Title: Gone Without Goodbye
Author: frickangel
Summary: A mother's silent tears for him. Number four in the 'Angel in my Arms' series.
A/N: Eh…yes, I really did skip number three. Will get to that someday.
On another note, the reason I wanted to write the whole series was partly due to this story. I hated (and I couldn't emphasise enough on the word 'hate') how everyone seemed all so happy-happy again in Season Seven (other than Leo's over-bearing guilt).
Also, in response to a review (thank you for that!) on 'Table for Two' (Number two of this series), it was said that the Chris-Leo tension wasn't resolved in the story. True, I admit that and it's because that issue was addressed in 'Stormy Leather' so TPTB resolved that themselves. This series is only an accompaniment to what was already told—and going further with what was not.
Ah yes…that was long, wasn't it? –sheepish smile-
Timeline: Pre-Season Seven
Warning: Totally Un-beta'd.
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own and don't I wish.

"'This isn't going to bring him back.'
'I promised him I'd get him home safely!'"
-It's a Bad, Bad, Bad, Bad World (Pt II)

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'This is not at all,
How we thought it was supposed to be,
We had so many plans for you,
We had so many dreams,
And now you've gone away,
And left us with the memories of your smile.'

-----

The switch for the lights was always too loud when she flipped it.

Now it just hurts.

Starring numbly at the emptiness of P3, Piper felt as if each step she took was gliding through air and skimming through a horrible nightmare. Anytime now, she would wake up on her bed, wipe away the sweat and wave the bitter aftertaste of the horrors away. She'd then amble downstairs and find her family sitting in the living room laughing at something or even arguing over another demonic attack.

Then right there in the middle of the chaos would be her tall and dark-haired son shaking his head and looking up to ceiling for some divine intervention. There would be this constipated pain of annoyance as he once again tried persuading his aunts that his way was better.

No matter how hard she concentrated, wished, or clicked her heels together three times, Piper still found herself alone in the hall of P3; her body refusing to wake up.

Her lips quivered.

Of course she wouldn't awaken, because this wasn't a dream—this was her awful and painful reality.

Her son was dead.

She had done nothing to stop it.

"Chris?" she whispered, her voice strained from all the pent up emotions and unshed tears.

There was no answer. Only the muted electrical buzz from the fluorescent lights above her replied. Wrapping her arms around her body, she felt the sudden coldness surround her and drag her down into deeper despair.

She grimaced at the slight discomfort from her wound—freshly discharged from the hospital and only a few days since the birth of her youngest. Her sisters had taken and arm each, trying to support her into the car with Leo behind and the newborn in his embrace. It took her sisters more than two days to tell her that Chris had died and how, but it only took her a full five minutes to drag herself from sorrow to anger at her siblings, and finally at herself. Screw that, she was still fuming at her sisters for not telling her earlier and allowing Piper to think that Chris had returned to the future safely, to a world he had made better. It was only when she had specifically asked of what had become did Phoebe confess.

Since then, Piper had remained tight lipped, only repeating the same things over and over again: she wanted to come here, to P3 first before the manor. There was something she needed to do.

Breathing slowly, she eyed the door at the end of the room, challenging herself to go closer to it. Reluctantly, she took the first step and then the second and the third. Her hand lightly brushed across the counter and the stools that were piled upon it. She stopped at where the counter curved; suddenly recalling how the three Charmed ones had been seated there talking about their gutter minds when Chris had breezed by. Persuasion was useless on him even with their invites to merely sit and relax.

Caught between a soft smile and tears, Piper stood frozen again as she stared hard at the empty chairs, wishing now she was back there again watching her son rush back into his room. She wrestled with her confused emotions and straightened her composure.

She had a job to do and she was going to complete it.

Her shoes made soft padded sounds against the tiled dance floor; went pass the tables and furniture until she met with the beast itself. Lifting her hands to the wooden being, she rested her grip on the knob and braced herself. The brass turned and the door swung open.

No amount of preparation could've readied her for this. It wasn't like there was a book in the world that told mothers how to deal with the lost of their sons—especially those that are about a future and unborn child. This was her own remedy of facing reality and getting on with life; she was going to clean her son's things out—forcing the raw truth down until she accepted it.

Things were easier thought of than done.

Standing amongst his things—his mess, his lingering presence—the images of his smile, his warmth, and his words were more than she could handle. Yet, she set her lips into a thin line and walked into the last remnants of his existence here.

Nothing seemed unusual of the place. The music posters were still plastered securely on the walls, cartons of liquor—empty and unopened—were on top of the cabinets and cupboards. The couch was still there, with a pillow and a blanket bundled to one corner of it. It was the same all right, except for the few clothes strewn across everything; the magazines were stacked into an organised mess, bottles of soda and mineral water littered in the overflowing basket, and not to mention the desk.

Shuffling over, Piper pushed the all too familiar charts and maps around the table. Just like he had thrown such around the manor, it was apparent he did the same in his temporary living quarters here as well. Just that this time, there were other graphs and diagrams she hadn't recognised from home.

Now, all of it were ownerless.

Piper held her breath and settled down into the chair, contemplating on what should be done with them. She brought her hand down to the drawer and wrenched it open; retrieving a large envelope from the stationery stash they had and placed it softly on the desk. Reaching out, she picked up one of the maps and folded it into half first, then to a quarter and making sure it would fit into the envelope. With that done, she randomly selected another piece—this time a chart with multiple circles and symbols. Again she repeated the folding process. At first, she meant to have done it were careful folds, but with each passing one, her frustration built. Too much of it resurfaced more past recollections of him and she released her anger on to the creases she made. Pressing each one too sharply and probably destroying the quality by doing so instead of rolling them up.

She couldn't care less.

A single tear slid down—the first one since she knew of his fate. Wiping it away quickly, she turned the flap of the envelope over and satisfied to have been able to fit everything in. The desk was now cleared and that was the beginning of it, but at least something was done. Running her hand over the smooth surface, she felt a slight relief knowing it was finished.

There was more to do. Dragging herself off the chair, Piper surveyed the other items that were all over. Without blinking, she walked over to one of the cabinets, went on all fours and reached out under it, into the dusty darkness, and pulled out a large box. The logo of some alcoholic beverage was stamped all over the cardboard but Piper barely noticed, instead putting her focus into what was ahead of her.

One by one, she rolled the shirts, slacks, jeans into one huge ball and dumped them into a bare spot on the floor. From there she marched over to the couch and pulled off the soft cotton casings from the pillows, casually rumpling it together with the blanket, and again deposited it all with the other clothing.

With the small hill of material beginning to grow, Piper threw open the small closet and peeled more shirts from their hangers and carelessly tossing them into the pile without so much as looking where she was aiming. Closing the doors with a thud, she moved back to the collection she had made. Once the box was opened and the lids stayed in its position, she began simply chucking everything in.

First the collared shirts, then the t-shirts, jeans, khakis, jackets and—

Her hands tightened its grip around the pair of sunglasses. Simple, plain and fancy free type with the lenses tinted slightly with brown. She knew it from somewhere, like a distant echo just whispering in her ear of the tale the object held.

Of course—they were Chris'.

It was the day he entered their lives, right in the centre of all Titan turmoil and a stoned Paige. If anything, Piper had thought to herself then that the boy may be evil but at least he had a sense of fashion. The lenses had suited him well with the long grey jacket and his red shirt.

Dropping to her knees, she knelt by the box and pulled out the exact same coat he had worn then. Casting her sight at the two items, she hated herself more than she did anything else in the world then.

These were her son's only possessions and here she was, unthinkingly tossing it around like trash. How could she be so insensitive? Was acting dispassionately and coldly to this be her antidote for the heartache she was drowning in?

Gingerly replacing the glasses on the floor, she held the box with both hands and turned it upside down, releasing its contents back to the ground. Settling herself upon the cool land beneath, she crossed her legs and drew the articles closer to her. Laying the first shirt on her lap, she delicately followed the seams of the black material and neatly folded it before slowly placing it back in the box. It was a perfect fit for the shirt and Piper pulled another one out. Tenderly her fingers traced the collar of the green top and over the logos on it—small flags of other countries.

A weak smile graced her lips, the boy had loved the shirt much but in all honesty she never saw its appeal. Putting the sleeves to the back and doubling the clothing over, she tucked it into the box as well before moving on. In each passing item she held, more shards of the past came back to haunt, but bravely this time, she faced them and remembered every detail as much as she could. There in her hands was the blue shirt he wore when he orbed in to "apologetically" interrupt her date with Seth. If one looked closely, you could still see the faint stains of mud on it. Whatever he was doing that day was still a mystery to her.

She rubbed her fingers over the cotton and pressed her face into it, still getting the fragrance of the washing powder that mingled with his mild cologne.

"Chris…" she sighed.

Finally the tears found its escape and freely flowed without any inhibitions. She crumpled further as her body shuddered and wrecked with her long-held sobs, only muffled by the shirt her face was buried in.

He was gone.

"Piper?"

She sniffed and pulled the shirt away, frowning at the tear stains she made on the soft material.

"You okay?" the strong voice from behind her called again. She knew the familiar presence but decided not to answer. She was afraid—afraid that any words spoken now would either force her to lash out or just breakdown again. Already trembling on the brink of insanity, she was confused if she should be overjoyed by the birth of their new addition or mourn for the loss of the other. Both events could not have happened without the other. "Come on, Piper. Answer me."

Instead, she attempted to wipe the dark stains from the shirt, praying for it to dry and evaporate as if her own pain would disappear like so.

"You don't have to do this now, you know."

She could hear the muffled footsteps that spurred her to hastily wipe the moisture off her face with the back of her hand. She then threw the blue shirt in before thoughtlessly and randomly folding another article of clothing without so much as identifying when and where she had seen it from, or the story that came with it. All she wanted was to hide any evidence of her weeping. It was a sign of weakness.

That piece went into the box and sheltered the one below.

"If you think that packing his things now is only going to erase him from us and maybe, just maybe, get you through the pain—then you're wrong," Leo crouched by her and the cardboard container. There was a moment of thought and hesitation in his eyes before speaking again, "We all miss him."

Easy for him to say that, he wasn't the one who had written a spell for a personality transfer between Ronald McDonald and her sisters. He wasn't the one who sat idly in the hospital room and played along to the world of 'Pleasantville'. He wasn't the last to know of her son's tragedy.

The tears threatened again and she overcame it by adding more effort into making her son's clothes into a neatly folded pile—unlike the ludicrous jumble she had created before. Almost instantly, she picked up more speed and had gone through three quarters of it.

"Phoebe and Paige were waiting outside."

Sucking in her breath through clenched teeth, Piper made an effort to sound as indifferent as possible, "I know." Her first two words to him since he entered and it failed miserably—coming out like a mad-woman with a vengeance against laundry.

"I told them to drive home with the boys first," he explained and kept eye contact on his ex-wife. "When you're done I could orb us home easily."

There was no reply from her as Piper continued on, zipping up another of Chris' jackets. It was the black leather one he donned when Phoebe was transformed into a genie; she had thought he had looked quite striking in it—if it wasn't for the fact that he had interrupted another of her dates. Come to think of it, she now knew why he had been so disapproving of Greg—he could've turned into a half-fireman-half-witch.

Leo sighed and sat on the floor as well. She had no intention of making him to neither stay nor leave, but then Piper was taken by surprise when he began folding the rest of the garments as well. The ends of her mind wondered if he was thinking of the same thing as she was; replaying through the episodes of life with each piece. Yet, this still couldn't be as hard for him as it was for her.

Snatching the last khaki from the ground, Piper took her time in folding it before giving it a pat and into the box it went.

She was done.

Looking up, she caught the hurt in Leo's blue eyes and it mirrored her own. The man had aged far more since she last saw him, and he'd probably be too stubborn to admit that his Elder duties were taking its toll on him.

Stubbornness and pride.

It was those two things that Piper was sure Chris had—will inherit.

Swallowing hard, she softened her voice and nodded, "Could you bring…" she pointed at the envelope on the desk, "…that."

A brief moment of relief filled his face, "Sure." It took him three long strides across to arrive at the table where he reached for the package. There was a slight frown on his face as Piper figured he was trying to guess what was in it, weighing the parcel at the same time.

"And the tape."

His hand grabbed the ring of cellophane and he strode back to her, offerings both in his hands.

"Thanks," Piper muttered and took the important envelope from his hold and laid it safely on top of everything in the box. The last part of the collection was the brown eyewear left and Piper handled it with care, making sure not to leave any fingerprint marks on the lenses. It was tucked securely besides the package. At last, pressing everything down lightly but firmly, she felt the last pieces of Chris from it all and bit her lower lip. Back on her knees, she collapsed the lids down, and held it tight. Gazing at Leo she nodded silently.

With unspoken understanding, he bent down and pulled the sticky polymer across the gaps and sealed the treasures within. Breaking the edges, he repeated the process a few more times; each round the transparent piece ripping itself and shrieking in protest; Piper could only imagine her son's screams as Gideon murdered him.

She winced at each pull.

Finally, Leo was finished—and contented—with his work before disconnecting the tape from the ring.

Piper found her hands in Leo's as he helped her up to her feet, knowing very well she was still sore from the C-section. With another long look at the room, she nodded at herself and bowed her head at the box. She didn't have a body to bury and this was her only way of closure. "Let's go," she whispered and arched forward to pick up the precious cargo.

"I got it," Leo swept down and lifted the box before she could. "Home?" he asked quietly.

She had tried to smile at him, a sign of reassurance or even comfort but she couldn't bring herself to do it. "Home," she simply but gently said, and wrapped an arm around his before feeling the familiar touch of air and the sound of bells.

Yes, home to Christopher.

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'But through the cloud of tears,
And I imagine you,
Where you wanted most to be,
Seeing all your dreams come true,
'Cause now you're home.
-With Hope, Steven Curtis Chapman

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-END-

Thanks for reading.
-Cheers
Jo