lives because of your personal issues - whatever they are! - and then act like it's for our own good. That's ridiculous, and I'm really working my way up to resenting it."

"My personal issues had nothing to do with installing Leo as an Elder," Chris snaps. "Do you have any idea how long we planned for this? The amount of study and thought and scrying and whatever the hell else we could find to try and pin down a sequence of events that wouldn't end in disaster? And for that matter, what makes you think this is the first attempt?" He slams the Book shut, which makes Piper wince. "I'm not saying I didn't rub it in his face a little, but trust me, this was the best option. I'm following a playbook here, Piper. I'm not just fucking around on my own."

"A precision attack?" Piper says, trying to process and come up with something to say all the same time. "Wait - this isn't your first time in the past? But I don't - "

"Remember? No, you wouldn't," Chris says sharply. "That's not always how it works. The spells in the Book are clumsy - you know that. There are other ways." He smirks, but it's not nice, not a fun smirk or a happy smirk. It's bitter, and it makes Piper's pulse stutter. "There is much more to magic than what's contained in the Halliwell Book of Shadows, Piper. You should know that by now."

Piper can't even begin to think of how to approach that. "You've tried before?" she asks. "You, personally? How many times?"

"It doesn't matter," Chris says.

"It matters to me," Piper replies, laying it bare in her voice.

Finally, a reaction: he blinks a little, crossing his arms defensively. Piper desperately, painfully wants to touch his hand. Just to touch him at all, would be enough: she's not foolish enough to hope for a hug.

"How many times would you try?" he asks. "If you'd had the tools at your disposal - how many times would you have tried to fix it?"

It doesn't matter that he doesn't specify, it doesn't matter that he could mean any number of things. Any number of people that she's lost. "A thousand," Piper says. "A million. I'd never, ever stop."

He shrugs, like, there you go.

"That's kind of what bothers me," she says. "Are you…"

"Crazy?" He laughs. "Not yet. Check back in after a few months, maybe."

Piper sighs, retreating a little. They sit in silence for a long moment, until the baby monitor on the coffee table starts to echo with the staticky sounds of a cranky baby, slowly working his way up to a tantrum: Wyatt's awake.

"We're not done here," Piper says tiredly, using the arms of the chair to push herself up. She feels older than she's ever been: what a concept. "Not that I expect you to actually cooperate at all, but just a fair warning. If you thought your version of me was stubborn…"

Chris shakes his head once, sharply. "And she taught me everything she knew," he says. "Consider that."

Piper does, and it's honestly very terrifying. "Well then, we're in for it, aren't we?"

Wyatt's definitely crying now, and Piper doesn't miss the annoyed grimace that passes across Chris's face. "Your son needs you," he says, turning back to the Book.

"Tell me about it," Piper mutters, turning away.

4.

"I think he's married," Paige confesses.

At this point, Piper is somewhat immune to the eerie feeling that accompanies these sorts of revelations, so she barely reacts. "Oh?"

"He had a ring on, when he first appeared," Paige says, stirring sugar into her coffee. "He hasn't worn it since."

"Has he said anything?"

"Not specifically, but he keeps saying 'we,' and I get the impression he's not talking about, like, a group of people," Paige says. They're curled together at the end of the kitchen counter, on the barstools that nobody else ever sits in. Really - nobody really hangs out in the kitchen anymore, other than Piper and Paige. Piper wonders sometimes if that was a deliberate thing that Pheebs and Leo did, to give them a space that was just their own.

"There's an intimacy in how he says it," Piper says, "yeah. I know what you mean."

"Can you imagine?" Paige murmurs. "Sending your husband away on something like this…"

Piper shakes her head, covering her mouth with two fingers. "No."

"I'm sorry. Am I making it worse? I'm really trying not to make it worse."

"No, you're not making it worse." Piper laughs a little. "It's just - the way you said 'husband' just now, it's…"

"Sorry," Paige says, again. Piper shakes her head, nudging her shoulder. "He is old enough to be a husband. He told Phoebe he was twenty-six, which - sure, he's probably lying. But he can't be much younger than that."

"That's still young. Twenty-six is young, still."

"Not that young. People marry much younger than that. And we have no idea what his world is like…" Paige trails off, sipping thoughtfully. "I almost got married when I was nineteen. Did I ever tell you?"

"No, but it doesn't surprise me," Piper teases gently.

"He was a total jerkwad. I dodged a bullet," Paige says wryly. "Messed up about my parents, angry at the world...you know the deal. He had a temper, though. That was one lesson my mom managed to drill into me: never stay with a man who yells at you in public. Or yells at you at all. You know what I mean?"

Piper closes her eyes, moving her hand so that the back of her wrist is touching Paige's. For the millionth time, she wishes fiercely that she could have met Scott and Lisa Matthews.

"I mean, some yelling is okay," Paige says slyly. "The fun yelling."

"You're impossible," Piper says fondly.

"But you love me," Paige says with a grin. "Anyway, I'm just babbling. The ring might've been something else, or I could have imagined it. I was frozen in eternal ice at the time, you may recall."

"No," Piper says slowly. "No, I...I think you're right. I think he has...someone. If they're married, who knows - does it even matter?"

"Maybe marriage doesn't even exist in the future," Paige says. "Maybe they...make babies in labs, or whatever, and have orgies all day."

"I will remind you that this is my future son you're talking about," Piper says.

"I'm not saying he has orgies, I'm just saying maybe they exist," Paige replies.

"Thanks for the clarification," says Piper.

5.

"I know you can hear me," Piper says. She's looking out her window, up at the sky, because it's easier than talking to herself in a mirror. Easier than looking herself in the eye. "You're a bastard. You know that?"

The silence that follows feels heavy with guilt. Or maybe she's just projecting.

"Let's see, where to start: you didn't tell me," Piper starts. "You left me - that's a big one. A real big one. You left without telling me. You punched our son - " Piper glares at one star in particular, a twinkly little bastard that seems to be mocking her. "Did you know he was our son, when you punched him? Doesn't matter. You're a bastard for that either way."

She runs her hands through her hair, sighing. She's so tired. Always, always tired.

"These reasons you give me," she says, "the reasons for staying away. I know you mean them. I know you believe them. But you're so full of shit. I've never said that to you before: you know? You're full of shit. My sister is a Whitelighter. My sons. I know it was a choice. It's always a choice."

She's tired, and sick, of feeling sorry for herself. All this evidence, staring her in the face, sitting in her living room giving her attitude, that the problems are never as impossible as they seem. Piper and Leo thought they were the first, until they found out about Sam and Patty. Did Sam and Patty think they were first too? How many thought they were first?

The evil little thought that has festered, ever since they found Sam, rotting in the place their mother died: was it always the Elders, that took them away? Was it really force, or did they just take him aside, speak calmly and convincingly: you'll get over this, Leo. Come to your senses - she's just a mortal.

"He's just a boy," she mutters. "A boy. Our boy! You didn't have to listen to him. You didn't have to - " she swallows. "You should be here. Screw your responsibilities. You should be here."

The star twinkles at her silently, and Piper hates herself for finally saying it out loud. Maybe this is why, she thinks shamefully, maybe this is why they acted like it was the end of the world. Maybe they could see how it would tear her to pieces, trying to make a life with someone who didn't belong to her, not really.

She still hates their guts, though. She knows they're dead now, and that's terrible and everything, but she can't bring herself to feel all that sorry. She just can't. "Let me know," she says. "When you're ready to come back. When you do, you better have a damn good explanation, I'll tell you that."

The star keeps twinkling, and Leo keeps on not answering. You'd think she'd be used to it by now, she thinks with disgust. You'd think.

6.

"It was Chris, standing in a park," Phoebe says gravely. "I think I recognized it, one of the ones downtown, but it looked wrecked. There was a statue that had been smashed, the grass was dead, the sky was overcast…"

"Go on," Piper says.

"Sometimes I'm not sure if these details are real, or symbolic," Phoebe warns her gently. "With visions, sometimes it's not concrete."

"Go on," Piper says.

"Okay. So he was standing in a park," Phoebe continues. "He was covered in blood, but he had no wounds. And he was crying. But not sobbing, just...crying. Standing there, drenched in blood, tears streaming down his face, just...silent grief and pain. You know?"

Piper swallows hard. "And that's how you knew he was my son?"

"No," Phoebe says hesitantly. "I knew because...Wyatt was there. At - at his feet." Phoebe grips Piper's hands so tight her knuckles go white. "He was dead, honey. That's what I Saw."

Piper gasps, leaning her head against the wall, holding onto Phoebe's hand for dear life.

"We don't know that that's what actually happened," Phoebe says quickly, leaning in and smashing her face against Piper's shoulder in a halfway sort of hug. "And even if it was, that's what he came back to fix. Just him being here is enough to change things, you know that…"

What makes you think this is my first attempt, he'd said. Piper shakes her head silently. She can't say it out loud. She could never tell Phoebe that.

"It probably wasn't Wyatt," Phoebe says firmly. "That's what I think. I think it was us, I think after Paige died, everything started to go wrong. I think he came back to save the Charmed Ones, Piper."

"No," Piper says, knowing it in her heart. Chris grew up in a world where the Power of Three was just a memory, an entry in a book. He never knew Paige, but he knows Elders and valkryies by name, and he references spells they've never heard of like it's common knowledge, basic stuff that obviously everybody knows how to do. He writes spells in Latin, Ancient Egyptian, Spanish, and who knows what else - languages Piper's never heard of - and scoffs at their simple "nursery rhyme spells," genuinely taken aback by their simplicity, and he always seems vaguely surprised when they actually work. He doesn't seem to even notice the boundaries that they've always followed religiously: light and dark, good and evil. He'll work with darklighters, warlocks - demons, even, if it'll help him accomplish a goal, and he doesn't seem to even understand why they have such a problem with his methods. He truly just...doesn't see the difference. That's the world he grew up in, and she's not arrogant enough to chalk all of it up to just the absence of her family. The Halliwell Book of Shadows, he'd called it. Like it was just one among many, and not even a very good one, at that. "No, he didn't."

"Well," Phoebe says, still rubbing Piper's arms comfortingly. Piper can't stand that it still works on her, after all these years. She wishes she didn't need Phoebe to lie to her and rub her arms all the time - she might be a better witch, if she didn't. "I'm sure it wasn't Wyatt, Piper. I'm sure of it."

Piper just shakes her head, not wanting to say it, but what she's thinking, she can't help: no wonder he doesn't trust us. We're not even speaking the same language.

7.

Chris drinks: another revelation. Piper finds him in his room at the club, curled up with a bottle of her most expensive whiskey.

"I didn't think you'd mind," Chris says sardonically, clearly knowing that she really does fucking mind. "Want some?"

"No," Piper says firmly, pulling the bottle from his grip. He lets her do it, shrugging. His glass is still mostly full, anyway. "I'm feeling very after school special right now, I have to say. Do we need to have a talk about drinking and driving?"

"I don't know how to drive," Chris says blearily. "I never learned. I just orbed everywhere."

"Well," Piper says, taken aback by the offering, "that's weird."

Chris snorts.

"So," she says delicately, taking a seat next to him on his sad little cot. He'd insisted upon a cot, to the point where she'd been a little concerned. But what doesn't concern her, about this situation, really. "A rough day."

"Listen," Chris says, "I just had to seduce a woman who was spelled to look like my aunt. Let's not beat around the bush here."

"She wasn't really your aunt," Piper offers.

"Do you understand how that spell works? She looked like my aunt, felt like my aunt," Chris pauses to shudder. "Jesus Christ. I'm so fucked up."

"You knew she wasn't," Piper insists, refusing to feel freaked out. "You could see through the spell, convince yourself of the truth. You saved us, Chris."

"Thanks," Chris says dryly, taking another drink.

For once, Piper doesn't know what to say - how to offer comfort. He's right - it is fucked up. But she's also right, in that he saved them. Piper sometimes finds herself frozen in awe at the breadth of his competence: the sheer number of spells he's memorized, the effortless way he wields his powers, his control over his speech, his iron-backed composure. He can fight hand to hand, too - not as good as Phoebe, but good enough that he could handle himself, should he find himself without powers. He's got the mouth of a lawyer, and the confidence of one, too. She recognizes so much of herself, and her family, in him. Leo, too - as much as Chris would deny it. It's like he has all their strongest, most ruthless qualities, skinned down to a bare intensity.

"This is the first time I've seen anything like this actually get to you," Piper marvels out loud. "I was starting to think you were Superman."

"I wish," Chris says. "So you see - I am human, after all. Not a Terminator."

Paige finally fixed her movie metaphor, then, Piper observes with a smile. "Did anyone in my house say such a thing? Tell me who."

Chris just scoffs, shaking his head. It's a somewhat nicer scoff than usual, though. Piper counts it as progress.

"I wonder so many things about you," Piper says. She reaches out and carefully touches his shoulder, which he allows - he tenses up, but he doesn't pull away. More progress, she thinks wryly. "You don't have to say anything, I'm just talking out loud. I know you can't say anything."

"I'm not withholding it for my health," he says defensively, but Piper takes a risk and squeezes his shoulder, which - miraculously - soothes him.

The moment feels precious, made of smoke. Like if she breathed too hard, it would fade away. "I wonder...who you left behind, and if you plan to return to them. I wonder if you're getting enough sleep, and eating enough. I wonder why you refuse to be alone with Wyatt. No, seriously, you don't have to say anything," she says quickly, feeling him tense up so quickly. Like he's turned to stone. "Really, you don't. I'm just making myself feel better."

"I can't say anything," Chris says quietly, intensely. "I can't."

"I know. I know, honey."

They sit there for a moment in silence. All Piper can smell is the whiskey; she wonders how much he's drank. He doesn't seem drunk, but - she wonders if he would come off that way, if he was. Wonders if he ever truly lets himself lose control.

"My mother died when I was young," she says. "You probably knew that. I can summon her and talk to her, sometimes. But not as often as I can talk to Grams. Can't get rid of her, practically." She chuckles, a little darkly. "But I didn't know I was a witch until I was in my 20s. I grew up without her."

"Yeah, I knew that." He takes another drink, and Piper keeps her hand on his shoulder as he lifts the glass to his mouth - mimicking the motion, just to stay close.

"Did Prue tell you all of this? I know it wasn't me." Piper shakes her head. "Maybe it was Phoebe. I already know you never knew Paige, but - you seem so standoffish around Pheebs. Did you not get along with her either? Whatever mysterious grudge you have against Leo - was it the same grudge, for Pheebs?"

Chris doesn't say anything. Not that she'd expected him to.

"Did she tell you she loved you?" Piper says - another risk. "Your mother. Did she tell you enough? Sometimes I feel, when I look at your brother, I feel - " she shakes her head, overwhelmed. "Like it could never be enough. I could give him the entire world on a platter, and it still wouldn't be enough."

Chris snorts, again, and it turns into a laugh. And then again - a stuttered chuckle. Again, and then he starts really laughing, low and deep, his shoulders shaking. Piper holds on, watching in concern as it goes on and on, gets louder and louder, a deeply bitter, hopeless sort of laughing. He sets his glass down, still shuddering, buries his face in his hands - laughter trailing off into nothing but breath. Deep, shaky, painful breaths.

Piper clutches his shoulder and aches to know. Just aches to know the answers.

"She told us every day," he says finally, speaking into his hands. "And no. It wasn't enough."

Piper presses her free hand over her mouth tightly, helpless against the simple devastation of it. How clear and articulate he is, even when in pain. An amazing, terrifying young man - the bravest she's ever met - and he's just barely, but not quite, hers. Isn't that just typical.

Slowly, carefully, she leans her forehead against his shoulder, her heart beating in her throat. She waits for him to tense, pull away, but he doesn't: he just keeps breathing shakily, trembling beneath her touch.

"We'll fix it," she says. "You have a playbook."

"I will fix it," he says. "There's no other option, anymore."

Piper just holds him tighter, and tries to stop wondering. What she knows now will just have to do.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.