Yowza! Sorry for the delay in updating, my life has been kinda crazy these past few months. Thank you so much for all your patience and all the lovely reviews I've been getting, I appreciate it so much. Without your support this story would be nothing. In any case, here is chapter six. Just a reminder that this chapter is based around the Chris in the present with Bianca. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Six: Fighting

The Present;

The Enchanted Forest was just one more blow to the system Chris wasn't really prepared for. As he remembered it, it was far more of an Enchanted Wasteland than it was any kind of mystical forest land, with desecrated bare trunks and dusty hills the only indication that something had once lived there. It had initially been home to many magical creatures – fairies, ogres, nymphs and elves, and after Wyatt's rise to power it had become somewhat of a safe haven for any sentient magical being. Chris had used it himself on occasion, just when he needed somewhere untouchable to stay. Of course, nothing stayed untouched in his brother's ultimate quest for power.

Once it became clear that the Forest was a hideout for many of his greatest adversaries, Wyatt had launched a siege on the realm that left the area scarred forever, every one of its previous residents either dead or seeking refuge elsewhere. Wyatt was clear that he spared none who dared to hide his enemies.

His enemies like Chris.

The Enchanted Forest he found himself materializing in, though, was everything he remembered it to be when he was a young boy. It was stuck in a perpetual everlasting spring, every tree coloured a vivid green with the odd polychromatic blossom balancing delicately on the ends of branches. Flashes and giggles of curious creatures come to survey the human guests tickled his eardrums, and the whole place simply tingled of magic. Peaceful, contented magic, such a strong feeling that he felt like if he reached out and touched a tree he might well end up with a jolt of unadulterated energy prickling through his fingertips.

As it was, it made Chris incredibly uncomfortable. He once again felt like a fish out of water, with a distinctly displaced sense of not-really-belonging, and resolved to find Wyatt and ignore it. He'd orbed to a particular clearing – he wasn't really sure why, but the place had seemed familiar so it seemed logical that maybe if he'd frequented it as a child, then this Chris had done something similar – and he was rewarded by the sight of his brother cheerfully (cheerfully?) chatting to one of the satyrs. It looked small-talk, but there was an element of seriousness underneath it.

Now that he thought about it, everything seemed friendly, but there was certainly a sinister undertone to the eager glances from the eyes of creatures hiding in the trees. Maybe it wasn't just the satyrs worrying about missing nymphs and fairies.

"Ah – here he is," Wyatt waved Chris over to where he was standing, and he headed towards them. "Chris, this is Bjorn. He's the satyr who sent me the message yesterday."

Chris nodded and bowed his head politely, as was a customary greeting for a satyr. Bjorn did the same, and it was at this point he realised that the man's leaf-adorned forehead was creased with unease.

"I wouldn't normally worry," Bjorn assured them after he'd straightened up, his face a mask of vexation. "You know how nymphs are – awfully flighty, and such, and it's not uncommon for them to change satyr from time to time, but the trouble is that nobody has seen them. And they don't often split up their circles of three, you see."

For two nymphs to strike out on their own really was a rarity, but Chris found himself struggling to care – so much had happened to him over the last twelve hours that some temperamental nymphs weren't high on his list of priorities. And if it was something serious, it still didn't feel like his problem. He was dead, wasn't he?

But of course, predominantly he was a good witch, and he'd spent his whole life being a strong force for good; he could hardly give up now that somebody actually needed him. Even if he was in the wrong time dealing with the wrong people and in the wrong body. It was his duty.

"When did you last see them?" He asked the fretting satyr.

"Just a few days ago. I only noticed they were missing after I played my flute and they didn't come."

He pondered this and opened his mouth to ask more, but Wyatt beat him to it. "Where did you last see them?"

The satyr swallowed. "This is the part that worries me the most. Follow me."

No doubt about it, the peaceful facade of the Enchanted Forest had been completely broken by their short exchange – instead of giggles punctuating their every step he heard whispers, hushed voices and worried murmurs. Two Halliwells had come to investigate personally, surely that meant it would get solved soon. Or it was simply a testament to the seriousness of the situation.

It could be nothing, Chris thought. They were operating almost entirely on Wyatt's instinct for sniffing out danger, which he realised he knew virtually nothing about. He didn't know this Wyatt – for all he knew his instincts could actually be way off, pretty poor in reality. Although even as he thought it he knew he didn't really believe it – Wyatt was an overwhelming force, for evil back in his time but for good here. Gideon had been stopped, and he'd spent his whole life fighting so that good could prevail. It'd almost be disrespectful to all Chris had gone through, to make sure he didn't turn, to ignore his brother's instincts now.

Chris could hear the sound of running water and knew they must be approaching some sort of stream, but he was a little too unfamiliar with the area to remember – Wyatt seemed to know exactly where they were going, though.

"Do you remember when Dad took us to the Autumn Spring for the first time?" Wyatt murmured over to him with a grin.

"Yes," he lied.

Wyatt sighed wistfully. "Melinda was dying to go, I remember her being so annoyed that he wouldn't let her."

Chris mulled over this thoughtfully. Who in Elders' name was Melinda?

"It was just next to the Spring that I saw them last," Bjorn's voice floated back to them and they stopped on the outskirts of the water. The surface shimmered with ceruleans and periwinkle blues interweaving, steam lifting from it to show the warmth of the water. Around the outside bloomed flowers of colours he couldn't even describe let alone name, with overhanging trees dipping enchanted vines into the water. A few fairies tittered from their places in the trees and he thought he could smell the unmistakable odour of an ogre nearby, but either way it tingled in the same way the rest of the forest did, of magic. If anything it felt more concentrated though, and he suspected it was a healing spring.

Chris was sure if he dipped a toe in it he would probably feel the same refreshing qualities as he'd once felt at the Summer Spring he'd visited in another part of the Enchanted Forest when on the run from Wyatt. If this was the Autumn one then it was no wonder he'd never seen it before; the Autumn section of the forest had been the first to go.

Curling brown leaves with crispy edges danced across the surface and around their feet, mixed with oranges and yellows and the familiar vibrancies he'd come to associate with the season this area of the forest was attuned to, but he quickly drew his attention away from the crunch underfoot and back to what the Satyr was saying.

"It was there that I saw them last, where I left them dancing. And now..." His bottom lip seemed to quiver and Chris followed his gaze, almost doing a double-take when his eyes reached the destination.

On the other side of the bank there was a significant gap between the scenic surroundings on either side – there was blank space where trees should be, and where bright colours should rest in the form of foliage there was only blackness, as if something had burned right through that tiny section of the forest and damaged no other part.

"We need to get a closer look," Wyatt murmured, and orbed over to the other side of the spring with Chris in tow.

Closer up it almost looked worse. It couldn't be more than two meters in diameter, but it was a perfect circle where everything inside it was white ash and black dust. A charred tree stump sat to one side, but that wasn't what caught their eye. Around the edge of the circle were three red candles, all still lit and flickering slowly. The wax that had been dripping down from their tips was a deep crimson, and rolled down the edge of each candle like a bleeding wound.

"I don't think that's wax," Chris murmured, crouching down to reach out and touch one, but Wyatt slapped his hand away.

He looked aghast. "Don't just touch something unless you know what it is! That's Halliwell rule 101!"

Was it now?

"Right," Chris muttered. How would they know what it was if they didn't touch it? This future was weird. "Got it."

"They have not stopped burning since they disappeared," the satyr called mournfully over to them from the other side of the spring.

Chris rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then what happens when they go out?"

"I'm not sure we want to know," Wyatt muttered grimly. "I think I was right. Something strange is going on here, Chris, and I want to get to the bottom of it." He too sat on his haunches to try and examine the candles a little closer. "I've really never seen anything like it."

Oddly, though, Chris thought he had. He couldn't quite identify it, but the aroma lifting from the candles did stir something within him, like a distant feeling of déjà vu that made him think of wastelands and battles and distant burning cities he'd long since buried in the depths of his memory. It was familiar, but he couldn't for the life of him place where he'd seen it before and he certainly wasn't about to bring up memories that this Chris Halliwell shouldn't even have to try and think it over with Wyatt.

His musings were interrupted by movement in the corner of his eye and he looked around, gaze slamming straight into the furious face of Bianca Phoenix, waving him over from behind a tree a few metres away.

"I think we should split up and look around," Chris piped up over to the other Witchlighter, who nodded.

"Good idea. See you back here in ten – keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary."

He resisted the urge to say how out of the ordinary this whole situation was, and after watching Wyatt move off in the opposite direction he jogged back over to Bianca.

She slapped him on the arm as soon as he was within range. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Chris felt mildly indignant at this. So she was allowed to leave him alone for seven hours, and yet he was the one in the wrong for blending in with this timeline, like she'd wanted him to?

So he ignored her. "How did you even get here?" As far as he was aware, only Whitelighters and magical creatures could get to and from the Enchanted Forest.

"What, you think I'm not friends with other Whitelighters?" She raised a challenging eyebrow, and he found his gaze drawn to just above her right eyebrow – the vein there always pulsed when she was angry and he could see it now, it was always the same with her. It took a sharp internal reprimand for Chris to remember this wasn't his Bianca, though.

"I think you're a little too hostile for friends," he replied icily. "Are we even friends in this timeline, you and me? Wyatt doesn't seem to be your biggest fan."

She rolled her eyes and ignored him. "It took a lot to find you Halliwell, so you better give me an explanation."

"Why is Wyatt so antagonistic to you anyway? And last night you said the sisters hate you too... what did you do?" Chris had faith in very few things, but the one group of people he revered above all others were the sisters. He believed in them and in their instincts, and they'd saved him on countless occasions. Thoughtlessly it was only occurring to him now – he'd allied himself with Bianca, and why? Because he'd once been engaged to a woman who looked similar to her?

He had no idea what she was like in this changed future – and if what his Bianca had been like before she met him was any indication, he could've made a grave mistake.

"It really doesn't matter," she sighed in frustration.

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Doesn't it?"

"I did some really stupid things, okay? Stupid things I regret that they haven't forgiven me for."

"Like what?"

Her eyes hardened. "I don't have to explain myself to you. I'm not dredging up the past for the sake of satisfying your curiosity." It was a look he recognised – a look he'd practiced on the sisters a thousand times in his mission in the past. The look that spoke volumes of a grave secret he was hiding and the mask of hostility to avoid it being discovered. The thing Bianca hadn't realised was just how used Chris was to seeing that look, and it was only a matter of time before he found out whatever she was keeping from him. He was sure of it.

"Fine. Do you have any leads?" About getting him back to where he was supposed to be – wherever that was.

"Just one," she watched him warily as he leaned against a tree, perhaps confused by his sudden backing off, "there's only ever been one case like yours ever spoken about down there. A man trapped in a timeline that wasn't his own. They reversed it by talking to a Seer – a very powerful Seer who lives in one of the ancient parts of the Underworld who sent him back."

"That sounds like crap to me," Chris scoffed. "Demon wives tales."

Bianca threw her hands up. "Well, it's all I've got."

"Where did you hear it?"

She hesitated – just long enough to be noticeable. "From someone I know."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

She eyed him, as if weighing up the pros and cons of letting this piece of information slip. "My employer."

It took him only a few seconds for this information to sink in and his eyes widened, aghast. "Your employer?" He hissed incredulously, "you're pulling a job right now? Trying to murder someone and maybe on the side helping me get back to my own time?" She was like the old Bianca, alright – still living up to her birthright as a Phoenix, an assassin witch. Hired to commit murder to any and all with no prejudice against who to kill, and most dangerously no allegiances to anyone but themselves. Chris had stopped Bianca from being that person after she'd been sent by Wyatt to kill him, and he had convinced her to abort her mission and join the side of good against the warlord after they'd fallen in love. It all seemed very far away now.

Without that war though, it seemed, she'd never had the chance for any of that.

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "A girl's got to eat, Whitelighter. Not all of us had everything handed to us on a gleaming Halliwell platter."

Something burned within him at the accusation, and in seconds he had her slammed up against the tree trunk, his hands gripping the front of her jacket so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

"You're right, not all of us did," he seethed, "want to bitch about how tough it is to live? How about a world where nobody does? How about a world where nobody needs paid assassins because killing is a job everyone does to survive? Where San Francisco burns, and the better life is below ground where demons and good witches alike can't find you?"

A flash of something flickered across her eyes – fear, or compassion, maybe – but it wasn't there long. They hardened and he felt something sharp brush lightly against his abdomen. An athame.

"Let go of me," she murmured, "and nobody gets hurt."

He held her gaze for another tense moment before relenting and releasing her. She slid the blade back into her belt.

"Now," she continued briskly, as if they'd just been discussing the weather, "let's not argue about who had the crappier childhood, alright?" Chris muttered something incomprehensible that she chose to ignore. "I'm going to follow up this lead," he refused to look at her still, "but if it turns out to be a dead end we can talk to the sisters. Happy?"

This caught his attention and he watched her suspiciously. "I thought you said they'd kill you if they knew you were involved?"

She didn't miss a beat. "What's one life against millions?"

That he didn't have an answer to. With a final stare she turned and darted back through the forest, disappearing into the thicket before he could even wonder how she'd be getting back in the first place. Groaning in pent up frustration he kicked one of the trees, earning him a dirty look from a nymph who'd been lurking nearby – that was one of the better things about the Enchanted Forest, though. Spells and enchantments on it made eavesdropping impossible, else he'd probably have a fleet of creatures heading to the manor right at that moment to tell his parents all about what they'd overheard.

He rested his head against the tree one more time, willing flashes of the future he never wanted to return to into the locked away corner of his mind. Whatever he was trying to accomplish here, picking a fight with Bianca (thus far his only ally) certainly wasn't the way to go about it.

"Chris?" He heard the familiar voice of his brother call him back to the clearing and he cast one last lingering look in the direction she had gone before turning and heading back. "Did you find anything?" Wyatt asked on his arrival.

He shook his head mutely. "Not a thing." He hadn't even looked.

"Me neither." A worried frown creased the Witchlighter's forehead again as he knelt back to look at the candles. "It looks like this really was all the perpetrator left behind, assuming there even was one."

Great. Three candles were their only lead. Chris crouched beside his brother and watched another drop of the thick crimson substance dribble down the side. Wyatt sighed and pulled out a small plastic bag from his pocket.

"So now we're allowed to touch the candles?" Chris raised an amused eyebrow.

Wyatt offered him a half-hearted glare. "Now we're allowed to touch the candles."

When Wyatt later suggested that they call it a day and head home, it had taken only a few pregnant moments for Chris to realise that his brother wasn't expecting him to head back to Bianca's as he'd initially (and naively, mind) assumed – Chris' home was the manor, after all. He'd orbed after him to materialize in the lobby trying to act as aloof and unbothered as usual, but inside he was panicking. He still knew next to nothing about this future, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face the whole family.

He'd kept up a cover in front of them in the past for more than half year – but this felt different somehow. This wasn't for any greater good, and this wasn't him entering their lives as seemingly a stranger. This was just deception without a cause, and he'd seen firsthand on several occasions what happened to those who tried to impersonate and/or possess members of the Halliwell family.

"Now remember," Wyatt had muttered to him, "we want to keep this between us, alright? We don't want to worry Mom or Dad until we know more." Chris had nodded, but it was mere seconds before Leo spotted them from the sun room and called them over.

"Where have you been all day, Chris? You missed two classes."

Internally, he panicked. Keep a cool head, he reminded himself, think it through logically. Classes meant school; the only school Leo would let them go to was Magic School. He was in a seventeen-year-old's body – clearly he hadn't graduated yet. What day of the week was it, then?

"Oh they weren't important," he reassured Leo. "I'm going to catch up."

Wyatt gave him an exasperated look that seemed to suggest he had no idea Chris would be missing classes that day for their little adventure.

"You're falling behind in Magical Theorum," Leo reminded him pointedly from where he sat. There were a few stacks of papers littered around him and he didn't look up from what he was doing – if Chris had to hazard a guess he'd say Leo was grading them. Did Leo work at Magic School?

"Who's falling behind?" Came a voice from the hallway as Piper stepped into the room, laundry basket in hand. "Ah, Christopher," she greeted frostily. "Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence."

He hadn't realised just seeing her would have such an intense affect on him. She was the same as she always was, perhaps with a few more wrinkles around the mouth and the odd hint of white in her dark brown hair – the chances were she was dying it. It felt like only days ago that he was staring into this woman's face, when for her it had been seventeen years since they'd last met. It also occurred to him that he'd never seen Piper reach this age; in his future she'd been three years younger when she was killed.

The Piper in the past had been motherly enough, but it wasn't until that moment that God, he realised how much he missed having a real mother.

But still he blanched at her icy address and swallowed thickly. Wyatt looked like he didn't envy Chris' place of favour. The question was, what had he done to warrant it?

"I'm not falling behind," he argued instead, figuring that was probably how he'd deal with it. He needed to get a grip and stop asking questions about this future and focus on finding answers.

"And where have you been these past few days?" She brushed a hair from her eyes with a smile that suggested she might kill him later.

He shrugged. "Uh, staying at –" Wyatt shot him a warning look. "- A friend's."

"Must be a good friend, helping you cut school," she glared, setting the basket down. "Look, I know you think you're going through a tough time right now – "

"That's actually my fault," Wyatt cut in, "I was just borrowing Chris for some stuff. The joker didn't tell me he had classes to get to." He reached out and ruffled his brother's hair with a forced laugh, and Chris decided that Wyatt was the worst liar in the history of the Halliwell family.

Piper's disbelieving expression was unmistakable. "What stuff?"

Wyatt hesitated. "Uh, my new apartment stuff." This seemed to put her off substantially, as she turned back to the basket, picked it up and left the room with a huff. "She's still a bit touchy on the whole thing," Wyatt muttered.

Leo on the other hand looked up from what he was doing with a bemused expression. "You haven't even made an offer on the place yet, what stuff do you need to do for it?"

"Thinking about... furniture placement."

"Where things would go," Chris continued seriously with a shrug, just following whatever Wyatt was throwing out with what felt like a practiced ease.

His brother smiled. "Lyall was concerned the stuff might block the windows."

"It'd be a shame to cover that view."

"From the ground floor," Wyatt hurried to add, and gave a disbelieving laugh. "He is such a joker, isn't he?"

Chris forced a laugh too. "Yep, that's me." There was no way Leo was buying this. It seemed that Wyatt's lying skills vanished with his dark personality never to be seen again. But, odd as it was to admit it, knowing they were trying to hide something for a good cause made him feel strange. Realising he had someone to hide a secret with was also... different.

Maybe it was because it was Wyatt. Because he wasn't used to having Wyatt like this, as a sibling he could joke and laugh with and share secret outings with – because he'd spent his formative teenaged years as virtually an only child with his brother nowhere in sight. Maybe he was allowing himself to enjoy this and forget about Bianca and their problem for a few minutes because deep down, this was the kind of relationship he'd always wanted to have with Wyatt.

Maybe it was just disturbingly easy to slip into a family routine.

"If you don't want to tell us where you've been it's your call," Leo eyed the pair of them sceptically, with an expert gaze hardened by experience as a Whitelighter and a father alike. "But don't make Chris cut school for it. It's important." The pair of them nodded, hovering for a moment unsure if they'd been dismissed. "I'm glad you're looking more chipper today though, Chris." He gave his younger son a tender smile and Chris immediately felt uncomfortable.

Maybe it was still weird to see Leo acting like a father.

Chris swallowed and nodded.

The two departed into the hall and Wyatt clapped the other Witchlighter on the shoulder, claiming tiredness and he might head upstairs for a nap. Chris followed him part of the way across the landing until he realised the door Wyatt was aiming for would be his own, and he'd be expected to go to his room. The other man waved and slipped inside, leaving Chris to stare at his own door apprehensively. He couldn't remember being this scared of a piece of wood in his whole life, but some childish part of him was keeping him rooted to the floor.

They said his room used to belong to Prue, and then Paige before it was eventually passed down to him as he got older – the door was a simple white like every other on the landing, but for some reason he felt like the contents of it would acclimatize all he'd gone back to the past to try to achieve. He'd already established he still had his brother and his parents – together. He had friends, and a reputation. In the short time he'd been here he'd found an equanimity that he'd always been craving back when he was seventeen.

But was he – the future he, that is – happy?

He'd saved the world. Had he managed to find peace in it?

Turning the handle he slipped inside, already preparing himself for the worst; but he had no reason to fear. The room was... well, it was normal. There was a bed with some clean duvet sheets resting on top – a few articles of clothing littered the floor and a few photo frames lined the walls. A toy model of a Bell 206 helicopter and a magic wand sat on top of a chest of drawers. There was a small disorganized bulletin board by the door which he paused to examine. Some not particularly neat handwritten post-its were tacked up ('assignment for Dr Bens due thurs' 'Dennis needs three shifts from 8pm at end of week – ask Wyatt which to do').

Everything about it felt like an ordinary seventeen-year-old's bedroom, and that filled Chris with some odd sense of relief. But even as he sat down on the bed he couldn't help but feel a little bit lonely.

Nothing in this room was his. Nothing in this future was his. This all belonged to a man named Chris who was trapped somewhere else right now, someone who could be completely different from him. Wyatt wasn't his brother. Wyatt was Chris' brother. And Bianca was Chris'... oh, who knew.

He'd given up a place where he belonged to create this world that another little boy would enjoy – he'd known that from the start, he'd been more than willing to make the sacrifice, but selfishly he still felt lonely. He should be glad that he'd managed to create this world at all, but for some reason he couldn't allow himself that free feeling.

Even as he felt a humiliating stinging sensation behind his eyes he ignored it, shut them tightly and fell back on the bed.

Was it so wrong to have wanted a place here too?

When he next opened his eyes it was pitch black outside. Chris sat up bewilderedly, realising he must have fallen asleep – the day had been so emotionally draining that he wasn't surprised. Looking around the room he stretched, feeling an ache in his neck at having slept awkwardly, and feeling grotty in the clothes he'd borrowed from Bianca having now slept in them. He eyed the chest of drawers warily, knowing there would probably clothes in there that would fit him.

Uneasiness seeped into his gut. Those were Chris' clothes, not his.

Not wanting to head down that road again he got up and headed for the window, nearly jumping five feet in the air when a figure swung down from above and knocked on it.

"Let me in, Whitelighter." Bianca. Chris realised she must be hanging from the low corner of the attic roof and he rushed to open the window.

"That's dangerous," he scowled, "you could seriously hurt yourself!"

She looked unperturbed. "I've done it hundreds of times." She hopped in after him as if she had no qualms whatsoever; leaving Chris to wonder for what must be the thousandth time what on earth her relationship to the other Chris really was. Climbing up to his room in the middle of the night? "Listen, I followed that lead." She perched herself on the bed and Chris leaned against the wall – he felt more comfortable away from all the furniture the other Chris had touched. He said nothing and waited for her to continue, not wanting to fight again. "And I think I was right. I have it on good authority from a high level demon that this Seer exists – he's said he'll take us there for a small fee."

"That doesn't sound like a setup at all," Chris rolled his eyes.

Bianca ignored his sarcasm. "We're going to go tomorrow. Unless you think I can't protect you well enough?" The way one of her eyebrows lifted and the corner of her mouth perked upward in a challenge had him thinking she was teasing him. It was certainly a move on from the fight they'd had earlier that day.

He surveyed her – the make or break moment, whether he did as she asked him to and cemented his alliance with her rather than... rather than who? Chris hadn't realised he was considering trying to get help from anyone else until that very moment. Who else would he ask?

The answer was already on the tip of his tongue. Wyatt.

"Wyatt said we're going to scry for that substance tomorrow," he said instead in a clipped tone, "the one we found in the Enchanted Forest?"

She gave him a sceptic look. "Well I guess it depends on what your priorities are. Getting home or solving a mystery that has nothing to do with you."

"I think..." He trailed off, turning away and picking up the toy Bell 206 on a whim. "I've been mulling it over, and I think this was meant to happen. This is more than the punishment for personal gain on your spell – I think I was meant to be brought here."

"How do you figure?" To her credit, she seemed curious.

"This substance – this whole mystery. It feels familiar to me in a way I know it wouldn't for the other Chris. They make me think of something from my future, but I just haven't worked out what it is yet." He mimed flying the helicopter for a moment before stopping to fiddle with the adjustments on one of the rotor blades; the model layout suggested it was supposed to fly on its own, but as he flipped the switch nothing happened. Someone had been making one too many modifications and broken the thing. "Everything happens for a reason, right? Maybe I was supposed to come to this future and help in a way that only I can. If that's the case, I'm not sure it's such a good idea that I try and get back yet."

Back to where?

He finished adjusting the helicopter blades and flipped on the switch again – it jumped from his hands and hovered in the air and he grinned. Bianca watched in fascination.

"Chris has never been able to get that to work," she observed.

He shrugged it off, but knew she could detect the parallel he was making. "Well I did."

The hum of the tiny toy motor sat like a plastic metaphor between them before Chris touched the switch and let it float back into his palm.

There was a beat of silence while he put the model back down on top of the chest of drawers. "Maybe you're right. I can always postpone finding the Seer if you think you want to stay for a little while. Your choice." Chris nodded, and she looked away. "I know you've had a tough life," she continued quietly, "I didn't mean what I said today. It wasn't meant for you, it was meant for... you know who I mean." The Chris who hadn't had a tough life; the one who wasn't there. "I just don't want you to stick around so you can reap the benefits of this future. It isn't..." She trailed off and still refused to look at him. "It isn't fair to him."

It wasn't fair to be selfish; maybe a part of him was clinging onto the feeble idea that he was needed here for that reason, but he knew the rest of him had already come to terms with the fact that none of this could ever really be his. "I'm not," Chris muttered with an edge of resentment, "I have no place in this future."

Bianca clicked her tongue in response and stood, seemingly taking that as a dismissal. "You really think that?"

Chris blinked. "This whole... thing," he waved a hand a little inarticulately at the room, "it's cute, I get that. He's got a lot going for him – I doubt he even cares I existed."

She rolled her eyes. "You're just as dumb as he is."

"Excuse me?"

"The photos, Whitelighter. Give them a closer look before you write yourself off completely." Chris frowned but she nodded briskly and headed for the window before he could say anything more. "I'll come by in the morning. Rest up – you're going to need it." And she was gone.

Perturbed by her words, Chris turned back to the wall on the right side of the bed where the handful of photo frames hung that he'd brazenly dismissed as part of the banality of a more normal teenaged life and examined them. There were a few of the obvious – his parents, Wyatt and Chris grinning at the camera and one of a young girl he didn't recognise standing under a light pink shower of cherry blossom near the front of the house; he obviously had these photos because they were of people important to him. The one that caught his eye, though, was one that had him almost choking and his mind spinning with a wave of emotion.

Piper shrugged. "I just don't see what the problem is," she offered him a sympathetic glance as she looked between the camera that was departing the room in her sister's hands and the exasperated expression of her son. "If it's any comfort, I'll make sure she never shows it to Leo." Making to go after her sisters, she knew Chris would follow.

"That's not the problem."

"Or future girlfriends?"

"That's not the problem either." Chris threw up his hands in frustration. "What if I see it? In, say, ten years time and wonder why you have a photo of me at aged twenty-two?"

To her credit Piper pondered this question. "Then we'll tell him all about you. And maybe he'll come to love and respect you just as much as we all do." She nodded, satisfied with this answer, and squeezed him lightly on the arm as she left the room after her sisters and the camera they'd dug out of the attic, leaving Chris to stand there alone and wonder what in Warren's name she meant.

Now, maybe, he felt like he got it.

He reached forward and lifted the frame from the wall in awe; the blurred shot of him taken while he was in the past that he'd almost forgotten about completely, here among something the other Chris treasured. Among a display of people most important to him. The man in this picture wasn't the Chris Halliwell of the changed future, but the one who had thought he'd be forgotten.

Maybe this wasn't his room, and maybe this wasn't his family, but Bianca had shown him the most crucial bit of information about this new future – the one thing he'd desperately needed to know above all else, even if he hadn't been consciously seeking it out.

No matter how small and insignificant a tiny photo might be, he'd made it to the beautiful future he'd always dreamed about.

The dark covered the assassin witch like a blanket, cushioning her movements as she settled herself securely on the rooftop of one of the houses on Prescott Street. She cared very little for the specifics – the number, who had been living there before she knocked them out, only that it served its purpose. She squinted in the dim glow emitted from the streetlights, but her eyesight was perfect; from her position she had a perfect view into Chris Halliwell's bedroom window, where he had long since given into his musings and was resting (albeit tentatively) under the duvet of his bed.

The fact that he was no longer the boy she'd known since she was fourteen but instead an emissary from an old future was only a minor setback, and her mission remained the same. When her employer had called her away that morning he'd reminded her very strongly of that fact in the way he best knew how.

"You promised me a Halliwell, Phoenix. You have nothing to show for my patience," he had said, lips set in a cold line visible only from the small gap at the bottom of his hood.

Bianca had tried not to let her blind dislike show through and brushed some hair from her eyes. "Is there any other reason you've called me here other than to chastise me?"

"I wish to remind you," he'd intoned, "exactly why you are doing this." He'd snapped his fingers and a new part of the cave had appeared as if a veil had been lifted – she recognised the work of an invisibility spell when she saw one. What demanded her attention though was the figure at the back, bloodied and glistening with sweat as his head rolled back and forth weakly. He hung by his wrists from two chains attached to the back wall, and as she recognised him and started running towards him he coughed out some red and green liquid from his mouth.

"Father!" Bianca had cried, only to find her advance to him halted by a force field – a crystal cage, by the looks of it. She'd whirled around to her smirking employer, eyes blazing. "Let me see him!"

"You can have him, don't forget," the man had remarked, "once I have him." An image of Chris appeared at the snap of his fingers, and Bianca had swallowed. She had to do it.

Shortly after she'd been delivered a sharp blow to the head which had knocked her out for a few hours ('interest' for keeping him waiting, her employer had said) before she'd had to hunt Chris down again – who, to her chagrin, now seemed enamoured with his newfound destiny in this changed future. She didn't know why she'd shown him the photo frame; it didn't help her cause any. He had just seemed so... so lost, so in need of an anchor to hold onto in that unfamiliar environment.

In him she saw a kindred spirit who'd lived a childhood like hers, even if she didn't want to admit it.

She pushed the thought aside as quickly as it had materialized – now was no time for sentiment. Her father's life was on the line, and she needed to get her act together and stop thinking about him as Chris Halliwell, the boy who had listened to her when no one else would, and start thinking about him as the Halliwell, the target. It wasn't like he was her Chris, anyway. It should be easier this way.

She reached over her shoulder and pulled the crossbow from its resting position. A gift from her employer, apparently borrowed from a passing Darklighter which promised to make the job a lot easier. Bianca let the distant and mundane sounds of the late San Francisco evening hide the clicks of her loading the crossbow determinedly, refusing to admit that she was taking more time over it than necessary.

Finally the thing was loaded and she lifted it up to one eye, closing the other in concentration so she could line up the shot. It was perfect. No obstructions, and he was sleeping soundly. There was no better scenario she could have imagined for an assassination.

Yet still her gut was churning in protest, her heart thumping over the prospect of the kill in a way that it never had before, something wet pricking her eyes as she imagined his form going limp as the breath slipped from his body.

"I believe in you, Bianca. You're more than your heritage."

His voice, from such a long time ago, ricocheted against her skull.

She cursed all the Powers that Be, realigned the shot and squeezed the trigger.

Dun dun duun! I realise this story has ended up just being a string of cliffhangers. Whoops! This chapter also ended up being a lot of internal!Chris thoughts, but I hope it works out! Plot'll be speeding up tenfold the next time we see this guy. QUESTIONS: Did Chris just get shot with a Darklighter arrow?! What's going on with Bianca right now? Predictions for our other poor Chris whose been kidnapped in the past? You guys and your responses really make my day. Peace and love!

Reviews are like the satisfaction of orbing your baby brother to your Grandpa's place,

~MyWhitelighter