"Dammit!" Phoebe threw up her hands in frustration and glared at him as she sat down on the foot of their bed. "Why couldn't you have a nice, easy trigger? I got Prue's power down almost immediately that time I switched with her…"

He let the complaint pass and smiled tolerantly. When she'd approached him the day after the Wiccaning and asked for lessons in using his power independently, she'd thought it was a marvelous idea—and so did he, actually, because the Powers forbid she should get into serious trouble when he wasn't there… "Come on, Phoebe, focus," he said, moving to sit beside her. "This isn't half as hard as the physical training we were doing last year." And she'd risen to meet the challenge then, so why should this be so difficult?

"And yet I'm starting to miss the swordfights and twisted ankles," she grumbled. Then, sighing, "All right, let's try it again. Give me a second?"

He nodded and triggered his power briefly before letting it lapse again, watching her intently. Twin lights appeared in her hands for an instant, but swiftly flickered out.

"The mimicking thing isn't going to do you any good if I'm not there," he reminded her for the second time, frowning. "What exactly is the problem you're having? If I can see one of your premonitions, then you should be able to do this."

"Yeah, well, there's a giant leap between theory and practice, okay?" she said irritably. Then, in a more even tone, "The problem is your 'trigger moment' doesn't last very long. For a second I can get it, but then it's gone and I have to fall back on channeling your emotions to keep your power active. And I know what I need to be doing—"

"Is using your own," he finished for her. "Okay. Maybe we're doing this wrong. First time you saw me use my power—what was going on?" Perhaps it would help her to a step back from the emotions themselves to analyze the situations that provoked them.

"Leo'd just broken the whole 'you have a Whitelighter now' thing to you," she recalled, half-smiling, "and you weren't exactly thrilled; I guess because you're used to working alone…I remember wishing you'd just accept it wasn't an attempt to patronize you, just part of the package; but for whatever reason, it really set you off. Why?"

He was silent for a long moment. "Another change," he said finally. "Another set of new rules. Before that, I'd just thought of it as a new power—but you're right; it's not; it's part of a whole vocation. And I guess it was the idea of having a Whitelighter that just made that sink in…"

It wasn't like he hadn't dealt with similarly sudden, drastic changes before, but being a witch came with a calling he hadn't been sure—still wasn't sure—he knew how to serve. The most basic rules of witch's magic went against everything he'd been taught for over a hundred years; that kind of conditioning wasn't something he could overcome in a month with a few hours of studying.

"Got it." Phoebe's voice broke into his thoughts, and he looked up at her. "That's what I've been missing—I said it myself, before we went to Magic School, remember? Your power's defensive, but you can use it offensively—you know how offensive powers're usually triggered by anger and defensive ones by fear?"

Of course: it was easy to remember Piper in the kitchen, dripping with chunks of watermelon after her molecular combustion had emerged in response to a surge of temper; and Paige, in the early stages of her Charmed career, orbing out whenever she'd been startled. "So mine's a cross," he concluded with a nod. "One part anger, one part anxiety. Does knowing that help?"

"I think so."

He opened his hands again, intending to prompt her as he'd done before, but she shook her head, reaching to grasp his wrist. "Don't," she said. "I need to see if I can do it myself, without any empathic crutches."

Releasing him, she closed her eyes, brow furrowed in concentration, and let her hands fall to her lap, palms up, and bright blue light began to emanate from them, shining for a minute or so before vanishing. "Got it, I think," she said, opening her eyes again. "Do I just do that, or is there something different I need to know if I actually need to block something?"

He shook his head. "No. As long as you can trigger it, it'll work." A short pause. "What were you feeding into that?" he asked curiously. "Because as soon as you knew what you needed, you got it awfully fast."

"Yesterday," she said, her half-smile apologetic. "All my expectant mother issues…fear for the baby, anger at myself for that and for what happened…you know. We worked through it."

"Did we?" he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Because you usually only throw yourself this diligently into something if you're trying to avoid facing something else."

She looked away from him and down at her hands, and he saw her catch her lower lip between her teeth: sure signs he'd hit the proverbial nail on the head. Reaching forward, he tilted her chin up gently so their eyes met. "Phoebe? What've you thought of that you don't want to tell me?"

"What, are you tapping into my empathy now?" she asked, her smile a little too wide to be anything but an attempt to change the subject.

"Nice try," he said dryly, "and no, fortunately. I just know you that well." A short pause. "Look—anything that's worrying you, we've gotten through worse. Nothing you say is going to shock me or hurt me or whatever it is you're trying to protect me from."

He let silence fall and stretch, making it clear he wasn't going to drop the matter, and after a moment she sighed and admitted, "You're right—I'm worried about the baby. Yesterday, while you were all vanquishing the Necromancer…Leo and I were talking, and he just made this little joke about how you were definitely going to be Grams' favorite grandson-in-law when she found out we were having a girl, in spite of having been half-demon, and I started to think—"

"Of what might happen if she started manifesting demonic powers," he finished for her. He remembered all too well how fragile her health had been during her previous pregnancy, and the he didn't want to think what must have happened to her while he'd been in the Wasteland. "I don't think we need to worry about that," he said quietly. "What happened during your last pregnancy couldn't happen this time, even if I were a full demon."

"Why not?"

"Because a demon's powers don't develop like a witch's," he explained. "What the Source did, forcing his powers onto the baby so they showed in the womb—that wasn't normal. Demonic powers usually manifest around adolescence…I couldn't do a thing until I was about fifteen, and that was several years behind the rest of my peers."

Her expression was curious. "Because you were half-human?"

"That's what I decided it had to be, later, although at the time I was too busy complaining about it to draw any conclusions." A wry half-smile. "You think normal kids are vicious, try growing up with demons. But anyway, the point I'm trying to make here—even if what Light Magic did to me didn't touch my genes, we wouldn't have to worry about the possibility of anything demonic showing up until her late teens."

Phoebe relaxed visibly and leaned into his side, reaching for his arm, which he wrapped around her shoulders. "Thank God." Then, looking up at him, she added quickly, "It's not the powers themselves I'm worried about—I know we'll raise her to be good and it won't be a problem if she has them—it's just that I really couldn't have them inside me if—"

"It's not news to me that a good witch can't contain demonic powers," he assured her, laughing a little. "I'm not going to take it personally." A short pause. "Was that it?"

"Yeah. For now, anyway," she added, sighing. "I really should've brought that to you yesterday…I don't know, I guess I was just afraid of bringing up anything that either of us would rather have stay buried."

"In this family, it's leaving things alone that's more dangerous," he said lightly. Then, sobering, he drew back a little to meet her gaze. "Phoebe, the hundred and fourteen years before I met you aren't an open wound you have to avoid touching. We both know I've done horrible things I don't want to talk about, but other than that, it's okay to ask whatever you want to know. Especially to keep the baby safe."

Phoebe nodded. "Or as safe as she can be, anyway, with a Charmed mother." A short pause. "Your deflection'll be enough to get me through the rest of this trimester, and maybe even some of the second one, but when I start putting on weight and slowing down…I can't do what Piper did and blow up demons from a safe distance."

He would be lying if he said he weren't relieved about that, if only because it would take her off active-duty vanquishing for most of her pregnancy. "When you can't go on a vanquish with your sisters, I'll take up the slack," he promised. "I can't stand in for you in the Power of Three, but a hundred-plus years of combat training have to count for something."

She offered a half-smile, but he didn't miss the flicker of concern in her eyes. "Show me you can brew a working vanquishing potion, and I'll consider it," she said dryly. Then, in a lighter tone, "I know you've been studying—about how far along are you?"

"I've covered the 'witches be warned' notes, the Wheel of the Year and color and elemental correspondences, and now I'm memorizing herbal associations for potions work," he answered, recalling the time he'd spent reading both the Book of Shadows and the notebook he'd found in the attic, presumably compiled for Paige's use. "You'll probably have to work with me on the brewing process, and I still need to get through the part on spell and ritual design, but I figured I'd better know all the components first."

"I don't know if I should be impressed or jealous," she said with a grin, her expression quite emphatically the former. "D'you know how long it was before we started studying the craft out of books? You've gotten more of that stuff committed to memory in a month than we learned the hard way in a year."

He was fairly sure she was exaggerating: they couldn't possibly have survived as long as they had working half-blind. "But you're more comfortable with what you do than I think I ever will be," he said. "All the studying I'm doing is just to catch up; learn what I can do and how to do it well." A short pause. "Everything I learned a hundred years ago no longer applies, so for the first time in long time, I have work from the basics up."

"And there's so much information and so many rules and it's all so different from anything you've ever known that you feel like a fish out of water," she said matter-of-factly. Then, at his questioning look, "That was experience talking, not the empathy. Remember, we weren't raised for this whole witch thing any more than you were. When we finally got our powers back and found out we had a destiny to fulfill…" A slight, rueful smile. "The only training we had, we got on the job. It took me several years to feel really comfortable as a witch—you know, like I could improvise and not worry about having my spell blow up in my face."

He gave her an incredulous look—he hadn't seen any of the uncertainty she'd described when she'd built the spell that had taken them into his memories, or worked with Paige on the ritual that raised the wards. Sure, he knew intellectually that she'd been a novice once, but that she'd felt so incapable and inexperienced… "Even if that's normal," he said at last, "there's still part of me that feels like I'm trying to be something I'm not. Everything I've done in the past—and now I'm suddenly supposed to have a higher calling?"

"Cole, you've only been a witch for a month," she said softly, leaning into his side. "Self-perception takes a lot longer than that to change—on some level, you still think of yourself a demon learning to be a witch, and that has to be weird, but it'll get better. You just need to give it time." A short pause, then, dryly, "Trust me: filling in while I'm on maternity leave should bring the whole 'I'm a witch' thing into focus really fast."

"Probably," he said with a nod. After all, there was nothing like field practice to sharpen new skills. "And speaking of maternity, have you called the doctor yet? You said yesterday that you probably should…"

"Not yet," she said ruefully, shaking her head. "I was kind of caught up in the 'we have to put a handfasting together in just a week!' hysteria last night. But I checked on the 'Net earlier, and it said most doctors won't actually have you come in for a prenatal checkup before the eighth week. I'm only just past my fourth."

"Never a bad idea to plan ahead," he noted, reaching with his free hand to give her still-flat abdomen a gentle pat. Still, if what she'd said was correct, she could as easily schedule the appointment after their handfasting was over and things had calmed down. "But there is such a thing as going overboard," he allowed as an afterthought, remembering Piper's rush to put together a checklist of ritual preparations the previous evening.

"Not talking about the baby, are you?" she asked with a grin. "I know. My sisters were driving me a little crazy, too. I mean, I was all for having a fairytale wedding last time around, but now…" A shrug. "Not so much. A nice dinner, some flowers, a little ribbon maybe, but nothing huge." There was a brief pause, and then she laughed. "You know, with the big church thing we were doing before, I was so worried about the rice and the caterers and my dress...I don't think I actually thought about what it all meant until I was walking down the aisle. This time, I want it to be about us, not the frills."

He had to agree: their previous wedding—if he deigned to call it theirs—had been an absolute headache, and not only because of the Source's actions. Watching Phoebe and her sisters rush around making, checking and double-checking on the myriad of preparations had been exhausting, and her seemingly endless barrage of questions ("What kind of flowers? What music? What food?") had been bearable only because they'd annoyed the hell out of the Source. He remembered thinking that if this was how a wedding was put together, then it was no wonder she'd been reluctant to marry him.

"My feelings exactly," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "So let's keep things small and simple this time, because I personally have no desire to see you running around ranting about the merits of blue bridesmaid dresses over pink or whatever it was." Then, allowing a teasing note to creep into his tone, he added, "Everything kind of started to run together somewhere between the roses and the hors d'oeuvres."

She pretended to glare, then let the severe expression soften into a grin. "Okay, okay—I get your point," she conceded. "Small and simple; no obsessing." A short pause. "What about something like Piper's wedding?"

Oh, no. He remembered Piper's wedding well—right down to the last ribbon and oversized urn of flowers. "It was a beautiful ceremony," he began, trying for tact, "but arranging something that elaborate in a week would be—"

"You can stop with the dread," she broke in. "I meant her first wedding, when she and Leo were trying to elope before the Elders caught on. It wasn't big—she didn't even have a wedding dress—but we had flowers, some silk garlands on the walls…it all went together in a couple of hours. Even just having a week, we wouldn't have to rush."

"Sounds perfect," he agreed. "Besides, we wouldn't want to put up anything we couldn't afford to have pulled down just as fast."

A wry grin. "Taking more lessons from Piper?"

"Yeah," he said, chuckling in spite of himself as he remembered the devastation and the shell-shocked look on the face of the bride. It hadn't been funny at the time, of course, but in retrospect… "When I think of how long that must've taken you to put together—and it was completely ruined in ten seconds flat."

She was about to reply, but paused when there was a knock on the door. "Am I interrupting anything I wouldn't want to see?"

"We're fine," Phoebe said, shrugging off his arm and leaning away a little. "What is it, do you need something?"

Paige opened the door and swept in, pad and pencil in hand. "Piper just wanted to know how many of what kind of flowers you want for the ceremony before she actually gets the florist on the phone," she said, tapping the pencil's eraser against the paper. "And she says not too many, because she probably hasn't been paying as much attention to P3 as she should."

"Right, about that," Phoebe said, reaching forward and deftly removing the writing materials from her sister's hands. "We've decided we just want it to be small and simple. Maybe a dozen roses? Say, six red and six white?"

Paige looked a little surprised. "That's it? You don't want garlands or a bouquet or…anything?"

"Paige, we're having—all of us here make six, then seven with Grams, Dad's eight, and one extra place in case we're lucky and Mom gets to come. With such a small guest list, I don't think we need to make a huge deal about decorations." A short pause, a grin. "And as for the bouquet, let's not and say we did, considering you're the only one in the house not married."

"Touché," Paige said with a slightly bitter smile.

Phoebe winced. "I'm feeling resentment, honey. And anger. Lots of it." Looking up at her sister, she raised a questioning eyebrow. "Spill."

"Remember how I said I didn't think Nate was Mr. Right?" Paige said after a moment, looking sheepish. "Well, long story made really short, I started thinking I should check, and there was this spell in the Book…"

He tensed, knowing that those last words meant potential disaster and at least half a day rushing around to take care of the cleanup. Depends on what she did, of course, but still…never a good sign.

"Not the Truth Spell," Phoebe groaned, reaching up and beginning to knead her temples. "Tell me you didn't."

Distinctly guilty silence.

"Skip down," she said with a sigh, making a 'go on' gesture with her free hand. "After you broke the 'no personal gain' rule and cast the Truth Spell on your boyfriend, you…?"

"Found out he was actually Mr. Wrong, also known as Mr. Married-with-Children," Paige said, her flippant tone belying the spark of anger in her eyes. "But don't worry, that was earlier; and I already took care of the damage control."

"Okay. You know what?" Phoebe said brightly, forcing a smile. "I don't want to be mad at you, because all those stress hormones aren't baby-friendly, so you just go tell Piper about those flowers, and whatever fallout comes from what you did, you deal with it."

Paige nodded and left, and Phoebe fell back on the bed. "Perfect," she said to herself. "It's always got to be something, doesn't it?"

"I think I saw that spell when I was going through the Book," he said idly, reclining beside her. "Unvarnished truth for twenty-four hours?"

"Unless she modified it," she said with a nod, "which she's been known to do, in which case I just don't want to know." She scooted closer, laying her head on his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Did I ever tell you how grateful I am that you know better than to mess around with magic for personal gain?"

"I think," he said, half-smiling, "it was one of those things that went without saying."

"Well, I'm saying it now, anyway," she said. "Paige's got to learn that she can't just cast a spell whenever she wants…and I can't believe I'm the one saying this!" A pause, a little laugh. "I guess I really am growing up."

She had. He could still see elements of the capricious, carefree young woman she'd been when they'd met, but she'd sobered and settled since then, maturity forged first in the crucible of Prue's death, then tempered by the pain of the ordeal the Source had put them through.

"It was bound to happen eventually," he said, wrapping an arm around her and reaching to entwine their fingers. "Doesn't mean it's a bad thing." And it wasn't, because she was healing now and showed every sign of emerging stronger than she'd been.

"No," she agreed. "I used to think it was, but"—she shrugged—"with everything that happened between my cold feet stage and now, I guess I just…learned there're much worse things to be afraid of."

"True," he said. "And it's probably better to have a grown-up mentality, with the baby on the way—you wouldn't have any authority, otherwise."

There was a pause, and for a moment he wondered whether he'd inadvertently offended her, or else awakened some new worry, but then she grinned.

"As if she won't have you wrapped around her tiny finger from day one!" she said, giving him a knowing look. "You may not have the built in 'oh-so-cute' impulse I do with babies, but it'll be different when it's yours. Just you wait—the nurturing instinct will kick right in."

The look he returned was skeptical: he wasn't sure he had a nurturing instinct. Wasn't that more a maternal thing? "If you say so." Sometimes she really did know him better than he knew himself; maybe she was right. Because did love this baby, even if he wasn't sure what kind of father he'd make once she arrived.

And it was his experience that love had a way of eliminating uncertainties. It would have been unthinkable, once, to turn against the Triad, disobey the Source—but for Phoebe…

There had been no hesitation.

So maybe love could erase these doubts, too. Maybe, once she was born…he'd just know, and be as certain of his capabilities as Phoebe was.

Maybe.

A/N: All right, this chapter is a bit shorter than the last two, but it wanted to end here and is meant to be transitional anyway. Overall, I'd say I'm pleased with it—next chapter, the handfasting! (But please remember to review this one, and that I especially love reviews of one paragraph or more. Feedback is an excellent writing motivator.) And my grateful thanks to Shel (link to her amazing work, which every Phoebe/Cole fan should read, on my Favorite Authors page), whose input was just what I needed to finalize the wedding plans.