Recalled to Life

A Man Apart

2025

"Still, the Doctor walked among the terrors with a steady head. No man better known than he, in Paris at that day; no man in a stranger situation. Silent, humane, indispensable in hospital and prison, using his art equally among assassins and victims, he was a man apart. In the exercise of his skill, the appearance and the story of the Bastille Captive removed him from all other men. He was not suspected or brought in question, any more than if he had indeed been recalled to life some eighteen years before, or were a Spirit moving among mortals."

Book III; Chapter IV of A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

—A Genuine Thank You—

Emerged from the triquetra vortex, Mel stepped around Wyatt. So relieved was she to see Penny seated on the attic's couch, short-cropped brown hair and tanning-bed browned skin perfectly intact, she'd actually begun to smile before realizing that her cousin's straight-backed posture indicated all was not well that had seemingly ended well.

Penny stiffly rose to stand. "Chris took Bianca to their apartment. They took the rest of your potion with them, even though I don't think Bianca'll be needing it anymore."

Confusion skittered across Mel's face.

"She had to vanquish her mother and the rest of her coven – to save me," Penny revealed quietly, her watery gaze shifting from Mel to Wyatt. Her expression asked, How could any of this have been allowed to happen?

Mel raised her eyes to Wyatt. He must have thought she was seeking comfort, because he dropped Sydney abruptly to pull her into a hug. Accepting it, she lifted her arm for Penny to join them, resting a hand on her cousin's slim back.

The three stood in silent mourning, Mel increasingly aware of the enormity of their places in the greater scheme of things. They mattered, and suffering was the price of significance. Some had already paid it – Penny and Bianca today, Chris by holding onto memories of a bygone future, her father by trading his powers for his family, the Charmed Ones by fighting through years of sacrifice. How would Wyatt pay? How would she?

Jarringly, Wyatt's cell blared a classic refrain from Queens of the Stone Age. "It's Verity," Wyatt said regretfully. Apparently, the ringtone served to remind him that he had a secret. Depressing. They broke apart, Wyatt pulling his phone out of his sweats so he could send Verity to voicemail.

Rubbing her elbows, Mel told him, "You can't blow her off twice in one day."

He looked directly at Penny. "If you need anything – "

"I just need some time alone to think." Penny smiled weakly. "So go."

Wyatt's orbs dissipated, leaving Mel to stare down at the floorboards. "I probably have to go to work soon, too." She toed a knot in the wood, wondering if she should offer to call in sick.

Penny blew out a long breath. "I guess we all have to just…move on with our day," she declared.

"Seems kind of par for the course," Mel responded, the glibness in her tone shaky. "Get up, get dressed, try to destroy the Warren line, get burned at the stake, get some lunch, musical work day for the rest of the afternoon – you're set."

"Yep," Penny agreed, too brightly.

Mel looked at her sharply, wondering how close she was to tears. Pretty close. "Penn, I can call for Aunt Paige. She'll have your mom here like that."

"No. Thanks, but…She'll be mad at me for not telling her right away, but I really do think I need to be alone. I haven't been totally myself in a long time."

"Are you sure?" Mel wanted badly to actually do something for Penny, since it felt like she'd spent the greater part of the morning standing around helplessly, resenting her.

"You'd want to be alone."

"Yeah, but that's me, I'm…" What? A completely fucked up person incapable of any sort of empathy? "…me."

"And I'm me, too, now – thanks to you. Not even my sisters noticed I was under a spell. I didn't even realize it until it took me completely." Penny wearily sat back down on the edge of the couch.

"Well, you know how I like to think the worst of people."

"That's not true. Could you accept a genuine thank you, please? I'd appreciate it."

She didn't deserve one – she'd been just as oblivious as anybody else – but, "Sure."

"Thank you," Penny said to Mel.

"You're welcome."

"There." She smacked her thighs decisively. "Now I'm dismissing you to go change for work."

Mel looked down at her decade-old t-shirt and ripped jeans. "Why would I bother doing that?"

Penny sighed in feint mock pity. "Oh, Melinda. I hope I'm not the one who has to break this to you for the first time – Lawyers have to dress up for work. Like, in dress pants, and, I'm not kidding, some of them even wear skirts."

"I'm just messing with you." Mel motioned Penny to lead the way out of the attic. It was good for both of them to get away. "You know, I can dress to intimidate, no problem. In fifteen years, when I convince you to take your Wicca wonder emporium corporate, you'll be asking for wardrobe pointers from me."

Penny gave a little laugh, opening Mel's bedroom. "I'm not that ambitious. Not like your family. Lawyer, doctor, professor. Even my sisters – Pheona wants to travel the world helping people fall in love, and Pierce is well on her way to discovering the philosophic truth behind the meaning of life…Tricia's going protect and serve; Tia's going to reverse global warming; Juni already knows he's going to be a whitelighter. Me, I just want to open a little Wicca shop and help your mom out on the side."

Mel swallowed thickly. The far-looking serenity on Penny's face was entirely reminiscent of Melinda Warren's expression when she prophesized the Charmed Ones.

"All I want out of the future is for none of us ever to lose touch. My kids are going play with your kids, and they'll call me Aunt Penny, and their kids, too…" She stopped, smiling lightly. "I expect to see at least three generations out of all of you before I kick it."

In spite of the cloyingness of Penny's parochial aspirations – aspirations, judging from oft-retold stories, the original Penny Halliwell sure as hell hadn't shared – Mel was moved. Her own instinct was to keep the family alive; Penny's to keep them together. After seeing how, in her past life, she'd had to give up her daughter, there could be no faulting her for valuing family unity.

"You're judging me," Penny observed.

Mel started moving hangers in her closet. "I was just thinking – "

"Wait, are we feeling this print skirt today? It's super cute."

But not very intimidating. She needed armor today, so she pulled out the black pantsuit she'd worn for the mock trial she'd won during her Berkeley summer class. "How about pinstripes?"

"Okay, but no jacket and you're wearing your green silk blouse with it. This isn't my funeral."

"Dark," Mel commented, more out of surprise than anything. But she accepted the blouse and the ballerina flats.

While she was changing, Penny asked, "So what were you thinking? When you were judging me."

"I was imagining you having thirteen children."

Penny grinned, looking relieved. "No. No, I think three is the perfect number." She patted her nearly concave stomach. "I wouldn't want to ruin my figure. I plan on being a MILF."

"Noble."

"In all things."

Shifting her weight, Mel nodded at Penny's wrist. "Could you tell me the time?"

She slid the watch face toward her. "Ten to eleven. When do you have to work?"

"Eleven," Mel responded derisively, then shrugged. "I'm screwed. It's a twenty-minute drive if I take a taxi. Damn space-time continuum."

Penny held out her hand. "Is there a janitor's closet I can drop you off inside?"

"Nah, you look pretty drained. It's not a big deal if I'm late. They love me there. You just…do whatever you need to do."

In a no-nonsense tone, Penny replied, "Prudence Melinda. Less than an hour ago every good deed any member of our family line has ever done would have been blotted out by evil if it hadn't been for you. I'm positive I can muster up the strength to take you across town, because I definitely owe you."

"Not really. I didn't want to be a Phoenix, and just ask Chris how messed up the world would be if Wyatt was raised evil. Whatever, though. If you want to take me to work, I'm not gonna argue."

"I will take you to work," she said, standing, "Only, I wish you'd stop playing the martyr. It's unbecoming."

"I'm not, I just – " Mel pursed her lips together. Penny's nagging sounded so much like her usual self that she had forgotten to be sympathetic. "I need to learn to except a thank you," she amended.

Penny was appeased.

Mel spent the afternoon incensed, not at Penny but at Cole. Mel was certain she could accept a thank you, and she would, with satisfaction, if one was actually deserved. Since she'd been blindly following orders, Penny thinking that she'd taken the initiative to save the Warren line was utter bullshit.

Now, if she'd had a share in monitoring for developing prophesies or been given full disclosure as to the events that were to transpire, well, that would be a different scenario. Had Cole treated her as a partner instead of a cheap lackey, Mel would've been able to accept Penny's praise at full value.

"Ugh," Mel let out as she pushed an enormous chronicle of California state Supreme Court rulings into place. Along with frustration, that single syllable was brimming with disgust. The sad truth was that she badly wanted recognition for her role as family savior. It justified the place she'd made for herself one step outside the circle. She'd actually enjoyed Chris's skepticism, because she knew she'd be able to emphatically prove him wrong.

Yet, it occurred to her, a weight sinking into her stomach, Penny's misplaced gratitude aside, no one could really be appreciative of how the morning's events had transpired. Necessary or not, Penny had been burned at the stake and Bianca had had to vanquish her own mother. Not exactly a clean-cut win for the good guys. But, then, how could it be with such an architect behind it?

So, what did you leave me with, Cole? she asked herself, pushing the heavy shelving cart into the next row. Hollow praise for suspecting the absolute worst of the Princess, terrible last-minute timing, half-cocked planning, unshakable anger and grief at seeing Melinda Warren's frightened eyes as the flames spread nearer, the knowledge that the only thing she'd remotely done right and of her own volition was to involve Wyatt and Chris, and an upcoming million-lie marathon once Mom and the Aunts heard the story.

"Bastard," she snarled lowly, forcefully jamming a slim volume into an already tight shelf.

"Hon? Are you all right?"

Instantly drawing her face into a look of wide-eyed embarrassment, Mel placed the book she was abusing back on her cart and turned to face her supervisor, a short, dark-haired woman who laughed too loudly and insisted on taking her out to lunch once a week.

"I am so sorry, Laurie, I shouldn't have said that out loud. The books just hate me today. They're staging a rebellion."

Laurie threw back her head with a staccato, "Ha! I know what you mean, I've heard them plotting before. Little whispers, totally creepy. But, hey, you've been at it non-stop since you got here. Why don't you go sit up at the resource desk, and you can dazzle the patrons with your encyclopedic knowledge of the California legal system."

"Sure," Mel grinned, dryly thinking, Yet another acclamation that rightly belongs to Cole.

Dwelling on that, however, would not do her a bit of good, so instead she engaged Laurie in surface level conversation about how scary and-or exciting it was to think she'd be headed off to college in just a few short months. Mel listened attentively as Laurie reminisced about her own high school and college days, playing the perfect little pet so well that she didn't have to shelve another book all day.

At five minutes to four, Mel was already outside the building, taking the stairs down to the sidewalk two at a time. One hand in her pocket, she gathered the change there, just enough for a bus ride home. Her frustration at not being born with the ability to magically transport herself anywhere she pleased had not dimmed with age.

But at least she was almost certain she could use Sydney to confront Cole on her own terms, something she should have done years ago. If the son of a bitch thought she was nothing more than another pawn he could slide around on his chessboard –

"Halliwell."

Mel snapped her attention to the origin of the greeting, reflexively baring her teeth at the pinkie wave the black-clad demon offered her with a smile.