A/N: I know I probably should have updated sooner, but you know—the holidays and all that. Here's another chapter; and if you want, there's a new chapter of LI (Love's Intervention) up as well. Enjoy!

Twice Cursed
Until Daybreak

Cole carefully sponged Phoebe's forehead again with a damp washcloth, even though Phoebe wasn't a bit feverish. In fact, she seemed more to be sleeping than anything else. The sponging was more of an action to preoccupy Cole with, since there seemed to be little that he could do that he hadn't already done.

After catching Phoebe before she completely collapsed onto the floor, Cole had shimmered off to his hotel room and had stripped his bed of its pillows and comforters before he went back to the mausoleum, the whole jumble in his arms. He made a makeshift bed for her with all the bedclothes, using the sarcophagus in the middle as a sort of headboard, then shimmered to Phoebe's own room and got her own comforter. Since he didn't dare to venture to any place other than Phoebe's bedroom in the Manor, he shimmered back to the hotel to pick up a few washcloths, a small basin that he filled with tap water, and some bottles of water that the hotel had provided. Then he had shimmered to the mausoleum, where he had remained since.

He knew it probably would be better to put Phoebe in the care of her sisters, or even bring her to his warm hotel suite, but he was still too weak to shimmer an actual person. In fact, the trips that he had taken in rapid succession to ensure Phoebe's comfort were embarrassingly exhausting. He had recuperated in Phoebe's room long enough to shimmer away from the Manor and to a bank, where he had withdrawn a good amount of cash, relying only on the memory of his PIN number to have access to his account. The first thing that he did with the money was to go to a store and buy an outfit more to his liking; he couldn't have stood one more minute in all the plaid he was draped in, having grabbed some from Leo and Piper's vacated bedroom.

Then he had headed off toward a hotel in downtown San Francisco, where he secured a prime suite and promptly ordered room service of all his favorite foods the moment he was in the room, careful to avoid the alcohol. He ate to his stomach's content, shaved and took a shower, then happily passed out on the king-sized four-poster bed.

Still, all this luxury had done nothing more than to sate his tired bones and his stomach. He was in desperate need of some peace. So after he woke up from his sleep, he decided to go to the mausoleum, the only place available for him to find some comfort.

He hadn't thought for the world that the first thing he would see when he arrived there would be Phoebe, panting as if she had run a marathon. He had been in shock for a few seconds, paralyzed as she slowly turned around. Cole had been prepared to have her scream at him, try to maim him, something—he was not prepared for the tired, faraway look in her eyes. That, if anything, had paralyzed him even more, until she had fainted. It was only then he had sprung into action.

Cole checked Phoebe's steady pulse again before looking at her face. It was almost funny how her presence had thrown him into a complete state of blankness. Sure, he had acted as soon as she fainted, but when he looked at her, he almost couldn't breathe. His mind flitted back to those times, so far away, when he had simply watched her sleep for minutes on end, sometimes through the night. On impulse, he reached out to stroke her cheek. To his surprise, she stirred slightly and moved against it. Her eyes half-opened. "Cole?" she whispered.

He quickly withdrew his hand. "Don't be afraid," he said quickly. "It's me."

Her eyes opened a little more, and she made a little murmur. "What time is it?" she asked sleepily.

"Just about daybreak," he answered, allowing himself to gently stroke her hair before pulling away.

She turned her head so that he face was close to the stone ground, her fingers poking out from underneath her comforter to finger the linen beneath her. She frowned. "We're at the mausoleum," she muttered to herself. Then her eyes widened. "The mausoleum," she breathed.

She pushed herself up, her hands twisting the sheets. "Oh my God," she half shrieked, staring at Cole. "Why…how…"

"I don't know," Cole said helplessly. "I just…I woke up in your attic this morning, I don't know how I got there, I don't know any more than you do."

Phoebe continued to stare at him, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head. Then, suddenly, her eyes took on a slightly dull quality as she slumped back against the sarcophagus. Cole wondered at her seemingly lack of response.

"Oh, God," Phoebe muttered, clutching her head as a dizzy spell came over her. Cole moved forward and directed her back into the bedclothes so that she was lying down. She hardly resisted. Cole wondered again.

"Where did all this linen come from?" she asked when Cole had effectively tucked her in, her voice sounding drained.

"The stuff on the floor is from the hotel that I've decided to stay in, while I you know, figure out what's going on," he said. "And you probably know that's your own comforter." Cole offered her a bottle of Fuji water. She glanced at him, glanced at the bottle, then reached out to take it.

"Thanks," she said, not questioning. She raised herself at an angle so that she could sip the water, then settled back down again, her eyes already half closed. Cole was beginning to find her lack of even a simple inquisitiveness disturbing.

"Oh, Phoebe," Cole sighed, unable to help himself. "What are you doing here?"

Phoebe opened her eyes completely at his remark, looking stung. For a second, Cole was afraid that he had offended her somehow, and tried to speak to make up for it, but Phoebe beat him to it. "I'm here," she said, her voice tiny yet surprisingly clear, "because I had nowhere else to go."