A/N: And another installation is born! Hope you like this one, though I want to leave you with this message before you begin: there are shades of gray to every story, including this one. Enjoy!

Twice Cursed
Aorta

Phoebe was typing up a response to a letter she had received when her cell phone rang. Without checking the Caller ID, she picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Phoebe, honey? Hey. Look, I'm really sorry about what happened last night, OK? You know, from the pressure from work and—"

"Tyler?"

He paused. "Yeah, babe?"

Phoebe drew in a breath. "We need to talk."

There was silence on the other line. All Phoebe could hear were the fax and copy machines humming from outside her open office door.

"Yes," Tyler finally said. "Yes. We need to talk."

Phoebe nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her, and hung up.

Phoebe stared blankly at the computer screen before her. Her head turned slightly and she stared blankly at the opened letter on her desk. Her gaze then went to the window, and she spent another minute staring blankly out at the cars before she suddenly snapped out of it and checked her watch.

"That's it," she muttered as she straightened her papers and stood up. "I've had enough of this." Phoebe shoved the papers into her bag and gathered her coat and scarf. She didn't care that she was leaving an hour before she was supposed to; she had written enough advice to last her for two months so Elise couldn't dare to say anything. Well, knowing Elise, she'd dare to do so and more, but Phoebe didn't care. She had spent way too much time in the office in the past few weeks.

And before she knew it, she was already in front of the door of the house that she and Tyler shared. It felt almost instantaneous; like she had orbed there or something. A glance toward the driveway confirmed that she indeed had driven there, but the drive was a complete blur. Phoebe inserted the key into the lock and let herself in.

From the foyer, she could hear her husband speaking loudly to someone over the telephone in the living room. "This is bad news," he was saying. "Our projected sales for this quarter are not looking good at all. Call him up, we need to have—" he stopped talking as he saw Phoebe step silently into the room. "Hey," he said slowly to the person over the line. "I'll call you back, OK?" He closed the lid of his cell phone.

Neither of them spoke for a while. They both knew how serious the situation was. After those tense minutes, Phoebe couldn't stand it anymore. "Tyler," she said.

"Phoebe," he said, at the same time.

They looked at each other. "Tyler," Phoebe began again, softly. "I don't know how I should start."

"I really am sorry, you know, about last night," Tyler replied just as softly.

"I know," she said. "But we can't go on like this. You know that."

"I do," he responded in a voice that made Phoebe start. He had sounded exactly the same as he did that Saturday in July, when he had told the priest the sealing words to their marriage. Now, he sounded just as solemn, just as serious. She remembered how she thought that was so endearing, how Tyler at his most serious reminded her of a little boy telling his parents something important. Maybe this could work out, Phoebe thought. Maybe not all was lost…

Tyler's voice, suddenly sharp, cut through her musings. "Where's your ring?" he asked, his tone terse and unfriendly.

Phoebe glanced down and stared at her bare finger. She frowned as she reached over with her right hand to rub the spot where her ring should have been. Yes, she threw the ring down on the floor in a fit of anger, but she had definitely slipped a ring back on shortly before falling asleep.

"Phoebe, where is your ring?" Tyler asked again, his voice a hard mixture of anger and nastiness.

"Look, Tyler," she said, recoiling slightly from his accusatory tone. "I don't know, OK? I left it off at the Manor, and I thought I put it back on but I guess I didn't. I'm pretty sure it's on my nightstand now."

"Really?" said Tyler sarcastically. "At the Manor?"

"Yes," Phoebe said slowly, "at the Manor." She felt her temper flare up as he gave her a disbelieving look. "What exactly are you implying?"

"Honey, I don't have to imply anything," Tyler sneered. "The situation kind of explains itself, doesn't it?"

"You bastard," Phoebe said in a low voice, her voice rising with every word she uttered. "I am faithful wife. How does it suddenly become my fault that I have no where to go but my sisters' house because you made me cry?"

"It's always me, huh?" Tyler said. He jabbed his thumb toward his chest. "I said something to hurt your feelings. I made you cry—"

"You did!" Phoebe shouted.

"Grow a fucking spine!" He yelled back. Phoebe reeled as if had physically struck her.

"I'm sorry that that's harsh, Phoebe, but its true," Tyler continued in a slightly calmer tone. "I don't know what happened to you, Phoebe, but you are not acting like the woman that I proposed to. The one at the altar with me, remember? What we're going through—" he waved his hands "—is normal, married couple shit, OK? And maybe I did a few things that crossed that line, and I am sorry, I really am. I would love to make it up to you, but you never give us a chance."

"What the hell are you talking about, Tyler?" Phoebe snapped. "After all those times, I always came back to you."

"But for how long?" Tyler retorted. "Oh, a few hours, for some sex—not that I'm complaining—but as soon as I say some little thing, it escalates and always ends up with you running out of here. Hey, here's an idea—how about you stay a while so we can talk it out? Work out our issues, huh? Where the fuck is your faith in our relationship?"

"You have some cheek questioning my faith in our marriage," Phoebe spat. "You're the one who couldn't take it when your wife wanted just a bit of attention in front of you and your stocks and your sales and whatever you do. And you accuse me of cheating when I don't even know where you are ninety percent of the time? When did you suddenly care, huh? When did you show any interest in where this is going? Even though Leo has tons of work—"

"No," Tyler said firmly, enough for Phoebe to stop talking. "No. I am tired of hearing about perfect Leo and Piper, and their perfect relationship, and how their marriage never goes wrong. It's always Leo doing something better than me, Leo doing something to make your sister happy. Well, I can't be the only reason why we're having all these problems, can it? I don't know what you're always running for, running from. From me? Well, then, maybe you married the wrong friggin guy, because I'm obviously not your perfect fairytale Prince Charming!"

Phoebe was silent, unable to look at her husband.

"So," Tyler continued, taking advantage of Phoebe's lack of response, "If you want us to work out our problems now, I'm listening. If you feel like there's anything worth saving…" he left the comment up in the air.

Phoebe lifted her head, looking straight into Tyler's eyes. Then she turned around and walked out of the house.

She walked calmly to her car, turned the ignition, and pulled out of the driveway. Her foot was steady on the pedals, her hands firmly grasping her steering wheel. Her attention was so focused on the road ahead of her that she didn't notice as her hands jerked more sharply while turning the corner, how her brakes became increasingly sharper and her accelerations more sudden. By the time she got out of her seat, she was tripping, stumbling as she made her way across the cemetery and into the mausoleum.

Her footsteps clattered noisily as she blindly made her way down the stairs. As she got to the landing, she made a few steps before her foot got caught in a hole on the ground caused by a certain vanquishing potion, causing her to nearly fall. She steadied herself just in time, placing her hands on her knees as she half-crouched, deeply inhaling as if she had exerted herself to the point of breaking.

She felt it more than she heard it; that slight ripple in the air that she still knew naturally, intimately. Somewhere in her mind, like the slightest echo in the largest cave, she heard the slightly disembodied voice of her seventh grade gym teacher, telling her that it wasn't good to suddenly stop after running a mile, that the heart would be pounding too much blood, that she needed to walk it off. Her heart throbbed twice in her rib cage, then sat quietly.

Slowly, she straightened her back, and degree by degree, turned around. "Cole," she said.

"Phoebe," he replied, the last syllable coming up like a question.

"Cole," she said, backing up a step. Her mind was suddenly at her ninth grade biology class. Aortas, she thought.

"Phoebe," he replied, his voice soft.

"Cole," she said, placing her left foot behind her right. Aortas, she thought. The main artery in the body. Carries oxygenated blood from the heart to the other arteries in the body.

"Phoebe," he replied, his tone now a bit concerned.

"Cole," she said.

She fainted.