Peter contemplated his father in silence. He'd watched the play of emotions on Cole's face as he had related the story. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd spoken the truth. Now he found himself grappling to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat so that he might speak.
"So, something more than a tool after all?"
"Yes," the admission slipped from Cole quietly, almost mournfully.
"But you didn't love her?"
"No." Cole ran his hand tiredly through his hair. "But you need to understand, that wasn't her fault. I couldn't love her; I didn't know I was even capable of the emotion. Peter, I had spent my entire life denying that the part of me that was human even existed. Even when I used that part of myself to reach a goal. I would convince myself that it was just something I knew how to do, but that it wasn't who I was. It's rather like trying to change your race by wishing it so. Or your ancestry by pretending it doesn't exist."
"That's pretty naïve," Peter said with a tiny smile.
"Well, I was only a few years older than you are now. So I guess I was still pretty naïve at the time."
Peter sputtered indignantly.
"I'm not a child you know and I sure wish everyone would stop treating me like one."
"Okay, point taken, none of us like to be reminded that we're young, even when we are." Cole grinned at him and stood to stretch his legs.
"Do you think you could have loved her? If things had been different I mean."
"There's no way for me to answer that. It was another half a lifetime before I even started to understand what that word means. And," Cole cast a rueful glance around the room, " We can see how well that has turned out. Maybe that's something that it's best we don't know."
It had grown quite dark, the only light in the room coming from the moon and the distant twinkle of city lights that peeked through the open balcony doors. Peter struggled for a way to fill the sudden silence that had descended on the room. In truth, he was more terrified of the next question he needed to ask than he had ever been of anything in his life.
"Obviously, it wasn't a house that Mom wanted to talk to you about."
"Obviously."
"Would it have mattered if you had known about me?" Peter let the question fall into the darkness.
Cole stopped his pacing and stared intently at his son.
"Yes," he said sadly. "Then you would have become the greatest sin of my life."
He couldn't believe his ears. It sounded as though he was glad he hadn't known he had a son. The lifetime of anger that had slowly been dying in Peter bloomed anew.
"Bastard. You didn't have to make it quite so clear what a mistake I was."
"Peter, hear me out. You said you came to listen and you asked the question."
"So talk already," he choked on the bile that had risen in his throat.
"If I had known about you, I would have moved heaven and hell itself to have you with me. Nothing would have stopped me. And no one. As you said before, I was nothing if not proud and I'd have been doubly so to have a son. You would have been mine to raise, to mold in my image. To carry on the lineage of the great Belthazor."
Cole paused and drew a shaky breath before he continued.
"You think life with the humans was difficult because you were different? Can you begin to imagine what your life would have been like in the world I lived in? If I were a pariah as a half demon, what would you have been at only a quarter? And I'd have been there every step of the way. Pushing you to excel, demanding only the best from you. Molding you into the best demon you could be, because I would have believed it was the right thing to do. After all, the son of Belthazor was no ordinary demon. I would have treated you the way other demons treated me. Demanding you be twice as good just to prove you were my son."
Peter couldn't muster a response to the picture his father painted and simply waited for him to continue.
"And what about your mother? Let's say she could try and accept what I was. She was a good woman. How well do you think she would have fared as the mate of a demonic mercenary? How long do you think it would have been before she saw what I was doing to you and tried to take you away? I wouldn't have allowed it. You think you hate me now? How would you have felt after you watched me kill her for trying to keep me from what was mine?"
"You'd be dead already."
Cole had begun pacing furiously again as he'd launched his questions at Peter. Snatching up one of the few undamaged articles in the room, the photo of him and Phoebe. He now returned to the chair and slumped into it tiredly.
"Yes, I'd be dead. I'd have taught you how to kill very well. I'd be gone. Your mother would be gone. And one day, you'd have learned as I did, that you were more than you had been taught you were. You would be alone with a lifetime of regrets and no idea how to live with this other legacy. I am glad that I didn't know about you. Glad because, whether you believe it or not, I love you. You've grown into a man that any father would be proud to call son. And you did it because I wasn't there to try and twist you into something else. I can live with you hating me."
"Someone once said it's the things we don't do that we regret. That's not always the case. I don't regret not being there for you. Oh, not because I wouldn't have wanted to be. But because it allowed you to become who you are. If I had been there you would have been the demon I wanted you to be. And believe me you would have resented me for it your entire life. Considering that, I can live with you hating me for what I did to your mother. It's a small price to pay for letting you choose your own destiny and not have one forced on you like I did."
Cole lapsed into an exhausted silence, staring morosely at the picture in his hands. Peter's thoughts were jumbled; all the feelings he had been so sure of were blown into disarray in a storm of comprehension. He might not know exactly what he did feel, but he knew what he didn't feel. He didn't hate his father. He couldn't. In every way that mattered he was his father. Peter fought to find some way to put the turmoil into words. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of clock chimes; he looked at his watch and cursed.
"Look we have a problem," he said quickly. " I didn't know it was so late and I have to be at the airport at five a.m. Got to go out of town on some client business tomorrow. But we aren't done here."
Peter stared at the photo and his father's face quietly for a moment.
" I don't hate you," he said softly. "And I don't know what happened between the two of you. But whatever it is, I can't help but think it will be all right. She loves you. And I believe you love her."
"Doesn't matter. It can't be fixed."
"Yes it can! But not if you give up. You're not a quitter and you'll find a way to win her back. You just need to remember who you are and keep trying. I'm sure you and Phoebe can work it out. So, no more stunts like the one I walked into okay. I want you to promise me that."
Cole studied Peter carefully. He'd said he didn't hate him. He wanted him to promise not to try and hurt himself. For the first time in a while Cole let the seed of hope take root. Maybe there was a way.
"Okay," he agreed finally. "No more suicide by anyone. Wasn't working out too well anyway."
Peter released a sigh of relief.
"Good," he said. "We'll talk again when I get back okay? It's two weeks at the most, depending on whether they have everyone ready for the depositions I need to get. So, I'll see you then, but I really have to go now."
And with that Peter shimmered out of the penthouse for home.