A/N: This fic starts after an alternate ending to the whole season eight arc, which will be explained as the fic progresses. It will be a femmeslash fic, so you have been forewarned! I don't own Charmed, obviously. That's about it!
Christy doesn't have her memory. It takes awhile to convince Piper, but finally she allows her to go on to a rehab center and a place at UC Berkeley. "She doesn't deserve it," Piper says later to Phoebe about the decision when they are alone.
Phoebe shrugs. "She doesn't have a family anymore. She doesn't have her memories, and she wouldn't want to remember if she could. Do you really resent her for a cramped dorm room and her life?"
Piper sighs, gathers Wyatt into her arms. She turns back to Phoebe before she heads up the stairs. "Yes, I can." After a few steps she pauses. "But when you put it that way, it's hard to."
Phoebe gives a weak smile to her back, but Piper never turns around to see it, just continues taking Wyatt up the stairs.
The obvious first thing to do was to dispose of Billie's body. It was something they surprisingly hadn't had to deal with too often, and Piper said, "Let the police or the Elders or someone else take care of it. It's not our problem."
Paige had looked disturbed by Piper's attitude, but she hadn't protested. Billie was still laid out on their rug, her arm slung over her chest, skin cold. Phoebe had knelt by her, brow crinkling together in concentration. She'd looked up, and Paige had met her eyes for a moment before she'd looked away. "I'll take care of it."
Piper had crossed her arms. "Why should you have to deal with it?"
"I shouldn't have to, but I want to." Phoebe's fingers had reached out to touch Billie's hair, had stopped short, and her hand had withdrawn back to her own knee.
"You don't owe her anything. She tried to kill us." Piper had thrown up her hands in disgust. "You know, whatever. As long as I don't have to see her on my carpet anymore."
"She-" Paige started, but then Paige fell silent. Her hand floated to over her stomach for a second, and she looked over at the wooden floor. Finally Paige had added. "If you need any help, Phoebe…"
"I'll be fine. Though if you could orb her to my apartment, it might be easier for me to make the arrangements there." Phoebe followed this with a short laugh, but Paige had done as she'd asked.
---
As Phoebe lays Billie out across her couch, she remembers the smallest moments. Brushing her hair back from her head when she had the magical virus or some conversation they'd had. Nothing important, mostly things from when she first knew her. Nothing from the last part. Nothing bad.
Withdrawing her arms, she covers her face with her hands, tries to ignore the memory of cold skin against her own. Phoebe sighs and moves to her kitchen, hand shaking as she reaches up into her cabinet for a cup. She turns the faucet on, but she manages to splash water over half of her cabinet before she finally turns off the faucet.
It takes her a second to realize that the shattering sound is the cup hitting the wall.
When she ambles back into the living room, Billie is still the same as she was left. The magic left her almost preserved, and there is no trace she isn't just sleeping besides the lack of movement, the absence of even a whisper of breath escaping her mouth. It's so unnatural, Phoebe has to cover her mouth to stop herself from losing what little she managed to get down that night.
She picks up the phone book from her coffee table, circles three more places that handle cremation, tries to think about legal complications. The pen ends up stuck in her mouth, and she notices it, takes it out, sets it down with the phonebook. The air feels too hot, so she opens the doors to her balcony, and the coldness washes over her skin.
Phoebe stands in the doorway without going outside, arms wrapped around herself, lets the wind hit her. Below there are car rushing in the dark, horns blaring in the rush of city noises. Above her the moon is huge and hazy, looming where the stars weren't strong enough to be visible.
Her fingers reach up to touch her mouth for a second, but then she forces them through her hair.
The light switches off, leaving only the path from the balcony in her apartment lit. Phoebe follows the light with her eyes from the outside to the wood of the floor, but she only gets to the arm of the couch before she stops. Her footsteps fall heavy in the silence of her apartment.
She turns down her sheets, feeling the coldness of the silk slide across her skin, and it feels too much like death. These past few weeks have felt too much like death. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and tries to forget the body lying across her couch. It takes awhile to get to sleep, and when she does it is just exhaustion winning over her mind that never quite seems to be quiet. Even before she drifts off, her thoughts are still making a weary circle around Billie.
---
Two Weeks Ago
"I just- Can I hang out here? I don't want to be alone right now." The way it is said is casual, with a throw of her hands, like Billie has just failed a final or ripped her favorite shirt, not lost both of her parents.
Phoebe doesn't know how to respond to that right away, so her tone comes out as casual. "Of course you can. Yeah, you can stay here as long as you want." She takes off her glasses, swears she can feel a headache coming on, and it is probably from all the excessive matchmaking of a certain interfering someone she doesn't feel like naming at the moment.
Noticing her thoughts straying onto herself, Phoebe shifts herself so that she's facing Billie. Billie has her head thrown back against the couch, and she watches Phoebe through half-closed eyes. Phoebe lays a hand on her leg, makes small strokes with her thumb. "Sure you're alright?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine." Billie let's out a long sigh that is not anywhere near fine.
"Come here." Phoebe holds her arms out. Billie gives her a look like she thinks it might be ridiculous, but Phoebe doesn't pull back. "Come on."
Billie leans over, a sudden warmth against her side, and Phoebe wraps her arms around her. She can feel Billie readjust herself, head fitting neatly into Phoebe's shoulder, and for a moment they just sit, embraced on the couch.
"I'm not going to cry," Billie whispers, but Phoebe can hear the tears in her voice.
She just rubs her hand over Billie's back. "That's fine." She can smell the scent of Billie's shampoo, something soft and clean. Phoebe holds her tighter. "You don't have to."
Finally Billie pulls away, wipes at her face with the back of her arm even though her eyes are still dry. She gives Phoebe a tight smile, but the smile never quite reaches her eyes. Her fingers are curled into light fists over her knees, and Billie fidgets on the couch.
She gets up in a swift motion, and Phoebe's eyes follow her around the table. Billie perches on a chair, rests her head in her hands. She says something that Phoebe can't make out. After a second, Billie looks up at her. "Do you have anything for my head?"
Phoebe gets up from the couch. "Yeah. I'll go get it for you." She brushes her hand lightly over Billie's shoulder as she passes by, sees the shudder of reaction. It is hard for Phoebe to remember losing her mother, and she hasn't lost her father yet, but she's lost, and it is easy enough for her to remember what that loss feels like. She pulls her hand back, continues on to the bathroom.
When she comes back she has a glass of water in her hand which she hands to Billie, and her other hand smoothes over Billie's hair. "Here you go, honey."
Phoebe empties two white pills into Billie's palm, which Billie swallows. "Thanks." Billie sits back, looks almost sunken into the chair.
-
Billie walks behind the couch, hand trailing along the back. She watches her reflection on the floor, just a vague puddle of colors on the hardwood. When she looks up, Phoebe's brow is pulled together, and Billie knows she's worried, but Billie can't seem to cheer herself up enough to do more than give a brief smile. "I'm alright."
"Everyone would understand if you weren't." Phoebe's voice is assured, assuring, and Billie circles closer, back around the couch, her hand trailing along the arm and then dangling back at her side. She steps into a patch of light where the curtains don't quite meet up at the windows, and the warmth seeps into her as she looks up at Phoebe.
Phoebe steps forward, puts a hand on her arm. "You're not alone. You know that, right?" Her thumb makes small strokes on Billie's skin.
"I know." But she doesn't know, or she doesn't really feel it. They are still standing a few feet apart, and Billie can feel that few feet as a definitive split, a chasm between her and the rest of the world. Phoebe can reach across to her, but she is still standing there on the other side of the chasm, just looking across.
Billie is forced to look down, and she concentrates on the slight pressure of where each of Phoebe's fingers rests on her arm, the connection of it. "Come here." Phoebe draws her closer, pulls her into a hug, and Billie has to shut her eyes against the tears that well up in her eyes.
For a moment she just rests against Phoebe, taking in the lightness of the other woman's scent, the comfort of the embrace. "Thank you for letting me stay here."
"Anytime." Phoebe's breath tickles the hairs on the top of her head. She's afraid to say she wants more, but it is a quiet whisper within herself. Phoebe untangles herself from Billie, places her hand on Billie's back. "Why don't you lay down for awhile?"
Billie just nods, because she's tired, and because she knows she can't expect Phoebe to stand in the middle of a room just holding her. Her feet almost don't want to carry her into the other room, and she falls onto the bed like her body is a dead weight.
The sheets are soft as Billie settles herself into Phoebe's covers. The scent is comfortingly familiar, the same smell as Phoebe's old bed at the manor, the smell she's gone to sleep to for the last few weeks of her life, flowers and perfume and something clean like soap or laundry detergent. It lulls her close to sleep now like an old blanket or a favorite pillow.
Phoebe watches her for a moment, straightens a few things on her vanity, bottles of perfume. Billie can see her face in the mirror, and her eyes meet the eyes of Phoebe's reflection. It occurs to her that Phoebe's eyes are meeting the eyes of her reflection. She wonders if there is some difference between that and really meeting each other's eyes. If there is something about the way the mirror inverts their images that changes something.
Phoebe turns around and gives her a little smile. It is meant to be reassuring, and Billie tries her best to feel reassured, but it doesn't touch something inside of her. She's never lost someone she cares about to magic before, and it hurts, hurts so much she doesn't want to think about it.
The mattress shifts as Phoebe sits down beside her. She leans down, softly pushes a strand of Billie's hair away from her eyes, and Billie feels the light touch echo down into her skin. Her fingers wrap around Phoebe's arm as Phoebe starts to move back away, and Billie pulls herself up enough to rest her mouth against Phoebe's cheek. It is just a whisper of a kiss, and Billie says, "Thank you" barely loud enough to be heard before she lets herself fall back against the pillow. She knows she's said it before, but she needs it to be said one more time.
They look at each other, but neither of them says anything to fill the silence. Billie lets her eyes drift shut as Phoebe rises from the bed.
---
Billie perches on the edge of her couch, and from the haze and the way everything glows, a white fuzzy halo tracing even the simplest of objects, Phoebe can tell it is a dream. "It was a nice memory." A smile appears at the edges of Billie's mouth.
Phoebe's mind is still retracing that day two weeks ago that she dreamed about before this. It is still fuzzy in her mind, the images hazy like they are submerged under water. "I don't know how nice it was considering what happened right after it."
Billie looks down, traces the material of the couch with her finger. "Yeah, that." There's something sad about her posture all of the sudden, and in the dream the moonlight is tracing her body so that the whole scene looks like something out of a painting.
Phoebe walks over, sits on the couch, letting her hands dangle between her knees. Billie looks down at her, turns to face her. Phoebe looks up. "This is crazy. Your body is laying on my couch. You're dead. I shouldn't still be having these dreams."
"Maybe it's just a dream." Billie hops off the arm of the couch. "Maybe you're just thinking about me because my body's laying on your couch, and-"
"I don't want to think about you!" Phoebe covers her face with her hands, takes a deep breath. She looks up, claps her hands together quietly. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to think about you anymore."
"Hey, it's alright. I wouldn't want to think about me either." Billie sits down next to her on the couch. She picks up Phoebe's hand, and Phoebe feels a shudder run through her at the slight contact.
Billie turns her hand over, traces a line absently with one finger. "Long life line."
"Yeah, I keep on not dying somehow." Billie doesn't miss the bitter note in Phoebe's voice.
She stands up, tugs on Phoebe's hand. "Stand up."
Phoebe hesitates, but finally she does, and Billie leads her out onto the balcony. The two of them lean over it, looking at the San Francisco nightscape. It seems like forever they stand there in silence. Phoebe laughs softly. "We haven't said much."
Billie shrugs. "It's alright. The memory was more important anyways, and it is almost time for you to wake up." She doesn't take her eyes off the horizon, but her hand lifts off the rail. "See, the sun is out over there."
Phoebe turns to look, but instead she wakes up to her apartment to find the first bit of pink creeping in the window.