** Change of Heart **, chapter 13: Caller Interruptus

by Lilian.

lilian413@yahoo.com

AN: So, finally college stopped eating my free time away, and I was able to finish this. Sorry to keep you waiting for so long guys, but you know how real life can get. I sure hope chapter 14 will be out sooner than it took me to write this one...

This chapter is dedicated to Maggie, who made me realize that things can always be played out another way. A hug to you, girl!.

Read & Review!



******************************


The world around her was a blur of things. There was no up, no down, no left, no right--- she could feel herself splitting up, and reshaping again in a different place.

For some reason, it hurt.

Something in her resisted the call, perhaps the black magic in her veins, perhaps her own psyche... she couldn't tell for sure. But her blood was boiling; rebelling against the white magic that was drawing her to the Surface.

Through half-closed eyelids, she watched with curiosity as things began taking shape around her--- a white mist covered everything, and it was as if looking through a dirty glass... nothing's clear, nothing's defined, and yet, if you squint your eyes hard enough, you can make out some shapes and forms.

As if a beacon in the darkness, she saw four figures standing there, in the middle of the vortex that whirlpooled around her.

It was them.

Panic grabbed hold of her, and she tried to trash around, to free herself from the magic---

She could see him now, could see his deep scorching blue eyes, drilling holes in her, even from the distance, even in the middle of the teleportation. And she had to look away, she *had* to, but she couldn't--- for the life of her, she couldn't.

She lost herself in his eyes, swam in their cerulean depths, and for a split second, she wanted to go there, wanted to be with them. Maybe it was all a mistake.

Maybe they had never left her--- she had been mistaken about worse things before.

Weakened by the blood loss and the emotional toll of the last few days, the idea didn't seem so bad...

Phax saw as Cole's lips formed one word, and that word alone was enough to make her recoil back within herself, barricaded behind hatred and anger.

'Prue'.

Even if he was talking about her sister, it brought back to her the fresh, bleeding memory of her baby girl. Of her little body, cuddled against her breast, of her blue eyes, looking around with innocence only babies possess--- dead.

She was dead.

{Return}

The word rang in her ears like thunder, and she flinched at the sheer strength behind it.

And suddenly, she was spiraling down again, away from them, away from the Surface, and into the darkness... had she eaten something in the past day, she would've thrown up. As it was, she only hiccuped and retched, her body desperately trying to adjust to the sudden change of environment.

When a sickly gust of wind hit her cheeks and blew around her, she realized she was back.

Sweating and panting, she opened her eyes, which she hadn't even realized were closed, and heaved harshly, trying to recover the lost oxygen.

She was back in her quarters.

There was no one around, no one visible at least, but she knew who had interrupted the summoning. And she didn't know whether to thank him or hate him---

As her vision stopped spinning, and her heartbeat calmed down inside her chest, she lay back on the bed, ignoring the rustled sheets and the dried blood--- she had too many things on her mind. Too many things to think about.

She had mixed feelings about what had just happened.

She was beyond relieved, glad that once again, the Source had stopped them, glad that something else had taken the choice away from her.

She wasn't sure what her choice would be, if the occasion ever arose. A few days ago, she would've told any and all willing to listen that she would jump at the opportunity to fight them, to hurt them--- but that was before seeing him again.

Seeing them again.

She wasn't sure why she was feeling this way... she hated them, she knew she did. But old habits die hard, and empowered by their presence, by their faces, no longer clouded behind a curtain of time, but fresh and alive, right there in front of her---

Her body was demanding its rest, still in the last throes of the healing process, and still broken and bleeding in a million other ways. Her veins still burned, her blood still boiled. she had always wondered why demons were so angry whenever they were summoned.

She understood now.

The white magic repelled their own black one, and it was like dragging an unwilling horse up a rocky road--- if the dragger doesn't give up (which magic rarely did. Once unleashed, it keeps pulling and pulling till the task it was called for is completed), the horse *will* go up the hill. But its nose will be bloody and frothy, its legs just itching to kick at something...

And in between the weariness settling in her bones, in between the darkness that threatened to consume her, and as her vision blurred and the thundering of her own blood echoed in her head, there still hung the question.

What would've happened if the Source hadn't stopped them?.

What if she had made it up there, to the Surface?.

It was tiring, to keep hatred up for this long. Without any fuel to add at it, hatred cools down like a hot pan left unwatched in the kitchen. Prue's death was more her fault than theirs--- as far as she knew, they hadn't even known about her pregnancy.

Sure, they had left her for dead, forgotten about her, left her to die in the Underworld, under the Source's clutches--- but, couldn't it be that somehow, some way, they didn't know?.

She grunted as all the thoughts running through her head meshed up in one big pile of confusion.

A lone image jumped in front of everything, and she gritted her teeth, and fisted her hands until she drew blood.

The kiss.

She could come up with a lot of plausible explanation for pretty much everything that had happened--- could blame it on human failure, on mistaken timing, on lost hope--- but nothing, *nothing* could ever excuse the kiss.

She hissed out loud, as the hurt and the pain and the anger came back in an unnatural rush--- had it been just seconds ago she had been this close to forgiving them?. Had she really been willing to accept all of this as a mistake, and not the betrayal it was?

{Must've hit my head too hard}.

She blamed the momentary lapse on the beating she had suffered, and her tired body trying to get the rest it so needed.

It never occurred to her, that for the last year or so, she hadn't been alone in her head. That she hadn't thought those thoughts...

There was someone else in there with her...


********************


Dogs see things in black and white. Black for the dark things, white for the light ones, and several shades of gray in between.

Just as in a dog's vision, the world is made out of black, whites and grays.

Black for the demons, evil to the core; white for the Elders, good beings watching over Earth--- both untainted, pure in its own way. There's no greater burden than to be only one thing. Black and White are both the absence of color and the sum of them all. All, or nothing. What a sad way to live a life...

That is why humans exist.

They have a bit of both worlds, not white enough, not dark enough--- to balance the scales.

As a being of pure evil, the Source sometimes forgot (or chose to ignore, one can never tell what goes on behind that hood) that there was something in between his own darkness and the Light he had spent the past millennia trying to destroy.

That there were other tones, other degrees in between pure evil and pure good.

Phax had reminded him of that with such a blunt obviousness, he had a hard time believing he had overlooked it in the first place.

No matter how many times he punished her, no matter how much dark energy he infused her with, there would always exist a small corner inside of her, buried deep within her very soul that was good.

Humans were good *and* evil--- he was just empowering a side of her, not taking away the other one. To take it away, would mean to strip her of what made her human, and in the process, kill her.

But as long as that speck of Light shone in her heart, she would have doubt, and never quite achieve her full potential-- it just wasn't in her nature to be completely evil.

For a while, he thought he had managed to squash that glow in her for good, burying it under his own darkness that now flowed through her veins. But as of late, he found himself looking into her soul through their link, and he watched with concern as the speck of light became a steady glow, threatening to destroy all the work he had done in the past year or so.

He was willing to bet the half-breed had a lot to do with it.

Ever since they had met again, after a year apart, Phax had been reluctant, slow and doubtful to follow his commands... it seemed their love hadn't died completely--- like burning embers in between the ashes, that when wind blows over come back to life with strength unknown before.

Love was a powerful emotion--- if hatred gave the Demonic Realm its power, Love permeated the Surface like a disease. And it was a force to be reckoned with. As long as Phax loved the half-breed, she would never fully achieve her status as his greatest assassin-to-be.

He cursed in several ancient languages before he managed to calm down. He was tempted to flame to her quarters, and beat her to an inch of her life.

Again.

There was only one thing stopping him--- the knowledge, the *certainty* that if he did, it would only be a waste of energy. He would vent his anger in her, leave her bleeding and broken... she would heal, and they would be back to square one.

He, infusing her with his dark magic.

She holding on to her foolish love for Belthazor like a shield, keeping him from fully owning her. Keeping evil from fully penetrating her.

He had been imprudent, misjudging such a powerful emotion.

She would dance around the edge, never quite falling onto either side. And he would have none of that. Either she turned completely evil, or she would be killed. He had had enough with the half-wannabe's... he was going for the real thing now.

The wickedest of grins danced across his lips, as he caressed the small vial he held in his hand.

He could never take the Good inside of her.

Fine.

He would simple make his way around it. He would encapsulate it, as he had once done with Belthazor's father's soul. To keep an entire soul trapped was one of the most powerful magics he ever had to handle. It would be easier now. He wouldn't be trapping her entire soul--- just a small portion of her, already weakened by the evil permeating the Underworld.

It would be interesting to watch her after the potion had taken its effect.

After the last remnants of humanity inside of her were locked away, stored deep within herself, under layers and layers of his own magic, and her own hatred towards those she had once called family.

It would be fun indeed.

But just to make sure, he would pick up a plan he had put off for a while now--- killing Belthazor. Kill two birds with one stone.

Kill the hybrid, get rid of a thorn on his side, and eliminate the one thing keeping Phax hesitant.


*******************


It had all started out rather simply.

Prue crying.

That was normal. She was still a baby, and babies cry. There's no mystery in that.

But when no rocking, no feeding, no story telling, no telekinesis-twirling-toys could calm her down, they began worrying.

Maybe she was just growing a tooth... it would be her first, and thanks to the endless Baby Care magazines that littered the house, product of Piper's initial desperate-mother stage, they knew it hurt.

But hours went by, and she wasn't stopping.

At times, her cries would rise, awakening the entire manor, filling every room--- at other times, they would lessen to a bare sob, and her pretty little cheeks were constantly wet due to the endless tears that made their way down her face.

Her eyes were closed most of the time, if as a way to try and fight off the pain that threatened to swallow her, or simply because she was having a vision of mythical proportions, they could not say.

Quite honestly, Cole would've bet his right hand it was the last.

Sometimes, when he held her, trying to soothe her pain away, he would get a glimpse of something. It was never something solid, something he could actually qualify as a vision--- more like an explosion of feeling, a sudden burst of unexplainable sensations that weren't hers.

Prue was almost quiet now.

She lay still in his arms, her tiny body weary and tired, completely drained--- even as a quarter demon, she was too young to be enduring any of this. All he wanted, was to find a way to take all the hurt away from her... he would take it in himself, if that's what it took.

But all the research had proven useless.

Aside from the spell the older Prue had once said, of which there were no traces left because she had never really sat down and written it in the Book of Shadows, there was no known way of taking pain away.

Magical or otherwise.

"Dada...".

Prue's silent whisper was like a balm to his battered heart. He carefully took Prue off his shoulder, and settled her on his lap.

"My brave girl. Are you feeling better?"

He was afraid of holding her too tight, of bruising her little body more than it already was. Yesterday, when her crying had subsided some, ugly bruises began appearing all over her. Although none of them were bleeding, they were far too big for her tiny body, and they spread around her chest and legs like cancer... growing, changing colors, and then fading.

Prue just looked at him, her eyes tired and clouded--- there was pain in them, pain no five-month-old should have to suffer. His own eyes clouded with tears, as he watched her scrunch her features and a small spasm ran up and down her body.

She did not utter a sound.

Instead, she raised a small hand to him, attempting to touch his face. She was still too small for that... instead, he cuddled her in his arms, and bent over a little. If being close to him somehow lessened her pain, he wouldn't let go of her, until this--- whatever it was, let her go.

Her tiny fingers touched his chin and his own hand held hers tenderly, as he cooed at her.

"It's all right Prue... it's gonna be all right".

They had tried summoning Phoebe a week ago.

He had felt something, had felt a pull in his chest--- for a split second, he could've sworn he had seen her, taking shape within the orbing lights and white mist floating across the attic... but then he had blinked, and her image had disappeared.

He had only had the time to utter Prue's name, for the first time realizing that she wasn't there with them, and that by all means, she was their best shot at bringing Phoebe back.

But then the lights had died down, and the mist had melted away, leaving damp furniture and disappointment behind.

Nothing had happened. They really hadn't had the time yet to try again, because it was a few moments after the spell had died down, and there was no Phoebe anywhere to be seen, that Prue had started crying.

And she hadn't stopped since.

A soft footstep echoed behind him, and he turned to see Paige standing in the doorway of the nursery. Her face was worried, and the distress in her whole stance was so evident, he couldn't help but wonder if she had gotten any sleep in the past few nights.

He knew he hadn't.

"Piper wants to know if you need anything".

Once, not so long ago, Paige's voice had held a sparkly quality to it, full of life, full of strength. The strength that the Halliwell family inherited, along with the powers and the stubbornness.

It was gone now.

Her voice was deflated, almost empty of anything but a huge burden that she was never meant to carry. Cole sometimes felt all of this was slowly killing them... eating them from the inside out, eroding their defenses, stripping them from what made them human. Or half demon. Or whitelighter. You get the point.

He rose, carefully taking Prue with him. The baby seemed to have fallen in a dreamless sleep, her eyes standing still behind her closed eyelids. He always knew when the visions came to her in her sleep--- it was a lot like a nightmare.

It seemed she was resting right now.

He walked to Paige, and leaned on the doorframe, careful not to put any added weight on Prue's sleeping form. He himself was exhausted. Both from lack of sleep and emotional strain. But as long as Prue needed him, he would be there--- either until she was free of whatever dark spell had taken a hold of her, or he collapsed in fatigue.

"Not really. It seems to be getting better".

Paige, who stood almost a foot below his own height, seemed smaller in such close proximity. She looked at Prue for a while, her eyes unseeing behind her long black bangs, unkempt and untrimmed, and yet still so very *Paige*.

"Hey", he nudged her, "are you feeling all right?"

She barely acknowledged his question. If it hadn't been for the barely noticeable shrugging of her shoulders, he could've sworn she hadn't even heard him. Carefully, his hand cupped her chin, and forced her to look up at him. He was tired of having a conversation with the top of her head, as she insisted to look down whenever someone addressed her.

"Paige".

His tone carried such questions in it, there was no need for further words. Paige's eyes escaped his for a while, but she made no move to pull away from his grasp. In the end, because Cole couldn't really move, with Prue on one arm and Paige on the other, he simply waited.

And Paige came to him in the end.

"I don't think I can stand it".

Her voice was barely a whisper, and added to her hollow tone, it made Cole shiver inside. When faith is lost, it's almost impossible to recover it. He had, once. Because of Phoebe. But it seemed Paige's problem ran deeper that he thought it did... he had always considered her as the most spirited one of them all.

Young in age, there was an ageless quality to her, in the smirk that curled her lips, and the glint in her eyes whenever she spoke of something that interested her. And it was all being lost now, buried under layers and layers of--- what?

"Stand what?"

She sighed loudly, and leaned against the other side of the doorframe. It was only then that he noticed how thin she had gotten--- Paige had always been skinny, and her skin pale and her lips red. It was like saying the sky is blue and the snow white.

But now that he saw her, really *saw* her, without any rushes or adrenaline running, he noticed a hundred and one small details...

She was almost anemic in her paleness. Her once shinning, full hair, lay against her back as if thrown there. Her stance was slouched and tired, deep bags under her eyes. This was not the Paige he knew--- this was a ghost of her.

"All of this. Phoebe, Prue--- doesn't it ever stop?"

A sad smile danced across his lips, as he realized that *that* was one question that would never stop being asked. Piper had said the same to him once, not so long ago. Even Phoebe had whispered it to him one night, alone in bed... it had been only a matter of time until Paige would utter it too.

And there really was no real answer for it.

No, it never stops. The battle is endless, the pain forever. Time goes by, and for every day that passes, a new war is fought-- and there's really nothing they could do about it. Every day is a struggle on its own... from the homeless woman that strives to find food for her starving children, to the powerful tycoon that ponders suicide in his rich mansion, wondering what life would've been like without all his money, to the powerful Witch that wonders if she's really making a difference.

Yes, it stops. Every minute you spend with your loved ones, every night you go by without being jerked awake by real life. Every smile from those you consider family, every quiet moment where you're left alone to just take in the marvel that is life, and thank whoever is up there that you managed to make it through another day.

"I don't know".

A silent sob racked Paige's thin frame, and he was compelled to stretch out a hand at her--- but Paige wasn't Piper.

Prue's even breathing against his neck was soothing him down, and he realized that maybe, even if Paige would not appreciate his own touch, Prue had a way with people.

Softly, he moved the baby from his arms, and offered her to the broken woman in front of him. Prue whimpered in her sleep, as her father's warmth was taken away from her, but she did not wake.

Paige looked up at him, the question dangling on her pupils. She had never really held the baby, just for the pleasure of holding her. Every time she watched Cole and his daughter, she felt as if she would intrude on their privacy, break their bond if she ever held Prue... and here was Cole, offering Prue to her...

"I can't".

Cole smiled slowly, recalling a similar conversation between Piper and himself. In the end, he couldn't really remember what his life had been like before Prue... he hoped the small baby could do the same for Paige.

"Yes you can. Hold her".

His tone didn't leave any room for 'no's.

So, Paige held the small baby, and silence settled over the room. Cole watched as Paige's eyes slowly, ever so slowly, unclouded, letting her true self shine through.

Prue's steady breathing was the only sound that broke the quiet. He didn't really know where Piper and Leo were, but he thanked that their roller coaster lives had decided to give them this break. They always seemed to be getting interrupted, especially when they needed the time to say something important.

"She makes everything worth it, doesn't she?".

Paige's voice sounded more like her old self-- some of the Halliwell strength was coming back to her... she was, after all, Prue's aunt.

"Yes, she does".

He smiled at both of them, even if Paige never saw it. She was too busy looking down at the sleeping baby nestled in her arms, her pretty face almost relaxed... they had a future to fight for. They had a new generation of Halliwells in the making, and it was for them that she would keep fighting.

And even if they, the older Halliwells (and Matthews), would never experience peace and relaxation, maybe they could make sure their children did.

"She does indeed".


********************************


She didn't know how long she lay there, unmoving, barely breathing and barely conscious. The trauma of several teleportations in a row, both of which she had had no say in, had drained her for good.

But even if her eyes were half-closed, and her breathing shallow, she was fully aware of the things going on around her. As its counterpart on the Surface, her quarters had a low hum to them, a silent energy that coursed through the air, bringing in the sounds from outside.

The monotonus chanting of Dark Priests, the occasional cry of a lesser demon facing an upper level one, and the constant buzz of the Underworld. It was not better or worse than that of the Mortal Realm... it was just different.

No one had come.

She didn't know how long she had laid there, waiting, expecting to see Jhiera, or probabaly the Source himself, come and chastise her for letting the Witches' call get so far. The Source had told her how to disrupt the call, how to stop the magic from reaching her--- the thought of using it hadn't even crossed her mind.

But no one came.

Had she had a clock, she would've been counting the tick-tocks, one by one, feeling as the hours passed, and the day died-- and still, she remained on the bed.

She was feeling much better now.

Not at one hundred percent, but she could move on her own free will now. She sighed, and rolled over in the unmade bed, feeling the satin of the sheets caress her skin.

"Tsk, tsk. Falling asleep on me already?".

She jumped in the bed, twirling with one swift motion, and summoning a fireball in her right hand. The room spun a few times, but otherwise, the pain did not increase.

Much.

What she saw was enough to freeze her on her spot.

Because leaning casually against one of the stone walls, was Prue.

Her sister.

Her *dead* sister.

"How--?".

Prue's smirk was impossible to miss. And something inside of it reached out to her, not quite believing, and yet *needing* to believe. That was Prue's trademark gesture--- a look to the side, a lopsided half-grin dancing across her lips.

No demon could ever get it right. No shapeshifter could ever impersonate Prue.

"What else?. Magic".

Phax tried to rise from the bed, tried to get off the mattress and walk to her, to touch her, to feel her, was she even real?. Was it a trick of her imagination?. Was it another mind lapse, where she reverted back to 1999?.

Prue was by her side in a blink. Truth to be told, there was a part of her that questioned the impossibility of Prue reaching her in time if she was standing across the wide room... she pushed it back.

Phax felt Prue's fingers across her arm, felt her warmth, felt her *breath*, and she knew she was real. She was real. With her. Here.

She wanted to cry, she was so happy.

Instead, she just looked at Prue, looked at her long and hard, and watched with barely contained joy as her eyes were indeed blue-green, and her hair was still black against her shoulders.

"Why?".

The older woman frowned at her question, and a flash of determination ran across her eyes.

"There's no time. I think they know I'm here. We must go".

Everything was happening too fast. Phax couldn't concentrate-- she was moving on autopilot, without really realizing she was moving at all.

"Go?. Where?".

Prue helped her up, and forced her to lay on her, supporting most of her weight. Prue had always been strong... the strongest one of them all. Phax buried her face in her shoulder, and felt her scent filling her nostrils.

She was really here...

"Out of here".

Her voice was loud and clear, even through her muffled ears. Phax looked up at her sister, and searched for any signs of deceit. She found none. All she found, was Prue's unblinking stare, and a love so deep, and a worry so true, she couldn't help but wonder how she had survived without her in the first place.

Prue was always looking out for her... she had, in a way, been the mother Phax had never had.

"I saw you".

That stopped the older woman. She seemed surprised, and even the raised eyebrow she sent Phax's way was familiar.

"When?".

Phax took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts, but it was too hard. Why was it so damn hard to think all of a sudden?. Something was scrambling her mind, keeping her from forming a conscious line of thinking.

"After he marked me".

There was no pain in her voice. She was merely stating a fact, not asking for her forgiveness.

Prue looked at the arm she was holding over and around her own neck, and her eyes found the inverted triangle, marked on Phax's forearm.

"Don't worry. We'll fix that when we get some time. Now we have to go".

Phax smiled sadly at her older sister, and gently disentangled herself from her. She fell back on the bed, her body barely responding her commands.

"It's of no use. He'll track us down".

Prue looked down at Phax, her hands on her hips, the expensive clothing she wore riding up her arms as she did so. Phax mused to herself how even in the Underworld Prue managed to look so fine...

"And since when has that stopped us?. Come on, Pheebs, get up!".

The mention of a pet name she hadn't heard in ages wasn't as painful as it should've been. She wasn't that woman anymore...

"Too tired. You go. He can't get to you too".

Prue simply grabbed her hand in her own, and squeezed it gently, something Phax hadn't felt for a long time. Only Prue had ever been able to hold her hand like this, a firm hold, a warm embrace and a loving caress at the same time.

"I'm not leaving you here. We're getting out together".

Phax did not budge. Instead, she ran a hand down Prue's cheek, feeling the familiar cheekbones under her skin. She had forgotten how protective Prue could be...

"I named her after you, you know".

Prue tugged her arm, trying to nudge her into rising.

"Phoebe, come on!".

Phax laughed hardly at the mention of her name. Phoebe. She hadn't heard that in a while. She had even stopped thinking of herself as Phoebe. But then again, Prue would know nothing about that, would she?. She had been dead, dead and buried for almost two years now. She should be a rotting corpse, not a living, breathing annoyance as she was being right now.

"Told you. I can't. I'm still healing".

The black haired woman relented. She released Phax's hand, and looked at her with wonder. Then, she reached into her back pocket, and produced a small vial out of it. But then again, those pants *had* no back pockets... Phax was too tired to really ask.

"Here. This might help".

She offered the vial to the younger woman, the purplish liquid dancing inside. Phax looked at it questioningly.

"What is it?".

A smirk blossomed in Prue's lips, as she sat next to Phoebe, and softly held her up.

"Power boost. It should give you enough strength to get out of here".

Any other time, Phax would've refused. Prue should be getting to safety, not trying to get her lost younger sister to drink some concoction she had made up. But, truth to be told, she was too tired to complain. She just nodded slowly, wondering if after she drank it she would stop feeling so damned drowsy, and took the vial from Prue's hands.

She uncorked it, and a foul smell diffused through the room. She made a face, but Prue's gentle hand guided the small bottle to her lips, while whispering soothing words in her ear. Phax swallowed it in one gulp.

One thing she had learned as a human, was to get the bad stuff over with quickly. Like pulling a Band-Aid out...

As the liquid burned down her throat, she never saw Prue's form flame into that of the Source. And when she was able to look at her surroundings again, she didn't really care.


************************


Tbc...