Day/Theme: May 31 There are traces of blood in a fairy tale.
Character/Pairing: Wyatt/Bianca and their kids
Word Count: 2,418
Written For: 31_days
It wasn’t easy for her to leave the present and delve into the past. It was a collaboration of yesterdays, painful memories, things suppressed deep in her mind that she longed to forget. Of course she took precautions, it was a dangerous world out there, and now she found herself struggling to raise three children in it.
The first had come as a surprise. Wyatt had always wanted children, but he’d never expected them this early. She, in turn, had been completely frightened by the prospect of bringing a child into this world – a world where their lives were threatened constantly, where they consistently put themselves in the line of fire. But they had been so happy when he was born. A little person who they’d made together. They called him Matthew Jeremiah – the first name taken from Wyatt’s middle name, the second after Bianca’s father. He was a perfect mixture of the two bearing Bianca’s dark hair and doe brown eyes, and Wyatt’s nose, cheeky smile and mischievous attitude.
The second had been a little more planned. Wyatt was overly concerned about Matthew being lonely. Bianca also didn’t like him being on his own, and the innocent requests of having someone to play with kept gnawing at her. It wasn’t long before the position was filled with a little girl they named Chrystal, the name derived from a mixture of letters in both Wyatt and Chris’ names. She was blessed with her mother’s good looks, almost the spitting image of her when she was a child, and her father’s temperament. It was easier to raise her having already covered the training ground with their first child.
The third had been an accident. Raising two children and keeping up with hectic work schedules took their toll, leaving them both starved for affection. They grew careless; needy. And so little Patrick was born – the image of his father with blue eyes and blonde curls, named after Wyatt’s grandmother but in the masculine form. It was the only P name they could seem to agree on.
“Stop fidgeting,” Bianca reprimanded. “Patrick!”
He dissipated into a bunch of orbs leaving Bianca with a collection of clothes in her hands. Following the trail she saw he was heading downstairs. Quickly she shimmered to the ground floor, watching her youngest child giggling madly as he ran naked through the hallway. Blocking his way to the kitchen, she grabbed hold of him and lifted him into her arms.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she questioned.
Laughing, he wriggled in her grasp. She couldn’t help but smile at the angelic sweetness of his voice – he had the most gorgeous laugh, high and pleasant like chimes.
“You know I think you like running around the house naked more than your father,” she continued, carrying him back up the stairs. “Except he’s usually not trying to avoid a bath.”
She walked into the bathroom, spinning the taps off and checking the water before sitting the young boy down in the tub. He was barely there for two minutes when the phone rang. Bianca sighed.
“Stay,” she ordered.
Glancing to the side she picked up the rubber duck and handed it to him to occupy himself with while she went to answer the call. Picking up her pace she grabbed for the upstairs receiver before it could ring out.
“Hello?” she asked tiredly, making her way back to the bathroom.
“It’s Mrs Clovet here; the principal from your daughter’s school. I’m just calling to let you know we’ve sent her home.”
“Why? What happened?”
“She wasn’t dressed in proper attire.”
Bianca frowned. “What do you mean? I dressed her myself. I’m sure she was… where is she?”
“I sent her home about twenty minutes ago. She’s not there?”
“No, she’s not. What the hell were you thinking sending a seven year old home alone? I swear to God if something’s happened to her… Why didn’t you call me or Wyatt to pick her up?”
“You must understand, Mrs Halliwell, you and your husband are incredibly hard to get hold of –”
“I don’t care if you can’t reach us!” Bianca continued to argue. “She’s got a large enough extended family for you to get hold of someone. Next time get out of your plush chair and make an effort!”
Angrily she depressed the button to hang up. She noticed Patrick had grown still, staring up at her wide-eyed as the duck floated idly on the calm water. Dialing in the club’s number, Bianca knelt down on the mat, giving a weak smile and rubbing Patrick’s arm reassuringly.
“Can I speak to Wyatt Halliwell please?” she requested. “It’s his wife.”
Switching ears while she waited, she cradled the receiver against her shoulder, grabbing for the washcloth and proceeding to undertake the task she had intended before the interruptions.
“Hi baby,” he said. He sounded cheerful. She knew that wasn’t going to last. “What’s up?”
She heard him turn away and talk to someone in the background. Waiting for him to finish, she began to speak.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to bother you. I know you’re busy but oh shit…” She reeled back from the tub. “Patrick!”
Wyatt chuckled. “What did he do?”
“He wet me,” she complained, watching him again splash his hands on the surface of the water in the tub.
“He wet you?” Wyatt repeated. “What are you doing?”
“Giving him a bath,” she explained.
“Bianca! What are you doing with the phone in the bathroom?” Wyatt chastised. “It could—”
“Relax, it’s not like I’m in the tub with him.”
“Still…” he mumbled. “Why are you giving him a bath at this time of day?”
“Because I wasn’t going to let him sit around all day with peanut butter all over his face and hands.”
“You could have just wiped that off,” Wyatt pointed out.
“Wyatt,” she said flatly. “It was all through his hair as well.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said irritably. “I can’t see you, remember?”
“Hang on,” she said, putting the phone down.
Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around Patrick and lifted him out of the bathtub, placing him before her. She picked the phone back up, cradling it against her shoulder and taking hold of the towel again. Lifting one end she quickly brushed against Patrick’s body and ruffled the water from his hair.
“I’m back. Just trying to dry him,” she said.
“Okay,” Wyatt said. She heard his voice become distant again as he spoke to someone behind him.
Patrick wiped at his face and Bianca noticed he had a bubble of snot coming from his nose. She moved the towel to cover it.
“Blow,” she instructed.
He attempted to do as told, as much as a young child could do, Bianca finding herself having to press down on his nostrils and wiggle his nose a little to get the gunk out. Quickly she used the other end of the towel to wipe the last of him down.
“Bianca,” Wyatt called, bringing her attention back to him. “I’m sure you didn’t interrupt me to tell me my son’s a messy eater. What did you want?”
“Arms up,” Bianca said to Patrick. Obediently he lifted his hands into the air. Bianca rolled up his top and pushed it over his head, taking hold of his hands and feeding them through the sleeves. “Have you seen Chrystal?”
“She got sent home from school half an hour ago, only she isn’t here. I’m really worried, Wyatt. Can’t you sense… for…” Bianca paused, listening as she heard a door close downstairs. “Someone just came in. I don’t know if that’s her. Hang on.”
“Bianca, be careful,” Wyatt warned.
Bianca lifted Patrick up and sat him on her hip, clutching the phone with her other hand as she stepped back into the hallway. She saw a flash of long brown hair disappear into Chrystal’s bedroom.
“Yeah, it’s her. I better find out what happened. Thanks, baby,” Bianca said.
She hung up the phone, depositing it back in its cradle and Patrick in his bedroom before knocking on Chrystal’s door.
“Honey?” Bianca called through the door.
“Go away,” Chrystal yelled back.
“I’m not going anywhere ‘til you tell me what happened,” Bianca said. “Mrs Clovet called. Why did she send you home?”
“Cause she’s evil.”
“If she was evil we’d know,” Bianca said, although now contemplating the thought after what she had done. “Open the door, Chrystal. Don’t make me come in there.”
The door flew open, Chrystal’s hand gripping the knob as she glared at her mother. Bianca looked at her daughter and saw she was still wearing the clothes she’d left in that morning. She couldn’t see what was wrong with her attire.
“What?” Chrystal demanded.
“Don’t take that tone with me. Answer the question,” Bianca said. Chrystal shrugged. “What took you so long to come home? Mrs Clovet said she sent you home over half an hour ago.”
“I was trying to hide from the man.”
Chrystal combed her hair behind her ears and folded her arms, a nervous habit that both she and Bianca shared. “He wanted me to kill something.”
Bianca looked at her questionably. Her gaze lowered to Chrystal’s feet and she saw she was only wearing sandals. She could clearly see the Phoenix birthmark on her calf, a reason she’d always insisted her daughter wear socks or boots so as to conceal the sign. She didn’t want them to find her. Now it seemed like they had.
“Chrystal, I told you to wear your school shoes this morning,” Bianca chided. “Why are you in sandals?”
“I like these better,” Chrystal insisted.
“There’s a reason I tell you to wear shoes and socks, Chrystal. You’re not allowed to wear those unless you’re home.”
“But I want to,” Chrystal whined.
Glaring at her reproachfully, Bianca slowly shook her head. Chrystal pouted, turning her back on her mother and walking back across the room, waving her hand and closing the door using her telekinesis.
It was after hours of the silent treatment and contemplative thoughts of imminent danger that Bianca found herself seated at the kitchen table nursing a severe headache, a cup of coffee in her hand as she rested her forehead against the other, staring into the blackness. It couldn’t be happening again. She wasn’t going to make Chrystal go through everything she did. She wasn’t her mother.
“Dad! Catch!” Matthew yelled, racing through the house and throwing the football at his father. Bianca screwed her eyes closed at the loud racquet. Wyatt orbed the ball into his hand. “No fair! You can’t cheat like that.”
“I promise I won’t cheat anymore,” Wyatt said. Spying Bianca at the table, he tossed the ball to his eldest son. “Take it outside. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Matthew gripped the ball between his hands, smiling broadly. Turning, he raced out the back door. Wyatt moved towards Bianca, placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning down to kiss her temple.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked.
“My head hurts,” she grumbled.
Moving her hand away, he lifted her chin so that she looked at him. He could see the distress in her eyes and he knew a lot more was bothering her than just a simple headache.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” he pressed.
Bianca inhaled sharply and averted her eyes. “Someone approached Chrystal today. She went to school in her sandals and they saw her. Wyatt, they wanted her to kill something.”
She heard the scrape of a chair as Wyatt pulled it away from the table and sat down, clasping his hands together on the wooden surface. She glanced back to him to see he was completely bewildered.
“What… I… we can’t keep her away from school. We can’t keep her caged here,” he said.
“I know. I don’t know how to keep her safe,” Bianca admitted.
Wyatt reached for her hand, taking it into his. “We’ll work something out. Where is she?”
“Sulking in front of the TV.”
“What about Patrick?”
“Okay I’ll go talk to her. If Mattie comes back tell him I won’t be long.”
Making his way into the living room, Wyatt looked at his daughter curled up on the chair watching images flash across the television screen like it was the most important thing in the world.
“Chrystal,” he said. She ignored him. Holding out his hand he orbed the remote control to himself and turned the television off. He folded his arms, watching her huffily turn towards him.
“I was watching that!” she protested.
“Well now you’re not,” Wyatt returned. “Why didn’t you do what your mother told you to?” She turned back, folding her arms and sinking back into the chair. “Chrystal,” he said warningly.
“It’s too hot to wear black shoes,” she complained.
Wyatt circled around the armchair and crouched down in front of her. “You know that you have to hide your birthmark or else you’ll be in trouble; like you were today. We don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Well next time listen to us please.”
She nodded sullenly, looking forlornly down to the remote in his hands. He noticed what she wanted, a distraction. She didn’t want to think about it as much as they didn’t, but she was lucky enough not to have to live with the memories Bianca did. And he wasn’t about to let her undertake that same lifestyle.
“Now go apologise to your mother,” he said. “Then you can have this back.”
Climbing off the armchair, Chrystal went into the kitchen and threw her arms around her mother, giving her a loving hug.
“Sorry, mommy,” she said.
Looking up, Bianca ran a hand over her daughter’s hair and gently kissed her head. “It’s okay, honey.”
Wyatt reentered the kitchen, handing Chrystal the remote as she raced back out. Bianca looked up to him. They were both weary, lost for answers. After a moment’s pause, Wyatt moved towards the back door, laying a hand on her shoulder in passing. She bit her lip. She knew there would be no happy endings, not for them. Because of who they were they were always going to be in danger. Everything moved in circles, and now it looked likely their children were to suffer the same fates as they had. There are traces of blood in a fairy tale. They and their kin would always be chained to the kill.