Regrets
by Lilian
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E-mail: lilian413 at yahoo dot com
Rating: PG, PG-13 at most. You watch the show, you can definitely read this.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Although if they were, many characters would be different. And a certain half-demon wouldn't have left…
Summary: Even now, Phoebe has regrets. (set during Witch and Misdemeanor. Yeah. That episode)
Warnings: Schmoop ahead. And angst. And Phoebe/Cole shipping, because no matter how hard they try, they can never truly kill this couple.
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It's like the air has been sucked out of her body. She can't breathe, she can't see anything but the glittering hologram in front of her, and for a split second she's back there, and she wants to scream but no sound will come out.
She thought she had forgotten him, erased him from her mind and most importantly, from her heart. She had convinced herself he meant nothing to her anymore, that he was just a stone in her path, one she had stumbled over and nearly fallen because of—but seeing him again, seeing his precious face even if it was only memories from her own psyche, was like someone driving a blade deep into her loins and twisting it until she cannot blink, she cannot breathe, she can do nothing but stare into his beautiful blue eyes and weep.
She sees herself with him, sees her own past coming to life before her very eyes, and she wants nothing more than to run into the Circle of Truth and make it stop, because even the sound of his voice is enough to bring her to tears. But she knows it would do no good: it would probably call up even more memories of him, more heartache and she needs to be strong because Darryl needs her to, but dear Goddess, all she wants is to crawl into her bed and hide.
"What the hell are you doing?"
His voice rings around her and echoes into infinity, and she wonders if she's the only one for whom the world has stopped: next to her, Paige just stares at the shimmering images with a blank look, and Phoebe just wishes her sister would do something, anything! Because she's loosing herself in his beautiful blue eyes and she's standing next to him and she can even smell him now, that scent that was so him—memories are conjured up faster than the Circle of Truth can play them, and behind Phoebe's eyelids thousands of images pile up one over the other until they're all one continued stream of still-pictures that she wishes nothing more than to forget.
But no, she doesn't want to forget: she wants the memories because they're hers. And his. And that's the only thing she has left of him: sad memories and bitter echoes, and she hears herself say words that mean nothing and even so she can mouth them still.
And then the scene changes, and she watches with tears in her eyes how he descends into another pit of Hell. And it kills her to realize she drove him there, because now, when time has closed her wounds and allowed her to look back and not feel bile rising in the back of her throat, she knows she should've saved him. She watches him kill a would-be assailant, and her heart, her dead, still heart, reaches out to him even though he is not even there.
"COLE!" she wants to scream, but bites the inside of her cheek until she can taste her own blood and wonders if Barbas' smug smile means he knows. He is the demon of Fear, after all, and time and time again he has read her—if he were to read her now, what would he learn? That she fears Darryl's death? The removal of their powers? That her sisters will one day find out she wishes she had the power to turn back time and re-do those hellish six months of the past year, where her life shot to hell and the love of her life turned into her worst enemy?
That she wishes for nothing more than to see him again?
She half-listens to Gideon arguing with Barbas', and she knows she should say something, defend her sisters and herself, but she cannot. For the life of her, she cannot. She can only sit there and watch, watch Cole flame in into the forest clearing right on time to save her life. Again.
""I'm not giving up on us, Phoebe. Ever."
She closes her eyes, the pain suddenly becoming too much to bear.
He never did. Until the very end, he still hoped she would see that everything he did, he did it for the both of them. And it was sick and twisted and wrong, but maybe, just maybe, if she had given him what she wanted (what she wanted!) none of this would've happened. He wouldn't have struck a deal with Evil and lost his soul in the process; maybe he wouldn't have let madness overpower him and taken her heart with him to Hell.
Amidst it all, Leo and Chris have orbed in. And they brought someone with them, she realizes, but she can't find the strength to care. The Circle of Truth flares to life once more and more images are shown—the set-up is revealed and Darryl is saved, and yet through it all, she sees nothing but Barbas' knowing grin, that wicked curl of his lips that makes her feel as if she is five years old again and Michael Timmons has locked her in the storage room and it's dark and cold and quiet, and she calls for her Mommy but her Mommy is dead and buried, and no one comes and she stays there until the thin ray of sunlight under the door changes into pale moonlight and still she cries.
"And it doesn't even include what got them into this mess in the first place," Barbas hisses, and it's something in his voice that breaks the spell of her own memories and forces her to answer him, even though she knows it's another trap and she's walking right into it.
"Uh, that would be you!"
It isn't as much the flash of triumph in Barbas' black eyes that makes her wince, but the way his lips part and his teeth glitter in the darkness of the Tribunal's court that almost makes her take a step back. She holds her ground by pure will alone, her courage having deserted her a long way back.
"No, Phoebe", he says, and her name slithers from his tongue slowly, almost as an aftertaste, and it makes her skin crawl, "that would be you." He approaches her, and even if he remains on the other side of the Circle of Truth, she feels exposed, naked under his gaze, as if he could read her innermost secrets with just a glance.
He probably can.
"With your ongoing zeal to force your premonitions, to short circuit the process."
No. No! DON'T! Eyes so wide they hurt, she pleads silently. One word, just one word is all Barbas' needs to expose her. One word, and her carefully constructed fantasy will come crashing down upon her, fake smiles and false pretenses vanishing faster than rainbows in the sun.
She knows he knows: she can tell by the way his eyes shine with unguarded glee. He also knows she knows he knows, and she wonders if the magic of the Tribunal is making her head spin because that made absolutely no sense and perfect sense at the same time.
"Take the easy way out", he continues, and even with her two sisters and two whitelighters flanking her, she feels so very, very weak and her heart is beating so fast inside her chest she is certain everyone from here to the next world can hear it.
Barbas twirls around in a perfect circle, black cloak fluttering with invisible wind and she can breathe a little easier. But he doesn't stop. "For selfish behavior like that, there's got to be a punishment."
She knows right there and then he won't tell on her. Why use the big guns when his victory is already assured? He'll keep his big secret to himself, because that's what he does: feed on fear, other people's fears, and he has learnt the biggest fear of them all.
That in her heart of hearts, she wishes for nothing than for the father of her baby to be Cole.
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The End.
Yes, I know I said my Charmed Muse was dead. Well, she came back from the dead to write this, and has been playing hide-and-seek with me since then.