A/N: And so another chapter comes along your way. Hope you enjoy, and please review afterwards, I really appreciate them!

Love's Intervention
Chapter Ten: Fingernails

Cupid stood in front of an assembly of Elders, his hands shoved in his pants pockets, looking like the most typical sullen teenager, even though he was many centuries old. He was even wearing the clothes of a teenager; a heather gray oversized sweatshirt and slightly sagging jeans. He usually didn't put on mortal clothes, but the Elders' quarters were especially cold and called for extreme measures. I wonder why, he thought sarcastically as he dug his hands deeper into his pockets.

He knew, however, that it was with reason that the Elders called for this meeting. Cupid had really intended this to be a simple event in which Phoebe would realize a few things about herself and about her actions, not some blown-up situation that would involve those pesky Elders.

A rather stern-looking Elder looked at Cupid over her horn-rimmed glasses. "So, Cupid, what do you have to say for yourself?" she challenged.

"I stand by what I did," he answered stubbornly.

The Elder rolled her eyes. "As always," she said. "Did you have any idea what the consequences could be if something isn't done?"

"Just let Phoebe figure it out," Cupid argued. "I've arranged everything so that she'd come back as soon as she realizes what I want her to realize."

"If that was all, then everything would be fine. Well, except for the fact that as usual, you went behind our backs to pull such a dangerous stunt like this, but that's a different topic," she grumbled. "It remains that you pulled in others that were not supposed to end up in the parallel world, and that they must all be taken out before the equilibrium of the universe at large is disturbed."

"So pull them out and be done with it! You've done it before," shot back Cupid.

"You ignoramus," she said, none-too-calmly. "Yes, we have done it before, but since this requires the power and action of all the Elders, we can't do it because Leo is currently in the midst of this whole mess!"

Cupid's shoulders slouched down a bit more. The situation was turning out worse than he thought.

Phoebe sat in her manicurist seat, arranging her manicure tools in order while waiting for her blonde-haired customer to pick out a nail polish color. When she did, Phoebe picked up her nail buffer and started her work.

It really wasn't as bad as one might think it could have been. Phoebe was used to having all sorts of odd jobs; she really was a versatile employee. It also really helped that her hands in this world were accustomed to all that filing and buffing, so if she just zoned out a bit and let her instinct take over, she would provide a rather satisfactory manicure. Her only problem, it seemed, was her punctuality (or lack thereof), and failure to show up at work at all.

As she pushed back the cuticles of her customer's left hand, she thought back to the events of last night. She had stayed around for a little bit after her talk with Prue in the kitchen, but she had eventually left—by cab, thank you very much. It was obvious that Cole wanted to talk to her a bit before she left, but she didn't give him the opportunity, and did not want to. And she was certainly not getting into a car with him again, even though he had offered with a damningly sly smile on his face. Phoebe could only hope nobody else noticed it; she had to remember that Prue went out with Cole in this world, and if she ever thought—well, then the progress from yesterday would have been all in vain.

And of course, that whole staring-at-Phoebe-throughout-the-whole-evening thing did make her uncomfortable. Phoebe remembered when her heart would soar whenever he fixed his gaze on her, his piercing eyes making her feel like she slipped into a warm, bubbly bath, preferably with him by her side.

Then she realized that she still felt the same way.

If she had been applying the color to her customer's fingers, she would've had to break out the nail polish remover. Instead, all she did was jerk the nail file at a sharp angle. The woman looked at her curiously. "You all right, dear?" she asked, sounding slightly concerned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

No, that was yesterday. Twice. "I'm fine, don't worry about it," Phoebe quickly assured her, examining the nail to see if she had caused any major problems, then quickly moved on to the base and the polish.

The woman, who seemed to be in her late 30s, continued to peer at her before making up her mind to speak. "I hope I'm not prying too much here," she began, "but I'll never forget when my sister got the same exact look like you did just now. She was actually pouring orange juice in the kitchen—and she ended up pouring the whole carton on the floor. It was hell to clean up, but," the woman smiled. "It was worth it in the end, for what she learned." The woman shifted slightly in her seat, though her hand remained completely still. "My name is Marjorie, by the way."

Phoebe smiled genuinely. This woman was uncommonly nice; it wasn't everyday that strangers befriended you. Then again, it wasn't everyday that—well, never mind that. "I'm Phoebe," she replied. "You have a sister? I can relate. I have two."

Marjorie grinned as Phoebe moved onto the top coat. "I have one sister and three brothers. My house was quite a busy place when I was young. You should see my oldest brother's kids—they're just like us when we were their age."

"Oh, kids," Phoebe replied, smiling tenderly at the memory of Wyatt, and of grown-up Chris. "They can be quite a handful, can't they?" Phoebe dabbled on the last of the top coat. Marjorie stood up and paid, adding a large tip as well.

"I would shake your hand, but under the circumstances—it was nice meeting you, Phoebe."

"It was nice meeting you too." Phoebe paused as Marjorie prepared to go to the driers, wanting to ask this woman something but somehow afraid to do it. Marjorie turned to Phoebe one last time and seemed to understand what was going on through her mind.

"Maybe we'll see each other soon," Marjorie said. Phoebe understood her offer: Marjorie was giving her another chance to ask at a later time. Phoebe accepted it.

"Maybe."

Ring. Prue leaned forward across her desk from the chair she was sitting in her office and picked up the phone. "415."

"Hey, Prue," sounded a deep, male voice from the other line. "How are you?"

"Hey, Cole." For some reason, Prue wasn't as annoyed at him as she was before. "What're you calling for?"

"Uh..." he chuckled hesitatingly. "Well, you see, I tried calling Piper, but apparently, she's busy trying to placate the agent of one of her performers. So, I decided to call you. I kind of wanted to know what Phoebe's phone number was."

"What for?" Prue demanded instantly, her eyes narrowing. Then she heard for herself what she sounded like, and laughed. "What I mean is, are you planning to ask her out or something?"

There was a beat at the other end. "You mean—you don't mind?"

"Well, I guess I should, but I guess this just means that you really don't mean much to me," Prue joked, then went ahead and told Cole Phoebe's number, which Prue obtained last night. "Go ahead, Cole. Court my baby sister. But if you do anything to hurt her—and I mean anything—your ass will be kicked half-way around the world. Got it?" Prue ended menacingly.

"Right, right..." Cole sounded immensely bewildered. "I guess I'll see you around." He hung up.

Prue put the phone back into its cradle, smiling. It was strange how she accepted a relationship between her ex and her sister so quickly, especially with that Roger incident. However, there was something there, last night, between them. Prue had even felt it earlier that morning. Prue had only felt like that with one man, and if she wasn't mistaken, a relationship between the two of them could result in happiness for them both. Also—Prue was tired, tired of always seriously fighting with her sister, and wanted to end it. She knew, from a first-hand account, how precious life truly was, and to be on bad terms with Phoebe if something bad were to happen...Prue had nearly died without reconciling without Phoebe, and didn't want it to happen again.

"All right, fine, I'll do it Nick," Prue half-shouted into her cell phone while walking briskly down the street. "But you definitely owe me one, you know that right? I'll see you tomorrow, my connection's breaking up." Prue snapped the phone shut and stuck it in her bag. She couldn't believe Nick had just dumped on her his assignment. And she couldn't believe that she had taken it, too. Never mind it was just a couple of shots; he was known to be the one who asked for favors all the time and never returned them. It was sickening how she had fallen into the trap.

She passed by an electronics shop with TVs in the store window, displaying the local news channel. "An ironic story coming from San Francisco Memorial Hospital at this hour. Dr. John Griffiths, of the same hospital, had a heart attack while on his lunch break at a nearby fast food restaurant. Though he was rushed quickly to the hospital, he was pronounced dead as a victim of what the spokesperson of the hospital calls 'the most devastating heart attack this hospital has seen since its conception'..."

Prue stopped at the red light at the intersection, digging through her bag for her Chapstick—she might've been becoming down with a cold, since her lips always became dry and chapped when she did. Her head dropped a little lower toward the bag as her weight shifted just the slightest, putting just a tiny bit more pressure on her right foot.

It was like a giant hand was pushing her, though the street was for the most part empty and there was certainly no one behind her. Her right knee buckled as she stumbled forward. Her left foot landed four inches below from where she stood as she lurched off the steep curb, just about throwing off her balance completely. As she put her hands blindly in front of her to help her break her fall, the loud beep of a car honking the horn reached her ears.

She didn't know what inspired her, but something did—and at the last second, she managed to throw all her weight backwards. The car flew by her, horn stilling blasting, as she fell onto the pavement, feeling pain searing through her entire back as her head nearly hit the curb. Her palms were jaggedly cut and bleeding and her arms felt like they were popped out of their sockets, since she had twisted them back as well to lessen the impact. With her remaining strength, she pulled herself completely off of the road and onto the sidewalk, where she half sat and half laid down, breathing in and out as her life slowly stopped flashing before her eyes.

Prue slowly emerged from the memory, remembering what had happened afterwards. She had broken the stiletto heel of her right shoe, and her skirt had a low gash on the bottom. After remaining in that position for what felt like a century, she got up and hailed a cab. Whatever the cab driver thought of her, with her messed up hair and broken shoes, she didn't care. She rode back to her apartment, where she slowly cleaned herself up and put her torn clothes away.

Later that evening, she had called Piper to tell her what had happened. Piper was immediately concerned and asked repeatedly whether she was OK, but she really didn't understand. She wasn't there, she didn't see what had happened—she couldn't understand how close it really was. Prue knew, with that feeling of absolute truth, that if she had been hit, she would have not lived. She had never told anyone about that, not even Piper.

This was why Phoebe's reaction to her freaked Prue out so much. Phoebe took one look at her, and just seemed to know what had happened. Sure they were sisters, but they haven't seen each other since forever, and they were never really that close anyways.

Maybe Phoebe was psychic or something. Prue chuckled a bit and turned back to the paperwork in front of her. Considering her options, maybe it wasn't so farfetched after all.

A/N (2): A note before you hit that review button on the bottom of your screen there (hopefully!). The next chapter, I think I'm going to have to change the rating from PG to PG-13, because I feel like I've been unnecessarily censoring myself in parts of my story. I'm just telling you guys just in case any of you all don't read PG-13 stories, a little warning, I guess you could say. However, if too many of you don't read PG-13 stories, I may keep it at the PG level. So, what do you think? If I don't get any responses, I'll change it to PG-13. So...hope you enjoyed, and please provide feedback!