LOVER'S REUNION
Part One
Ghosts from the past
"Happy birthday, eh?" Phoebe muttered. She raised her glass and toasted her reflection in the cracked mirror behind the bar. A tired face looked back at her. She blinked to keep her reflection in focus and sipped from her orange drink. What did the locals call it again? Oh yeah, a Hurricane. She snorted. Not much of a storm to speak of. She didn't usually go out for a drink; she didn't have the money to spend. But tonight she had decided she needed to celebrate. After all, how many times did one hit the big Four-Oh?
Some birthday party it was. She looked around the empty bar. A mishmash of chairs stood crookedly around tables marked with rings where countless glasses had stained the ancient lacquer. In the corner two old-timers with skins wrinkled to leather sat downing shots of whiskey. They had been shrimp fishermen until the bayou ran out of shrimp. She sure was in good company. They looked as disgruntled with life as she felt.
Phoebe swallowed the last of the orange liquid. The night wasn't going to get any happier so she might as well return to her grubby hotel room and wallow in misery. At least the liquor would help her sleep. It dulled the pain that she felt whenever she reflected on her life.
She knew exactly when things had gone wrong: the night Cole vanquished himself. She had blamed Prue for giving him the means to do it; it was her sister that provided the potion. That night Phoebe had decided she didn't want anything to do with magic anymore. She renounced her powers and left San Francisco. She never returned.
Deep down Phoebe knew that who she really blamed was herself. For giving him a reason.
She hopped off the bar seat, and nearly toppled over. She barely managed to grab on to the edge of the bar in time. Oops. She eyed the empty hurricane-glass with new respect. Perhaps that stuff was stronger than it tasted. After handing the barman the appropriate amount of dollars and a measly tip that made him glower at her, she tottered her way out.
Outside, the night was dark; the nearest streetlight burned out a long time ago. The bar, appropriately named Down and Out, was near the water front, in an ancient part of New Orleans that had known better days. The air was warm and humid, and it had rained. The pavement was slick, with puddles everywhere and Phoebe tried to make her way among them without drenching her shoes. She failed miserably.
She could have sworn she aimed for a dry square of sidewalk, yet her left foot landed in the middle of a splash of muddy water, soaking her up to her ankle. She cursed, and turned right into an alley to take a shortcut to the rundown hotel and her room.
Without streetlights, and with the moon hidden behind thick clouds, the alley was pitch black. Rats and other rodents scurried ahead as she approached; she could hear them in the rubble that cluttered the ground.
Halfway down the narrow street, Phoebe began to wonder if taking the shortcut had been such a good idea after all. When she heard a noise behind her, sounds that were definitely not animalistic, her heart skipped a beat. Footsteps clacked on the concrete, following her.
She gyrated on her toes. Her befuddled brain couldn't keep up with the sudden movement and she lost her balance. Only a quick few steps kept her from falling. She squinted, trying to make out who was following her.
All she could detect was a shadow that moved against the backdrop of the bigger street at the end of the alley. She could have sworn that- No, impossible. Fresh pain stung her heart. Perhaps she shouldn't have drunk that third Hurricane. Usually booze dulled the pain; tonight it made her see things. Visions that only deepened the ache within.
"Who is there?" Phoebe demanded. She hoped her voice sounded braver than she felt. It had been a while since she had had to confront a demon. Most likely, they thought she was done in for, powerless by her own volition. Of course, that wouldn't stop street thugs from trying to rob someone like her. A woman, alone, out in a dark night.
"Phoebe?"
Her heart jumped in her throat and stopped beating.
The clouds parted and a ray of moonlight pierced the alley, like a spotlight pointed at the stage and designating the main performer. The shadowed figure stepped into its light.
"Cole," Phoebe whispered, not believing her eyes. Her knees turned to jelly and blood pounded in her ears. If Cole hadn't jumped forward to catch her, she would have slumped onto the wet floor in a faint.
* * *
Cole opened the window and positioned himself in the sill so he could look out over the city as it was waking up. He stubbed with his finger at a blister in the paint so it flaked off and he watched the flake flutter down until he could no longer see it. Overnight, the clouds had blown away and the sky was the kind of purple that promised it would be a bright and sunny day. He held up a hand before his eyes and flexed his fingers. It was good to be alive - if alive was what he was; once they told him he'd get to see Phoebe again, he had not really paid attention any more.
Inside the hotel room, Phoebe was still asleep on the bed, snoring softly. Probably because of the alcohol she consumed, he decided. Cole actually found the sound endearing. Life had not been kind to Phoebe, that much was clear to him. The Elders, Leo, they had refused to tell him what happened; they simply planted him in the middle of New Orleans' old harbor just as Phoebe wobbled out of a bar.
Phoebe stirred, slowly waking up and Cole turned away from the window. His lips curled in an expectant smile. He was so happy to see her again. He hoped she felt the same way.
Phoebe opened her eyes and blinked groggily.
"Good morning," he greeted her cheerfully.
Her eyes went round. "C-Cole," she stammered. "You are dead! I'm dreaming, right?" She pinched her arm. "Ow!"
Cole crossed the room until he stood beside the bed. "No dream. I'm back now."
He should have been forewarned by earlier experience but he never saw her coming. Before he realized what happened, Phoebe had thrown back the sheets, hopped from the bed and stood in front of him, eyes blazing.
"You bastard!" she hissed and slapped him so his ears rang. "You let me believe all this time that you were dead! Was it fun for you, huh, to see me grieve?" She hit him again, pummeling his chest and shoulders with her fists.
"Phoebe! Stop it!" he cried, trying to get hold of her flailing hands. At least she didn't clog him in the jaw or kick him in the ribs with her shoe this time.
At last her fury was spent and he managed to grab her wrists as she began to sob against his shirt. He held her close, supporting her, stroking her hair and murmuring sweet nothings.
"It's the truth, Phoebe," he whispered when her sobs abated. "I did die. I never lied to you since the day that you spared my life. I spent the last fifteen years in limbo, until Leo's Elders sent me back. I had no idea-"
Phoebe pulled away and looked up at him, her cheeks tear-streaked and her eyes red-rimmed. She studied him for a few moments. "You haven't changed at all," she said softly, her voice full of wonder. Then her cheeks colored and she turned her back on him. "Don't look at me," she mumbled.
"What? Why?" Cole asked, confused. He put his hands on her shoulders to turn her back but she shrugged him off and stepped out of reach.
"Please. It's been a long time. I'm not the Phoebe you knew."
Cole suddenly realized what this was about. "Phoebe," he said as gently as he could, "you're as beautiful as ever."
She shook her head and her shoulders trembled. "Don't start lying now," she muttered.
"I'm not," Cole said. He touched her shoulder and this time she didn't pull away. He turned her around and placed a finger beneath her chin to tip up her face. "You're still Phoebe, right? I still love you. Nothing's changed. Unless-" All emotion left his voice. "Unless you found someone else?"
"What?" she asked. "No... No, I didn't."
He let out a sigh of relief. It had not occurred to him until this moment that she might have moved on, might have found someone else to love.
"Why are you here?" she murmured as she allowed him to embrace her.
He kissed the top of her head. Business could wait. "Does it matter? I'm back, that's the important thing. C'mon, let's get out of here and find a better place to stay. And then you can help me shop because this is all the wardrobe I have!" He motioned at the clothes he was wearing and the coat he had draped over the chair.
- Continued in the next chapter
Part One
Ghosts from the past
"Happy birthday, eh?" Phoebe muttered. She raised her glass and toasted her reflection in the cracked mirror behind the bar. A tired face looked back at her. She blinked to keep her reflection in focus and sipped from her orange drink. What did the locals call it again? Oh yeah, a Hurricane. She snorted. Not much of a storm to speak of. She didn't usually go out for a drink; she didn't have the money to spend. But tonight she had decided she needed to celebrate. After all, how many times did one hit the big Four-Oh?
Some birthday party it was. She looked around the empty bar. A mishmash of chairs stood crookedly around tables marked with rings where countless glasses had stained the ancient lacquer. In the corner two old-timers with skins wrinkled to leather sat downing shots of whiskey. They had been shrimp fishermen until the bayou ran out of shrimp. She sure was in good company. They looked as disgruntled with life as she felt.
Phoebe swallowed the last of the orange liquid. The night wasn't going to get any happier so she might as well return to her grubby hotel room and wallow in misery. At least the liquor would help her sleep. It dulled the pain that she felt whenever she reflected on her life.
She knew exactly when things had gone wrong: the night Cole vanquished himself. She had blamed Prue for giving him the means to do it; it was her sister that provided the potion. That night Phoebe had decided she didn't want anything to do with magic anymore. She renounced her powers and left San Francisco. She never returned.
Deep down Phoebe knew that who she really blamed was herself. For giving him a reason.
She hopped off the bar seat, and nearly toppled over. She barely managed to grab on to the edge of the bar in time. Oops. She eyed the empty hurricane-glass with new respect. Perhaps that stuff was stronger than it tasted. After handing the barman the appropriate amount of dollars and a measly tip that made him glower at her, she tottered her way out.
Outside, the night was dark; the nearest streetlight burned out a long time ago. The bar, appropriately named Down and Out, was near the water front, in an ancient part of New Orleans that had known better days. The air was warm and humid, and it had rained. The pavement was slick, with puddles everywhere and Phoebe tried to make her way among them without drenching her shoes. She failed miserably.
She could have sworn she aimed for a dry square of sidewalk, yet her left foot landed in the middle of a splash of muddy water, soaking her up to her ankle. She cursed, and turned right into an alley to take a shortcut to the rundown hotel and her room.
Without streetlights, and with the moon hidden behind thick clouds, the alley was pitch black. Rats and other rodents scurried ahead as she approached; she could hear them in the rubble that cluttered the ground.
Halfway down the narrow street, Phoebe began to wonder if taking the shortcut had been such a good idea after all. When she heard a noise behind her, sounds that were definitely not animalistic, her heart skipped a beat. Footsteps clacked on the concrete, following her.
She gyrated on her toes. Her befuddled brain couldn't keep up with the sudden movement and she lost her balance. Only a quick few steps kept her from falling. She squinted, trying to make out who was following her.
All she could detect was a shadow that moved against the backdrop of the bigger street at the end of the alley. She could have sworn that- No, impossible. Fresh pain stung her heart. Perhaps she shouldn't have drunk that third Hurricane. Usually booze dulled the pain; tonight it made her see things. Visions that only deepened the ache within.
"Who is there?" Phoebe demanded. She hoped her voice sounded braver than she felt. It had been a while since she had had to confront a demon. Most likely, they thought she was done in for, powerless by her own volition. Of course, that wouldn't stop street thugs from trying to rob someone like her. A woman, alone, out in a dark night.
"Phoebe?"
Her heart jumped in her throat and stopped beating.
The clouds parted and a ray of moonlight pierced the alley, like a spotlight pointed at the stage and designating the main performer. The shadowed figure stepped into its light.
"Cole," Phoebe whispered, not believing her eyes. Her knees turned to jelly and blood pounded in her ears. If Cole hadn't jumped forward to catch her, she would have slumped onto the wet floor in a faint.
* * *
Cole opened the window and positioned himself in the sill so he could look out over the city as it was waking up. He stubbed with his finger at a blister in the paint so it flaked off and he watched the flake flutter down until he could no longer see it. Overnight, the clouds had blown away and the sky was the kind of purple that promised it would be a bright and sunny day. He held up a hand before his eyes and flexed his fingers. It was good to be alive - if alive was what he was; once they told him he'd get to see Phoebe again, he had not really paid attention any more.
Inside the hotel room, Phoebe was still asleep on the bed, snoring softly. Probably because of the alcohol she consumed, he decided. Cole actually found the sound endearing. Life had not been kind to Phoebe, that much was clear to him. The Elders, Leo, they had refused to tell him what happened; they simply planted him in the middle of New Orleans' old harbor just as Phoebe wobbled out of a bar.
Phoebe stirred, slowly waking up and Cole turned away from the window. His lips curled in an expectant smile. He was so happy to see her again. He hoped she felt the same way.
Phoebe opened her eyes and blinked groggily.
"Good morning," he greeted her cheerfully.
Her eyes went round. "C-Cole," she stammered. "You are dead! I'm dreaming, right?" She pinched her arm. "Ow!"
Cole crossed the room until he stood beside the bed. "No dream. I'm back now."
He should have been forewarned by earlier experience but he never saw her coming. Before he realized what happened, Phoebe had thrown back the sheets, hopped from the bed and stood in front of him, eyes blazing.
"You bastard!" she hissed and slapped him so his ears rang. "You let me believe all this time that you were dead! Was it fun for you, huh, to see me grieve?" She hit him again, pummeling his chest and shoulders with her fists.
"Phoebe! Stop it!" he cried, trying to get hold of her flailing hands. At least she didn't clog him in the jaw or kick him in the ribs with her shoe this time.
At last her fury was spent and he managed to grab her wrists as she began to sob against his shirt. He held her close, supporting her, stroking her hair and murmuring sweet nothings.
"It's the truth, Phoebe," he whispered when her sobs abated. "I did die. I never lied to you since the day that you spared my life. I spent the last fifteen years in limbo, until Leo's Elders sent me back. I had no idea-"
Phoebe pulled away and looked up at him, her cheeks tear-streaked and her eyes red-rimmed. She studied him for a few moments. "You haven't changed at all," she said softly, her voice full of wonder. Then her cheeks colored and she turned her back on him. "Don't look at me," she mumbled.
"What? Why?" Cole asked, confused. He put his hands on her shoulders to turn her back but she shrugged him off and stepped out of reach.
"Please. It's been a long time. I'm not the Phoebe you knew."
Cole suddenly realized what this was about. "Phoebe," he said as gently as he could, "you're as beautiful as ever."
She shook her head and her shoulders trembled. "Don't start lying now," she muttered.
"I'm not," Cole said. He touched her shoulder and this time she didn't pull away. He turned her around and placed a finger beneath her chin to tip up her face. "You're still Phoebe, right? I still love you. Nothing's changed. Unless-" All emotion left his voice. "Unless you found someone else?"
"What?" she asked. "No... No, I didn't."
He let out a sigh of relief. It had not occurred to him until this moment that she might have moved on, might have found someone else to love.
"Why are you here?" she murmured as she allowed him to embrace her.
He kissed the top of her head. Business could wait. "Does it matter? I'm back, that's the important thing. C'mon, let's get out of here and find a better place to stay. And then you can help me shop because this is all the wardrobe I have!" He motioned at the clothes he was wearing and the coat he had draped over the chair.
- Continued in the next chapter
