Congratulations to Ed and Kathleen on their occasionally shitty Done One.
It is a dark and stormy night. Well, I mean, of course it's dark, it being night and all, but it's also raining. Deep within Halliwell Manor, Raige orbs in at the foot of the stairs with Piper and Phoebe. Tiny Gay Chris perches on one of his mother's hips, breathing through his mouth. Tiny Gay Chris does a lot of mouth-breathing in this episode. If there were ever any question regarding his paternity, I suppose this answers it. "We don't have much time!" Raige blurts. "They're gonna follow us." "How are we supposed to stop them?" Phoebe babbles uselessly. "Well, we have to think of something," Piper asserts. "We can't just let them take [Tiny Chris]!" Down the hall a bit, a mottled white light dances across the floorboards. The camera pulls in close to Raige as she steps forward to gasp, "Incoming!" Two gentlemen in tailored white suits with matching satin ties materialize on the carpet. The leader of the two -- meaning, of course, the one with his real name prominently featured in the guest scroll after the opening credits -- steps forward to state what is apparently the obvious: "It's pointless to run." Obsessive X-Philes will recognize the actor as Agent Gene Crane. I never watched that show, so I'll be calling him "Harvey," as in "Keitel," and the other one's going to be "Jean," as in "Reno." The reason for this hits the script in about a half an hour, but fans of Nikita and its terrible American remake should be able to guess right now. Seriously, why the remake? Bridget, honey, if you needed the cash, I'm sure your Aunt Jane would've slipped you one of Ted's blank checks. Hell, pawning your grandfather's Oscar would have been a better course of action. You're pretty, you have a superhuman ability to avoid the ravages of time, and you're a good actress. You didn't need to be spoon-feeding beef ravioli to Dermot fucking Mulroney. What were you thinking?
Ooops. Episode. Right. "You can't have him," Piper growls, twisting her torso to shield Tiny Gay Chris from Harvey and Jean. Tiny Gay Chris stares blankly off-camera at the production assistant who's antically juggling stuffed animals to keep the kid quiet. Or maybe they slipped a couple of Valium into his bottle. I'm not sure which, but Tiny Chris's mind certainly appears to be elsewhere, and his tongue is lolling out of his mouth like he's just suffered a massive stroke, so you make the call. Piper flings a Hand Of Discontent at the boys in white, but Harvey just snatches the explosive mojo out of the air and snuffs it out in his fist. "You're only delaying the inevitable," he calmly states. Harve wiggles his fingers, and Tiny Gay Chris flares out of Piper's arms and into Jean's. Harve wiggles his fingers again, and the Glamorous Ladies' feet fly backwards beneath them, tossing them as one face-first to the floor. The force of the impact sends them sliding backwards on their stomachs into the dining room. Piper beckons the Dolt, who orbs in as she scrambles to her feet. "An [ever-useless] Elder," smiles Harve. "Good. Perhaps you can explain it to her." The Dolt tenses. "Do something!" Piper shouts. "I can't," the Dolt replies. "Nobody can." Piper shoots the briefest of supremely foul glares at her useless ex-husband, then turns back to Harve and Jean. "He's just a baby," she argues. "It won't happen again -- I won't let it happen again." "Don't worry," Harve breathes. "You won't remember any of this, anyway." With that, he wiggles his fingers one last time.
The mottled white light washes over Piper, Phoebe, Raige, and the Dolt, then spreads throughout the Manor. Over on the sun porch, a festive wind-up toy carousel vanishes, followed by Tiny Gay Chris's playpen. A small lamp and a wicker ottoman pop up in their places. Up in the Bridal Boudoir, the Patricia Campbell Hearst Commemorative Child-Care Nook morphs back into a closet, and over on the wall, Tiny Gay Chris disappears from a framed family photo. Back down in the main hall, Harvey, Jean, and Tiny Chris vanish in a shimmering twinkle of Beam-Me-Up points of light. Now, that's what the motherfucking DUN! is all about, people.