Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mel’s bed is empty when she wakes up.

Again.

She’s groggy and still mostly asleep, but she knows the bed is empty because it’s cold at her back.

It’s cold because there is a Demon Overlord missing, one that would usually be spooning her right about now.

(Abigael Jameson-Caine likes to spoon. Who would have guessed?)

(Literally everyone that’s met her and knows how soft she actually is under all the tough and heartless exterior she puts on.)

(The one that’s meant to mask the abused little girl that just wants to be loved.)

Then, Mel hears it.

It takes her a moment to recognize it, not just because she’s still sleep-addled, but also because- it’s so ridiculous?

Someone (Abigael Jameson-Caine, to be exact) is in her room…

… Humming the theme song to Xena: Warrior Princess.

Abigael sits at the vanity, dressed to impress (or kill, depending on what the purpose of her outing is, Mel muses) and applying her mascara as she keeps humming.

Mel can’t take it anymore, “Are you humming the Xena theme song?”

Abigael’s startled enough to poke herself in the eye with her mascara wand, eye squeezed shut and cussing like a sailor before turning to face the bed, face flushed even as she snarks.

“Good morning, darling. How did you sleep? I’m very well, thank you.”

Mel, at least, looks apologetic as she smiles at Abigael.

“Sorry. Are you okay? You look beautiful…”

And she does. Expensive too in her designer black jumpsuit, with lace and embroidered dark roses around the collar and across her shoulders. Taking in the perfectly styled hair, and the subtle makeup look that’s made to pop with red lipstick, Mel feels an uncomfortable tickle in the back of her throat at the sight.

Mel is not one to feel- less about herself, her looks. She doesn’t believe in feeling like she has to compete with other women; that’s what men want you to worry about to keep you distracted.

She knows she’s gorgeous. And she knows Abigael is too. She also knows that what she and Abigael have is absolutely real, that she has nothing to worry about.

Objectively, she knows all of these things.

But she also knows that while she’d never hurt Mel by cheating or anything asinine like that, Abigael is not exactly shy about her sexual desires, or her past. The woman oozes charm and confidence, so much strength and raw sex appeal.

And she’s not afraid to use any of her skills or talents to get what she wants.

(Maggie jokes that Abigael would be a Slytherin, what Draco Malfoy could have been if he had reformed sooner.)

And, well, Mel’s pregnant. So very suddenly so, so very much so. She went from being- herself, to practically nine months pregnant overnight. Neither she nor Abigael had a chance to adjust to the… physical changes.

(They didn’t get to have a night of wild sex before Mel needed help rolling over in bed, okay, that’s what she means.)

And, again, she knows that being pregnant doesn’t diminish her attractiveness in any way. Abigael has spent the last week telling her as much, just as attracted (see: horny) for Mel as she always has been.

Objectively, she knows this.

But she’s hormonal, tired, and emotional.

She’s insecure.

And seeing Abigael so dressed up so early in the day, obviously about to go out somewhere without Mel, without even mentioning her plans to her? It doesn’t help.

Still, she doesn’t say anything about it because it’s absolutely ridiculous. Right?

Abigael takes another few moments to fix herself up and add the finishing touches to her makeup, but she doesn’t linger at the vanity, Mel notices, as her gestures are quicker than earlier.

(Eager to be at Mel’s side.)

She’s aiming her softest smile at Mel as she moves back to sit beside her on the bed. Abigael’s fingers are warm as they cover Mel’s in a gentle exploration before bringing her hand up to kiss the back.

(She doesn’t even care about her meticulously applied lipstick as her lips linger against Mel’s skin.)

Her voice is equally as soft as her smile, “and you are breathtaking, Melanie Vera.”

Mel melts, bringing her hand – now covered with both of Abigael’s – to her chest, blushing a little as she smiles up at her.

Still, she can’t help teasing still.

“So. Xena, huh?”

Abigael rolls her eyes, but smiles.

“There was a marathon on last night after you lot went to bed.”

Mel tries her hardest to keep her smile in place, but it slips a little.

“You didn’t sleep again last night?”

Abigael, for her part, keeps her smile, but Mel sees the tension in her muscles. She shifts up a little more, Abigael helping her prop her pillows up how she likes them, and Mel takes a closer look at Abby’s face.

There is a weariness in Abby’s eyes that hasn’t really left since her stint in the Tomb. It’s been getting worse steadily in the weeks that followed the Tomb and the trial. She’s not sure if she remembers the last time Abby’s slept longer than 3 hours. If she sleeps at all.

“I had some work to go over. Both for the company, and as Demon Overlord. You know kingdoms don’t just run themselves.”

She’s joking, her voice is trying to anyway, but it never reaches her eyes.

“And now you’re going out.”

“I’m meeting Waverly for brunch.”

And that’s a new thing, which Mel’s happy about – don’t get her wrong – but she also worries.

Abigael and Waverly are working together, both to get the Blade of Clarity from Francesca and on their own relationship. But it takes work, and she knows they have a lot of bad blood between them to work through. And the two shared some- intense words when Mel first met Waverly, the hostility suffocating.

Hostility she knows hasn’t completely gone away yet, even if they played nice once Waverly’s demon hunter was vanquished. Because, sometimes, after Abigael gets back from these outings, her shoulders are hunched and her demeanor is… defeated. Sad.

(Unloved.)

It also explains why Abigael has put in a little more effort into her look for a simple brunch.

Mel knows that Abigael is trying to project a calm and composed image, in control.

Not unhinged.

So her designer outfits and powerful red lipstick is like her armor. To show Waverly that she is successful and thriving, as well as being armor to protect her.

Mel hums softly, gently reaching up to adjust a stray curl against Abigael’s temple, fingers gently trailing along her cheek to her jaw. She’s careful not to mess up Abigael’s makeup, her armor, as her fingers ghost closer to her lips.

She smiles when Abby does, tilting her head to press her lips to Mel’s wandering fingers.

“Where are you two going?”

“That wee café down the street from Safe Space. The one you love to run to when you need to hide from your sisters.”

Mel rolls her eyes in the face of Abby’s smirk. It doesn’t last long before Mel is smiling too, fingers toying with Abby’s as the latter gets a little more serious.

“How’re you feeling, did you sleep alright? Do you need anything before I go? I promise to bring you back those pistachio-flavored croissants you love, but what else would you like?”

“Say croissant again.”

Abigael laughs softly, kissing Mel’s fingers again.

(Because all Abigael wants is to never have to stop kissing Mel.)

(Because it isn’t enough to just kiss Melanie’s lips, Abigael knows. Her lips were made to worship every inch of Mel she can.)

So she kisses her fingertips as a way to sate her need for Mel, on her way to press kisses to Mel’s cheek and jaw, savoring the route to Mel’s lips.

Then, because she is absolutely at Mel’s mercy, she lowers her voice to that breathy purring quality she knows will drive Mel mad with want, accentuating the hints of a French accent as she repeats “croissant” against Mel’s cheek. Abigael relishes the shiver that she sees go through Mel as each letter of the word caresses her skin on its way to Mel’s ear.

“And you’re sure you have to go meet Waverly right now?”

Abigael’s eyes darken even as her grin remains – more or less – innocent, eyes raking over Mel’s form, “while I’d love nothing more than to spend the day in this bed with you, utterly ignoring the world outside these walls, you know I can’t. We’re getting closer to figuring out where Mother hid the Blade and forming a plan to get it.”

Mel’s pouting when Abby hesitantly continues, “And… she said she might show me pictures. Of Lydia…”

Mel softens, bringing Abby’s hands to her lips this time. Waverly still hasn’t allowed Abby to meet her niece, though Abby has been patient about it; she wants Waverly to truly see that she’s changed. But it’s hard sometimes; Waverly hasn’t even told Lydia about having an aunt, and Mel knows that hurts Abby.

“That’s wonderful, Abby. I’m so proud of you and the progress you two are making.”

Abigael doesn’t meet her eyes at the praise, but Mel doesn’t take it personally. She knows Abby struggles with feelings still.

“Go. Don’t be late, and have a lovely time, don’t worry about me. I’m just gonna boss Harry around to assemble the baby’s things today.”

“Absolutely not. Harold’s probably never even had a screwdriver to drink, let alone used one to build something. I will handle it when I’m back.”

Then she smirks and Mel’s stomach does backflips, front flips, side flips, 360 degree flips at the sight.

“Besides, I know you much prefer to watch me work anyway.”

The pair share a chuckle; Mel’s more embarrassed and telling, Abigael just pleased with herself.

“You’re sure you don’t need me to fetch you anything before I go?”

“No, but help me out of bed?”

“That’s certainly a first…”

So Abigael slips her hands into both of Mel’s gently easing her to her feet out of the bed…

… and wastes no time burying her face in Mel’s neck, spreading kisses against every sliver of skin she can feel under her lips.

It makes Mel giggle when it tickles, and that in turn makes Abigael smile against her skin, fingers holding on to Mel’s waist closer.

“Abby! You’ll ruin your makeup.”

“Worth it,” comes the muffled reply.

But she does pull back when she feels Mel’s hands gently pushing at her shoulders.

(Not before scraping her teeth against Mel’s pulse in a last, lips-parted teasing kiss. Mel’s fingers squeeze her arms then, steadying herself on her feet, and there is the faintest groan from the back of her throat. Abigael makes a mental note of it for later.)

They kiss, then, soft and slow. Lingering. Breathing each other in for another moment before Mel heads off to the bathroom.

Abigael watches her go til she can’t see her anymore.

Then her sister is calling; Abigael is late.

She barely fixes her lipstick before leaving in a puff of smoke.

When Abigael gets home in the afternoon, later than Mel thought she would be, she’s tense about something.

But Mel doesn’t get a chance to ask because Abby’s beaming the moment she lays eyes on her.

And Mel’s breath catches in her throat because this smile? It lights up Abigael’s entire face.

It shines a light on the shadows that had built up in Abby’s eyes.

She’s handed a pastry bag at the same time as Abigael’s lean in for a greeting kiss.

(And that’s been a new thing to get used to, too. The freedom to kiss and hold hands and- be together without the fear of Mel’s sisters seeing.)

Before she gets a chance to dwell on it, Abby settles on the ground at her feet, pressing a kiss to her thigh and knee while she’s at it, and whips out her phone to show Mel something.

There, on Abigael’s screen is the image of a little girl beaming at the camera while holding a stuffed giraffe that Mel’s very familiar with after spending two hours at the shop with Abby trying to pick something out.

It’s Lydia, she knows. She’d know that even if she wasn’t holding the giraffe.

Abigael looks so proud, as she rattles off the events of her morning with Waverly; about how Waverly has told her daughter that she’s got an aunt, and that Lydia is excited to meet the woman that gifted her with her favorite stuffed animal.

“… she’s named him George, isn’t that brilliant, Mel? Waverly said she picked it because she knows both George and giraffe are spelled with a G; she’s only three but she’s so bright and brilliant, just- brilliant…”

Mel can’t keep up; Abigael is so excited and happy about the events of the day. But Mel makes sure to burn this moment into her memories, onto her heart. The pure joy emanating from Abby, achingly radiant in her happiness. At peace, even temporarily. It’s rendered her usually so eloquent Abby inarticulate.

So Mel slips her fingers in Abby’s hair and gently scratches at her scalp, relishing in the feel of Abigael leaning into her touch.

“She sounds like she’s really smart, babe. I’m so glad she knows about you. Maybe you can meet her soon.”

When Abigael looks up at Mel, there’s no trace of the demons that have plagued her this past week. It warms Mel’s heart endlessly.

When Abby leans up on her knees to kiss Mel, she does so deeply and fully. Fingers carding into Mel’s hair and anchoring on her waist, Abigael pours everything she is into this kiss.

It leaves Mel breathless and dizzy. And beaming back at Abby when she sees her smile.

They spend the rest of the afternoon talking about Lydia as Abby shows Mel more pictures and the thank you card her niece made for her.

(Mel makes a mental note to put it on the fridge if Abby’s okay with it.)

And as the afternoon rolls on, Mel teasing that Waverly must have her hands full because Lydia’s got Abby’s cheeky smirk that Mel knows is dangerous when utilized correctly, Mel silently wonders if their baby will have Abby’s smile and eyes too.

(She desperately hopes so.)

Chapter Text

At this point, Mel’s used to waking up alone in bed.

If she’s lucky, Abigael will be somewhere in the room; reading, getting dressed, putting on her makeup armor for the day – it could be anything that keeps her in the room with immediate access to Mel as soon as she wakes up.

(All while humming something absurdly nerdy like the Xena or Buffy theme songs.)

The past couple of days, though, Mel wakes up to an empty room.

Abigael never makes it up to bed with her, not even to pretend to try to sleep anymore. Nor is she there to greet Mel with a morning kiss.

Instead, like today, she walks into the kitchen after shuffling through her morning routine sluggishly. Harry is already working on breakfast while her sisters sit with their morning coffees…

… Staring out the backdoor as Abigael paces angrily in the yard.

She’s on the phone again, and gesturing in agitation as she speaks.

“She’s speaking in tongues again.”

Mel sighs, ignoring Maggie and going about getting her own breakfast. Abigael has been on edge lately; something is going on with her that she will not share just yet, but it’s got her rattled. Mel thinks back to when it started, and grimly traces it back to that day Abby went to brunch with her sister. It crosses her mind then that she remembers Abby looked tense but dropped it as soon as she saw Mel.

She doesn’t get to dwell on it because Maggie’s got more commentary for her, “is she- smoking?”

“Maggie, don’t be ridiculous. You know she’d never let a cigarette touch those lips-”

“No, Mel, she’s literally smoking. Do demons spontaneously combust or something?”

When Mel turns to investigate, sure enough, Abigael’s got tendrils of smoke lifting off her shoulders as she keeps arguing into her phone. It doesn’t seem like she even notices.

Mel notices, though, how her sisters – namely Macy – tense up and move to get between the backyard door and Mel, protective.

“Do you think Spike’s about to pop out again?”

This gives everyone pause as they stare at Maggie.

“Did you- name Abby’s demon side?”

“It seems a little rude to keep calling it that when we know they’re kinda two separate beings! That thing’s got nothing to do with Abby, I figured we should start calling it something else. Plus, it makes it less scary.”

Mel’s actually… rather touched at the sentiment. She thinks Abby will act gruff and huffy about it when she finds out but secretly she’ll melt into a wee demon-witch puddle.

Then they see Abby’s fingers flicker with fire and are snapped back to the reality of the situation.

Macy takes a step forward to do something about it when Mel sighs, a little forcefully and a little in agitation, grabbing Macy’s arm and pulling her back.

“I’ve got it.”

She doesn’t wait for them to say anything, marching over to the door and right past it, shutting it firmly behind her and leaning against it.

She’s gonna wait for Abby to notice her instead of startling her. That’s probably the safest option for everyone’s health right now. Right?

She takes the moment to listen to Abby speak; it’s some demon language that Abby slips into for her Demon Overlord things, and… it’s kinda really hot. The sounds are low and raspy, and Abby’s natural Sussex accent slips into it on occasion, and it- just does things to and for Mel, okay? It’s enough of an effect to make Mel forget that Abby’s been using it more and more lately as her agitation and tension grows. Something must be really wrong to rattle Abigael Jameson-Caine – she who is made up of nonchalance and whiskey – quite like this.

She must make her presence known somehow without realizing (because otherwise, it would mean that Abby is just that in tune to Mel’s presence, and that kinda freaks her out a little but she’ll unpack that later) because Abby turns seemingly on the spot and notice Mel.

Instantly, she switches back to English as she grits out through her teeth for whoever is calling her to, “find out,” never taking her eyes off Mel as she seems to assess her for hurt or discomfort.

Mel notes that she’s been doing that a lot lately too, since her brunch with Waverly.

Before she can ask, Abby’s smiling that soft smile at her, eyes drinking her in like she’s the first sip of water after days of wandering the desert. Her hands are held out before her as she gracefully walks closer, and Mel’s own hands immediately reach back.

Like their very cells are reaching out for each other. Magnetic.

“Good morning, darling. I’m sorry I wasn’t there; I had this blasted call to attend to- never mind that, how’d you sleep? Do you need anything? I know Harold fancies himself a chef, but honestly if I never eat another full English it’ll be too soon. Say the word and I’ll run out and get us whatever you’d like.”

Mel melts, as she always does when Abby’s softer side comes out, leaning in to kiss her instead of speaking words. Then she chuckles as she pulls back and has to wave off some of the smoke lingering against Abby. Abigael, for her part, frowns as she notices and shakes the stuff off.

“Must’ve been some call to get you so worked up. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, you know. Demons running amok, needing discipline. That sorta boring administrative thing.”

When Abby’s arm slips around Mel’s shoulders to pull her in against herself and walk back into the house, Mel leans in with her whole weight.

Safe and secure, because Abigael can take it.

“You know, I don’t know if you remember this or not, but my sisters and I are the Charmed Ones. Dealing with unruly demons is kinda our thing. Maybe we can help?”

Abigael, for her part, smirks in amusement.

“Unruly demons, eh?”

“Tamed you, didn’t I?”

“Okay! So glad you can join us for breakfast, Abigael, please do not assault us with those images so early in the morning.”

Abigael simply rolls her eyes at Macy, raising her brow when Maggie mutters something about, “rather deal with Spike…”

“Who’s Spike?”

Before Mel can gesture at Maggie to keep her mouth shut, Maggie’s off and explaining, “Your demon side. We’ve named it Spike. You know, on account of all the spikes and stuff.”

The silence in the kitchen is deafening as everyone stares at everyone else. Maggie seems to realize that perhaps this little nickname should have been kept between her and her sisters.

“I’m sorry, it sort of sounded to me like you’ve named me Spike. Like I’m some pet puppy you’ve recently acquired.”

Mel pinches the bridge of her nose as Maggie keeps digging herself into a hole.

“No, not you. Just your demon side.”

“Spike.”

“Yes.”

“Melanie, my darling, I hope you weren’t too awfully attached to Bouncy. I’m afraid I, Spike, am gonna have to kill her.”

Mel’s grip tightens on her hip and that’s the only thing standing between Maggie and a fireball.

“Not you, Abby! Look- you and your demon side aren’t exactly the same thing. So. I named it- her? Him? Do demons have the same gender identity ideas like we do? Anyway, the point is, you and Spike aren’t one and the same, so I thought it’d be nice to have a way to separate you two. ‘Abby’s demon side’ is just such a mouthful.”

When silence reigns in the kitchen again, it’s for a different reason. The sisters are tense, waiting to see how Abby will react. While Abigael herself is- speechless.

(That might be even scarier than dealing with Spike, Maggie thinks.)

It takes a minute but eventually Abigael speaks, “Oh.”

(Unfortunately, she isn’t quite as articulate as she usually would be.)

“Um. Alright then, I suppose. That makes sense. Sort of.”

Softer still, “Thank you, Maggie.”

Then it’s silent again as Maggie purses her lips and nods, everyone looking everywhere except at each other. Eventually, Harry’s English nature wins out and he awkwardly clears his throat to break the silence, announcing that breakfast is ready.

Abigael still doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes as she helps Mel get comfortable, not even snarking at the full English set in front of her, despite her whining about it just minutes ago.

It worries Mel a little, covering Abby’s hand on the table with hers. The squeeze she gives is what gets Abigael’s attention, eyes silently asking her if everything’s alright. Abigael simply smiles faintly and nods.

(Her hand lands on Mel’s thigh afterwards and gives a soft squeeze. But there is nothing else; no trying to feel Mel up, no rubbing, nothing suggestive that’ll upset Mel’s sisters. Nothing.)

(It’s meant to ground Abigael, Mel thinks. To ease her mind and anchor her in what is no doubt a raging storm brewing inside her. Maggie separating the demon from Abby, seeing two different entities, is something Abigael never in her wildest imagination would have thought possible. Needless to say, she’s unable to process her emotions quite yet.)

Macy seems like she might understand, clearing her throat and asking Mel’s question again, “you phone calls seem to get more intense every day. Can we help with anything?”

Normally, Abigael would lash out or say something snarky back right about now. Especially to Macy. But they all know she’s exhausted; they’re all aware she’s not sleeping very well, if at all, and she’s been keeping busy at all hours of the day and night. If she’s not running errands for Mel, she’s building nursery furniture. If she’s not helping them deal with their latest magical issues, she’s dealing with her demonic kingdom. The few times they’ve caught her asleep (or rather, passed out) on the couch don’t last because those naps are clearly littered with unrest and nightmares.

So nobody’s really surprised when she merely sighs then shakes her head instead of starting some argument.

“It isn’t anything for you lot to worry about. I’m handling it. But- thank you for the offer.”

Mel beams at them as they try to put in the effort and get along, while Abigael, Macy, and Maggie avoid looking at each other.

(Okay, so Mel knows these interactions are like pulling teeth for all parties, but she’s happy to see them anyway.)

Then, Abigael’s voice is lowered, soft, only for Mel as she squeezes her thigh for attention.

“But. There is something you could do for me, Mel.”

Abigael is looking hopeful if a little apprehensive, and Mel makes sure to give her all of her attention, setting her fork down and taking Abby’s hand instead.

(Abigael dutifully ignores the sisters pretending to be busy with something else while they completely eavesdrop. She rolls her eyes internally though.)

So she smiles nervously and presses on, “well, I was thinking that, perhaps, if you’re up for it, that we could… go out tonight. To dinner. On a date. An actual one now that it’s all out in the open.”

(Maggie, ever the dork, can’t contain her squeal as well as she thinks. Abigael rolls her eyes so hard.)

“You know, if it’s alright with the peanut gallery here,” she glares over at Mel’s sisters; Maggie looks like she’s trying to drown herself in her coffee, while Macy’s head snaps away from them so fast a piece of toasts telekinetically flies across the table to slap Harry in the face.

Mel blushes as she laughs at Harry, softening when she meets Abby’s eyes. She sees the strain there and needs to settle that storm.

“I’d love to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Brilliant.”

They’re leaning in to kiss when Mel’s belly gets in the way and she realizes something.

“Wait. Maybe we could- stay in?”

She hates that she sees the excited light in Abby’s eyes dim, but her- her Abby smiles faintly nonetheless and nods.

“Of course, darling, whatever you’d like. I’m happy to spend time with you, no matter the place.”

At least Macy, Maggie, and Harry have the decency to vacate the kitchen and give them a moment, the trio muttering some weak excuse about the weather as they head out to the backyard to finish breakfast.

“Abby, it’s not- whatever you’re thinking.”

Abigael just hums, waiting.

“I know what kind of dates you enjoy, what kind of activities or places or what have you. And I’m not- currently suited for that. Hell, I’m not even sure I’d be suited to it when I’m not pregnant either…”

“What the bloody hell does that mean…?”

“It means, you like to live your life a certain way. A rather- luxurious way… I’m not really sure I’d fit into that right now.”

“You’re joking.”

Abigael kicks herself for not seeing it sooner; the insecurity. The hints of inferiority.

(Especially when she’s so personally familiar with those feelings. Feelings she never thought she’d cause in Mel.)

She brings both of Mel’s hands to her lips, reverently pressing kisses to each knuckle.

“Melanie, you have to understand that I… I’d love nothing more than to take you to some absurdly overpriced steakhouse and whirl you around the dancefloor of the most exclusive club in town, showing you off and snarling at anyone that might even think to get close. I’d love to watch you come down the stairs, dressed in your sexiest suit with suspenders, maybe with that silk tie I bought you? And have my jaw drop so hard your sisters tease the ever-loving shit out of me for days. We’d drink the most expensive- anything we could get our hands on and take a trip on a whim. And honestly? You being pregnant doesn’t change any of those plans, not even the drinking; I’d just drink on your behalf instead. You’re perfect as you are. All I want is to be with you, but even more than that, I want you to be happy. I’d give it all up for you. None of that stuff matters to me, not even a fraction, as much as you do.”

Mel’s struck speechless, staring at Abby.

Then, she bursts into tears.

(Freaking hormones…)

Abigael, naturally, panics. Her face goes on quite the journey as she tries to figure out how to soothe Mel, eventually settling for nudging the tissue box closer with the single most awkward, “there, there,” she can muster.

At least it makes Mel laugh.

(The snot bubble that bursts at Mel’s laugh warms Abigael’s heart, chuckling too as she gently wipes Mel’s tears with her thumb.)

Mel sniffles, resorting to joking to ease all of their tensions, “I think even I’d rather deal with Spike right now…”

The two share another laugh, Abigael pressing a kiss to Mel’s forehead.

“You know, when I said date, I really just meant that awful greasy diner you love. The one with the mango milkshake you can’t get enough of?” Abigael smirks, teasing softly still, “I thought we could split one like those cheesy movies Bouncy’s always making us watch.”

That makes Mel laugh more, eyes crinkled happily she smiles so hard.

“You are the single softest demon I have ever met.”

“Am not. You take that back this instance.”

“Nope. You want to share a milkshake with me.”

Abigael scoffs playfully but she’s helpless to retaliate; it’s true. She’s soft.

(And maybe, just maybe, head over heels in love. But she’s not going there. Those thoughts and feelings are firmly locked away in a – ironically enough – mental crate to be revisited later. Maybe.)

“You keep telling such awful lies, Angry Spice, and I might rescind my date offer.”

“Too late, I already said yes, so we’re going. Now you’ve put the idea of a greasy cheeseburger in my head and there’s no getting out of it, babe. Also, I’m not sharing a milkshake.”

Abby’s quiet happiness fills the entire kitchen space. Beyond even, as Mel’s sisters turn to look in on them just then, as if they can feel it. Her words are gentle against Mel’s temple as she murmurs into the kiss she presses there, “Can’t wait, my love.”

Chapter Text

Their date is nice.

Mel keeps it casual in a baseball shirt and overalls, sneakers comfortable.

(It renders Abigael breathless when she waddles down the stairs.)

Abigael, for her part, is wearing the single most expensive blouse and trousers combination Mel’s ever seen, and heels that probably cost the entirety of Mel’s salary when she bartended at The Haunt.

(It makes it really hard for Mel to look away or refrain from touching Abby all over.)

Abigael drives them the short distance to the diner, a complete gentlewoman as she opens the door and gestures dramatically for Mel to step out of the car.

(Mel rolls her eyes at the utter dorkiness of the whole thing but laughs happily as she slips her hand into Abby’s to step out.)

(They keep holding hands all the way to the counter where they sit, turned into each other with their knees touching.)

They order, Abigael making faces the entire time, albeit playfully, teasing Mel about her terrible eating habits as they share a milkshake.

(“I’m pregnant.”

“And the rest of the year?”

“Bugger off, Abby.”)

(“You’re an absolute hooligan, Melanie Vera.”

“Oh, come on. It’s just ketchup.”

“That you’re meant to dip fries into, not coat them with it!”

“What’s the matter, Abby, afraid of making a little bit of a mess?”

“Why don’t we get the food to go, and I’ll show you exactly what making a mess looks like, darling?”)

(“What do you mean ‘hold the lettuce’? What could you possibly have against lettuce?”

“It’s gross paper water.”

“Abby, that doesn’t even make sense. What’s next, you hate mushrooms?”

“…”

“Abigael!”)

They bicker over magic.

(“You cannot be serious. Mercury is your favorite potion ingredient? That’s bonkers. Eye of newt is, like, right there.”

“You know eye of newt is just mustard seeds, right?”

“Way to suck the magic out of it, Potion Princess.”

“Take me home and I’ll show you sucking…”)

(“Oh, did I tell you about this dream I had the other day? We were brewing a new potion…”

“Were we naked?”

“Abby, focus. I vaguely remember the ingredients, I think we should try to recreate it, see what happens. Pass me the napkin let me write it down…”

“Right. But can we be naked when we do?”

“… Maybe.”)

(“Abigael. You can’t use that potion.”

“Why not?”

“You’re seriously asking me why I won’t let you use a potion that turns hair lime green permanently on Macy?”

“You never let me have any fun.”)

They chat about their family.

(“I’m waiting on Waverly to let me know when I can meet Lydia. Hopefully this weekend.”

“I think that’s wonderful, baby.”

“Do you think she’ll like me?”

“How could she not?”

“I’m a demon.”

“You’re Abby.”)

(“I give it at least six months.”

“Please. That’s ridiculous. Harold will not last that long; I give him a month before he gets down on those old man knees to pop the big question. And that’s being generous.”

“You wanna put your money where your mouth is?”

“I’d much rather put my mouth elsewhere…”)

(“I caught Bouncy ogling my outfit the other night, by the way.”

“You mean the other night when you left the bedroom half naked to get a snack? Gee, babe, I wonder why she was staring.”

“I’m just saying. You Vera women have a type.”

“We do not!”

“Sure you do. It’s half-demon Caines.”

“I-”)

They argue over the bill when it’s time to head out.

(“Mel, you are not going to win this one. I asked you out tonight, I’m getting the bill.”

“That’s such an outdated way of thinking, there is no reason we can’t split it.”

“Mel, please. You plan the next date, and I’ll happily sit back and let you pay.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re getting a second date.”)

Abigael makes sure to get them (Mel, really) another mango milkshake to go. Mel leans into her side as they walk out, murmuring, “is it crazy that I don’t want to go home yet? I don’t want this night to end.”

“It’s not crazy at all; I feel the same way.”

So they agree to take a short stroll in the park nearby since Mel’s not yet tired. Abby’s arm stays firmly around her shoulder as they walk, pressing kisses against Mel’s head every other step.

Just because she can. Just because she wants to.

So, yes. They have a nice date. A wonderful date, actually.

Until it goes sideways.

Mel’s blissfully lost in her thoughts and the scent of vanilla always lingering around Abby, the one now mixed with hints of mango, and her guard’s down.

It takes her a moment to notice Abby’s tension, lifting her head to look up at her.

Abigael’s eyes are alert, scanning their surroundings. Her body is stiff and Mel notes her free hand is ready to summon a fireball.

Before she can say or do anything, or even find the source of Abby’s stress, she’s pulled towards an alleyway, Abby’s tone low but urgent.

“Call for Harry.”

“What’s happening-”

“Call Harry. Now.”

Mel purses her lips at being kept in the dark, but complies. It only takes him seconds to pop up behind them.

Abigael wastes no time in letting go of Mel’s hand, ignoring her looks and any words she might have had for her, eyes boring into Harry’s with purpose.

“Get her home. Go now.”

“Excuse me, I’m standing right here- Harry, don’t you dare- get your hand off me. Abby, what’s going on?”

“Harry, go.”

“Not before you tell me what’s wrong, and sure as shit not without you, Abby.”

“Melanie, I promise to explain when I get back to you, but there’s no time now.”

“Abigael-”

“Go, Harry.”

The last thing Mel sees is Abby walking backwards, away from her.

Her smile is small and sad, apologetic.

Too much like a goodbye for Mel to not absolutely lose it.

Mel raises hell when they pop up in the living room, smack in the middle of Maggie and Jordan making out on the couch, startling the two apart as she yells at Harry to take her back “right this instant.”

He refuses, even when she advances on him and threatens him with bodily harm.

When she starts smacking him in the chest and the arms, Maggie jumps up to get in between them, Macy coming to investigate as well.

She’s trying to storm out of the house while Harry explains the odd turn of events the night took when they get in her way and seal the house.

“We can’t leave her out there alone! She could be in danger, she could get hurt or kil-”

Her breath catches in her throat. She wonders if this is what Maggie feels like when she’s having a panic attack.

She’s in the dark about something going on with Abigael and she’s… scared.

“Mel, we don’t even know where she went. And besides, it’s Abigael we’re talking about. She’s no damsel in distress; she’s a witch-demon. She can more than handle herself. And I’ll keep an ear out for her. The moment she utters my name in any way, I’ll get her.”

“She doesn’t know you can hear her, Harry!”

“The witch board! We can go to the Command Center and find her from there.”

“Maggie’s right, the witch board can find her if she’s in trouble. But I think we should split up. She might come back here, so Mel you should stay here with Maggie, and Harry and I will head to Safe Space.”

“Like hell I’m just sitting around here doing nothing.”

“Mel, we’ll find her and help her. We’re not gonna leave her out there alone if she needs us. I promise. But you have to stay here, stay safe. For the baby.”

And Macy’s right, of course she is, Mel knows this logically. But right now, she’s worried and scared and-

And she’s pissed at the way Abby handled this whole thing.

Because Mel’s pregnant, not useless. Women all over the world across time have managed to juggle motherhood and their jobs just fine. She doesn’t need to be babied or protected, or benched from witch duties just because she’s pregnant.

She’s pissed that Abby made that decision for her. Sent her away without telling her anything.

She’s pissed because they’re supposed to be partners.

“Mel, come on. Let’s try calling her while Harry and Macy go to the Command Center…”

So she purses her lips and watches her older sister take their Whitelighter’s hand and pop out of the room. Maggie gets her to sit and hands Mel her phone. She doesn’t notice it when Jordan comes over with a glass of water.

Only then does Mel realize she’s lost the mango milkshake Abby bought her when they left the diner.

The sky’s painted grey as dawn slowly sneaks up on them.

Mel succumbed to her pregnant body’s need for rest a few hours ago, but Macy and Harry promised to keep watch at the Command Center. Maggie and Jordan stayed too, waiting for any news as they continued to call Abby.

(She never answered anyone’s call.)

Harry had relayed to them, in a group text that didn’t include Mel, those last seconds they saw Abigael.

How on edge she seemed. How scared her eyes looked as she drank in the sight of Mel.

Like it would be the last time she would lay eyes upon her.

And the truth is, they’re all worried; Abigael was far from being any of their favorite, but she was a part of their team.

(She was a part of Mel. That was enough.)

Then, Harry’s phone rings.

The caller ID reads a simple ‘Abigael’.

He almost drops the phone in his fumble to answer it while Macy urges him to hurry up and get it.

She sounds- a little labored, a little pained, but otherwise she sounds her usual mix of blasé and teasing when he connects the line.

“Harold, darling, be a dear and open the front door, won’t you? Or at least tell them to drop whatever blasted wards they’ve set up around the house that won’t let little ole’ me phase shift inside. I understand Melanie’s likely upset with me, but this is going a wee bit too far, wouldn’t you say?”

At this point in their relationship, Harry’s eye roll at Abby’s antics is just automatic, a reflex.

“Abigael, we’ve been looking for you all night, where are you?”

He can hear her eye roll.

“I’m outside on the porch, Harry, I just said to open the door. Don’t wake Mel.”

Abigael’s phone almost flies out of her hand when Harry and Macy pop onto the porch in front of her, startling her. She barely keeps from chucking a fireball at them.

(That could also be because she’s utterly exhausted.)

“My, my. Am I interrupting some special Whitelighter time, Whitebanger?”

Her words don’t carry their usual bite. Nor would they have landed how she wanted them to anyway because Harry and Macy are looking at her as if they’ve seen a ghost.

(Abigael muses to herself that they could have been had things not worked out tonight.)

Abigael’s slumped into a chair on the porch, clothes dirty and faintly torn in places, showing forming bruising. There are stains on her blouse that are most definitely not dirt; she’s got a bleeding gash at her temple, and Harry hopes the rest of the blood on her isn’t her own.

She winces as she sits up a little more, trying to get to her feet so she can head inside when they open the door, smirking like it’s just another Tuesday morning as she snarks, “you should see the other guy.”

Her pained movements snap them into action, Macy nudging Harry forward to heal Abigael…

… Who just waves them off.

“Whitelighters can’t heal demons. I’ll be fine; my demon constitution will handle it. I just need to get past whatever wards you’ve set up and into a shower before Mel finds out-”

“Too late.”

Abigael closes her eyes, gritting her teeth as she swears under her breath; Mel’s voice is laced with sleep. And anger.

The door is open, at least, she notes. And she knows it’s the cowardly thing to do right now, but she’s truly weary and has no interest in getting into this fight right this moment, so.

Abigael silently phase-shifts into the house, right up into the bathroom for a hot shower.

(Macy and Harry wince; Mel looks livid, and Abigael is about to get it. And not even the way she likes it.)

They follow Mel as she storms back inside, yelling for Abigael to show herself, Maggie and Jordan coming to investigate. They’re both groggy; likely awoken from falling asleep by Mel’s rampage.

“Abigael Jameson-Caine, you absolute chicken-shit, where are you? Get your ass down here, right now!”

The only thing that answers them is the sound of the shower coming on upstairs.

Mel looks ready to stomp her way up the stairs as best she can in her heavily pregnant state when Harry bites the bullet and risks her ire, “Mel, perhaps we should let her wash up first before we figure out what’s wrong…?”

“Yeah, she did kinda look banged up; she’s obviously been in some kind of altercation. Let’s give her a moment to shower at least before we- altercate with her too.”

They had a point, Mel knew. She hated it when they were right.

But Abby did look “banged up”. And the worry about that trumps her anger, silently turning away from them to head up the stairs towards the bathroom.

The bathroom is full of steam; the shower is running and the water is likely roiling with the heat.

(Mel muses that Maggie’s gonna be pissed later when she goes to shower and all she’s left with is frigid water. She makes a mental note to magically help out her sister later.)

The water runs into an empty shower stall; Abigael is standing in the middle of the bathroom, biting down on her cheek to keep all her pained noises inside as she slowly tries to peel her shirt off. Mel’s stuck in place, watching the achingly familiar pale skin she’s mapped moon after moon get revealed; mottled with bruising and covered in little scratches, scrapes, and cuts.

(There’s a tight twist in her gut, answered by a worried kick from her – their ­– baby that gets her moving, hands covering Abigael’s shaking ones on the hem of her shirt.)

Mel cups her jaw so gently, kissing her cheek and lingering nearby. She’s looking for Abby’s scent of vanilla, swallowing when the only thing she detects is the metallic, rusty smell of blood clinging to her- to her Abby.

Softly, she murmurs for Abby to hold still; she’s grabbed scissors and resorts to cutting the shirt off of Abby.

Mel hums when Abby’s Sussex lilt croaks, “this shirt’s Versace…”

“This shirt is ruined regardless. Who goes demon hunting in designer clothes anyway?”

“I wasn’t ‘demon hunting’. I was out on a date.”

“Who goes to a diner date in designer clothes anyway?”

Abigael just hums, shedding her shirt silently. Mel notes that she must be really aching if she’s not trying to get Mel into a similar state of undress.

Then, Mel sees it.

A cut along Abby’s ribs, deeper than the rest littering her body, and bleeding. It’s rimmed in an unsettling shade of blue; a demonic infection of some kind, perhaps? She can’t keep silent any more as she gingerly touches a finger to the edge of the cut.

“Abby, you’re hurt. Bad. I need to get Harry to heal you-”

“Harry’s mind would melt out of his ears if he walked into this bathroom right now, love, that man is too English for all of this. Besides, Lord Macymort would vanquish me on the spot.”

“Stop that, Abby, you need help.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s nothing that won’t heal on its own. As it will have to, since – like I told Macy – whitelighters can’t heal demons.”

“You’re a witch, Abby-”

“And a demon. There’s no changing that no matter how many colorful nicknames you may assign to my less attractive half.”

That gives Mel pause; she should have known Abby wouldn’t be as alright with the whole “Spike” thing as she let on. A topic to be discussed later, when Abby isn’t bleeding from a blue wound.

“Tell me what happened… please…”

She grabs a towel to run under the warm water and at least clean the clearly magical cut on Abby’s ribs. She lowers herself onto the closed lid of the toilet and motions Abby to step closer between her legs. When Abby grunts in pain and tries to move back on instinct at the first contact with the cut, Mel’s free hand gently anchors her in place by the hip. Her thumb gently rubs along Abby’s skin right above the waistband of her trousers. Soothing, she hopes.

Abby sounds so tired when she speaks, no fight in her. Mel supposes that makes sense; between the exhaustion that comes from Abby’s lack of proper sleep, being busy at all hours of the day, and now this – Abby’s running on empty.

“It behooves me to tell, my sweet, that ‘Spike’ is not the only demon gunning for my life. As you may recall, a certain slimy demon by the name of Godric is still out there and gunning for my Overlord crown. I had to deal with a few of his… lackeys.”

“Without your partner.”

Mel doesn’t mean to start a fight right now, but Abby was reckless and careless and too cavalier. She could have been killed tonight. What would have Mel done then?

But Abby’s already in a crappy mood, so she frowns down at Mel, fingers wrapping around her wrist to stop her motions along her wound.

“Yes. And I’d do that again if I had to.”

So Mel frowns back up at her, voice matching Abigael’s in hardness.

“You are a lot of things, Abby, but stupid and reckless aren’t usually some of them. I could have helped. Hell, we could have gotten away together.”

“Aside from the fact that you were short a pair of Tweedledee and Tweedledum sisters for your powers to be effective, and the fact that I wasn’t going to risk them tracking us back here and finding out where you live- you’re pregnant, Melanie.”

“I am so freaking tired of everyone using that excuse to baby me. I’m pregnant, not weak or feeble. I’m your partner, I should have been there to help you fight. You had no right to send me away, no right to make that decision for me.”

Mel sits back; Abigael’s reaction is unlike any she’s ever seen before. She’s not scared when Abby’s voice gets hard and cold; she knows she’s not going to hurt her no matter how upset she gets. But it’s a visceral reaction; anger and frustration and- fear. No matter how on edge or emotional Abby gets, she always maintains her cool, and doesn’t lose her grip on her emotions. Not like this.

“This is my fight, Melanie, and I get to choose who fights it beside me. And it bloody well isn’t going to be my partner, who is a Charmed One pregnant with a magical baby from the future that may very well be the key to something huge for the entire magical community.”

“I could have lost you tonight, and I wouldn’t have been there. Does that sound familiar to you, Abby?”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

“That’s horseshit, Abigael-”

“Mel, please. I’m tired and utterly sore. I just want to shower off the dirt and go to sleep. Could you just- let me have that right now?”

Mel sighs and purses her lips, eyes back on the blue gash marring Abby’s skin.

“What about this, should we be worried? It doesn’t seem to be slowing or clotting much…”

Abigael just hums, wincing as she slowly works her trousers off, out of Mel’s reach.

“It’s only a scratch from one of the demons. Though he was secreting some type of ooze. I suspect that’s what this is. There should be a healing salve in Mother’s potion book. I’ll make it when I’m done in here. You should go to bed and rest. I’ll be there soon. I promise.”

Mel can tell Abby just wants some time to herself. So despite her better judgment, and all of her worries about the state of Abby, Mel nods and gets to her feet.

Cradling Abby’s jaw in her hands on either side, Mel leans in to oh so sweetly and gently kiss Abby; she pours all of her relief into it, all the love she won’t yet express out loud (or admit to herself even). Her heart settles down a little when she feels Abby kiss her back with just as much want.

She presses a lingering kiss to Abby’s chin, murmuring for her to take all the time she needs in here; she’ll get the salve ready with her sisters.

It hurts when she pulls back; Abby won’t meet her eyes, hasn’t since she’s been back.

Mel looks back when she’s at the door to murmur, Abby pausing in stepping into the shower (though she never turns to face Mel), “having a partner? It means you don’t have to deal with this stuff alone anymore, Abby…”

(She doesn’t say the exact words, but Abigael hears them anyway.

“Please let me in…”)

The door to the bathroom shuts just as Abigael steps into the scalding water and lets it sting.

Chapter Text

Abigael spends the better part of half an hour just standing in the hot water, waiting for it to loosen her aching muscles. Then she spends another half an hour slowly laboring through actually cleaning herself of the dirt and blood, careful of the blue wound on her ribs.

The sun’s well on its way to settling into the sky by the time Abigael makes it into Mel’s room, silent as she goes about pulling on a pair of lacy knickers and a random shirt she yanks out of a drawer. It’s a size too small, she absently notes to herself, the faded band logo on the front marking it as one of Mel’s.

She’s weary, her whole body feels like it’s tied down with chains as she drags herself to the bed, crawling in with a heavy sigh.

Mel’s been watching her the whole time from the chair by the window, silent too. She waits for Abby to settle in before she moves to the dresser and grabs a bowl, sitting on the bed beside Abby, who’s just about conked out.

Mel’s fingers are gentle and soft as she tries to pull Abby’s shirt up, rousing the demon-witch, Abby’s eyes slowly unsticking as she frowns up at Mel in confusion.

“While I’d normally be more than willing to participate in what’s happening here, I’m not really up for it right now, Mel.”

For her part, Mel just hums instead of engaging in Abby’s snark, “just gonna apply the salve and dress your wound, Abby. Lift your back a little so the shirt can be pulled up?”

They hold eye contact for a moment, and Mel can see that Abby wants to fight her on this. She holds steady instead, ready to back off if that’s what Abby wants right now, but she hopes Abby lets her in.

(And it isn’t strictly about the salve either.)

Abigael relents, helping Mel get the shirt up to reveal the blue wound.

Mel frowns at it; it’s still not closing up though it’s not exactly bleeding. And it seems to be- glowing now? A faint pulsing hue of otherworldly blue that’s stressing Mel out.

So Mel applies the salve, generous with it, eyes glancing up briefly when Abby inhales sharply at the first touch it makes with her skin. She covers it with gauze and tapes it in place before pulling the shirt down. Her fingers ghost along Abby’s abdomen on the way, settling her palm flatly on Abby’s abs under the shirt.

They’re back to staring at each other, both outwardly silent but their eyes full of words.

Mel’s fingers find themselves in Abby’s hair, gently stroking the strands at her temple where another cut is healing. When Abby’s head faintly turns into the touch, something in Mel’s chest loosens; they’re arguing right now, but it’s not dire – Abby’s still with her in whatever it is they’re doing, she’ll talk to her soon.

Eventually, just as Abby’s eyes start to feel heavier from the ministrations in her hair and the little scratches against her scalp, Mel speaks up and rouses her again.

“I know you were right, to have Harry get me home. I know that, okay? I’m not mad you tried to protect me.”

Abigael’s eyes are sleep-heavy but she’s still mentally present enough to have this conversation, just nodding; she knows there’s a ‘but’ coming somewhere.

“But –” (Abby smiles faintly to herself) “– you should have told me what was going on, not just make a decision on my behalf and leave me in the dark about it. You should have also waited for some kind of backup, for Harry to come back. Or called any one of your goons or bodyguards, whatever. Running off like that was so incredibly stupid, and dangerous. It’s like you have a death wish.”

For her part, Abigael just sighs, bringing her own hand into her hair for a scratch, leaving it there.

(Mel feels a sense of dread because Abby’s not exactly denying the whole death wish thing.)

Then, Abby’s turning her head into Mel’s hand by her head, pressing a soft kiss to the palm.

“I promise to tell you next time we’re on a date and someone’s trying to assassinate me before I send you away.”

It’s not exactly what Mel was hoping for but she’ll take it. For now.

“Now. Will you come lie down with me? I might even let you hold me for a change, Angry Spice.”

“Oh, sure. Now that I’m the size of this house, you want to be little spoon.”

It takes no time for Abigael’s breathing to even out in sleep once Mel settles in to be her little spoon, her forehead pressed to the back of Mel’s neck and her arms holding her closely.

Like she might disappear any moment.

Mel, for her part, holds on to Abby’s hands around her just as tightly.

It’s well past noon when Abigael wakes up.

Or rather, jerks awake. Her few hours of sleep are, as always, riddled with nightmares; she’s hurting Waverly again, hurting Lydia now. She’s back in the crate, she’s wearing the shock cuffs again.

She hurts Mel and the baby.

The list of demons plaguing her are endless. It leaves her breathless and gasping for air when her eyes finally cooperate with her brain’s desperate cries to open.

Her shirt is soaked with sweat, and she can sense a headache teasing the backs of her eyes. Her heart is rattling about her chest so hard, she wonders if it can be heard in the room. And though she’s technically awake, her body remains rigidly stuck to the bed; unable to move as she tries to convince herself she’s no longer stuck in her own subconscious. When she closes her eyes against the bright light streaming into the room, taunting her headache to grow more, she feels it.

A gentle hand, brushing through her sweat-dampened hair, murmuring soothing words to her as she feels lips press to her forehead; a mantra of soft, “you’re okay, it’s okay… you’re safe, she won’t ever hurt you again…just breathe, baby…”

Mel. In bed here with her. Taking care of her, protecting her.

(Dare she think it, loving her?)

Abigael swallows thickly, mouth feeling like it’s full of sand. She still doesn’t open her eyes, instead throwing a hand out blindly to close the curtains against the sun.

She only spares a peek at Mel long enough to note that she’s propped up with her pillows beside Abigael, reading, before Abigael turns onto her side and presses her face into Mel’s side.

“What time is it?”

“It’s past noon. You missed Harry’s lunch; he made shepherd’s pie and crème brûlée today. Maggie, in particular, really enjoyed setting fire to dessert today. It was a little unsettling. She seemed a little frustrated.”

“I’ll teach Jordy some tricks for their next shag date. Maybe something with a bit of rope…”

It makes Mel smile even as she makes a face, poking Abby’s shoulder before going back to combing her fingers in her hair.

(And if she subtly checks on Abby’s temple wound and how well it’s healing, she can’t be blamed; it’s right there in her line of sight.)

“Gross. Don’t talk about my baby sister and “shagging” in the same sentence. And definitely not about you teaching her boyfriend things to help him better defile her.”

“She’ll thank us. And it might make her like me a little better; she won’t want me dead if she’s had her brains shagged out.”

“Abby. Just- no. Besides, the last thing I want is for her to know what we get into.”

Mel’s smile grows a little more, she can feel Abby’s smirk against her hip.

“Bold of you to assume she doesn’t already know.”

“Still. None of us need those things confirmed.”

And as they lapse into a comfortable silence, Mel thinks that it feels nice; being in bed with Abby like this. Talking and teasing and bantering like they’re just any other couple in the world.

(It makes her wonder too; if they weren’t magical, would she and Abby have found their way to each other somehow? Would it still feel like this, this good? She suspects she wouldn’t like the answer to those questions, choosing to banish the thoughts and focus on Abby instead.)

“How’d you sleep, y’know, before the nightmare? Are you feeling alright?”

“Isn’t that usually my line?”

(Abigael doesn’t know how to explain that there isn’t a ‘before the nightmare’. That the nightmares start as soon as her world goes into the darkness of sleep, and there’s no light shed on it til she wakes up.)

(She thinks Mel knows that anyway, but isn’t pushing her on it.)

(It reminds Abigael that she doesn’t deserve Mel.)

“Can I see your ribs? I want to check if the salve’s working…”

“Honestly, I feel fine, darling. I was mostly just sore, but that’ll go away by tonight at most.”

“Humor me, Abby. Can I see it?”

Abigael, petulant as ever, refuses to come out of hiding in Mel’s side, merely lifting the side of her shirt to give Mel the access she’s asking for.

It isn’t bleeding or glowing, Mel notes. But it’s not exactly closing either, nor is it losing the blue hue. She’s glad Abby’s not looked up; she imagines her worry is painted clearly along her face.

“I’m gonna apply some more of the salve and we can check it again in a few hours. Does it hurt or anything? Are you feeling weird? I want to get to the Command Center and research it, so if you have any clues you can give me to narrow down the search-”

“Melanie. Be quiet.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hush, my sweet. Just- lie down. Be here with me right now. Rogue demons can wait.”

Mel purses her lips. Thinks about the fact that she’s got a bit of news to give to Abby that will likely upset her and it makes her surrender to Abby’s request. She hums softly when she feels Abby’s lips against her temple.

One kiss. Two kisses in quick succession. Another, lips staying there afterwards.

“Five minutes, Abby, then we’re tending to your wound and finding the bastard that inflicted it.”

“And you’ll, what, inflict some back?”

“Yes.”

It makes Abigael smile against her temple.

Another delicate kiss.

Abigael almost falls back asleep, cocooned in the warmth of the bed and lulled by the intoxicating presence of Mel in her arms, when she hears Mel speak. It makes Abigael frown; Mel sounds so hesitant, choosing her words very carefully.

“You got a call today that I answered.”

Abigael’s about to tease something about boundaries and personal space and all the things Mel’s always ranting about when Mel speaks again. It makes Abigael pull back with a frown.

“It was Waverly.”

It makes Abigael sit up and look down at Mel.

“Is she alright? Did something happen with Mother? Or is it Lydi-”

Then, Abigael realizes.

“She called to cancel; she’s not gonna let me meet Lydia tonight.”

Mel’s silence and eye-contact avoidance is all the answer Abigael needs.

“Of course. Can’t really say I’m surprised. I am her unhinged demon of a sister. I’d keep a child away from me too.”

That makes Mel frown deeply, moving to sit up.

(Except she’s very pregnant and can’t quite manage it. And Abigael’s already moved out of the bed, her back to Mel as she flounders like a turtle stuck on its back.)

“Don’t say that; that’s nonsense. It’s stupid that she’d think you’d hurt Lydia; you’re her sister and that’s your niece, how could she ever think you would hurt your family?”

Abigael scoffs softly, sparing Mel a glance over her shoulder as she changes out of her sleepwear.

“Darling, I set her hand on fire when we were children, and our mother sent out a demon to hunt her daughter, not to mention the constant abuse she inflicted on us. Family’s not really a positive thing in our lives.”

Mel watches Abby flit about the room, eyes roaming her figure as she bares her body and covers it again as she dresses. Briefly, her eyes linger on the smoke-wrapped calla lily tattoo peeking out of the top of Abby’s “knickers”, and her mind wanders to all the times she’s traced the simple abstract black lines with her finger.

(And her tongue, but she doesn’t linger on that thought right now because she’s – as established – very pregnant and can’t do any of the things she’d love to do to Abigael right now.)

“Do you really believe that? Even now?”

Abigael pauses, turning to look at Mel. And her protruding belly.

Because that’s what this is about, isn’t it? About whether Abigael can have a family with Mel.

(About the fact that she already does, with Mel and her sisters whether the Charmed Ones admit to it or not.)

About whether or not Abigael wants to have this family with her.

(Because it certainly seems like Mel does.)

And that’s terrifying to Abigael who wasn’t under any illusions; she had made peace with the idea that she’d never actually have that kind of future with Mel, and she was happy to enjoy what little she got with her right now in this present.

“Mel…”

She stays silent too long, unsure how to have this conversation. So Mel clears her throat and tries to sit up again. At least this time Abigael sees and comes over to help. She even brings the remainder of the salve with her as a peace offering, letting Mel reapply it and cover the cut again.

“Anyway. Waverly called to say that today’s Lydia’s fourth birthday, and the two have their own birthday traditions she wants to keep.”

“Oh.”

Abigael hums, lost in a thought, eyes glazed over a little as she murmurs, “probably baking a chocolate cake together, to be filled with custard and cherry jam. She’ll use new candles but always use one from the previous year.”

Mel stays silent, letting Abby speaks. When nothing more comes forth, she asks, “Is that what your mom did for your birthday?”

Abby’s eyes meet hers, empty, even as she smirks, “of course not, darling. It’s what she did for Waverly’s.”

(The “she didn’t do anything for mine” goes unsaid, but it still fills the room around them with so much sound.)

“Oh. Um. Right. Well, I told her I’d pass on the message about postponing the meeting-”

“Canceling the meeting, you mean. This is the third time she’s done it; she’s not going to let it happen.”

“Postponing the meeting to tomorrow. I got her to agree to dinner tomorrow night. Here, with us.”

Abigael’s eyes are wide and blinking, filled with surprise as she lets Mel’s words wash over her.

“Pardon?”

(Okay, so it’s not really sinking in.)

“They’re coming to dinner tomorrow. We can celebrate Lydia’s birthday too. I already told my sisters. Harry’s making dinner, Macy’s gonna bake, and Maggie’s gonna- decorate. We just need to show up.”

“Waverly agreed to dinner?”

Mel softens, “yeah, baby. I think- us being there, being the Charmed Ones, might have put her at ease about it. Which I think is absolute bullshit because you’re her sister and she doesn’t need a buffer or protection or whatever she thinks she needs to spend time with you-”

She’s cut off from her rant by Abby’s soft lips pressing into hers. She won’t complain though when Abby’s fingers cup her cheek and jaw with unparalleled delicacy as the kiss deepens.

Abby’s smiling happily when she pulls back, breathless.

“You’re right, you always are; it is bullshit. But it’s also more than I ever thought I’d get, so I’ll take it. Baby steps and all that rubbish. Thank you, Mel…”

“Don’t thank me yet; you’re gonna have to go out and run errands today. Both Macy and Harry need a boatload of ingredients, and you can imagine what Maggie’s like when it comes to planning a party. Not to mention the joy of shopping for birthday presents.”

Abigael pales (an impressive feat considering her natural complexion).

“I could barely pick out the one stuffed animal. And only because you picked!”

Mel smirks, amused.

“Really? Is the great Demon Overlord about to be defeated by the act of shopping for a four year old?”

“Yes.”

It makes Mel chuckle, leaning forward to kiss Abby’s cheek, “I’ll be there to help. And Maggie will come too.”

Abigael just grumbles, “Great. Looking forward to it.”

It’s… quite the odd day out, Abigael muses to herself.

She never thought she’d be squished in the back of an SUV between the Charmed Ones.

(Don’t get her wrong, she’s been in the backseat of a car with Mel.)

She thinks Mel stuck her in the back, squeezed between her sisters as a way to tease her as Mel took the passenger seat and they made Harry chauffer them around.

Much of the ride is spent arguing like children. Abigael muses to herself that it’s payback for the prank Mel’s played on her by sticking her back there instead of just agreeing they take a separate car.

(They could’ve been holding hands right now, dammit.)

(“Abby, are you actually manspreading right now?”

“Payback for your elbow lodging in my ribcage, Bouncy.”

“Knock it off back there or I’ll turn this car around right now.”)

They settle down at being told off. But not before Abigael leans forward and flicks Harry’s ear when they hear him grumble something about them being toddlers.

She’s smirking in triumph as he yelps and rubs his ear, glaring back at her and her damn smug raised brow from the rearview mirror.

The grocery store is first because Macy and Harry are organized and have a list. They hand Abigael a trolley and have her trail after them, bored out of her mind as Macymort and Harold discuss different menu items and brainstorm.

(Her trolley ends up being filled with all the snacks Mel’s been craving. They end up needing a second trolley that Harry keeps hold of.)

But the ordeal ends soon enough, and Abigael thinks she’s in the clear…

… Until she’s at the party planning center with Maggie at the helm.

There is a frantic energy about Maggie Vera when she gets into party-planning that gives Abigael a raging headache. She blocks out the rest of that errand from her memory entirely.

Unfortunately, Abigael feels that same frantic energy take over her own body, like a vengeful evil spirit possessing her to finish its unfinished business, the moment they step into the store for birthday presents.

She’s got loads of ideas, and money to burn; she doesn’t want to hold back, and tries to buy anything and everything she thinks Lydia would like. Abigael is terrible at expressing feelings – unless it’s with Mel in the privacy of a bedroom – so she’s convinced the material way is to go to win over Lydia. It takes some convincing but the sisters finally convince her that one present each is the more appropriate route.

(“Your sister might not appreciate you spoiling her kid like that, like you’re trying to buy her affection and one-up Waverly in the process.”)

(Abigael is beyond touched that they’re all there, putting in the effort and working to make this dinner a success. That they’re excitement about it, about buying a complete stranger’s child presents, is completely genuine.)

(She’ll be damned if she says anything about it though.)

(They probably prefer it all goes unsaid anyway.)

Macy’s the first to pick out what she wants to gift Lydia; a baking recipe book for children and a set of baking utensils, complete with a mom and child matching apron set. It makes Harry grumble because he’d had a similar idea, putting his cookbooks back as he goes off in search of something else. Maggie – much like at the party center – has too many ideas; Abigael notes that her trolley has no less than four options.

(A Barbie dream house that Mel scoffs at because “it reinforces gender stereotypes and the patriarchy, absolutely not, Maggie, put it back,” much to Maggie’s annoyance. A giant, lime-green, remote controlled Jeep Wrangler that gets a few odd looks but is allowed to stay. A few children-friendly board games. But ultimately, Maggie ends up getting a whole bunch of different costumes varying from princess to pirates to cowboys – cow person, Abigael teases as she side-eyes Mel – ninjas, and doctors. And a wee witch outfit complete with a cauldron for potion brewing, of course.

“Everyone likes to dress up, Mel, so make like Elsa and let it go.”)

Harry ends up choosing a stack of classic children’s literature that no child should be without. He’s especially proud of his ‘The Little Prince’ and ‘Matilda’ finds.

Mel insists her and Abby get separate presents; Mel buys Lydia art supplies. Anything she could find, she gets; little canvas with both water and acrylic paint, coloring books and pencils and markers. She even gets her colored paper; so Lydia can make Abby more cards in the future.

They’re all busy paying and having their gifts wrapped; they don’t notice Abigael slipping away til they’re all ready to go.

Mel finds her standing in front of a music box.

The box is a soft lavender with white accents, and a ballerina twirling inside when the lid is lifted. The ballerina herself is wearing a white tutu and dancing to a piece of classical music Mel’s ears are familiar with but can’t quite place at this moment. She watches silently from a couple of steps behind as Abby’s fingers gently trace the lid, watching the ballerina twist and twirl in the box; she looks a little lost.

The moment doesn’t last long; Abby seems to shake herself out of it and snaps the lid shut. Instead, she turns her attention to the next shelf over, where a few lovely fair attraction are displayed. Similar to the music box, the rather ornate carousels and ferris wheels turn to the tune of a song. They glitter with color and a generally cheerful vibe. When it seems like Abby’s stuck trying to pick if she ought to get a carousel or a ferris wheel, Mel finally steps forward and gently touches her hand to Abby’s shoulder, letting her know of her presence. She presses a soft kiss to Abby’s shoulder and the two share a small smile.

Abigael leans her head down to rest on Mel’s, quiet, “what d’you think? Carousel or ferris wheel?”

“I mean, isn’t the ferris wheel you lot’s thing?”

Abigael smirks down at her, amused at Mel referring to people as “lot”, endlessly pleased with herself that her terminology is rubbing off on her- on Mel.

“You lot?”

“Yeah. You Brits. London Eye and all that.”

It makes Abigael laugh, kissing Mel’s head and reaching for both the ferris wheel and Mel’s hand without another word.

It’s late when they finally trudge their way back into the house, all their shopping done and dinner picked up on the way home.

Abigael cheats and moves everything into the house with her telekinetic powers.

(Macy helps with hers.)

(They make Harry orb in the rest.)

They settle into the living room, Mel needing to stretch out and put her swollen feet up.

Abigael wastes no time in sitting at the end of the couch and pulling Mel’s feet into her lap, expertly giving her a foot rub that borders on the indecent. She smirks up at Harry’s blushing face from under her lashes after Mel lets out a particularly lewd moan at a particularly delicious press of Abigael’s fingers.

In exchange for not having the foot rub stop, Mel feeds Abby the pizza they picked up. The rest of the evening is spent quietly for the most part, the group hammering out the details for tomorrow night before everyone disperses for bed, tired after an eventful 24 hours.

(It startles Abigael when she remembers that it has indeed only been a day since her date with Mel.)

Before everyone leaves, though, Abigael feels compelled to call out to them, “Wait- um.”

They’re patient, waiting, maybe a hint worried. Abigael finds her voice when she feels Mel’s fingers squeeze her arm in reassurance.

(“I’m here, I’ve got you. You can borrow some of my strength and courage til you gather your own,” the gesture seems to say to her.)

(It’s another reminder, from the voice taking residence inside Abigael’s head that sounds remarkably like Francesca’s, that she does not deserve Mel.)

 “I’m not… always the best, when it comes to expressing feelings or emotions. Certainly not to you goody-two boots. But. I am grateful. For today, and for tomorrow. Lord knows none of you owe me anything. But this means a lot to me, more than I can explain, so. Thank you. Truly.”

She gets smiles and nods from the three, Mel absolutely beaming beside her.

Still, it catches her off guard. Especially when it’s Macy that shrugs a little and offers, “it’s what family does. You’re family, Abby. Sure, you’re the annoying distant cousin that everyone wants to physically fight, but you’re still family.”

And because Abigael Jameson-Caine is emotionally constipated, she resorts to her usual defense of sarcasm.

“Please, Macy. We both know I’d be the rich, cool wine aunt that’s always traveling with some hot young thing, and brings back ludicrous gifts when she comes to the family reunions. Rather literally now.”

They all chuckle and agree to that, Mel smacking Abby’s arm at the “hot young thing” comment.

“Darling, you are the hot young thing.”

They bid them goodnight, and Mel and Abigael are left to their own devices.

“Shall we get you to bed, my sweet?”

“Will you stay in bed with me tonight or will you sneak out here again? Because if you’re just gonna come crash on the couch, then we might as well just stay here.”

“Don’t be absurd, you can’t sleep on the couch.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, it’s utterly dreadful. The bloody thing is lumpy and uneven. Your back would never recover.”

When Mel merely raises her brow at her, Abigael rolls her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll stay in bed with you. I promise. Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

So they head upstairs after Abigael puts their plates away and triple checks the locks and wards around the house. They change for bed at a leisurely pace, Abigael even standing still for Mel to check on her blue wound again.

(It still hasn’t healed, it’s still blue, but otherwise it doesn’t bother Abigael in any way. It bothers Mel a whole lot, however.)

(And yeah, okay, maybe this time when Mel spots the smoky calla lily tattoo peeking out of Abby’s knickers as she stands there to get her cut dressed, she kinda sorta maybe does lean in to press a hot kiss to it.)

(And yeah, okay, maybe it drives Abigael crazy enough to press Mel into the bed to make out for a while.)

Later, much later, when Mel’s fast asleep and Abigael is wide awake still, she turns to look at Mel’s naked form beside her.

Wondering when this utterly too perfect life she’s stumbled upon is going to shatter around her.

Chapter Text

Mel admits, it makes her cranky when she wakes up alone again. After their date, and all the drama that followed, she was sure Abigael sharing the bed with her long enough for them to wake up together would stick.

At least, she notes, the remainder of the salve they’ve been using on Abby’s wound is done which means Abby dressed the wound herself this morning, without prompting. It isn’t a huge win, but it’s a win nonetheless and Mel will take it.

Until she sees them, that is.

Abigael’s packed bags.

She frowns, slipping out of the bed and ready to storm through the whole house to find Abby and get her to explain this nonsense at once while making her unpack her bags again.

(After she pees though, her body reminds her as the baby steps on her bladder and presses its heel into it. Mel turns on the spot from the mouth of the hallway leading to the stairs, grumbling some rather colorful language as she “covers” the baby’s ears with her hands cradling her belly.)

She hears arguing as she trudges her way down the stairs.

It’s Macy and Abby. It gives her pause, worries her in a way she hasn’t felt in the past few days since the two have- not exactly been getting along, but they haven’t been at each other’s throats.

Then she snorts when she hears what they’re arguing about.

“I’m making cupcakes, Abby, you are just getting in the way! We don’t need a cake!”

“How in Tartarus are you going to have a birthday without cake?!”

“With. Cupcakes!”

“Cupcakes are not a substitute for an actual cake, Macy.”

“They are to a four year old! Besides, I’m also making cookies, brownies, and a brownie-cookie hybrid that I’m calling the Dessert Overlord.”

Mel has to hold back her laugh at the silence that follows. She can picture the scene clearly; Macy’s got that half smirk painted on her face, smug as can be. Abby is likely stunned-silent, staring back at Macy with no witty retort to throw back at her.

(Mel can also hear Maggie’s amused giggle somewhere in the house; seems she’s not the only one eavesdropping on the confectionary conflict in the kitchen.)

“Yes, har har. You’re hilarious, Macymort. Now move aside and let me make a cake.”

“No, Abby. I’m in charge of the baking. Go help Maggie or something.”

“Absolutely not! Don’t you dare send her in here, Macy, or I might actually vanquish her this time.”

“You’re both the worst! This is my niece; I want to help, do something!”

Mel blushes when Maggie calls back to Abby to, “go do Mel.”

Not that Abby’s gonna back down from that, pissy and petulant, “I will when she wakes up. And by God, I’ll make sure you’re both well aware of it all.”

And while the somewhat sisterly bickering and arguing is endearing, Mel feels now’s about the time she intervene before Abby says or does something ludicrous like detail their sex lives to her sisters out of spite.

She hears Macy challenge Abby as she turns the corner into the kitchen, “Well, here’s your chance to put your money where your mouth is, demon spawn.”

“I’ll show you where I put my mouth-”

“Abby. What is going on here? What’s with all the yelling, you three could wake the dead…”

“Don’t look at me; your girlfriend is doing all the yelling.”

“Are you seriously tattling on me right now, Macy Berry? How mature.”

Mel just rolls her eyes as her sister and her- girlfriend… square off again, ready for another round of bickering apparently.

(She needs a moment to process the fact that, yeah, Abby is her girlfriend. Now to actually have that conversation with Abby herself…)

Apparently she sighs too, rather heavily, or makes some kind of noise that’s enough to silence the kitchen and have its occupants look at her in concern. Abby’s even rounding the kitchen counter in three strides to stand in front of her, expression pinched as her eyes look Mel up and down for any kind of hurt.

(There’s something else about Abby, something off that she can’t put her finger on just yet. It’s been niggling at the back of Mel’s mind since their date.)

“Darling, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

(It’s a hint of franticness, a hint of panic, Mel realizes; Abby’s never been one to “freak out”, always in control with a level head even in the most dire of circumstances. Now though? Even the slightest and smallest things seem to elicit a bigger reaction out of Abby that she’d normally expertly hide. It worries Mel.)

“I’d be a lot better if you guys weren’t constantly fighting over things. But I’m fine otherwise; baby’s just kicking extra hard this morning. Likely unhappy with all the yelling too.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you should go back upstairs for a lie down-”

Mel just raises her brow. It makes Abby snap her jaw shut, backing off.

(Which is another thing on Mel’s growing mental list of concerns; Abby’s vulnerable around her, yes, and she’s got a soft and romantic side she keeps hidden only to be seen by Mel. She frets, and is protective of Mel, doubly so since she magically got pregnant, and Mel adores it about her. But she also doesn’t just roll over for Mel; she’ll at least smirk and tease and bicker with Mel a little before backing down and letting Mel do her own thing. This extra-fretting, pushover Abigael is- not her.

It’s a side of herself that seems to be popping up more and more lately, even around Mel’s sisters, which Mel knows Abby’d rather have her eyes gouged out than let them see.)

“So what are you two arguing about?”

Abby scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Macy won’t let me bake a cake.”

“Because baking’s my thing.”

“You don’t own baking, Macy, and this is my-”

“Your niece’s birthday, yes, I got that the first five times you mentioned it.”

“Abby, baby, just let her handle it. I promise you won’t be disappointed with the results, and Lydia certainly won’t be.”

(Mel glares at Macy when she snorts that, “y’know ‘Abby’ is an anagram for ‘baby’ so that’s kinda really fitting right now…”)

(Macy, for her part, motions zippering her mouth shut, sheepish, but still smirking in triumph that Mel’s on her side on this.)

“I want to be involved. Even just to make sure these two don’t spike the food with more truth serum.”

Mel wants to protest but she can’t even claim they’d never do that. And Abby’s clearly still resentful of the fact they did that to her during her trial.

“Don’t scoff at me, Bouncy, I can hear you from here. What, are you going to claim you’d never do anything of the sort?”

Maggie slips into the now tense kitchen; Abigael is looking between her and Macy with a raised brow and a cold expression.

Mel observes them, feeling a shiver going down her spine; she hasn’t seen Abby turn her Demon Overlord gaze on any of them before.

She watches her baby sister take a deep breath and square her shoulders, turning to Abby – who raises a brow and stands up taller too; intimidating, establishing her place as alpha at this moment, ready to strike fear and strike down anyone that says something that displeases her.

(Mel’s brain rings a bell again about something not being quite right with Abby. For all their conflicts with Abby, she’s never actually actively behaved in a way that makes Mel feel like they’re in danger of coming face to face with Abby’s demon side – and she’s not talking about ‘Spike’…)

But Maggie braves the potential storm, “I’m sorry, Abby. About deceiving you like that, and dosing you with truth serum without your consent. And asking all those questions to get those answers against your will. At the time, all I cared about was saving Jordan, and it blinded me to the fact that you were a victim too. You had- have feelings and rights too, you’re a witch, just like us. You deserve better than what we did. So I’m sorry. We all are.”

Macy doesn’t verbally say anything, but the eye contact she makes with Abigael is filled with sincere apology, nodding slowly the once.

Mel doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until Abby’s shoulders loosen and she eventually nods back to them.

“That’s all I wanted; an acknowledgment that what you did was wrong. I wanted to save Jordan too, and I understand that I wasn’t exactly helping in doing so, so I’ll own up to that; I’m sorry as well – you did what you had to do for everyone’s best interest. But a wrong done for the right reasons is still a wrong. Thank you.”

(Mel relaxes because that faintly… vicious… spark in Abby’s eyes is receding as she speaks. The demon in her is retracting her claws. It makes her uneasy that she’s having these worries at all, and what that might mean for her relationship with Abby.)

She’s completely relaxed by the time Mel’s fingertips trail along the back of hers on the table beside her. Abby’s even smiling at her softly when she turns to look at her, fingers intertwining together as Abby brings Mel’s hand to her lips for a kiss. So Mel clears her throat and changes the topic.

“Let my sisters do what they do best, and you can do what you do best-”

“Absolutely ravage you on this counter?”

“ – make me breakfast.”

Abigael rolls her eyes but smirks, amused.

“Waffles or pancakes, love?”

“And eggs, please.”

Abigael just chuckles softly, going about making Mel her breakfast. She even hums something as she flits about the kitchen, staying out of Macy’s way.

(Mel spends the entire time watching her closely for any more red flags.)

Abby’s a great cook, Mel muses to herself as she goes through her stack of chocolate chip waffles. She then sets her eyes on the cheesy scrambled eggs she’s served, and it makes her forget that Abby’s packed her bags and is seemingly ready to go home again.

(Where she – or rather, Spike – is trying to kill her.)

She watches as Macy relents and lets Abby frost a couple of cupcakes, discussing colors and cake decorating techniques between the two of them. Mel hopes this means Abby’s forgotten her plans to leave, but she also doesn’t hold her breath over it.

So Mel tries to drag out her breakfast, asking for water and juice and trying to plead her case to be allowed a cup of coffee too. Then she asks for bacon and fruit, and a pint of ice cream.

Needless to say, Abigael catches on. Her brow raised in amusement, Abby takes both of Mel’s hands in hers and brings both to her lips.

“Darling, it’s not like I’m moving to a different country. You’ll see me all the time still. But we both knew this was temporary.”

“You haven’t had any- encounters… with Spike since being here. If you go back there, all alone, it’ll come for you again.”

So Abigael smirks, stepping closer to Mel and standing between her legs, voice low and breathy, and accent laid on thickly for Mel’s auditory pleasure, “so come with me.”

Mel wishes she could. But she’s needed here, with her sisters. Plus, Abigael’s penthouse is usually crawling with demons. That wouldn’t be good for anyone.

“You know I can’t. But there’s no reason you need to leave.”

“Mel, I’ve got work. Both with my family’s company and as Overlord. I can’t exactly conduct my demonic meetings in the manor foyer.”

“Don’t you have an assistant or something?”

“Yes. His name was Godric. Now he’s trying to murder me. Which is another issue I need to get out of here and handle; prisoners to interrogate and all that.”

Mel pauses, frowning.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, I’ve got a lead that’s going to help me find the bastard so I can end him once and for all.”

“Right, but how are you gonna get that information out of him?”

Abigael just rolls her eyes.

“You see, first we’re gonna hold hands and braid each other’s hair. Then we’re going to talk about our feelings all night long while we eat ice cream and gossip about the Malignants terrible fashion sense.”

“Abby.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you asked a stupid question.”

Mel scowls at that; Abby’s being a dick.

“Torture, Mel. That’s the word you’re being obtuse about. I’m going to torture it out of him then go after Godric. I’d happily do it here but you haven’t got the right kind of subterranean dungeon here, or the correct tools, and I’m afraid no good torture is complete without those things.”

The kitchen is tense again, everyone a little on edge about how casual Abby is talking about torture.

“Abby, that sounds-”

“Demonic?”

“– barbaric.”

Abigael just hums, eyes looking around at them in- boredom.

“You can’t just torture someone to get what you want. That’s cruel and inhuman and-”

Abigael feels herself snap.

“And I’m not human, Melanie. I am a demon, no matter how hard you try to look away or ignore it, no matter how many ways you try to separate the demon from me. It is a part of who I am, you cannot change it, and frankly, I wouldn’t let you even if you could.

To keep the peace, to keep beings hardwired to want witches dead in check is messy work, and I will not apologize for being who I am, or for the things I’ve done. Certainly not for the things I still do and will do in the future; it is not easy or pretty or for the faint of heart to be Overlord.

I have spent years working to get to where I am, and nothing will stop me from protecting myself and my position as Overlord.

And protecting you.

But if you can’t accept me, spikes and all, then- we might have a different problem altogether.”

It takes the sisters aback. Mel most of all, her brain noting down another red flag; Abigael wouldn’t just lose her cool like this. Mel knows she’s been upset about the nickname assigned to her demon form, and she knew they’d have to talk about it eventually, but she thought- Abby would at least start off by dropping passive aggressive hints. Hell, even just flat out tell them to stop calling it that, not just go off on them about it…

Still, a part of Mel’s brain detaches from the rest of her body and she tries to argue.

“You’re also a witch, Abby. You don’t have to be a-”

She stops herself, barely so, but Abby’s entire face goes lax, emotionless.

“A monster?”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I’m the thing that goes bump in the night.”

Mel doesn’t get a chance to argue anymore; Abigael’s gone in a tornado of angry smoke.

When Mel goes back to her room, Abby’s belongings are gone too.

Chapter Text

“Harry! I need a ride!”

Mel’s stomping her way down the stairs as angrily as a waddling pregnant woman can when Harry pops into the foyer, his confused gaze turning to Macy and Maggie as they approach in search of answers.

“Mel, where are you going?”

“Abby’s penthouse, where else?”

“Maybe we should give her some space… let her cool off first? She was really pissed, Mel.”

“And that doesn’t strike anyone else as out of character for her?”

She’s met with silence and three sets of eyes avoiding hers.

“No, don’t you three dare. She’s a lot of things, and she’s got her fair share of negative traits, but we can all agree she’s calm under pressure. She’s been acting odd for two days now; something is wrong, I can feel it.”

“She hasn’t really been sleeping either, Mel, it could be that she’s exhausted and on edge. It’s catching up, demon constitution or not.”

“Look, I’m not sure what exactly happened, but if Abigael is dangerous-”

Mel’s glare renders Harry mute, snapping his jaw shut so fast and so tight his teeth may as well shatter.

“What Harry meant to say is that if Abby is on edge and lashing out due to her exhaustion, it is best we just let her rest and recharge. She’s used to being on her own, being in charge and having her own space. Maybe she’s feeling a little overwhelmed sharing a house with all of us.”

Mel listens as her sisters try to convince her that her girlfriend just needs space. And normally, she’d understand and happily give it, but she can’t ignore the niggling feeling in the back of her mind.

(And, yeah, maybe a part of her is trying to run away from what Abby said to her, about her inability to accept Abby’s demon side. About the fact that there might not be any sides.

That they’ve been using ‘Spike’ as an excuse to ignore the reality that Abby just is a demon.)

(That they’ve been treating it like something they can and will fix, much like Francesca tried.)

“Look, I’m all for giving her space – giving both of us space – to cool down, but there’s something wrong. I can’t and won’t ignore my gut about this, not when it comes to my girlfriend and her wellbeing.”

Macy looks ready to argue again, but Harry steps in.

“Alright then. Where do you want to start? Research perhaps?”

“No, I want to go see her.”

Maggie jumps in again before Macy can speak; granted, Macy and Abby have made progress in the getting along department, but right now Macy’s falling into old habits of getting defensive and suspicious, especially in light of how adamant Abby was about establishing how much of a demon she is. And both Maggie and Harry know that that will only lead to fights between Mel and Macy.

“No, I think Harry’s right. Research is better until you both have a chance to calm down. Maybe deal with your issues separately first. Besides, she’ll come back for dinner; no matter how pissed she is, Abigael won’t miss tonight.”

Mel’s losing the fight when it’s three to one like this, pursing her lips but relenting.

“Let’s start by researching that wound we made her a salve for. You said it was glowing yesterday, maybe it’s affecting her somehow?”

Mel blinks; she had all but forgotten about the glowing blue wound.

When Harry offers his arm to her, ever the gentleman, Mel sighs but takes it. Maggie and Macy stay behind to go through any books they’ve got here, as well as read through Abigael’s potion book to learn more about the salve for any hints.

With a blink, Mel’s standing at the door leading into the Command Center, already devising a plan to get rid of Harry so she can use the witch board and portal to Abby’s penthouse.

It turns out to be rather easy, getting rid of Harry. Mel feels a little bad about using her pregnancy cravings as a tool, and deceiving Harry, but she doesn’t dwell on it as she portals straight into Abby’s living room.

(In hindsight, she thinks it would have probably been better to portal into the foyer at least.)

She doesn’t know what to expect, but the scene that does greet her is certainly not one she prepared for; it all happens so fast.

She steps out to the sight of Abigael’s living space in shambles – which in itself isn’t all that new since that’s how they left the place earlier in the week – but what’s new to the space is- the state of Abigael herself.

Standing among the remnants of her coffee table, Abigael is dressed in a white pantsuit – splattered with blood. Her expression is cold and blank, calm as she holds someone’s head under water, the body thrashing and flailing to no avail. Mel notes that the person’s hands are bound behind their back, useless, and she spots something red and- spiked? Around what little of the neck she can see from her spot.

The sight takes her breath away – in the worst way possible.

Her arrival must make some kind of noise because before she has a chance to say or do anything, both Abigael’s and her most loyal bodyguard’s heads snap over to her. And for a moment, Mel sees a bit of panic and fear flicker in Abby’s eyes, her face showing actual emotions that Mel’s come to expect when Abby’s gaze is on her.

Then, it’s gone, replaced by anger.

Joxen, Abby’s bodyguard is the first to shimmer over to her, blocking her view of the rest of room; Mel thinks it’s more so that she doesn’t see Abigael in this state than it is about her seeing anything incriminating. And maybe he wants to block Mel from being seen by whoever it is they’re torturing, his eyes flickering down to her belly.

Still, Mel doesn’t find her voice as she stares up at him, gasping a split second later when he’s flying backwards, clear across the room. He’s winded even as he scrambles to his feet, ready to face whatever threat-

Except, it’s Abby. Glaring back at him as she stands in front of Mel, her eyes solid white like they are when in Spike’s form. Her extended arm ends in her hand clenching; she threw him away like a rag doll. Joxen knows it wasn’t through her powers either – he felt a hand grab his jacket.

That’s more strength than Abby possesses.

It takes another moment, but her eyes clear; slipping first into a golden hue before settling back into her natural hazel gaze.

Filled with anger when she turns to Mel.

“What are you doing here?”

That tone snaps Mel back to reality, looking over Abby’s shoulder towards the body slumped on the ground and attempting to cough up a lung.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing, Abby?! This isn’t you-”

“Do not presume to know what I am or am not like, little witch.”

Mel’s brows raise, in surprise yes, but also- in her own anger.

“Excuse me? You wanna try that again, Abby?”

“Go home.”

Before Mel can retort furiously, there’s a laugh behind them, waterlogged and sinisterly hoarse.

“O, Overlord, my Overlord. First protecting witches, now bedding them? And a Charmed One, no less-”

The spiked collar around the – now Mel can safely assume – demon glows red and Mel watches him drop back to his knees where he was slowly starting to rise. The red glow matches the one roiling in Abby’s gaze, and Mel gags when the smell of burning flesh fills the room. The demon’s writhing on the ground soon enough, pained cries choked as the collar seems to both burn and choke him. His bloodied and bruised face is a shade to rival that of the blood splatters across Abby’s otherwise pristine white suit.

Mel’s fingers have to dig into Abby’s forearm hard before Abby drops her hand, standing in front of Mel still.

Protective, but Mel fills with dread; wonders who exactly in this room she should be protected from.

The demon, for his part, lies there on the ground.

Laughing.

“And you take orders from her. A Charmed One is pulling the strings on our beloved Overlord. Godric is going to enjoy this very much-”

Abigael’s fist is in the air again, and the demon lies there again, gasping for air.

“Why don’t you put us all out of this waste of an afternoon and tell me where Godric is. I’d love to share the news with him personally.”

Mel voice is distressed, tugging on Abby’s arm, “Abby, please… there has to be another way to get what you need from him.”

There is a growl, low and throaty, unlike any noise Mel’s ever heard from Abigael. Her hand drops from Abby’s arm to cradle her belly; there is a sudden flurry of movement from their- her baby.

The demon laughs again when air reaches his lungs again, and Mel wishes she could just- mute him; it’s not helping with Abby’s mood.

“Melanie, you’ve got two choices; go home, or go upstairs to wait for me. But do not intervene in demon business again.”

Mel simply sets her jaw and glares back at Abigael. She chooses the third option where she stays silent while staying firmly in her spot.

Abigael’s eyes flash red briefly again, but she doesn’t argue anymore, stalking back to the demon. She pulls the laughing limp body up by the hair, and Mel’s shocked to see her other hand – gripping the demon’s jacket lapel – is ablaze.

Not just a fireball; Abby’s entire hand looks like it is made of fire, searing away the demon’s jacket as she hauls him to eye level.

Mel is definitely not overreacting about something being wrong with Abby now.

“While I do love an excellent torture session, I am rather busy today so do hurry this up. Give me Godric’s whereabouts and I’ll vanquish you quickly instead of feeding you to my kyon pet.”

In this moment, Mel believes that Abigael has a kyon pet. She’s silently praying for this demon to just give up his information.

Instead, he laughs more before turning his gaze to lock on Mel, dragging it all over her body, lingering on Mel’s baby bump.

It makes Mel feel utterly unclean and in desperate need for a shower.

It’s also the worst thing he could have done; Abigael may have been angry before, but she is livid now.

“And she’s with child. I bet it will make her taste all the sweeter when I finally get to take a bite when I’m free. When you’re a slave in our true Overlord’s court, I’ll make sure you get a front row seat to the show when Godric hands her over to me-”

Abigael drops his body, eyes empty as she watches his head roll away from the rest of him. The room is plunged into silence in the wake of the sickening squelch elicited from the collar’s spikes slicing through flesh and bone, clanging to the ground.

Mel feels sick to her very bones, horrified as she looks at Abigael – splattered with blood across her face that she’s calmly wiping away with a handkerchief from her breast pocket. She drops it with a last disgusted look at the corpse at her feet, eyes lifting to her bodyguard.

“Clean this up.”

When Abigael turns to walk back to Mel, she instinctively takes a step back. It halts Abigael on the spot, pursing her lips and tightening her jaw.

“What’s the matter, little witch, scared of the big bad demon?”

Mel squares her shoulders, her own jaw tight and brows pinched.

“I don’t give a shit about you being a demon, Abigael. I knew what you were, I knew what I was getting myself into when I fell for you. But this vicious, callous thing? This isn’t you.”

Abigael smirks back at her, and it sends an unpleasant shiver down Mel’s spine.

“Au contraire, Ma Chérie -”

“Don’t. Whatever’s going on with you, sort it out. Or so help me, Abigael, it won’t be Waverly keeping you away from children.”

(It goes unsaid, but it’s clear; Mel’s talking about more than just Lydia. Her hands protectively cradling her belly drives that point home for Abigael.)

It makes Abigael’s jaw snap tight and clench. Her eyes are hard as they bore into Mel’s equally stubborn ones.

Then, in a swirling cloud of dark smoke – much darker than her usual powers – Abigael’s wordlessly gone.

Mel feels like her legs are going to give out from under her, fingers shaking as they reach out to steady herself on something. Before she knows it, Joxen is helping her into a chair, holding out a glass of water to her before he turns his attention to the mess Abigael left behind.

Mel closes her eyes, barely catching sight of him waving a hand and the corpse vanishing. She inhales deeply and slowly, bringing her head into her hands.

Joxen’s silent, standing overhead, until he isn’t anymore, his voice quiet and soft. Perhaps afraid of being heard.

(Perhaps afraid of being heard by Abigael. And what the consequences would be.)

“You’re right to be concerned, Miss Mel.”

Mel waits him out, she knows there is more he wishes to say, both of them turning their heads towards the second floor where Abigael’s shower can be heard coming on.

“She hasn’t been herself since she came in this morning, yes. But she’s been rather on edge since you took her with you.

I understand why that is, now, and I swear to you that I will do all in my power to keep you safe. I may be a demon, Miss Mel, but I am nothing if not loyal to My Overlord. And you are hers, therefore it is my duty to protect you as well.

Even from her, if need be.”

Mel had refused to even entertain the idea of Abigael being a danger to her or her sisters. But if even her most loyal subject is concerned-

Mel’s scared.

“I’m not a moron, Joxen, I understand that it’s not all sunshine and rainbows when you’re running the demonic underworld, but this?”

He shakes his head, “we’re certainly no strangers to torture and a vanquish or two around here, but there’s always a point. A message to be sent. And it’s rarely so- cruel. That’s just not her style. Her father’s, perhaps, but not Lady Abigael’s.”

“And her new powers? Are those just- part of the Overlord package? Does the title come with more powers or, I don’t know, does it accelerate the growth of her existing powers?”

“I wouldn’t know about that, Miss Mel. But- I’d venture a guess that it isn’t; it seems her strength and fire-based powers have tripled overnight, but she’s been Overlord for quite some time now.”

There’s really only one thing to consider, Mel knows.  

“Joxen, we were attacked two nights ago; she sent me away and fought the demons hunting us. She’s convinced it was Godric, and I’m inclined to agree. But she got hurt, some demonic attack that left a glowing blue wound. We treated it at home, but what if- I mean, I need to do more research but what if that was altering her somehow? Do you know of any demon that could do that, or leaves a blue scar behind?”

He looks grim, shaking his head, “I don’t, I’m sorry. But I’ll ask around and be in touch with any information I find. In the meantime, please Miss Mel, be careful.”

Mel swallows, looking back towards where she knows Abby’s bedroom is.

It hits her suddenly; she’s scared. Not of Abby, but for her.

She stands up, determined to figure this out and save Abigael; they’ve worked too hard and fought too long for their chance at happiness that Mel will be damned before she loses it now. To Godric no less. As if.

“Please remind her that Waverly will be joining us by 6 pm this evening, and to not be late. Or blood-splattered when she shows up.”

At Joxen’s hesitant nod, Mel throws her marble to head back to the Command Center, sparing one last look towards the bedroom, and the now silent bathroom.

She’s gonna figure this out, she promises herself and Abigael as she steps through.

Now to find a way to tell her sisters and Harry about what she saw…

Chapter Text

Ultimately, Mel decides against telling her sisters about the gruesome scene at Abby’s.

She knows she should, she’ll need their help in figuring out what’s wrong and how to fix it. But she also knows that they’ll fall back into old habits of distrusting Abby, maybe even consider that she’s dangerous and needs to be restrained.

(Or worse.)

So she holds back the information for the time being, telling herself it’s the right thing to do for now because, well, Abby’s right; she’s a demon, and the Overlord at that. Things work differently in her world, and Mel’s never seen it til today. For all she knows, that was just another day at the office for Abby.

Especially when she spends the next few hours researching demons and demonic infections and glowing blue cuts, only for her search to come up with nothing. If there’s nothing alarming enough about the cut to be mentioned in any book, then it can’t be what’s affecting Abby’s behavior, right? Perhaps her sisters were right; Abby’s not been sleeping and the exhaustion must be catching up to her.

(She just hopes Abby takes a nap or something before dinner tonight. Mel knows how important this dinner is to Abby, and she can feel it deep down that – if it goes smoothly – it can start Abby down a path of healing from her childhood trauma.)

(And, yeah okay, it’s important to Mel too; to see Abby heal, but also to see her get along with a child, to have a family. If she’s going to have this baby, she can’t imagine having it with anyone other than Abby. And up until the past couple of days, Abby’s been incredibly supportive and understanding. Happy, almost eager even. Mel had felt safe every time Abby had said or done anything about or for the baby, felt safe every time she’d caught Abby staring at her and her belly with a look so tender it knocked the air out of Mel’s lungs. But now, with this new attitude and behavior? Mel’s starting to have doubts.)

(She’s adamant that she’s not scared of Abby; she knows Abby would never hurt her. But is she willing to say the same thing about the baby, risk its wellbeing like that?)

She doesn’t get to dwell on it for long, though, because before she knows it, it’s 4:30 pm and she’s only got 90 minutes to get ready for dinner.

(She tries not to dwell on the fact that Abby’s not here yet either.)

Waverly’s due to arrive in half an hour, and Mel watches her sisters and Harry put the final touches on everything, everyone anxiously staring between the clock and the door.

Abby still hasn’t arrived.

“Uhm, Mel? Maybe you should call her again? This is gonna be a really awkward dinner if she doesn’t show up…”

“She will, Maggie. Your birthday banner is crooked.”

While Maggie grumbles and gets Macy’s telekinetic powers to help her fix the banner, the doorbell rings.

Mel’s never gotten up to answer the door so fast in her life.

Abigael Jameson-Caine stands on the other side of the door. Mel muses that a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans, a fancy blouse, and the leather jacket Mel’s told her she looks “bitchin’” in have never looked so good.

She silently takes Abby in; she’s clean with no blood stains anywhere, and she seems- relaxed, like herself as she looks Mel up and down as well. When she leans against the doorframe, Mel notices that her hands are behind her back, like she’s hiding something. When her head tilts to rest against the wooden frame, Mel feels tugging on her heartstrings; Abby’s looking at her with that heartbreaking tenderness again.

“Hello, darling.”

“Hi, Abby.”

“Sorry, I’m late. I had to make a couple of stops first.”

Mel hums, worry flashing in her eyes quickly.

(But not quick enough for Abby to have missed seeing it.)

“It isn’t what you think,” she murmurs as she pulls a hand out from behind her back, revealing a bottle of expensive looking scotch, “I know Harold’s probably set out chocolate milk for everyone on account the guest of honor is a four year old, but that’s no reason we can’t spike it. Well, for me anyway. I promise to drink one of those ghastly beers you love so much on your behalf as well.”

(And, yeah okay, Mel’s shoulders sag a little because Abby wasn’t out performing another execution that made her late.)

“Since when do you ring the doorbell instead of just phasing in?”

“Since there are protective wards around the house preventing demons from entering.”

Mel had hoped her change of topic would lessen the tension a little, but had somehow managed to zero in on the one topic that she’s trying to avoid.

Thankfully, Abby takes the lead.

“Melanie, I’m sorry. About everything that’s happened today, this morning. I shouldn’t have blown up at you about the Spike thing, or spoken to you the way I did when you showed up at the penthouse. I was out of line, and you deserve better communication than that. I can do better, I will. And it’s no excuse, but I’ve been on edge lately.

With Godric out there wanting my head, if he gets even a whiff of you or this pregnancy… he’ll go after you, and it’ll be the fastest way to kill me.”

“Abby-”

“May I finish first? Please…”

At Mel’s soft nod, Abigael inhales softly and continues.

“So, I’ve been trying to keep you safe, protect you. And yes, I know you are more than capable of taking care of yourself, you’re not a damsel, and you don’t need a big strong anything to come to your rescue.

But you are- the best thing to happen to me in my entirely too wretched life. I couldn’t go on if anything were to happen to you, especially because of me.

Maybe I overdid it, went too far, and overstepped boundaries. And I certainly had no right to speak to you or exclude you from something that affects you too how I did, and for that I am truly sorry, my love. To quote myself, a wrong done for the right reasons is still wrong…”

For once, Mel doesn’t have anything to say.

So instead, she tugs on Abby’s jacket sleeve to pull her into the house – into herself.

Abigael willingly follows, eyes staying soft and drinking Mel in until the very last moment before their lips connect. Like a woman stranded in the desert, and Mel is the lifesaving oasis she finds.

Their lips are slow in their exploration, in their reconnection. There is nothing frantic about it; it’s an anchoring kiss, grounding them both in the here and now, in each other.

When their lips disconnect, Abby’s decide they still need more of Mel, gently trailing feather-light kiss along her jaw and cheek, slow about those as well. She’s got all the time in the world to relish in this.

But Mel sighs; she needs to say her piece too. Gently, she squeezes Abby’s bicep and shoulder, not quite pushing her away, but Abby gets the message. Standing back, barely leaving any space between them, Abby brushes a strand of hair out of Mel’s eyes as she listens to her speak.

“I’m sorry too, Abby. About the Spike thing; it was insensitive and rude. I know you’re a demon, and I have no right to try and take that from you; it’s a part of your identity, a part of who you are. It’s one of the things that makes you you.

Being in a relationship isn’t about picking and choosing what parts of your partner you like while discarding the rest. It’s not fair for me to ask you to change that, or give it up, or even forcibly try to ‘fix it’ myself.

And you’re right; I don’t approve of how you handled your demon business today, but it’s your business and I can’t get in the way of it because it isn’t my world, I don’t understand it and its rules. All I can – and will – do is trust you.”

Abby’s smile is soft, and Mel smiles back because it’s Abby’s smile. Genuine and a little hesitant around the edges, but shining all the way in her eyes. Mel feels something loosen in her chest, just a little.

“Look at us, Angry Spice. Talking about our feelings like two mature adults. Is this what growth feels like?”

“Ugh. Don’t talk to me about ‘growth’.”

It makes Abigael laugh quietly, eyes flickering down to the baby bump Mel’s cradling. Then, she pushes off the doorframe, reaching a free hand into her jacket pocket. She’s looking a little shy, a little awkward, Mel notes, eyes widening as she watches Abby pull out a little square box.

A jewelry box.

“Oh, relax, Mel. I’m not about to get on one knee, what kind of stereotype do you take me for. Not to propose anyway, but if you’d like to go back to your room for a quickie, I’d be more than happy to kneel at your feet there…”

Mel huffs, lightly slapping Abby’s shoulder with the back of her hand. Abigael just smirks at her, and Mel sees some of her nerves leave her body as she teases, “I’m not trying to buy your affection or your forgiveness or any such nonsense. But I saw it, and thought of you.”

When she pops open the box for Mel, it elicits a soft gasp from Mel, her eyes stuck to what’s been revealed.

It’s nothing big or flashy though clearly all-gold and likely cost a hefty amount; a simple sunflower pendent, hanging from a strip of velvet to be worn as a choker.

“Sunflowers symbolize loyalty and devotion.”

(It goes unsaid; Abigael’s, “it’s a promise of my utter and absolute devotion to you.”)

(“Of my love for you.”)

(It fills the space around Mel anyway, and nestles neatly into the spaces inside her. It makes Mel’s whole chest bloom with sunflowers for Abby.)

Mel touches a single finger to it, still in the box, almost afraid to spoil it if she touches it too much. She turns, moving her hair aside and offering her neck to Abby so she can put it on. She smiles faintly when she hears the sound of the box hitting the ground where Abby no doubt just dropped it.

The satiny back of the velvet feels cool against Mel’s throat as Abby fastens it behind her neck, Mel’s fingers instinctively coming up to touch it when she feels Abby’s lips press to her neck. Suddenly the coolness of the choker’s strap is very welcomed against her skin as her entire body feels like it’s caught on fire.

Abby whispers a reverent, “gorgeous,” against Mel’s racing pulse when they hear someone clear their throat behind them.

Waverly’s here.

She’s little, Mel thinks, but she can imagine her getting tall as she grows up, like her mother.

(Like Abby.)

The little girl’s eyes are wide and inquisitive, cataloguing and committing everything to memory as she eyes them all from head to toe.

(Like Abby.)

Mel wonders if she would find any similarities between her girlfriend’s childhood photos and her girlfriend’s niece. Taking in the soft brown hair and little lips that seem to be in a perpetual state of smirking, she’d wager that she would.

She isn’t even the only one to notice it, Maggie leaning into her after introductions were made and their guests settled in to chat with Harry and Macy, whispering quietly, “Lydia looks a lot like Abby.”

Mel just nods, eyes flitting to Abby; her girlfriend had tensed up the moment Waverly had arrived – giving them both a disapproving look at the state they were caught in, and what a first impression that was to make on Lydia. Abby can hardly keep her gaze from lingering on the little girl; she, too, is cataloguing and committing everything to memory. Mel can see her face soften, her eyes sadden as she sees herself in Lydia.

It makes Mel wonder if that’s ever been hard for Waverly; until recently, Waverly thought everything evil in the world was directly caused by her big sister. Would it be difficult to mother her child when that child reminds her of Abby every time she looks at her, or is it one of the reasons Waverly’s softened up enough to allow Abby back into her life?

Lydia’s polite and charming, even from such a young age; she greets everyone warmly without any prompting from Waverly, introducing herself and throwing in a cheeky, “charmed,” into her greeting. She isn’t shy about asking questions or answering them, and has no qualms about sitting near people. She takes a special liking to Harry, attentive to his every word because, “he sounds like we do, Mummy.”

(It makes it very hard to ignore all the Abby in her.)

They have dinner, and it’s a smooth affair, filled with lively discussion and laughter. The atmosphere is relaxed, and the ball of anxiety in Mel’s chest loosens with every minute of peace that passes. She’s happy to see Abby relax, the first real moment of ease she’s seen her girlfriend have in quite some time, certainly so this evening, even if she hasn’t exactly had a proper chat with Lydia yet. Mel knows they’re both building to that as she catches them both eyeing each other throughout the meal.

(Harry’s made an exquisite meal; a beef pot roast with vegetables, fish and chips just in case Lydia wasn’t a fan, and a vegan lasagna just in case Lydia wasn’t a fan of that either. And when Mel notices that Lydia’s carefully eyeing Abby’s every decision at the dinner table, imitating each spoonful that Abby serves herself, Mel makes sure to insist that Abby eat her veggies when it seems like she might start making a face at them. Thankfully, her girlfriend is rather smart, and Abby catches on quickly to the little shadow she’s wordlessly developed. She spends the rest of the meal trying her hardest to set a good example.)

They’re stuffed full by the end of it, but they’re hardly done. When Maggie brings out Lydia’s birthday cupcakes with Macy, the pair singing happy birthday to the little girl, Mel’s breath hitches at Lydia’s huge smile, and the way it fills her eyes.

(Like Abby.)

Waverly’s touched, thanking all of them profusely as Lydia’s joy wraps around all of them like the presents they bring out for her. With minimal prompting, Lydia goes around the room and thanks everyone individually after she opens their gifts, giving them all hugs after asking if they’d like one.

She gets to Abby’s wrapped gift box last, and the two stare at each other.

It seems to get quiet in the room, Lydia’s demeanor – lively and charming so far – seems to get shy while Abigael feels like she’d rather the ground open up and swallow her whole under the attention on her.

(Waverly’s anxious too, has been all night every time she spots Lydia or Abigael – or both – having a silent moment. It drives Mel up the wall, and she barely holds back from yelling at Waverly to give Abby an actual fighting chance.)

Despite her anxiety about her daughter and her sister meeting, when Lydia turns to look at her, Waverly smiles softly – genuinely – and nods her daughter on. It seems to do the trick as Lydia nods back, her earlier confidence finding its way back into her spine as she picks up the box and walks around the table towards Abigael.

(Abigael looks a little terrified, eyes wide as she sits up better, watching Lydia approach her.)

(Mel smiles, amused a little at Abby’s faint panic even as Abby looks to her for help. All she offers is space for Lydia to wedge herself between them on the couch, sitting beside Abby.)

The two are about to actually have a conversation, the first one since Waverly and Lydia arrived.

“You’re my Aunt Abigael?”

“Uhm, right. O-or you can call me Abigael, or Abby if you’d rather.”

Lydia just hums. It makes Abby even more nervous. Everyone’s riveted, watching the single most awkward family reunion they’ve ever witnessed.

“Are you a witch like Mummy and I?”

Abigael’s swallow is visible, her throat bobbing harshly as she looks to Waverly briefly.

“Something like that, yes.”

“Can I see your powers?”

There’s a beat of silence, everyone tense in anticipation of how Abigael will handle this, before every item of dessert covering the table they’re sitting at lifts into the air. Lydia’s eyes widen in wonder, watching a cupcake float over to her, giggling as she plucks it out of the air and beams at Abigael.

It seems to loosen something in Abigael, smiling back at the little girl happily.

(Neither one of them notices the concerned looks exchanged; Abigael didn’t lift a finger or even look towards the table before her powers moved everything into the air. Last time any of them checked, she’d need to at least wave her hand at something to move it telekinetically.)

“Why have you got a snake drawing on your side?” is the next out-of-left-field question that comes out of Lydia’s lips, her little finger reaching out to poke Abigael’s hip where her smoking calla lily tattoo rests

Mel quirks her head, confused. Abigael blinks, surprised.

“Nobody ever figures out it’s a snake,” muses Abigael as she lifts her shirt enough to show the bits of the tattoo peeking out from her low waist jeans. Lydia blinks, poking it, her finger tracing the tip of what Mel had – until now – thought was just smoke tendrils wrapping around the flower.

“There’s its tongue.”

Abigael chuckles, nodding.

“Very observant of you, Lydia.”

“So. Why is there a snake?”

Abigael smirks, poking Lydia’s nose, “because snakes are small and venomous, and people are afraid of them. But they never attack unless they’re threatened or attacked first.”

Lydia nods sagely, like the littlest adult Mel’s ever seen, even though she likely doesn’t understand why that’s significant to Abigael. Mel makes a mental note to ask about the tattoo later tonight; she can’t believe she didn’t see it sooner…

Lydia seems to move on from the topic easily enough, much to both Abigael’s and Mel’s horror, as she turns her gaze to look at Mel. She looks like she’s formulating her words as she eyes Mel from head to toe, humming when she glances at the baby bump.

(Waverly’s beet red, seemingly knowing what’s coming next. Maggie and Macy are endlessly amused at the discomfort they see on Abby’s face. All they’re missing now is popcorn.)

Lydia scoots closer to Abigael, curling a finger at her to get lower to her level so she can whisper to her. Abigael dutifully obeys, eyes begging both her sister and her girlfriend for aid as Lydia “whispers” in her ear, in that way children do where they speak at their normal volume while also somehow blowing hot air against your ear.

“I saw you kissing her.”

(Macy has to pinch Maggie to make her stop laughing at the deer-in-the-headlights look on Abby’s face, Mel smiling despite the blush staining her cheeks.)

Waverly takes pity on her sister, softly chiding her daughter, “Lydi…”

“But I did!”

Abigael seems to remember she’s an all-powerful demon Overlord, shaking the stupor off and smiling patiently at her niece.

“You certainly did. Yes, I was kissing Mel; she’s my girlfriend.”

(And, yeah okay, maybe Abigael’s gaze flickers to meet Mel’s when she says that, vulnerable because what if Mel disagrees?)

(She doesn’t, Abigael smiling a little wider at the subtle nod Mel gives her.)

“Is that like having a boyfriend?”

Abigael’s amused, “and what do you know about boyfriends, Sprout?”

Mel’s smile turns so fond at the nickname that seems to just flow out of Abby’s mouth so very naturally.

Lydia just shrugs, looking back at Mel again briefly.

“Lydi love, you remember we spoke about this? Some people like the opposite gender, other like the same gender. And some like any gender.”

Abigael wonders if her sister spoke to Lydia about this in preparation for this evening or just in general. Either way, she feels a warmth in her belly at the acceptance she sees from both of them.

“So Auntie Abigael likes the same?”

“I like Mel, Sprout. But generally speaking, I like any gender that I can feel some kind of connection with.”

(Abigael won’t address the flutter in her chest at hearing Lydia refer to her as ‘auntie Abigael’. Otherwise, she might bawl her eyes out.)

Lydia nods, then turns to face Mel.

“And you like Auntie Abigael too?”

“Very much so, Lydia.”

“Alright then. I suppose that makes you my auntie too. I hope I can make it for your wedding.”

(Maggie howls with laughter as Abigael chokes on the sip of water she took while Lydia was talking to Mel. Waverly’s a shade of red Abigael’s only seen on some demons.)

“Lydia. Why don’t you open Auntie Abigael’s present now? No more questions…”

The little girl blinks, confused as to why Mel’s suddenly asking, “Is it hot in here or is it just me? Let’s crack open a window or something…”

(“She’s definitely Abigael’s niece,” Macy muses to a still giggling Maggie, the pair smirking at Abby when she glares their way.)

They nudge Lydia’s attention back to the present she’s been holding in her lap while interrogating Abigael, smiling happily as she starts ripping the wrapping paper off.

The box is plain, an unmarked white cardboard box. Abigael helps her gently get the ornate ferris wheel out of the box, smiling hesitantly when Lydia’s eyes light up and she utters the most awed little “wow…” at the sight of the thing. She thinks maybe she picked the right gift after all as Lydia runs her fingers reverently along one of the hanging cabins.

“That’s beautiful, isn’t it Lydi love? What do you say to Auntie Abigael?”

The little girl wiggles off the couch, oh so gently setting the gift on the table in front of them before climbing back onto the couch to crawl into Abigael’s lap for a tight hug, whispering a sincere thank you in Abigael’s ear as she squeezes around her neck.

It takes a moment before Abigael’s brain catches up to what’s happening, but when it does, her arms wrap around Lydia’s back tightly, smile shaking as she feels tears form in her eyes.

“You’re very welcome, Sprout,” whispers Abigael, getting her emotions under control as she presses a small kiss to her niece’s head.

Waverly watches, her body seeming to relax a little for the first time all night.

Mel’s face aches from how big her smile is, watching Lydia sit back still in Abby’s lap and cheekily asking if her aunt could bring the ferris wheel over.

“Mummy, we can put it next to your music box!”

Abigael looks up from where she was watching the ferris wheel turn after being wound, eyes on Waverly.

“The yellow music box? With the ballerina?”

Mel watches them closely, remembering how intently Abby seemed to be studying the music boxes in the shop. She thinks she knows where this is going, and it’s already breaking her heart.

“Yeah, the one Mother got me- you remember that?”

Abigael’s smile dims, humming as she drops her gaze, “the one Mother got, yes…”

“D’you remember the song it played? Fur Elise, but I don’t know where Mother got it from; it had chipped yellow paint, and the ballerina’s missing an entire leg. It played a version that sounded like it was played by someone just learning how to play the piano, and it’s awful but in such an endearing way.”

Abigael chuckles faintly, “give me a break, Waves, I was only ten when I made the thing.”

Abigael’s face freezes, matching Waverly’s; it seems like she hadn’t meant to say that.

(Briefly, she has the insane thought that she was dosed with truth serum again, vowing to never eat with the Charmed Ones again.)

“You conjured it?”

Abigael avoids eye contact, shrugging.

“It was your birthday. I had finally figure out how to turn objects into other things. I transfigured a chipped tea cup Mum was gonna toss, added a pop of color with one of the flowers from the forest behind the house. I tweaked a spell I found to let me add my own music into it; after all those piano lessons Mother crammed down my throat, I wasn’t about to let it go to waste. Except, as you said, it was awful.”

“I didn’t know, Abby… Mother-”

“– claimed it as her own when you loved it so much. I remember.”

There’s silence in the room, Mel’s insides feeling so loud with the amount of anger she feels – yet again – towards Francesca Jameson, and how hard she worked to tear her two daughters apart. It breaks her heart for her girlfriend, but for Waverly too, for how much time these two have lost together. It makes her glance at Macy, reminds her of how much time they’ve lost too.

“Mummy, can I use my new coloring tools that Auntie Mel got me? I want to make thank you cards.”

Waverly smiles softly, nodding her daughter on, “I think that sounds lovely, darling. You know the rules about scissors though-”

“Yes, Mummy, an adult has to help with that. Auntie Abigael will. Right, Auntie Abigael?”

It takes Abigael a moment to snap back to reality, clearing her throat and nodding.

“Of course, Sprout. Though you’ll have to show me how it’s done; I haven’t made thank you cards in quite a few years.”

“How do you thank people then when they give you presents?”

It’s automatic, the smirk forming around the lewd reply, “I use my mouth.”

It earns her glares from all the adults around the room, Mel’s raised brow reminding her to behave herself. Thankfully it goes over her niece’s head and Waverly doesn’t have to murder her sister for ruining her daughter’s innocence.

Lydia slips off her lap, gathering all the tools she needs and settles on the ground, raising her own brow expectantly at Abigael as she waits for her to join her.

(Mel makes sure to snap quite a few discreet pictures of her badass Overlord girlfriend sitting on the floor of her living room, cutting out colorful hearts as a four year old bosses her around.)

(It makes her chest hurt with the anticipation of having their baby, of seeing Abby do this with their child. She knows Abby would make an amazing mother, even if Abby herself doubts it.)

The cards are almost done when Abigael’s phone rings, Mel frowning at it as she goes to hand it to Abby.

“It’s- Joxen…”

Abigael’s entire demeanor changes as she takes the phone and steps into the other room to answer the call. Maggie and Macy both look worried because Mel looks apprehensive about something, and Waverly can pick up on the vibe too, her relaxed energy tightening back up into one of caution and maybe even a bit of suspicion.

Then, they hear it; Abigael’s voice, raised, speaking in that demon language again. Agitated. Mel gets up to go to her when Lydia frowns towards where Abby is when Abby steps back into the room.

Her shoulders are hiked practically up to her ears, brows pinched in a tight frown. Radiating stress as her eyes sweep over from Waverly to Lydia.

“Abby- your nose is bleeding…”

How had she not realized that herself, Abigael wonders as her hand reaches up to check. She frowns at the warm blood that coats her finger, about to swipe the back of her hand across her nose to clear it away when Mel presses a tissue to her nose, tilting her head back a little.

“Are you okay…? What was that about?”

Abigael just shakes her head, eyes flitting to Lydia to indicate that she can’t talk about it right now, pulling away from Mel’s touch when she feels her nose is done bleeding.

It still manages to put a damper on the evening, Waverly clearing her throat as she stands.

“Tonight has been really very lovely, thank you all for everything. We should get home though; it’s already past Lydia’s bedtime. Lydi love, come on. Say your goodbyes and thank you’s.”

“You can’t go home, Waverly, not alone. It’s not safe. I’ll come with you.”

“That’s kind, Abby, but not necessary. We’ll be fine.”

“Waverly, listen to me about this, please.”

“No, Abigael, I told you. I don’t need you to come with us.”

Abigael scoffs when she realizes why that is, shaking her head.

“You don’t want me to know where you live, do you?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Mel feels her insides heat up at the absolute ridiculousness of that statement, and how Waverly’s silence confirms it. Even after everything tonight, she won’t trust Abby?

She opens her mouth to say something too when Abby touches a hand to her arm; she doesn’t need her to fight her battles for her.

Abigael’s voice lowers, serious, “I don’t give a damn about whether you trust me or not, Waverly. The only thing I care about right now is yours and Lydia’s safety. You cannot go out there alone, nor can you stay unguarded. I’ll send someone to keep an eye-”

“You will do no such thing, Abigael; I don’t need nor want demonic protection courtesy of the Overlord.”

Abigael snaps her jaw shut, glaring at her sister after glancing at her niece. Lydia’s hiding in Waverly’s leg, frowning a little as she looks between her mother and aunt. Abigael’s heart sinks at the hints of fear she sees in the little girl’s eyes as she listens.

It’s gets tense, the two sisters silently staring each other down until Harry steps forward with a suggestion, “why don’t I orb you home, Waverly, hm? Or even take you to the Command Center and you can use the witch board.”

“That’s very kind of you, Harry, but I’m sure we’ll be fine on our own.”

“Abby’s right; it’s best to have someone escort you two home. It’s late, Lydia’s tired, and we’ve been having a few more run-ins with,” he glances at Abigael, her tight jaw, “demons… lately.”

Mel hates that they had to tell Waverly about this because she can see her walls go back up again as she eyes Abby with distrust again.

(She can see Abby’s heart crack right down the middle at being shut out again, especially after all the progress they made tonight.)

Maggie chimes in, sensing a need to ease both Waverly’s fear as well as Abby’s.

“I’ll come with. We can both set up some wards and charms around your house too, add a little Charmed One boost to the spell. Can’t hurt, right?”

Waverly relents, nodding slowly. She waits for Lydia to say her goodbyes, giving everyone hugs while Waverly gathers her gifts to go.

(Abigael gets on her knees before Lydia for her hug, lingering in it and holding on tightly. Abigael can sense that it’ll be the last hug she gets from Lydia for a long while.)

Kissing her head, she smiles fondly – sadly – at her niece, “be good, Sprout.”

Abigael doesn’t rise from on her knees as she watches Harry lift Lydia into his arms, Waverly and Maggie holding her presents and holding Harry’s other arm. When they pop out of the living room, Abigael’s breath shudders out of her in a shaky exhale, gaze staying rooted to the spot they were all standing in just moments ago.

Until she spots it; sitting on the coffee table, forgotten – or perhaps left behind on purpose – is the ferris wheel she bought Lydia.

Chapter Text

Mel is, understandably, livid at the sight of the left behind gift. How could Waverly do this to Abby, after everything Abby’s done?

But she pushes her own feelings aside because Abby- is not showing any at all.

Instead, she’s cleaning up the plates and moving the remaining desserts into the kitchen, completely ignoring the ferris wheel sitting on the coffee table.

(Macy eyes the cookies floating past her into the kitchen all while Abigael continues to clean up, no thought or effort seemingly put into the act of sending the cookies into the kitchen on her part. Macy raises a brow at Mel when she catches her eye, questioning. Mel’s helpless to do more than just shrug.)

“Abby, baby? Why don’t you leave the cleaning up for now and come up to bed with me? Or maybe we could take a bath? My back’s killing me…”

“While that sounds wonderful, I think I’d rather go home tonight, Mel. Drink myself silly, maybe break a few things.”

“Baby…”

“I can’t believe I let myself fall for this rubbish again. Let myself hope.”

Mel’s heart breaks, walking over and taking Abby’s hand away from the plates she’s stacking. Instead, she brings it to her chest, enveloped in both of hers as she kisses Abby’s fingers.

“I can’t even begin to justify why Waverly behaved like that, nor would I want to. There’s no excuse. You deserve better, baby. All I can say is that- she’s probably as scared as you are about getting hurt. And especially about Lydia getting hurt.”

“I would never lay a hand on either of them, nor would I let anyone hurt them as long as I live.”

“You and I both know that there’s more to hurt than physical hurt.”

“I’m running out of ways to prove myself, Mel…”

“I know… nobody would blame you if you wanted to stop trying either. There’s only so much you can do when someone isn’t being receptive, we can’t force it. Ball’s in her court now.”

Mel hates that she has to say this because she can see in Abby’s eyes that she had wanted Mel to tell her that there’s still something to do, to push her to keep trying. Giving her permission to quit- it sorta feels like Mel’s saying she doesn’t think it will work anyway no matter how hard Abby tries.

“This isn’t on you, Abby, okay? I promise. I think tonight was a good step; Lydia adored you, and you were brilliant with her. Your sister could see that. I think the demon talk scared her, and honestly we can’t really blame her for that. But I think she’ll reach out, once she has a chance to think things through.”

Abby still doesn’t believe her, Mel can see it in the way she avoids meeting her gaze, only humming as she goes back to her attempts at cleaning up.

“Hey… come to bed with me…”

Abigael only shakes her head, sighing out heavily.

“Not tonight, Mel… please.”

(“Please let me go, please let me rage, please let me… grieve.”)

Mel purses her lips, worry growing, but ultimately decides to give Abby the space she’s asking for. So she helps clean up, plucking things out of the air around Abby and walking them to the kitchen the non-magical way.

Macy’s waiting for her in the kitchen, pulling on her arm to keep her there a moment longer, whispering harshly, “we need to talk about Abby…”

“Not now, Macy, she’s had a rough night-”

“Mel, there are baked goods floating into our kitchen while Abby remains in the living room!” Macy gestures around them frantically, pointing at the fridge emphatically as it opens up for the remaining cupcakes to slot into, “she’s even rearranging the fridge to make room. She’s not even here to see it!”

Mel looks around, the heavy dread from Abby’s penthouse she felt earlier in the day slotting itself snuggly into her belly.

“When Abby heads home, then we can talk.”

Macy looks apprehensive, like she wants to protest. Like she wants to talk to Abby about whatever’s going on with her powers. They’re having a silent stare-down, a battle of stubbornness; Mel daring Macy to go against her wishes and broach the subject with Abby right now, and Macy’s protective big sister instincts demanding she do.

Mel shuffles onto a stool at their kitchen island, struggling a little before getting comfortable. Macy keeps her eyes on Mel the whole time as she attempts to casually circle the island, on her way towards the door. Just when it looks like Mel’s settled in her seat, Macy’s steps quicken to get to Abby, causing Mel to squawk after her, “Macy, don’t you dare-!”

They’re both interrupted when Abigael casually phase-shifts into the mouth of the kitchen, leaning against the door frame and raising a brow at both of them.

“Everything alright in here? Mel?”

Macy can’t help it; her brows are furrowed and she’s studying everything about Abigael. From her lazy stance, to her relaxed tone, to the fact that she used magic instead of walking the ten feet to the kitchen – a needless act of magic she usually doesn’t engage in unless she’s trying not to wake anyone.

(Or sneaking up on them to attack them, Macy’s mind supplies.)

And, yeah okay, maybe she subtly takes a step to the side and stands between Mel and Abby. There are alarm bells in Macy’s head telling her that Mel was right earlier; something’s going on with Abby, and they need to be careful.

“Since when do you phase-shift between rooms instead of just walking?”

Abigael raises a brow, eyeing Macy from head to toe, and something cold drags its fingers down Macy’s spine at the look.

Abigael’s assessing her, eyeing her and her position between herself and Mel.

(Macy supposes she wasn’t as subtle as she thought.)

There’s a cold and calculating glint in Abigael’s eyes, Macy notes. As Demon Overlord, Macy’s seen Abigael turn that gaze on many; thinking five steps ahead of her enemies, coming up with a quick exit strategy in emergencies, even ways to dispose of those standing in her way.

This is the first time she’s seen that look in her eyes turned on her; Abigael’s demon side.

When Abigael just hums and bypasses the question altogether, Macy looks over her shoulder at Mel, lips pursed when she sees the same realization in Mel’s eyes.

When she speaks, Abigael sounds- just like herself; charming and relaxed as ever, voice oozing equal parts sweet honey and sin.

“I’m heading out; something’s come up that I need to handle.”

Mel frowns, “What, right now?”

Abigael pushes off the doorframe, side-eying Macy as she pointedly passes her towards Mel. And if her shoulder lightly nudges Macy’s on the way, then Abigael can’t be blamed for Macy standing so wide in the middle of the way.

(And so what if she maintains their eye contact the whole way, faces inches apart when Abigael slowly snaps her teeth at Macy and smirks?)

Sauntering over to stand between Mel’s legs, Abigael leans down and right into Mel. Her lips find Mel’s jaw first, not shy about exploring Mel’s skin on the way into her neck. And for a moment, Mel forgot where they were, who else was standing not three feet away, as her eyes fluttered shut and she felt herself relax under Abby’s attention. The past few weeks had been crazy, to say the least, and Mel realized it’s been almost that long since her and Abby had had any… private time… together. She wasn’t about to interrupt herself for anything in that moment.

When Abby’s fingers found her knees, traveling up along her thighs, Mel’s legs widened to give Abby more room instinctively.

Then Abby’s fingers started working the buttons of Mel’s button down free, and the backs of her fingers started teasing Mel’s skin.

“You two cannot be serious right now.”

Mel’s eyes snap open at the sound of Macy’s strained voice, her brain thrown back to reality from where it dipped into the crevices she keeps her dirtiest Abigael fantasies as she squeezes Abby’s forearms to stop her, while simultaneously trying to pull back.

Except… Abigael doesn’t seem to want to be stopped. It ignites a panic in Mel’s chest as she squeezes Abby’s arms harder, actively pushing her back. The coil of panic in Mel’s chest doesn’t completely loosen even when Abby willingly goes the second time, her eyes studying Abby’s face critically.

She’s never had to worry about being put in a position of discomfort with Abigael. A position that could so quickly go from being uncomfortable to downright dangerous. Not until this very moment. Again, she finds herself cradling her belly protectively around Abby.

Then she sees it.

Because it’s brief, Mel catches the receding wisps of it in Abby’s eyes, but she sees it nonetheless; the hazel hues she adores obscured by the milky-white coating Abby’s eyes take on when- Spike has come out to play. As she watches Abby’s eyes clear, she also sees the hints of confusion, maybe even a little fear, as Abby scans Mel from head to toe, turning to look over her shoulder at Macy.

Macy’s jaw is tight, her lips pursed, and her whole body ready for a fight. Abigael pulls back from Mel completely, swallowing harshly while digging the heel of her palm into her eye. Mel feels the coil that has now lodged itself firmly into her chest tighten again, not in panic this time but in worry for Abby again.

Macy looks like she wants to get between them again, especially when Mel reaches her hand out for Abby to come back to her, but Mel subtly shakes her head at her.

“Babe, are you sure you’re feeling okay? Maybe you should stay the night, I’m sure whatever’s come up can wait til morning…”

Abigael shakes it off, whatever it is that’s come over her, Mel thinks. The nonchalant quality that had overtaken her voice earlier is gone, replaced with urgency instead.

“No- I mean yes, I’m alright. I’m sorry about what just happened, I don’t- well, you’re just so attractive, my sweet, I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry.

And, no, I can’t stay; we’ve got a problem. Aside from there being whisperings about the existence of my sister and niece, which will put a target on their backs, Joxen called to let me know rumors are swirling about Mel. And the baby.”

“That’s bad.”

“Extremely so, Captain Obvious.”

Under normal circumstances, Mel would be smiling faintly at Abby. But they haven’t got the time for that right now.

“What now?”

“Near as I can gather, the connection between you lot and myself hasn’t been made as of yet. It must stay that way.

Therefore I, Demon Overlord, will need to address these rumors, and decide what I want or will allow done about this magical child.”

She can’t help it, Macy tenses at that.

“What does that mean exactly, Abigael?”

Abigael’s already having a shitty night, rolling her eyes.

“It means the Charmed Ones, the most powerful force of good and the bane of demon kind’s existence, are with child. A child that could be even more powerful than them; it could spell annihilation for demons everywhere. I’ll be expected to address these rumors, and determine what’s to be done about the child. Whether we stop it from being born, wait to kill it after it is born, or perhaps even kidnap it to raise as one of our own. You know, generally vile decisions.”

Mel tenses, her mind hurtling back to that morning when she went to Abby’s penthouse. To that moment she feared for her child’s safety when it came to Abby.

Abigael frowns when she sees Mel’s tension, feels it as it coats every surface of the kitchen around them.

“Mel, I’d never let anything happen to the baby… you don’t have anything to worry about, I’ll keep you safe, both of you…”

Macy can’t help but ask, needing to know albeit hesitantly.

“And if- the baby wasn’t Mel’s? Or if you two weren’t together? What would you do then…?”

Abigael can feel herself approach an edge, almost falling over it before she controls her anger again.

“I may be a monstrous demon, Macy, but I’d never hurt a baby.”

“But you obviously wouldn’t let the Charmed Ones – if that title belonged to anyone else – keep a baby that could be so powerful, right?”

Abigael just rolls her eyes, “No, I wouldn’t. It’d be smarter to take the baby and raise it as a demon instead. There, happy?”

“Thrilled.”

Mel can’t sit here and listen to this anymore, interrupting them before they start to argue.

“Okay, enough. So what happens now? What are you going to do, Abby? And what do we do?”

“Well, for my part, I’d need to go- be an Overlord. Meet with the different demon leaders, hear them out as I’m sure they’d each have an opinion or a proposal as to what needs to be done. I predict a load of bickering, and I am not looking forward to it.”

“That’s what you get when you become a politician,” Macy can’t keep herself from the jab.

“Ugh, it’d be much easier to be a politician. Anyway. I’ll try to stall them as long as I can, before ultimately declaring that no decision can be made when we don’t know who the other parent is and therefore cannot accurately assess how powerful the child will be. So we’d need to wait until the child is born. By then, hopefully, Future Mel’s come back for it.”

“What if that just spurs them into trying to figure out the other parent for themselves? Or try to take Mel to keep her til she gives birth?”

“Then heads will roll.”

Mel swallows; she knows that Macy will just think that’s a figure of speech, but she knows that, for Abby, that’s a literal threat.

“Besides, you’re the Charmed Ones; I imagine you’ll keep each other safe.

I’ll be around less for the time being to make sure we aren’t connected to each other like that, and to keep a closer eye on my subjects. This especially cannot get back to Godric.”

This pulls Mel out of her memories of the morning, turning to look at Abby.

“Wait, what? No, absolutely not. I’m having a baby; I need you with me…”

“And I’ll be there when you need me, darling, I swear. But I cannot risk demons knowing what you mean to me, especially not now…”

“What if Future Me doesn’t come back for the baby? What if this is it, if I have to raise this baby? What does that mean for us?”

“It means I’ll have to find Godric and vanquish him all the quicker. The other demons I can manage, but not if he lives. If he challenges my authority as Overlord, manages to turn them against me, then we’d have even bigger problems. But I can find a way to be with you and remain reigning Overlord if Godric’s dead.”

“So what am I supposed to do til then?”

“You, my love, will have the hardest task of all; you’ll have to stay put. Take extra precautions, be extra safe. Don’t go anywhere alone, always go out in the day and only to crowded places. Triple the wards around the house, and for god’s sake find anti-demon wards that will let me phase shift through.”

There’s a hint of panic filling Mel when she looks at Abby. She doesn’t understand why she’s having such a visceral reaction to the idea of not having Abby around, especially when she knows it won’t be forever, and that this is the smartest thing to do right now. For the baby.

(For their baby.)

But- Mel hates what that world does to Abby, the side of her it seems to bring out. She understands the necessity of it all, that Abby needs to be Demon Overlord so that they can have peace between their two worlds. And she’s trying to work out her issues about Abby’s demonic nature.

But she also can’t get the empty look in Abby’s eyes from this morning out of her head.

Macy seems to sense that they need a moment, mumbling that she’ll go call Maggie and give her an update, remind her to really boost up Waverly’s defenses too.

Abigael seems to sense Mel’s growing anxiety, gently cradling her jaw on either side as she softly shushes Mel’s thoughts. Makes noise just for the sake of making noise rather than actually telling Mel to be silent.

“Mel, it’ll be okay. It’ll be over and done with before you know it. And we’ll be in touch the whole time; just because I can’t physically be here doesn’t mean I won’t be with you.

Besides, nothing short of an apocalypse will make me miss the birth of our daughter. Likely not even that.”

And then Abby does something Mel realizes she hasn’t actually done yet since Mel became pregnant; she brings her hand to Mel’s baby bump, fingers gentle and palm warm even through the fabric as she cradles the baby. Their daughter apparently. Mel’s suddenly so overcome with a mixed bag of emotions she’s unable to process. She covers Abby’s hand with hers, sniffling faintly as she guides Abby’s hand to where the baby’s suddenly pressing in a flurry of movement. Abby’s smile widens all the way to her eyes, erasing any trace of hesitancy there was about whether this was okay or not.

“Daughter, huh?”

“I’ve just got a feeling.”

“I thought Maggie was the one with powers of premonition, not you.”

“You never asked if I had such powers.”

Mel’s head quirks, momentarily distracted.

“Do you?”

Abigael chuckles softly, kissing Mel’s forehead, “no, darling. It just feels like a girl to me. Not that such things matter to me; all I care about is that it’s a healthy baby delivered by a healthy mummy.”

Mel hums softly, absently correcting Abby, “Mama.”

It brings a soft smile to Abby’s lips, just nodding at being corrected.

“Promise me you’ll stay safe, Abby.”

“I will.”

“You’ll check-in too? I don’t mean through text, though I fully expect you to text me at least once a day, even just to confirm you’re not dead. But physically? You’re not going to stay away all the time, right?”

When Abby’s voice sounds next, it’s the softest and most sincere Mel’s heard today; the kiss Abby presses to the crown of Mel’s head is full of devotion and sunflowers.

“My love, I couldn’t stay away from you if I could. Nor would I ever try.”

(Mel tries to silence the voice niggling in the back of her mind that’s telling her that sometimes, people leave anyway. That they don’t have a choice or say in the matter.)

(And the way Abby’s been behaving lately, she’s certainly going somewhere, willingly or not.)

Mel feels like a broken record, but she tries it one last time when she softly pleads with Abby again to, “Stay tonight.”

“I can’t. I have to get started on this.”

“Right now though? How would you even do that?”

“I’m going to get changed and head to the club.”

“Excuse me?”

Mel can’t have heard her correctly. Abby’s gonna leave her here alone to go clubbing?

She can’t believe Abby has the audacity to smirk at her right now too.

“I do most of my business at the demon club you and your sisters crashed where you first met Godric and heard about the Demon Overlord.”

“So you, what, get dressed up and hang around a club and that’s work?”

Mel can’t believe herself right now; she can picture Abby dressed up for a club so clearly. She imagines there’s no shortage of demons that would want to gain her favor, draping themselves over her and begging for scraps of her attention. And technically, the Overlord doesn’t have a partner; there’d be no reason they’d back off, or for Abby to push them off.

(Her brain tells her to shut up because Abby would never hurt her like that. Never.)

Still. Mel’s dumbstruck at herself; in the middle of a forming crisis, Melanie Vera is jealous.

“It’s one of the safest places to be on account of the ‘no powers’ rule that everyone must adhere to. And with all the factions having at least one representative there at all times, it saves time when I need to meet them.”

Mel’s brain feels like it’s been overpowered by her hormones, “are there women there?”

Abby barks out a laugh, her amusement not appeasing Mel in any way.

“Melanie, are you… jealous?”

“No!”

Abigael just smirks, leaning into Mel to kiss her jaw softly, “I only ever have eyes for you, my sweet.”

Mel scoffs a little and grumbles, maybe confirming that she’s, “a little jealous. But only a little.”

Abigael can’t help but chuckle again, pulling Mel into her arms, kissing her head.

They stay there in silence for a bit, holding each other. Relishing in it because they know it’ll be a while before they can do this again.

But eventually, Abigael has to pull away.

Mel grips her hand, urging her to be safe again and to, “call Harry the second you need back up; he listens out for you too.”

Abigael feels- touched. As a witch, she would have had a whitelighter of her own, and she’d never admit to it, but she always wished for one. But alas, demons don’t get whitelighters.

So she nods, presses her lips to Mel’s lingeringly with a promise to text her when she’s home before stepping back. With a deep inhale and a last lingering look at Mel, smoke swaddles Abigael before whisking her away.

Mel’s left to stare at the empty space on her own.

Chapter Text

Despite how hard she tries that night, Mel can’t sleep.

Abby doesn’t text her; not when she’s home, not when she goes to the club, not even when she gets home from it.

Mel only finds out that Abby’s home when she gets a text from Joxen at dawn, informing her that they’ve finally arrived back at the penthouse and Abby’s sleeping.

She’s exhausted, a headache building already even as she remembers she needs to discuss what transpired the night before with her sisters.

She knows they should all have a talk, but they’ve all got so much going on already. Besides, what if they’re reading too much into it? They’ve been on edge and under constant threat so much lately that maybe they’ve been conditioned to see a crisis even when there isn’t one. And really, Abby seemed alright when she left even despite the unpleasant note the night ended on. What if Mel’s overreacting? She could end up doing more harm than good to her relationships, both with her sisters and with Abby.

(She refuses to think about which one of those relationships she dreads losing more.)

She resolves herself to wait just a little longer, maybe have a talk with Abby first, or even just watch her more closely next time she sees her before she talks to her sisters about it. They didn’t find anything on the blue cut or any sort of demonic infections, so it can’t be too dire of a situation, right?

She’s frowning at her phone as she descends the stairs; Abby’s sent a good morning text. Which in and of itself wouldn’t be a terrible thing if it weren’t for the fact that Abby supposedly went to bed barely three or four hours ago. Now she’s ready for a new day and casually reminding Mel to stay hydrated like nothing’s wrong? Mel hurries to text back, asking if Abby’s alright and how her night went, if she has any updates, and most importantly – when can Mel see her?

It’s odd, she thinks to herself; how needy she’s being for Abby. She’s always enjoyed her independence, even in her relationships. Any woman she’s been with has been the same way; hell, even Abby’s someone that cherishes her own space and her own freedom. Mel’s never been one to need to spend every waking moment in the presence of her partner; going a couple of days without seeing each other in person, with only texting and calling as available options, was never as big of a deal as it is now.

She wonders, as she touches a hand to where the baby kicks particularly hard, if it’s because of the baby. Or if it’s the fact that her life is exponentially more dangerous than it used to be, if it’s the constant worry in the back of her mind that something’s going to happen to her loved ones. Something she won’t be able to stop or fix or change.

 (That they’d leave her.)

(Like her mother.)

She wonders if it’s the extra dangerous nature of Abby’s particular profession as Overlord that has her on edge so much.

(She refuses to wonder if it’s because of the reckless way Abby’s been behaving lately. Nope. She’s not going to entertain that thought at all.)

She’s so engrossed in her own thoughts, waiting as patiently as she can – which isn’t all that patient; she’s never possessed that particular virtue – for Abby to respond and frowning deeply when she’s left on read that she doesn’t hear the discussion going on in the kitchen til she rounds the corner.

Her sisters and Harry. Talking about Abby.

More specifically, Macy’s talking about Abby’s behavior last night.

“… I’m telling you, Mel was right; something’s odd.”

“Because she helped clean up after the dinner we hosted for her sister.”

“No, Maggie, because she was in the living room while her powers moved everything into our fridge!”

Mel stood back to silently listen in; they hadn’t noticed her arrival yet and she was curious to see where this would go. Perhaps they’d see something she hasn’t yet…

“Admittedly, that is odd, Macy, but we mustn’t forget; Abigael is half demon. For all we know, her powers develop differently to yours. Or perhaps her demon side influences the witch side somehow.”

“Yeah, or- or! It was just from the emotional flogging she took last night with Waverly. I mean, leaving Abby’s present behind was way harsh. Our witch powers are connected to our emotional states, and Abby’s was probably off the rails.”

Mel quirked her head as she thought that over; it made sense. Her own powers tended to be unpredictable whenever she was experiencing any emotion in any extreme way. Why wouldn’t Abby’s witch powers behave the same way? Hell, why wouldn’t her demon side? Abby the Witch was a lot more controlled and restrained, measured in everything she did. It’s Abby the Demon that tended to lose her cool and act on her anger or impulses. It didn’t happen often because even Abby the Demon was highly disciplined, but it happened nonetheless.

Macy, however, didn’t seem to agree just yet.

“Guys. This is Abby we’re talking about. Nothing rattles her enough for her powers to be affected like that. If that were the case, the trauma and PTSD from the Tomb and seeing her mother at the trial, digging up that past, should have made her powers go apeshit on Francesca right then and there.”

Mel pursed her lips, feeling that familiar ember of rage alighting again in her chest at the thought of the trial.

At the thought of Francesca. At the reminder of the abuse Abby’s suffered from such a young age.

But- she’s forced to douse the ember with water for now and listen with her head, not her heart; Macy’s making a valid point. Aside from the nightmares, lack of sleep, and growing paranoia and panic, Abby’s magic hasn’t been affected. Her demons have chosen to manifest in immensely mundane, mortal ways instead.

“So maybe it’s affecting her now. She’s been having nightmares, assuming she ever sleeps anyway. That’s probably catching up to her.”

“Maggie, I’m telling you. It isn’t normal. She wasn’t behaving normal. She gave me this- this look. Like I was some… prey she would enjoy toying with before hunting… and don’t even get me started on the way her and Mel went at it; it looked like Abby would just- devour her right then and there, regardless of the fact that I was standing three feet away.”

Mel blushes a little at the reminder even though the events in question had been unsettling.

Maggie snorts, amused, “Macy, those things are so not anything new or weird; that’s just another Tuesday of Abby mooning after Mel.”

Macy’s getting frustrated; she knows she’s right. Hell, she knows even Mel knows she’s right; she saw it way before any of them! And she knows if Maggie and Harry had been there last night, they would’ve agreed too. The problem is, they don’t really have any more data to go on except “a feeling,” and the scientist in Macy is chafing at the terrible scientific method being employed here. So she gathers in a lungful of air and calms her voice down to a controlled volume.

“Look, something’s happening. Maybe it is just Abby having a rough few weeks, or maybe it’s Spike, or something. But there’s no denying that there is something. We owe it to ourselves and Mel to find out what, be prepared, and protect ourselves. We owe it to Abby too.

So. I think we should go to the demon club next time she goes; keep an eye out for anything suspicious-”

“Absolutely the hell not, Macy, you are not going to spy on my girlfriend!”

The air in the kitchen seems to thicken immediately, tight ropes holding everyone in place, rooted to the spot as they all turn to eye each other.

Mel looks angry.

Macy looks calm still, collected, raising a hand to halt Mel’s advances as she speaks.

(Neither Harry nor Maggie look like they want to be there, in the middle of what’s about to go down.)

“Mel, listen to me-”

“No, you listen to me, Macy Vaughn, we’re not going to spy on Abby! Aside from the fact that we couldn’t because, A) we would be recognized as the Charmed Ones immediately, and B) we can’t go into a demon club unless we’re demons, or did you forget? This is going to send Abby the message that we don’t trust her, and I will not do that to her no matter what. This is her world, her business; we’re not going to interrupt or jeopardize her like that. If the demons found out about her relation to us, her working to protect us by betraying them, they could hurt her, or worse!”

“Of course I didn’t forget. In fact, I perfectly remember that I could get in as one of them. All we’d need is to tweak the glamour spell and powder to last as long as we want it to, and I can get in. Don’t think of it as spying, think of it as backup, especially since there is the chance she’d get hurt.”

Mel can feel herself getting more worked up, like she’s about to prove Maggie’s earlier point about their powers being tied to their emotions. The temperature drops around them; Harry’s tea cup shatters in his hand as he lifts it from the saucer, the smash deafening in the silent kitchen as the – now frozen-solid – tea clunks onto the counter.

She knows this isn’t the right way to handle this, despite how badly she wants to keep yelling at her sisters. It’s not good for their sisterhood, and it’s definitely not good for the baby. So Mel takes a deep breath and tries to center herself, trying again.

“I understand where you’re coming from, Macy. I do. I was there, I saw it. I saw it yesterday morning at the penthouse too. But we can’t invade Abby’s privacy like that. There are boundaries we need to respect, and Abby’s demon-ness and her Overlord work are some of those.

Trust me, nobody’s as worried as I am, but that’s no excuse for spying and distrust. Not after everything we’ve been through, after what she’s been through. I am not sending her that kind of message now.

So let’s just- give her some time to figure out if there are any threats to the baby. I’ll try to talk to her about her powers when I get the chance. But in the meantime, can we please- just try to keep her safe and… trust my partner?”

They have a stare down for another few moments, Mel worried that Macy won’t back down about this.

Truth is, she’s touched that Macy cares. About Mel and the baby, obviously, but about Abby too. They may not be saying the exact words yet, but they care about each other and Mel is beyond thankful that they’re letting their actions speak for them. She just wishes there would be less of it right now.

She watches Macy look to Maggie, the latter raising a shoulder in a little shrug that seems to agree with Mel. So Mel watches Macy’s gaze swing to Harry after another moment of silent debate with Maggie. His eyes are soft and understanding, the smallest barely-there smile adorning his lips as they too have a silent discussion before he gives her a small nod. Mel watches the fight drain from Macy’s body (although not her eyes, she notes) as she meets Mel’s eyes and nods.

“Alright. You’re right; it’s an invasion of her privacy and we have no right. I’m just- concerned.”

“I know. So am I. But this wouldn’t have gotten us anywhere.”

Macy just nods again, sighing as she sits down to breakfast. When Maggie helps Harry serve their breakfasts, Mel barely touches hers.

The empty seat beside her where Abby’d be sitting if she were there mocks her.

A reminder that Abby never answered her text.

(Later, once Mel and Maggie head off to start their days, Macy keeps Harry behind.)

(She tells him that that they can’t take any chances with Abby.)

(That she’ll let Mel handle it, but she’ll keep a close eye on Abby when or even if she comes back.)

(That at the first sign of something being wrong, she’s gonna go ahead with her plans to follow Abby to the demon club and keep an eye out for any more strange behavior.)

(Harry tries to protest, to express that this is a bad idea. That perhaps this is all just a byproduct of Abigael’s title as Overlord, coming with certain power boosts and perks that they just don’t understand.)

(Ultimately, he admits to having a niggling feeling in the back of his mind too, ever since their research about Abigael’s blue cut came up with no results.)

(Ultimately, he’ll support Macy if it comes down to crossing these lines if it means protecting his Charmed Ones.)

(Though that doesn’t stop him from reminding her that Macy’s relationship with Mel will suffer greatly as a result of going down this path.)

(But that’s okay, Macy tells him. Because she does, indeed, care deeply about Abby because Mel cares deeply about Abby, and she won’t let anything bad happen to her if she can help it.)

(But that doesn’t mean she’ll stand around and let Abby be the bad that happens to them.)

Chapter Text

Waking up alone takes on a new meaning for Mel in the coming days.

(As alone as a pregnant woman can be, anyway.)

It wouldn’t normally be a problem; she’s spent many years of her life waking up alone. Even when she and Abby were still a secret, she woke up alone, and while it sucked it wasn’t the issue it was presenting itself to be now.

No, the issue isn’t the cold empty bed, unpleasant as it may be.

It’s the lack of Abby. In all her forms.

Namely, it’s the lack of her being there physically, yes, but more importantly the scarcity of her texts.

Indeed, waiting for Abby to send her anything lately has been a different kind of alone Mel was experiencing.

That first day, when she and Macy argued about Abby’s privacy, Mel was relieved to get regular updates from Abby, even if they didn’t say anything of substance.

(By the end of that day, Mel still had no idea if Abby was unhurt, if she’d found out anything about demons targeting Mel or the baby, nothing important.)

Then, the texts came in less frequently the next day. And even less so the day after that. By the fourth day of Abby separating herself from the Charmed Ones, there were no texts at all.

It’s been five days now, and the only way Mel knows for sure that Abby isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere is because Joxen has taken it upon himself to update her; once in the evening when he texts that they’ve arrived at the demon club, and another in the wee hours of dawn to let her know they’ve finally left the demon club, and that Abby’s relatively safely passed out somewhere in the penthouse.

So now, Mel’s new morning routine includes blindly reaching for her phone to check for texts the moment she feels consciousness tugging her to the surface. Every morning so far, she’s held out the hope that there’ll be one from Abby this time, wishing her a good morning, or better yet letting her know she’s coming over that day. And every morning so far, it’s just been Joxen’s morning update.

(Mel’s hope is waning.)

(Her fears are rising.)

(Was Abby losing interest in her? Was it only fun when they were a secret? Is Abby turned off by the looming possibility of responsibility, of the commitment that comes with a magical pregnancy? Was she being too needy, too clingy, stifling Abby’s freedom?)

It’s getting harder and harder to block out these thoughts, to remind herself that Abby cares about her too much to be turned off so easily. That Abby is literally out there, risking her life, to keep Mel safe.

She’s reaching for her phone to check it now for Joxen’s text, wondering what insane hour of dawn they’ve gotten in today when her finger bumps into the sunflower pendent Abby gifted her. Phone forgotten momentarily, her fingers gently swaddle the pendent as she runs her thumb so very delicately over the center.

It feels like the sun is shining directly in her chest, blooming sunflowers right there in between her ribs as the storm clouds her thoughts were swirling into are scattered and banished; she knows they need to talk, that they’ve got a few hurdles to jump right now. But as she looks at this little piece of unassuming jewelry in her palm, Mel’s filled with the reminder that she never has to worry about Abby’s devotion to her.

(Reminded that Mel’s seen something in Abby’s eyes when she catches her looking at her, something so very dangerously close to love.)

She makes a mental note to swap the velvet strap for a regular chain so that she can wear it all the time as she reaches for the phone again.

Promptly, the ball of anxiety that had momentarily loosened as she thought about Abby reforms in her throat; there isn’t a text from Joxen that morning.

She starts by taking a deep breath to calm herself. Panicking without any context will not do her any good. Mel decides the best way to tackle this is by being methodical, organized. If she keeps her head on “straight”, remains in control of her emotions, she’ll be able to better get to the bottom of this. If she loses her cool and does something completely reckless and on-brand for her, someone could get hurt.

(She wonders if this new attitude is a byproduct of impending motherhood.)

First order of business, she determines, is to get out of this bed, or at the very least sit up.

(Easier said than done, she grumbles as she tries to maneuver around her growing belly.)

Her next step is going to be to text Joxen herself when she pauses. That’s rather absurd, she thinks, because her next step should be to directly call Abby herself.

She’s swiped out of Joxen’s text thread and is about to press dial on Abby’s contact when she spots it; a patterned designer blazer that she knows for a fact isn’t hers, knows for a fact wasn’t left behind here.

She’s in the process of looking around for more evidence of her girlfriend when she hears the voice she adores, the voice she’s missed sorely – hoarse and accented and just the right amount of lazily teasing – from behind her in the bed. How did she not realize that sooner?

“Good morning, my sweet.”

Her breath catches; Abby’s here. Laying in her bed, smiling up at her, eyes bright with adoration.

Mel’s brain seems to struggle with words at the sight of her gorgeous girlfriend merely existing beside her, “Abby…?”

“Were you expecting another woman in your bed?”

Mel’s soft chuckle is less humorous and more a watery puff of an exhale, her eyes inexplicably filling with tears as she – again – struggles to maneuver around her belly to get to Abby.

At least her girlfriend takes the hint and lifts up to meet her midway, sitting up in the bed in one smooth motion to meet Mel’s lips in a searing, desperate kiss. Mel feels the warmth of Abby’s palms against her cheek, her jaw, fingertips mapping the skin of her throat, and it thaws something in her chest and blood that had started to freeze in Abby’s absence.

Abigael takes lead of this kiss, fingers curling in Mel’s shirt collar just long enough to press past it, fingertips searing their imprint against Mel’s rapidly heating collarbone.

Abby’s warmth grows around her, cocooning her in safety and protection. A warmth that leaps into a wildfire the second Abby’s lips detach from hers to press sloppy kisses from Mel’s lips to her jaw, her neck, her throat. Anything Abigael can reach.

Mel’s fingers are desperate to feel everything Abby has to offer, desperate to dig fingers and nails into flesh. Feel for herself that Abby’s there, that she’s not about to smoke out of her bed.

So she does, finding Abby’s shoulders to hold on to her. And then the back of her neck, tangling her fingers in her hair before she realizes that the expanse of Abby’s back is exposed. A halter top she muses to herself absently.

Before she can reorient herself, maybe even push back and take point on what’s happening, she feels Abby’s fingers anchor themselves in her hair and tug, pulling Mel’s head back to expose more of her neck to her eager, talented mouth.

Mel feels her mind go blank as the wildfire Abby started morphs and grows; a blazing inferno setting every single one of Mel’s nerve endings alight so completely they turn to ash.

(She thinks – absurdly so because how is she even capable of forming thoughts right now – that she understands what Abby likes about hair pulling now.)

When Abby presses her back into the pillows to lie down, not once detaching her lips from Mel’s sweltering being, Mel is more than happy to surrender to it all.

Then, like the whirlwind that is Abigael Jameson-Caine, the kisses slow, soften. She feels Abby’s fingers gently trail down her body, along her side before they’re probing under Mel’s sleep shirt. When Abby pulls back, gaze roaming Mel’s face and drifting down along her body, Mel tries to follow, keep chasing that fire that Abby breathes into her with her lips.

Her touch is delicate as she traces Mel’s belly, and it takes Mel a moment before she realizes that Abby’s fingers are following the motions of the baby as they shift around inside. She shifts up more, raised on her forearm as she holds herself up over Mel by her bent elbow, Abby makes eye contact with Mel briefly, seeking.

Her hazel gaze is filled with a vulnerability, a question Mel doesn’t hesitate to answer with a nod, no matter what it might be. Permission granted, consent given.

Abigael’s free hand pushes the blankets further out of the way before she slowly starts to roll up Mel’s shirt. Her eyes look up at Mel again, making sure this is still alright. When Mel softly smiles, sleepy around the edges, Abby smiles back.

Once her baby bump is exposed, Mel thinks that’s it. Maybe Abby will go back to tracking the baby’s movements with her fingers, but she doesn’t expect more, won’t hold it against Abby if she isn’t ready for more. She watches as Abby’s eyes stay rooted to her fingers’ motions, listens as she absently hums a soft tune that sounds so familiar. She takes advantage of Abby’s sudden distracted state to trace her jaw with her fingers softly, gaze roaming her face and mentally cataloguing every single feature her eyes trip over.

It becomes clear very quickly that Abby hasn’t been home yet; her eyeliner’s smudged, her lipstick smeared from their fervent kisses. She’s still even dressed in her fanciest ‘going out’ clothes – a sleeveless halter top as she had blindly guessed earlier, with a cleavage so low it makes Mel’s stomach swoop with equal parts desire and jealousy. She notes that Abby kinda smells like booze – like maybe she’s had a few too many, or something’s spilled on her – and the state of her bloodshot eyes make Mel wonder if she’s hungover or even a little buzzed still.

(She finally notices that her curtains are drawn too; hungover for sure.)

She thinks she should say something, break the silence before her own worry – rearing its ugly head again and threatening to ruin this perfect morning – breaks her. Mel’s worked herself up to speaking, fingers carding into Abby’s hair to soothingly scratch while she does to keep Abby calm and relaxed, when the baby kicks a spot particularly hard, right against Abby’s palm.

The silence is broken by Abby’s quiet, happy laugh and Mel’s breath catches harshly in her throat; Abby’s talking to the baby.

“Yes, alright, you’ve got my attention. You always do, Sunflower. Be gentle with mama, won’t you?”

It’s quiet again after that, Mel swallowing the forming lump in her throat harshly, fingers tightening faintly in Abby’s hair when her girlfriend leans in and presses the most tender kiss just beside her belly button. The fingers in her hair make Abigael look up, concerned she’s gone too far when she feels Mel’s tension, “Mel…?”

She’s about to pull back and away, a deep frown marring Abigael’s face when she notes the tears pooling Mel’s eyes. She was so sure this would be okay, but evidently not…

“Darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep-”

“You didn’t, gosh you didn’t.”

“You’re crying…”

Mel sniffles, ugly and full of snot, but it doesn’t deter Abigael from thumbing away her tears, gaze filled with contrition for upsetting Mel.

So Mel cradles Abby’s hand in hers, fingers loosely circling her wrist as she presses a lingering kiss to her palm.

“You have nothing to apologize for, I promise you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just- gosh, Abby, I just-”

(“I just can’t imagine spending another day without you. I just pictured our entire future together. I just pictured you lying under the Christmas tree and looking up at the lights with our daughter.”)

(“I just want the rest of my days to be spent leaning into you.”)

(“I just love you more than I have words to explain.”)

But none of those words make it past Mel’s lips under Abby’s gaze as she stares into her very soul. So she just smiles and shakes her head, adopting a teasing tone instead.

“I’m just hormonal at how soft you’re being right now, I’m sorry. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous. It’s wonderful and I don’t want you to apologize for it. Is it alright if I do it again; the talking? I can stop if you’d prefer.”

Mel presses another kiss to Abby’s palm – and she feels so full but so empty at the same time because she can’t stop wanting to feel Abby against her lips in any way she can – before guiding her hand back to the baby.

“She likes the sound of your voice.”

“So you agree it’s a she?”

“I think- I can’t wait to see you hold our daughter.”

“You hear that, little Sunflower? Mama can’t wait. But I suppose that’s nothing new. I just hope you haven’t inherited her impatience, or your 3 AM feedings will be a nightmare…”

“Abby! Don’t say that to her!”

“She’s got ears, my sweet, she’ll hear it anyway. Might as well include her in the conversation early on.”

Mel huffs in the face of Abby’s smug smirk, rolling her eyes and laying back silently. And they’re content, the pair of them, to lie there in silence that’s occasionally disturbed by Abigael’s humming. The pair of them and their growing child.

(Mel thinks she should be worried about how attached they’re both getting to this baby. A baby that isn’t even technically theirs. She knows this road will only end in mind-numbing heartache. But when Abby’s lips press little kisses to her belly again, she can’t bring herself to care at all just yet.)

Abigael rests her head on Mel’s chest, and Mel thinks she might have fallen asleep when the silence stretches for a while. She’s content to fall back asleep right there and then too when Abby’s soft lilt fills the room around them again.

“I didn’t have the nicest mum growing up, Sunflower. Nor was my dad any better.

And for the longest time – up until very recently, actually – I was so sure I’d never be a mum myself. I couldn’t do it, didn’t have it in me to be a good mum. Didn’t have what it takes. I thought I wouldn’t be able to love a child how they deserve. And no child should ever be failed like that.

But then you came along, and turned all our lives topsy-turvy.

Whether it’s magic or divine intervention or destiny, I don’t know. The only thing I’m certain of, though, is that no matter what happens, I will always love you. I will always protect you. Til the end of my days. This, I swear to you, Sunflower.”

Mel feels her breath get stolen right from her lungs again, and she idly muses to herself that this can’t be healthy.

Silence fills the space around them again, a comfortable blanket. Safe. Slipping into every nook and cranny between them. All-encompassing.

Mel wonders what she’s supposed to fill the silence with; what do you say after a declaration like that? What language in the world will have the words that can accurately describe the ache she feels for Abby?

Instead, they coat themselves in the silence of the morning, disrupted only by Abigael’s soothing humming.

Chapter Text

They spend the entire morning in bed together, alternating between kisses and murmurs and silence.

It makes them miss breakfast, it makes Mel’s sisters try to barge in on them to check if she’s okay.

(The moment the door starts to swing open, Abigael’s hand shoots out and shuts it in their faces, locking it to boot as she yells that the room is, “occupied!”

“One day, I’ll teach your sisters to knock.”

Mel simply pulls Abby back into her chest to settle her ire.)

(Needless to say, it works like a charm.)

Noon’s approaching by the time they venture out of the bed because, while Mel could sustain herself for the rest of her life on the mere presence of Abigael, her pregnant body does, in fact, need actual food.

(Not that Abigael makes it easy, tugging and tempting and downright purring in her attempts to convince Mel to join her in the shower.)

(Mel almost caves too if it weren’t for the intense ice cream craving she’s struck with.)

She’s having a stern talking to the baby about interrupting Mama’s special time with Mummy like that as she makes her way down the stairs when she spots her, sitting there with Macy.

“What is she doing here?”

Waverly.

Mel’s instantly filled with anger, her perfect morning absolutely wrecked, as Waverly turns towards the voice, the polite smile she had started forming on her face wiped clean at the tone and replaced with hesitation and- guilt?

“Good,” Mel thinks as her mind fills with the singular image of Abby’s blank expression, donned to hide her devastation.

She’s stomping over when they both stand, Macy taking a step towards her with her hands raised to calm Mel down. Mel can’t help but feel a little betrayed as it seems Macy’s about to side with Waverly despite knowing and witnessing Abby’s hurt. She had really thought they were moving past all the hostility and doubt, but between this and the other day’s suggestion to spy on Abby… Mel’s not so sure what to do about her sister anymore.

“Waverly came looking for Abigael; she’s hoping they can talk. Apparently, Abby hasn’t been returning any of her calls or texts…”

Mel silently admits that that’s odd; despite her hurt and upset with how things with Waverly are going, Mel knows Abby wouldn’t ignore her if she initiated contact. She might leave her to sweat it out a bit, but would eventually answer; Abby would do anything to be able to have her sister and niece in her life.

But hell if she’ll show Waverly any kind of support right now.

She bypasses Macy in one and a half steps, glare fierce as she levels it at Waverly.

“Geez, I wonder why that is. Maybe it’s because you’ve been nothing but absolutely awful to her at every turn, no matter how hard she’s tried!”

“Mel, hold on-”

“No, back off, Macy,” she’s almost toe to toe with Waverly, the woman looking more and more contrite as Mel gets closer, “how dare you even show up here after that shit you pulled at dinner that night? Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt Abby?”

“Mel-”

“No, I’m not going to stand by and watch her keep hurting Abby, not anymore. She’s been through so much already, and enough is enough,” Mel yells at Macy before whirling back to face Waverly again, “you keep giving her hope that you’re getting along, that she’s making progress at establishing a relationship with you, toying with her emotions only to pull the rug out from under her on a whim! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just throw you out on your as-”

“Lydia, look, Auntie Mel’s here!”

Mel’s jaw snaps shut as she hears Maggie’s overtly chipper voice practically yell out that sentence, eyes wide when she sees her sister carrying her girlfriend’s niece on her hip. Lydia’s cheek to cheek with Maggie, the pair grinning widely, though Maggie’s smile is clearly forced and a little panicked around the edges while Lydia’s smile is bright enough to light every corner of their living room.

(Mel’s struck again by how much Lydia resembles Abby; they’ve been few and far between, but she’s been on the receiving end of that same smile from Abby a few times. It renders her speechless every single time.)

(Much like Lydia’s smile is doing to her right now.)

Mel sits down on the couch just as Maggie sets the little girl down to run over to her, helping Lydia get on the couch beside her to give her a hug, smiling easily despite her anger towards Waverly not leaving her.

“Hey, Sprout, how are you? I’m so glad you’re here.”

Lydia sits back, her little face serious, “Auntie Mel, can you please not call me that? That’s what Auntie Abigael calls me.”

“Lydi love, don’t be rude…”

Mel glares up at Waverly a little, “not rude at all. Thank you, Lydia, for correcting me about what you like and dislike, and doing so politely. Of course, I won’t use that word again. Only Auntie Abigael can.”

It makes Lydia beam up at Mel, the positive interaction making her preen with glee.

“Do you like my clothes, Auntie Mel?”

Mel takes the moment to take in Lydia’s outfit, smiling at the little black sneakers she’s wearing with her striped overall pants; Mel realizes she herself was wearing a very similar get up the night they met Lydia for the first time.

“I love them, Lydia! I think I have something that looks just like it too!”

The women in the room chuckles as Lydia bounces in her seat, clearly thrilled that Mel recognized the significance of her look, “you do, you do!”

“She rather insisted we go shopping after she met you all at dinner. Our next purchase is supposed to be a leather biker jacket like Abby’s.”

At the mention of Abby’s name, especially coming from Waverly’s lips right now, Mel remembers her ire that was slowly being thawed by the amazing little girl that’s stumbled into their lives. She tones down her glare this time when she looks up at Waverly, but only because she doesn’t want to upset Lydia, her tone still cold when she speaks.

“To what do we owe this surprise visit then?”

“We came to see Abby…”

“Contrary to popular stereotypes, us queer women don’t immediately move in together.”

Waverly seems to be relaxing a little too if her eye roll is anything to go by.

“I’ve checked her penthouse already, and called several times. I assumed it would be a safe bet that she’d be with her partner.”

“What do you need from her?”

“I don’t need anything. But I do want to speak to her.”

“If she hasn’t been answering your calls or texts, there’s a hint in there about what she wants.”

“Honestly, Mel, do retract your claws, won’t you? I was wrong, I know that; I came to apologize.”

Mel bristles at being told what to do, at Waverly coming in here and thinking that a simple apology is going to magically make everything okay. But she doesn’t get to say anything or do anything like she’s itching to because that’s the moment Abby decides to make her presence known.

She’s coming down the stairs in a pair of her own jeans she’s likely left behind here, and a plain t-shirt she’s definitely stolen from Mel’s drawer; it’s a size too small and baring her midriff.

(And honestly, Abigael Jameson-Caine doesn’t really own any plain t-shirts. Mel’s checked. Twice.)

She isn’t looking around yet, frowning at her hair as she braids it. Mel watches her, takes in the crinkle settling into place between her brows as she ties off her hair. Takes in the comfort and ease being here, in Mel’s home. The safety that Abby must feel to allow herself to dress like that instead of the body armor made of Dior she likes to call clothes. It makes Mel fall just a little bit more in love with her.

“Mel, my sweet, what’s all the fuss about- oh.”

Abigael’s eyes hone in on Waverly first, her body becoming rigid with tension. Mel sees it in her eyes, the hints of panic at being caught in this state; unprotected against whatever attack she thinks is coming.

The tension is broken, however, when Lydia launches herself off the couch and bolts for Abigael, squealing her name. It snaps Abigael out of her stupor, face relaxing as she crouches to Lydia’s level, ready to receive her. Her niece practically bowls her over when she collides with Abigael, both of them letting out a soft “oof” when Abigael loses her balance a little and has to reach a hand out behind her to the stairs’ rails to stabilize them. The jostle makes Lydia giggle and Mel watches Abby smile happily as she envelopes the little girl in her arms fully.

“Hello, Sprout,” Mel aches deeply in her very bones at the softness in Abby’s voice, “Fancy seeing you here.”

Abigael adjusts her grip on Lydia before standing, the little one holding on like a koala as Abigael carefully steps further into the living room.

“Waverly.”

There is a tension that ripples across the living room as the two women stare at each other. It’s palpable, almost suffocating. It feels like there are far too many people in the room at once.

(Macy stiffly turns on the spot and gestures for Maggie to do the same, the youngest Charmed One eager to be released from this situation as she promptly swings around and scuttles out towards the kitchen. Macy pauses only a moment to check if Mel’s alright, if she’d want to go with them, Mel only shaking her head in the negative and blending into the background – she’s there to support Abby, however she may need it. Macy understands, nodding as she follows Maggie at a much quieter pace.)

Eventually, Waverly clears her throat.

“You haven’t answered any of my calls or text messages.”

“Now you know how it feels then.”

“Touché.”

“What’re you doing here, Waverly?”

“We- I came to see you.”

Abigael stays silent, watching her. Waiting.

“Lydi love, can you stay here with Auntie Mel while I talk to Auntie Abigael a moment?”

“You’ll bring her back?”

“I certainly will, darling.”

“Alright, Mummy. Please put me down, Auntie Abigael.”

Abigael smiles faintly, kissing Lydia’s temple as she deposits her back on the ground, something soft and gooey filling her chest as she watches her niece toddle over and cuddle up with her girlfriend. Her eyes linger on them as Mel asks if Lydia wants to feel the baby kicking, the little girl’s eyes widening and nodding so fast she resembles a bobble head on a car dashboard traversing rough terrain.

Then the feeling solidifies in her chest again when she glances at Waverly, silently nodding for her to follow her towards the backyard. Mel watches them go, the apprehension in Abby’s eyes, the way her walls reinforce themselves with thick steel to protect herself, tugs at her heartstrings.

Abigael leads the way in silence, not once turning back to even check if Waverly’s following her still. Waverly could be a demon in disguise trying to assassinate her right now, and Abigael would rather let that happen than turn to face her. She won’t allow herself to slip, to be the first one to break the ice here. She won’t beg or be needy anymore, she’s already done that and her pride has decided enough is enough. If Waverly wants to talk, then she’ll have to be the one to take the first step for a change.

The silence must take a toll because they’ve barely passed the threshold into the yard when Waverly starts, talking to Abigael’s back.

“I was wrong to react the way I did that night, to distrust you like that. And I was especially wrong to leave your present behind. I’m sorry, Abby.”

Abigael turns while Waverly speaks, arms crossed as she silently listens, expression completely blank. Even when Waverly finishes speaking, she says nothing.

So Waverly continues speaking, “the truth is, I’m scared, Abby.”

“Of me.”

“Of demons.”

“Of me.”

“Can you blame me?!”

Abigael sets her jaw, silent, observing while Waverly takes a deep breath to re-center herself in the wake of that outburst. She needs to stay calm, Abigael knows, because this conversation is going to be painful. She isn’t sure for which one of them though.

(That’s not the truth; Abigael knows this is going to hurt her, not Waverly. It always hurts her, never Waverly.)

“All our lives, we’re taught that demons are bad. That demons want to kill us because we’re witches. That it’s our job as witches to kill demons and keep the world safe.”

(Abigael’s jaw twinges in pain from clenching it so hard; she wonders what’s possessing her to stand here and take this. Though she supposes she’s always found a little bit of pleasure in pain.)

(She thinks Mel would likely be a little disappointed in her for standing around and just taking this.)

(She thinks she deserves it anyway; once a demon, always a demon it seems. There’s no escaping that.)

“So we grow up, constantly scared for our lives and burdened with the lives of those around us. To top it off, I get the joy of growing up with the boogeyman sleeping in the next room.”

“Charming little apology you’ve got there, sister. Would you like me to grab a whip too? You can flagellate me while you recall the terror of growing up with the monster Mother locked away in a crate.”

Waverly sighs, pacing a little in front of Abigael before taking a seat on the steps.

“There is a point I’m trying to make here, Abby, albeit rather poorly. Just bear with me a little longer?”

Abigael merely raises a brow at her sister, a silent “I’m listening, continue” in there as stays standing in her spot, rigid.

“So, yes, I’m scared. I have been all my life. Rather difficult to get over it when you live with the constant reminder of what demons are capable of,” Waverly says while covering her burn scars with her other hand. Abigael muses that at least she didn’t throw that back in her face outright this time.

“It doesn’t get any easier either, especially not when you become a mother to a little witch with powers that are coveted by beings from every realm imaginable. You’re not a mother, you can’t possibly understand how much worse my fears have gotten since Lydia’s born.”

Something inside Abigael’s chest, tucked just behind her ribs, shatters; she isn’t a mother.

“But,” Waverly’s voice gets stronger, more earnest as she looks up to try and catch Abigael’s eyes, “I am trying to get over my fear. Because the reality is, it’s absolute bollocks that we were raised like that. That Mother went so far out of her way to rip us apart, to villainize you so thoroughly, punishing you for something that was never your fault.”

Abigael tries to hold on to the spark of hope she feels Waverly’s words try to ignite in her soul, she really does. But her ears are ringing a little, reeling from the slap in the face Waverly’s words about her are. She can barely muster a hum in acknowledgement.

Waverly doesn’t seem to realize the depth of the wound her words have inflicted, at least not the ones about Abigael’s motherhood status. The silence that fills the gap between them seems to stretch out uncomfortably, both women staring at each other before Abigael ultimately decides to break it. She trudges over to the stairs too, sitting a fair distance away from her sister and sighs.

“So what now, Waverly? I’m a demon, even if it is only half; there’s really very little I can do about that despite what everyone I love wishes for. I will always have a foot in that realm, I will always come with the danger that comes with it, and that scares you. What, pray tell, would you have me do?”

Waverly does something Abigael doesn’t see coming; she turns her body to face her and reaches across the gap between them to cover Abigael’s hand with her own.

“Let me try to be your sister.”

Abigael can barely tear her gaze from the touch, looking at Waverly’s face to find some kind of lie or insincerity.

“It’s going to take work; you don’t get over lifelong fears overnight, after all. But I want to put in the work – it’s only fair since you’ve been trying to all this time. I want to meet you halfway, for us to be a family despite Mother’s best efforts.”

Abigael merely hums, eyes back on their joint ones, “I suppose the best way to stick it to Mum would be for us to get along.”

She smiles faintly as Waverly chuckles. But it slips away when her sister’s tone takes on a darker tone, “No, the best way to stick it to that old bat is by sticking a red hot poker between her ribs and ridding us all of that monster.”

“Waverly-”

“Oh, relax. I’m not going to murder her. Though I imagine you of all people would think it justified if I did.”

Abigael finds that she can’t really argue with that, head wobbling in agreement, “I suppose…”

They lapse into silence, staring out into the yard, hands still twined. It doesn’t last long though, Waverly breaking it with an amused smile as she comments, “your girlfriend definitely would approve too, if the way she yelled at me for hurting you is any indication.”

That finally lightens the mood, Abigael chuckling.

“Yes, I imagine she’d take the lead. I wouldn’t advise getting on Melanie Vera’s black list.”

“Duly noted.”

It gets silent, yet again, Abigael beginning to feel awkward; she’s got no idea how they’re supposed to navigate this whole sisterhood thing. She’s about to suggest they head back inside, hearing Lydia’s giggling coming from somewhere in the house behind them when Waverly speaks.

“So. You love her then?”

Abigael jerks back to face Waverly from where she was trying to look into the house in an attempt to find the source of the laughter, eyes wide and alarmed, faintly panicked.

The way Waverly’s looking at her leaves Abigael feeling exposed, vulnerable. Like she’s a raw wound that won’t stop bleeding.

“I didn’t say-”

“You hardly have to say anything – I’ve got eyes, Abby. It’s rather obvious.”

“… It is?”

Waverly laughs, soft and endeared, “yes, it is.”

“Oh.”

“For what it’s worth? You’re not the only one.”

Abigael’s breath hitches in her throat; she’s desperate to believe Waverly, but so deeply scared to do so. What if she’s wrong? What if she says- something and Mel doesn’t say it back? What if she’s, yet again, denied love?

“D’you really think so?”

She feels the squeeze Waverly wraps her hand in all the way in her chest, around her heart and lungs.

“I really do. But there’s no rush, Abby; if you’re not ready-”

“I’m not.”

A beat.

“But I truly want to be. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want to be ready to say it.”

“But?”

“What if she doesn’t say it back?”

“I could lie to you, and reassure you that that will never happen. But the truth is, there’s always that fraction of a possibility.”

“You’re truly awful at these talks, d’you know that?”

“Hey, give me a break. We’re both new to this sisterhood thing. Anyway. I think- that just because you haven’t “said” the words, it doesn’t mean you haven’t said them.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, Abby, you’ve always been one to let your actions speak louder than your words. And from what I’ve seen – albeit little so far – your actions have been playing an entire symphony dedicated to your love for her. And maybe you’ve been too busy with that to notice that she’s been playing one back to you this entire time.”

“Wow. You’re rather cheesy, aren’t you?”

They share a little laugh, and before Abigael realizes it, the space between them has disappeared and Waverly’s laying her head on her shoulder. It’s a bit awkward, Abigael’s motions mechanic as she hesitantly lays her own head on Waverly’s.

The moment doesn’t last very long as they hear the sound of a crash inside, like furniture toppling over, both jerking apart and to their feet. Abigael’s hand lights up with a growing fireball on instinct, ready for a fight when they hear Mel call out from inside, “we’re fine! Everything’s fine, we just pushed over a chair!”

Waverly and Abigael release a shaky breath, Abigael putting out her fire as their hearts slow back to a normal rhythm.

(She realizes that Waverly didn’t flinch at the fire, and Abigael feels that earlier spark of hope try to reestablish itself again in her soul.)

(This time she lets it.)

“Perhaps it’s best we get back in there before my daughter wreaks havoc upon their home.”

“It’s such a lovely breath of fresh air that it isn’t me causing trouble in there for a change; at least she’s cute enough for them to let it slide.”

They share a smile as they head back inside to find Lydia.

They step back into the living room to find Lydia struggling to right a heavy, overturned chair – utterly refusing Mel’s help – Abigael seeks out Mel’s side and comfort. Their eyes meet and she finds Mel’s warm brown ones filled with apprehension and concern. Then she spots them glancing to Waverly as her sister attempts to parent her energetic daughter, and Abigael smiles at the irritation she spots in them, smile widening still when they instantly clear the moment they’re back on her own hazel gaze.

They’ve got quite a ways to go, Abigael knows. But as she presses a soft, hopefully reassuring, kiss to Mel’s temple, all she can feel is gratitude that the first step has been taken.

Chapter Text

They don’t get to spend too long in each other’s company because Waverly gets a call, exuding stress when she’s done with it.

“I have to go; I work in PR and that was my boss calling to tell me we have a client with a last minute event I need to plan.”

Abigael looks up from her spot on the ground behind the coffee table; she and Lydia had just settled in to do some coloring.

The sheer disappointment paints itself on Abigael’s face in bright neon colors, “Oh. Alright then. Perhaps we can do dinner again sometime? Or- something…”

A matching painting crosses Lydia’s face as she looks up with a huge pout. Waverly rolls her eyes a little at her daughter, smiling softly when she makes eye contact with Abby to reassure her, “I was actually thinking you could watch Lydia while I handled this? We’ve only moved here recently, and I don’t exactly know or trust a lot of people except you all…”

The disappointment is wiped clean off Abigael’s face, only to be replaced with utter surprise.

“Are you serious?”

“I am, but only if you’re able to. I imagine your… job… is a busy one, Abby.”

“I’ll make time. I’ll clear the whole day.”

(And yeah, okay, maybe Abigael answers that rather quickly and earnestly, but she recognizes an olive branch when she sees one and she’s not about to squander it.)

“Brilliant,” Waverly offers a small but genuine smile to Mel when she speaks next, “think of it as practice for when your little one comes along.”

(Mel’s eyes narrow at the way that comment was pointed only at her, glancing at Abby and seeing her tense a little before her face relaxes again. Mel makes a mental note to thoroughly kick Waverly’s ass later. She’s not sure why just yet, but she knows she’s gotta.)

Mel doesn’t get the chance to say anything though because Lydia’s up on her feet and cheering, all three women distracted and chuckling at Lydia’s enthusiasm and excitement at the prospect of more time with Abigael. Waverly’s still smiling as she gives Abby some instructions.

“She’s rather energetic as you can see, but tends to listen when you tell her to do something. Just be calm and firm, don’t give in.”

“Please, Waverly, I run an entire kingdom. How hard can a four year old be to wrangle?”

Mel winces; those words are a challenge for the fates if she’s ever heard any.

Waverly seems to agree if her amused smirk is anything to go by, “I wouldn’t get too cocky, Abby.”

Abigael just rolls her eyes and smirks back, and Mel smiles faintly too when she sees Abby’s excitement at the prospect of a challenge.

Waverly’s evidently not done giving instruction, “Now. We’ve had lunch, but if you feel like she’s behaving well enough, you can give her a sweet treat of some sort. Nap time is from 2 to 3 o’clock. She’ll be a real handful if she misses that, trust me.”

Mel pipes up, tone still a little cold towards Waverly but still caring about Lydia to make sure, “any food or medicine allergies? Or anything, really, that we should keep an eye out for?”

(And yeah, okay, maybe she preens a little at the soft and loving smile Abby shoots her way at her attentiveness to her niece.)

“She’s allergic to strawberries, sadly enough. And her powers seem to be growing; it looks like she’s developing telekinesis now too, like we did around her age, so be on the lookout for things flying at your face if she gets too excited about something.”

“Brilliant! I’ve actually got something being delivered today, Sprout can help me assemble it, and we’ll see if we can’t learn some control over these new powers.”

That makes Mel pause, completely distracted from the prospect of babysitting to ask, “Wait, you’ve got something being delivered here? How, we’re literally concealed, nobody can find us…”

“Oh, I gave Joxen the address.”

“You what?”

They all turn back towards the angry tone to see Macy, brows pinched tight in a frown, glare fierce on Abigael…

… Who just raises a brow and smirks faintly, irritating Macy all the more.

“I bought something for Mel that requires assembling, and Lydia’s going to help me put it together. My assistant is picking it up right now to bring over.”

“Your “assistant”? Is that what we call them now?”

“Fine. Bodyguard. Does that make you feel better?”

Needless to say, Macy’s ire doesn’t lessen in the slightest if her growing glare is anything to go by, stepping closer to Abigael as she grits out, “How dare you give our home address to a demo-“

Mel watches Abby’s smirk grow dangerous as she takes a step forward too, her sister and girlfriend practically toe-to-toe and she realizes she ought to intervene before it gets ugly, “Macy, calm down. I know him. He’s one of the good ones. And anyway, Abby asked me first and I said it was okay.”

“Mel, with everything that’s going on-”

“Macy, I trust Abigael and she trusts Joxen. That’s good enough for me.”

The truth, however, is that Mel has just lied to her sister for Abby, and it is upsetting her stomach a little.

Because Mel had no idea that Abby disclosed their whereabouts to a demon, even one she trusts, and Abby certainly didn’t ask first.

So why did she cover for Abby instead of expressing her displeasure and discomfort at this whole thing?

“Besides. With all the wards up, he wouldn’t be able to get in or be a threat anyway,” Mel offers, somewhat weakly. An attempt to make herself feel better rather than soothe anyone else, she knows. She hopes that will get Macy to drop this for now, at least til she gets a moment alone with Abby to have a talk about this whole mess. But all it does is draw Macy’s attention to something else.

“Abigael, how did you get past the wards?”

“You mean the ones I specifically asked you to alter to permit me in, a task you failed to accomplish? Jordy let me in on his way out this morning. Kudos to Bouncy for putting the pep in his walk of shame step, by the way.”

Mel’s hand automatically reaches out to smack her, glaring faintly.

“Why haven’t you altered the wards yet?”

There’s a chill that slips into the air; a hint of cold threat in Abigael’s voice that makes the other three women in the room eye each other nervously. They watch Abigael carefully as she stands there, casual as can be, with her fingers intertwined together behind her back. She’s studying Macy intently, from head to toe, and Mel’s reminded again of that night in the kitchen.

When Abby had eyed Macy like she was dinner.

But Mel admits, that is a good question, curious herself now.

She frowns more when Macy’s expression doesn’t change, her tone still on edge and distrusting of Abigael, “We haven’t found the correct way to do it yet without completely dissolving you into smoke permanently. I figured you’d want us to wait and perfect it before we implemented any changes.”

“How utterly considerate of you.”

Mel’s so far removed from her perfect morning by this point, she’s exhausted. Her head starts to ache as she watches her sister and Abby stare each other down. She then glances at Waverly eyeing Abby too, looking at her in puzzlement and she knows she has to do something about all of this before they have a repeat of Lydia’s birthday night.

“Okay, everyone back in their corners. Macy, everything’s fine; Joxen is harmless but we’ll get Harry to wipe his memory of the address after he gets here, how’s that? And Abby, you’re not gonna do this again, right?”

“Scouts’ honor, darling.”

“Yeah, right. Like you were ever a scout of any kind,” Macy snips back, tone dripping with her disbelief.

Mel just purses her lips when Abby smirks and blows Macy a slow kiss. It makes Mel feel… on edge; Abby seems to be throwing more and more sexual innuendos at Macy lately to get under her skin. It’s unsettling to say the least.

Waverly speaks up, reminding everyone of her presence again, “Right then. Abby, you’re sure you can handle this? Seems like there’s quite a bit going on here already…”

(Mel’s jaw tightens a little; it’s too fast to be spotted by anyone but she does because she’s seen it before. The way Abby’s eyes flash that milky white hue that takes over when Spike’s on the surface. She knows it’s there, knows to look for it, because she saw it that morning at the penthouse – when Abby was busy torturing a demon for information. She can’t help it when she glances down at Lydia, coloring and unaware of any problems it seems, as she takes a subtle step to put herself between Abby and the little girl.)

(Just in case, she tells herself. Hates herself for even entertaining the thought, let alone doing something about it.)

(But deep down, she knows she must; something’s happening to her Abby, and she needs to find a cure. Fast.)

Abigael’s usual relaxed tone is back in full force as she reassures her sister, “Everything’s fine, Waverly, I assure you. Nothing’s going to happen to Lydia, I promise you this. We’re all just being a little extra careful these days on account of Mel’s surprise baby.”

“Mel’s baby,” gives Mel pause and a deep frown, not liking the sound of that at all. Wasn’t it just an hour ago that Abby was pledging her life to their daughter? It reminds her of her urge to kick Waverly’s ass again.

“And this Joxen fellow…?”

“He’s my personal bodyguard, and I trust him with my life. I trust him with Mel’s.”

That, at least, makes Waverly visibly relax. Seems everyone’s in on Mel’s importance to Abby except Mel herself, but boy is she catching up quick.

Mel watches Waverly nod, getting down to Lydia’s level for goodbyes and reminders to be good and, “listen to everything Auntie Abigael and Auntie Mel say,” before straightening to head out. She gives Mel a smile and nod on her way, while Abby’s on the receiving end of a lingering forearm squeeze, done so in silence. Seems they’ve not yet built up to hugs goodbye.

Macy walks Waverly out after a final onceover of Abigael, disappearing afterwards without another word to either Abigael or her sister. It makes Mel nervous about what she might decide to do.

(It makes her more nervous that she might find herself agreeing to it.)

Waverly makes no promises, but she tells Abigael that she’ll try to be done with work and back for Lydia in time for dinner. That perhaps they could all go out for a bite.

Then, before she knows it, Abigael is left staring down at Lydia – who stares right back in an unnerving, unblinking manner – and faced with the daunting prospect of keeping a four year old entertained and busy for the next few hours.

As if Lydia can sense Abigael’s growing nerves, she starts testing the waters rather early, “Auntie Abigael, can I get a snack of some sort while I color?”

Now Abigael is no slouch in the kitchen; she can keep herself well-fed, and she certainly has enough skill to impress a houseguest or two. But a four year old she’s only met once before? That’s a completely different beast.

Understandably, she flounders.

Thankfully, Mel takes pity on her and smiles at Lydia, “I think we can whip something up. Do you like apples and peanut butter?”

The little girl quirks her head in curiosity, “I’ve never had that before.”

Mel’s then reminded that Lydia’s allergic to strawberries, and what if she’s allergic to nuts too or something? Why else would a four year old not have tried apple slices and peanut butter before?

Which then makes Mel flounder as well. She briefly wonders if parenting a baby is easier than this even though babies can’t communicate their needs and wants as clearly as Lydia can. She has to work very hard to keep the panic off her face at the thought of being a floundering parent to a helpless little baby.

Lydia’s watching them both intently, blinking very slowly at them as Mel and Abigael turn their gazes on each other for ideas. It’s Mel that ends up shrugging a little, offering, “You two could try baking? Like, scones or something?”

“What, because we’re English?”

It makes Mel snort, a little inelegantly while rolling her eyes, “No, Abby, because you made lemon-blueberry scones that I didn’t get to try since they hadn’t cooled yet,” and this is the point where Mel adopts an exaggerated chipper tone with a terrible impression of Abby’s accent, “15 minutes or they’ll burn the roof of your mouth.”

Abigael’s face lights up with heat, embarrassed even as she chuckles behind her hands covering her face.

(Her aunt’s embarrassment makes Lydia giggle a little too, which then makes Mel chuckle as well. The mood lightens enough for Mel to momentarily forget she needs to have a conversation with Abby.)

They agree on baking, but Abigael refuses to make scones because, “that’s just stereotypical and I won’t fall into that trap.” Instead, they settle on making a fresh loaf of bread that will go nicely with the pasta Abigael volunteers to make as that night’s dinner.

Abigael hoists Lydia up into her arms playfully, tickling her as she walks them to the kitchen with Mel trailing behind them. Mel’s heart feels ready to burst at the seams from how full it gets watching Abby and Lydia together. She heads to a chair to sit and watch as Abby instructs her to while she herself navigates the Vera manor kitchen with ease, collecting all she’ll need and handing it off to Lydia to take to the island.

(Which she’s too little for, so she opts to walk the items to Mel who in turn puts them on the island for them. Mel’s very impressed with the way the little girl thinks; Mel would’ve tried to get the bowls and flour onto the countertop on her own and probably made a mess of things in the process.)

Abigael catches on to Lydia’s vertical challenge rather quickly, and Mel watches her wave a hand at the empty space, only to see a stool fill the gap. Her eyebrows rise as she eyes Abby again; there was no spell uttered, no potion, nothing. Abby can now conjure things from thin air?

She has to ask, her worry creeping back in again, “how did you do that?”

Abigael looks over from showing Lydia how to measure their ingredients, frowning as she hums in question.

“The stool, Abby, how did you conjure the stool just like that?”

“Oh. I don’t know, actually. I suppose it’s a perk of being Overlord? Extra powers and such.”

Mel purses her lips; how do you not know where you’re getting new powers from? How is that not a cause for concern…? Abigael sounds so casual about it, like she’s merely discussing the weather and not an exponential growth in her powers that seems to have happened overnight. She’s been Overlord for months; what’s triggering this development now?

She watches Abby and Lydia mix their ingredients, watches Abby gently teach Lydia how to manifest and control her developing telekinesis by telling her to imagine it’s her own hand simply lifting the water glass to pour onto the flour, to see her hand around the glass as it lifts into the air. Mel watches the glass rise, shaky and spilling over the rim a little, but it steadies as Abby keeps murmuring soft encouragement to Lydia, and gently guiding her through the process.

(It tickles Mel’s heartstrings, and plays a quaking tune on them; she can so clearly picture Abby being this gentle and quiet with their own daughter, this patient as she teaches her how to master her powers.)

(Mel knows Abby would do anything to not turn out like Francesca.)

(Then the tune playing against her ribcage shudders when a little voice in the back of her mind reminds her to stay vigilant because Abby’s not quite Abby lately, and what if she’s one conjuring away from becoming like Francesca?)

(Mel loathes that she even thinks the thought.)

Her gaze remains on the pair as Abby teaches Lydia how to knead and shape the dough just right before they transfer it into a bowl, Abby explaining that it needs to rise before they can bake it.

“It needs to be covered and kept somewhere warm, Sprout, so it can puff up like a cloud!”

“Auntie Abigael, if the dough’s feeling cold we should wrap it in a blanket. That’s what Mummy does when I’m cold.”

It makes both women chuckle, Abigael kissing Lydia’s head before carrying her to sink to wash her hands, “that’s an excellent idea, Sprout. Why don’t you run along to the living room and find the blanket Auntie Mel leaves out on the sofa, hm?”

Mel waits til Lydia’s set on her feet and running out to the living room before talking to Abby. Their discussion is undoubtedly going to be upsetting.

(She’s not quite sure for who just yet.)

Mel starts off calm, even smiling at Abby while her girlfriend wraps the bowl in cling film, wiping the counter of the excess flour and spilled water afterwards.

“You’re really good with her, Abby. I must admit, I didn’t see this coming…”

When her girlfriend looks up, Mel can see a flash of hurt at the doubt she’s just expressed.

“I just mean I never thought of you as the type that babysat as a teenager to earn money. It’s cute.”

Abigael smirks, dry, “I absolutely did not babysit for money. What use is money when you spend all your childhood inside a crate? Besides, it’s easy being good to a child; all I have to do is imagine what my mother would do in a situation and simply do literally anything else.”

It makes Mel snort, covering her mouth immediately after, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Your childhood trauma and abuse is not funny.”

She watches Abby smile faintly, coming around the island with her hands still a little covered in flour when she brings them to wrap around Mel from behind. Mel sighs softly, relaxing back into Abby when she feels her girlfriend’s lips attach themselves to her skin, nibbling slowly along the column of her throat.

When Abby’s mouth starts getting a little more aggressive, Mel starts to squirm. Somewhat breathless, she covers Abby’s hands around her with her own to gently push her off, “Babe, Lydia will be back any moment…”

“So?”

Abigael doesn’t budge, seemingly immovable to Mel’s persistent hands. It makes Mel’s chest tighten a little in hints of panic. Panic that’s starting to become too familiar in Abby’s presence for Mel’s liking.

“So she’ll see, and despite how well we’re handling this, neither one of us is equipped to answer the questions she’ll have. Please, Abby, stop-”

Mel tries again, pushing harder this time. This time, Abby allows herself to be pushed off with a heavy sigh. It sounds incredibly annoyed to Mel; it makes Mel feel uncomfortable in her seat, wrapping her arm around herself a little as Abby heads back to finish covering the bread dough.

The niggling voice in the back of Mel’s head warns her that perhaps, next time, Abby won’t stop.

Chapter Text

Mel stays quiet for the majority of the time once Lydia’s back with the blanket dragging behind her on the floor. She watches Abby and Lydia bundle up the clear bowl holding the bread dough with the blanket, smiles softly when Lydia settles in to watch the dough rise, keeping one eye on the timer Abby sets for thirty minutes and the other on the bowl as if it’s going to puff up faster if she watches it.

When it becomes clear that the little girl is not going to budge, Abigael chuckles and grabs the bowl, “come on, Sprout, you can watch it in the living room where it’s more comfortable.”

Mel watches them go, not yet following them. She’s stuck in her own head, analyzing every moment she’s spent with Abby the past couple of weeks, mentally cataloguing all the odd little words and gestures she remembers that raised a red flag. She’s so caught in her own head that she doesn’t realize it when she finds herself holding an empty glass as the water runs into the sink.

Abby’s voice sounds behind her, soft and full of concern, “Mel?”

It still startles Mel enough that she fumbles the glass and it shatters in the sink, Mel stumbling a step or two back to avoid any shrapnel.

Abigael rushes into the kitchen to inspect, brows creased in worry as she thoroughly looks Mel over for any injuries.

“Darling, what’s the matter…? You don’t seem like yourself.”

Mel doesn’t immediately answer; she needs a moment to gather her thoughts. Looking into Abby’s eyes, all it does is make her more confused because the only thing she sees in the hazel gaze is… Abby. Her Abby. Not whatever’s been clouding her mind lately and altering her in ways Mel still can’t put a finger on.

Her silence must last too long because Abby breaks the silence again, sounding anxious, “Mel, talk to me, what’s the matter? Is it the baby, or are you hurt?”

Despite how she’s feeling, despite the growing unease she’s developing around Abby, Mel can’t and won’t leave Abby to stew in the turmoil she sees streaking through her eyes, shaking her head.

“No, the baby’s fine, I’m fine. It isn’t anything like that.”

“Well- what then? Is it Lydia? I know she’s rather calm and easygoing, but if you’re tired or not up for this, I’ll take her out to the park or perhaps back to my place and you can rest.”

Mel has an immediate thought that is so vile it sickens her; she thinks – only for a split second but more than long enough for her to hate herself for it – that she doesn’t want to leave Lydia alone with Abby. Especially not in her penthouse.

“No, it’s not that either. She’s wonderful.”

“But there is something.”

Mel can’t stand it; she can’t keep it locked up in her head any longer.

“Why did you give Joxen our address?”

Abigael’s hand, the one that had been rubbing up and down Mel’s bicep, pauses. She scowls, and Mel is briefly distracted by her beauty even when displeased.

“What?”

“I lied to my sister about this for you, Abby. I should’ve been just as mad at you as Macy is. You gave our address to a demon.”

“I gave it to Joxen.”

“Loyal bodyguard or not, he’s still a demon, Abby.”

“So am I, remember?”

She can’t help it; Mel rolls her eyes.

“Of course I remember; you’ve been making it increasingly more difficult to forget with how often you’re reminding us. You know what I mean about Joxen. You know you and him are two different cases.”

“And yet, I still can’t phase-shift into the manor because of the anti-demon wards you’ve set up.”

“That’s not fair; we’re working on fixing that, you know that.”

Whatever comment Abigael has to that, she keeps to herself if the hum she retaliates with is anything to go by.

“What’s really bothering you right now, Mel?”

“It’s “bothering” me that I had to lie to my sister to cover for you doing something you know you shouldn’t have done. After all that talk about needing to separate yourself from us to keep me and our daughter safe from demons, I just don’t understand why you’d literally bring one right to our doorstep like this.”

“Oh, bloody hell. You’re all making such a big deal of this, and for what? Because I wanted to do something nice for you? We’ll just have Harry mind wipe him and be done with it!”

“It worries me that you don’t seem to get why this is such a big deal.”

Mel watches closely, sees the fight uncharacteristically drain out of Abby in moments; her shoulders slump inward, she avoids the eye contact she had maintained til this moment, and she starts to busy herself with cleaning up the broken glass. It reminds Mel of the Abby she met in the Tomb. The idea that she’d caused the emergence of that person, someone only Francesca brought out in Abby, made her stomach clench in knots.

Abigael clears her throat before she speaks, her voice calm and firm despite still not meeting Mel’s eyes, “You’re right; I should have consulted you first, or just gone to pick up the bloody rocking chair myself. But I knew today would be the only day I’d get to see you for a bit again, and I didn’t want to waste a second away from you, running some silly errand when I could have someone else I trusted do it for me. But it’s your home, and I had no right to decide something so vital to your safety and comfort on my own. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Mel’s head is reeling; Abby’s constant mood swings lately are giving her whiplash. She watches her, studies her closely, waits to see some kind of sign that something’s amiss. But there isn’t anything; Abby looks and sounds genuinely remorseful. Which frustrates Mel even more; clearly Abby knew she was making a bad decision and she did it anyway?

(Caught in her own head, Mel fails to see when Abigael cuts her finger on the shard of glass in the sink, fails to see it not elicit any kind of reaction from Abigael, and fails to see the bleeding cut instantly seal right back up as if nothing ever happened.)

(And she most definitely fails to see the glinting silver that flashes for the briefest moment in Abigael’s eyes when it happens.)

Mel’s only brought out of her thoughts when Abby’s standing there with a fresh glass of water held out to her in her hand, her smile small and apologetic.

“I’m gonna go back into the living room to make sure Sprout’s not getting into any trouble. Are we going to be alright?”

Mel makes the conscious effort to loosen her jaw and clear her mind, makes the effort to offer a smile – albeit small – and a nod. It seems to be enough as some of Abby’s tension lifts from her shoulders, her little smile crawling its way to her eyes. With a soft forehead kiss, Abby leaves her standing there to stew in her own thoughts.

They end up back in the kitchen after twenty minutes, Lydia getting too impatient to bake the bread to wait another ten minutes for the dough to rise any more. They’ve made the impromptu decision to decorate the loaf and add things like olives and sundried tomatoes to it when Maggie finds them in kitchen, pep in her step and perky as can be from her afternoon out with Jordan.

She greets Lydia with a happy hug and some playful squealing that makes Abigael wince at the volume when she comments on the house smelling great. She sets Lydia back down so she can carefully help put the baking tin in the oven, musing to Abigael, “y’know, I never thought of you as the baking type, but you’re pretty good at it. Do you just have recipes memorized or something?”

Abigael shrugs when she straightens from her bend at the oven, conjuring Lydia’s stool back so the little girl can plop herself on it to watch the bread bake in the oven.

“Baking’s a science, much like potion making. It comes easily to an experienced witch like myself,” she winks Mel’s way, smile dimming around the edges when Mel barely reciprocates with a half-smile, “besides, I’ve learned that the smell of baked goods wafting through the house yields rather… pleasant… results when you’ve got guests coming over.”

That, Abigael smugly notes, seems to get Mel’s attention if her wide eyes are anything to go by, Abigael chuckling when Mel blurts out, “is that why you always smell like vanilla?”

“My sweet, you are the only one I smell like vanilla for these days. Have been for months now.”

Mel narrows her eyes but Abigael knows it isn’t serious doubt she sees in her eyes, smiling fondly when Mel eventually gives her one decisive nod. Abigael makes sure her niece isn’t sitting too close to the oven to burn herself before coming around to press a soft apologetic kiss to Mel’s cheek.

Then, she smirks Maggie’s way when she hears the youngest Charmed One gag at them playfully, “I’ve got some fool proof recipes I can share with you for your next date with Parkey-Poo.”

The kitchen fills with tense silence, Abigael blinking at the odd looks she’s getting from both Mel and Maggie, the looks the two sisters are exchanging before looking back at her. Then it clicks what she said, frowning as she steps back from Mel, rubbing her forehead and seeming to shake something off.

“Sorry. Jordan. I meant to say Jordan. I don’t know where that came from…”

Abigael busies herself with cleaning up so she can avoid the looks of concern she’s sure are on Mel and Maggie’s faces right now, until she can scrounge up the courage to ask what’s been on her mind for a few days now.

Clearing her throat, Abigael plasters on a smile that’s more nervous than it is the casual she was aiming for, addressing Maggie, “actually, I know where that came from. Ever since Waverly and I have been working on our relationship, I’ve been thinking about him. Thinking about reaching out to try and mend that relationship too. He, Waverly, and Sprout are really the only family I’ve got left…”

Abigael flashes Mel a smile when she feels her girlfriend’s hand cover hers for a squeeze, “that’s a wonderful idea, baby, I’m proud of you for wanting to try.”

Squeezing back, Abigael holds on to Mel’s hand when she looks back to Maggie again, “the only problem is, he doesn’t want to be found. Not by me anyway. I was wondering if, perhaps, you knew where he might be? Or knew of a way to reach him? If he’ll respond to anyone, it’ll be you, Bouncy…”

Abigael purses her lips at the clear signs of discomfort on Maggie’s face, the way her body language stiffens and she starts fidgeting with her fingers. So she’s quick to add on, “I know this must be uncomfortable, on account of how it ended between you two, and the fact that you’ve got Jordy now. I’m sorry for putting you in this position, I just thought I’d at least ask.”

“Thanks, Abby. I appreciate you saying that. And, yeah, it’s a little weird, but I don’t mind helping you with this; I think it’s a great idea, it might bring you both some peace.”

“Are you sure, Maggie? I don’t want to cause any trouble between you and Jordy.”

Maggie chooses to take the lighter route to diffuse some of this serious tension that’s filling their kitchen, especially when the scrape of a stool reminds them of the little presence watching their oven.

“It must be serious if you’re using my actual name and not looking to cause trouble. Are you sure you’re our Abby?”

Abigael, for her part, simply rolls her eyes and chuckles, “yes, alright, very funny, Bouncy.”

“I hope you know, Abs, that I’m not about to do this for free.”

Mel leans across the counter to smack her sister on the arm, admonishing, “Margarita Emilia Vera-”

“No, no. Let her finish, Mel. I like a girl who knows what she wants, and I respect the hustle. What would you want in return then?”

Maggie’s answer is instantaneous, “Free reign of your wardrobe for my next date with Jordan.”

Abigael laughs as Mel looks at her sister like she’s lost all her marbles, or at the very least her manners, “absolutely not, Maggie. Abby, you don’t have to do this at all, she’ll help regardless, right Maggie?”

“But, Mel!”

Mel’s glare is only lessened by Abby’s fingers intertwining with hers, “Melanie, relax. It’s alright, I don’t mind. I think it might be fun, actually, to see Jordy’s brain ooze out of his ears when he sees her in some of my clothes. I actually have this devastating little leather number I think you’d look rather ravishing in…”

Mel shakes her head when Maggie fist pumps like an utter dork, shaking hands with Abby to, “seal the deal.”

“Abby, you know I would’ve helped anyway, right? That’s what you do for family.”

Abigael looks at Maggie, looks very hard for any signs of deceit or insincerity or downright joking. Her cheeks dust a soft pink when she doesn’t see any.

She’s saved from having to say any more when the doorbell rings, Maggie chirping that she’ll, “get it,” as she bounces off to the door.

He’s tall, dark, and handsome, Maggie thinks, if a little labored as he leans against the doorframe, breathing heavily. Quite a large man in build, he’s also got a rather large box, marked with the image of a beautiful walnut rocking chair, propped against himself, and Maggie eyes his crisp suit; he’s too dressed up to be a delivery boy.

She frowns as she watches him sweat; he looks like he might be in pain even as he tries to stand up properly. His grip on their doorframe is white-knuckled and practically cracking the wood, a clear indication of how difficult the gesture is.

“Good evening. You must be one of the Charmed Ones. Maggie, I believe?”

Maggie’s so caught off-guard by his politeness it takes her a moment to realize he addressed her as a Charmed One, even knew which one she is. Nobody’s supposed to know that, or know where they live. She takes a step back, reaching for her baton that she always keeps on her person, ready for a fight.

A fight this person would certainly lose in an instant, and he knows it. He raises a hand in surrender, “Please, I mean you no harm. I’m only here to deliver this for Lady Abigael; is she here?”

Maggie doesn’t know how to handle this bizarre scenario she’s found herself in, snorting, “Lady Abigael?”

“Yes. Can you get her please? My Overlord’s been waiting on this all day, and frankly, I shudder at the thought of keeping her waiting any longer. Plus, your anti-demon wards are literally melting my insides; I’d like to get off this porch as soon as I can.”

Maggie’s eyes widen, yelping as she jumps back, yelling about, “demon! Demon at our door!”

She’s getting ready to fight this poor bastard that’s barely standing on his feet at this point when Abigael struts out towards them, smirking.

“Settle down, Bouncy, it’s Joxen. He’s my personal bodyguard, he’s here to drop off-”

The switch is instantaneous and it makes Maggie’s blood run cold. Even Joxen looks paler, an impressive feat considering his current pained state. The manor entrance suddenly feels so cold around them as Abigael’s voice rings out.

Her tone is low, and there is a dangerous threatening undercurrent lacing every word as she advances on Joxen.

“You brought the wrong package, Joxen. I ordered mahogany. You’ve brought me walnut.”

“Lady Abigael, I’m sorry- I did exactly as you asked, even gave them your order number. This is what I was given-”

That seems to be the wrong thing to say, Maggie winces. She swallows thickly when she hears it; a low growl unlike any noise she’s ever heard Abigael make before. Nothing that would come from a human. Inanely, she thinks she should maybe put herself between Abigael and her shivering subject.

“Oh, I see. Then I must be a fool. Is that it, Joxen? Is that what you’re insinuating?”

“No! I would never, My Overlord!”

Abigael’s toe-to-toe with Joxen now, and Maggie is starting to fear for his life.

(And hers a little bit.)

She yelps when Abigael’s hand shoots out, gripping the already-struggling for breath Joxen by the throat and lifting him clean off the ground as she slams him into the side of the house. The force Abigael applies shakes the whole house, Maggie thinks.

It’s enough to draw the attention of her sisters, both rushing to the entryway from their separate directions. Maggie’s relief is short lived when she glances at Abigael; her eyes a dark red, rivaling the shade of blood, and her voice sounds faintly- distorted. Like it isn’t her own. And while Abigael is known to have a mean streak when she wants to be, even in jest, she’s never outright vicious quite like at this moment.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just toss you into this house and really demonstrate to the Charmed Ones what their anti-demon wards are capable of.”

Maggie’s not sure what exactly is happening anymore. All she knows is that she’ll never mess up her woods and their colors around Abigael. More than that, she’s shocked to note that even Mel calling her name isn’t making Abigael back off Joxen. It takes Mel shouting, “Abigael!” for her eyes to even flicker away from the demon she’s holding by the throat.

(Maggie observes him again; he’s red all over and soaked in sweat, like he’s got the literal sun radiating right beneath his skin. Absently, Maggie muses to herself that at least now they know their demon wards are working. Though she was content to live without knowing what they actually inflicted on demons.)

“Abby, let him go, he’s only done what you asked! He delivered what you bought, now let him go so Harry can wipe his memory. Please!”

The pleading in Mel’s voice must finally get through to Abigael, growling again in that inhuman way before she drops Joxen to the ground. Except she releases him so harshly, it’s more like slamming him into the ground. Maggie winces at the crack the poor demon’s shoulder makes with their porch, knowing that’s likely going to form a nasty bruise.

Glaring down at him, Abigael’s voice sounds like smoke; dark and wispy and so very suffocating, “you’re lucky I’m having a lovely day today; it’s put me in a forgiving mood.

For now.

Leave.”

Maggie watches Abby cautiously, especially when the blood-red doesn’t immediately recede from her eyes even as she steps back into the house. It also makes Maggie wonder, after that utterly demonic display, how can Abby get past their wards and live to tell the tale?

She steps out of the way when the box starts lifting into the air, following Abigael’s strut back into the living room. Maggie feels a cold shiver run down her spine at how normal and sickly-sweet Abigael’s voice sounds as she calls for Lydia to come help her in the living room.

She then turns back to the demon on their porch, struggling to get to his feet from on his knees, arms shaking as he continues to cough. She turns to Mel when she hears her sister shakily call for Harry to come, “help Joxen get off the property, away from the wards. And wipe his memory of our address.”

Maggie watches as Mel takes a deep breath, heading towards the living room to join Abigael and Lydia, and Maggie wonders if she really did see the flicker of fear in Mel’s eyes or if it was just a reflection of her own. A part of Maggie can just feel that the only reason Mel’s even willingly going into the same room as Abigael right now is because she doesn’t trust her with the little girl left in their care. Glancing at Macy helping Harry get who, she assumes, is one of Abby’s most loyal henchmen off their porch after his boss almost killed him, Maggie’s terrified of the idea that whoever it is assembling a rocking chair in their living room right now is most definitely not the Abigael Jameson-Caine they know.

When they get him off the property, and Joxen can finally fill his lungs with air again, they don’t waste any time.

“I think we can all agree that little display was unnecessarily cruel over a wood color mix up; that is not Abigael,” Harry breaks the silence first.

“No, that most certainly is not My Overlord. She has had her fair share of being easily irritated and overreacting, but never like that. I have never had to fear for my life in her presence. Not until today.”

“You and me both, Joxen,” Macy says as she glances back at the house anxiously.

Harry already knows where this is going, and he does not like it one bit, but he has to be the one to ask, “so what now?”

He’s proven right when Macy speaks, “Now Joxen keeps us in the loop about her; where she’s going, where she’s coming, how she’s behaving, who she’s dealing with, everything. And the next time you’re going to the demon club for “business” you let me know.”

This, at least, give Joxen pause. His loyalty to Abigael is unwavering, even in the face of what just happened, and the idea of him spying on her and reporting on her every move to the Charmed Ones doesn’t sit well with him.

(Besides, she almost just killed him for picking up the wrong order. How would she react if she realized he’s betraying her trust like this?)

“Why do you need to know all of that?”

“Because something’s wrong, and I plan to find out what it is so I can fix her before she’s too far gone. So the next time you’re at the club, I plan on being there too.”

Neither Harry nor Joxen think that’s a good idea, and Macy can see that clear on their faces, “look, it will only be an observation mission, and I’ll be heavily disguised. But we need to gather more data before we can make a move.”

Joxen thinks that if they had more time to discuss this, they could hatch a better plan. But the truth is, he’s been watching Abigael slip into cruel tendencies more and more lately, and he fears they may be running out of time to reverse whatever’s causing this fundamental change in personality. So he sighs and nods, Macy raising a brow as she establishes that, “Mel cannot know about any of this.”

With twin heavy, resigned sighs, the two men agree to Macy’s plan. Once Joxen’s exchanged numbers with them, Harry raises his hand to his head and plucks the Charmed Ones’ address out of his mind.

Waverly doesn’t make it back in time for dinner. Still, it’s a pleasant affair – as far as Abigael and Lydia are concerned – with the family gathered around the table to enjoy the simple but delicious pasta Abigael whips up. The loaf of bread they baked is especially well-received and Lydia’s practically bursting at the seams from all the compliments she receives for it.

After dessert’s been had, and Lydia’s been changed into pajamas so she’s ready to head straight to bed when Waverly comes to get her, Abigael and her niece settle onto the couch to read some stories.

There, sitting on her newly assembled rocking chair amidst the mess left behind in the living room, Mel watches them on the couch; they’ve both fallen asleep minutes ago, covered with a blanket that faintly smells of dough. Her heart aches at how tender the scene is, how easily her mind can conjure up similar images of Abigael with their child pressed into her side on the couch for an afternoon nap.

Then her mind pipes up again, icicles forming in her veins as a voice – dark and sinister and too similar to Francesca Jameson’s for her liking – tells Mel that she ought to be careful, that she ought to protect her daughter from Abby. Or whatever it is masquerading as Abby now.

It takes monumental effort, and it feels like it will absolutely shatter her to pieces, but Mel starts mentally preparing to tell her sisters that they need to hold off on altering the wards to allow Abby in at will.

(Her heart cracks in two.)

Chapter Text

Macy wakes up early the next morning.

She’s gone on a run, had breakfast, and spoken to Maggie about her conversation with Joxen the night before all before Mel’s even awake for the day.

“Macy, this is crazy, not to mention dangerous.”

“Exactly, Mags, it’s dangerous. Abigael is dangerous right now. If it even is Abigael anymore.”

“Geez, Mace, who else would it be?!”

“It could be any number of things! Some demon parasite taking over her brain for instance, I mean we never did examine that blue cut she got on their date. Or it could be some demon shapeshifter impersonating her, and Abby’s been locked up in some dungeon this whole time. If anything, we’d be doing her a favor, rescuing her.”

“And if there’s literally nothing going on? What about what this will do to her relationship with us? Worse still, her relationship with Mel?”

Macy throws her hands up in the air in frustration, turning from Maggie back towards her coffee. She’s aggressively stirring some milk into it when Maggie sighs, “Look, I admit, the whole freak out she had over the chair last night was super OOC for her, but-”

They hear stirring from the second floor, sounds of doors opening and closing and signs of life as Mel moves around.

“Macy, do you really think she could be a threat? I mean, we know she’s been dealing with some wicked nightmares and sleep deprivation, plus the stress of being Overlord and the looming responsibility of impending motherhood…”

“Another reason we need to do some tests, Mags. We owe it to our future niece or nephew to bring them into a world that’s safe. Isn’t that the whole reason the baby’s even here?”

“Well, what about the wards? You saw what they did to Joxen last night, and he was only on the front porch. Abby’s been inside the house for weeks, and she hasn’t even broken a sweat. You can’t label her demon and attack her just because she has extreme discipline methods when it comes to her minions.”

Macy and Maggie jump apart when they hear Mel clear her throat from the doorway, joining their conversation like she’s been a part of it all along, “Abby’s half witch, Maggie, remember? That’s probably why the wards don’t affect her.”

(Who knew pregnant women would be so stealthy, Maggie thinks, guiltily watching Mel walk further into the kitchen to get her own breakfast going.)

It’s a tense silence, Macy and Maggie exchanging looks while Mel ignores them completely. She looks troubled, avoiding their eyes as she pokes her cereal with a spoon, not taking a single bite.

Eventually Macy breaks the silence, never one to beat around the bush or hide her feelings when it comes to Abigael Jameson-Caine.

“Mel, we’ve got to talk about her, about- everything that happened yesterday, but especially about last night.”

They’re both braced for a fight, for Mel to sigh and maybe glare that there’s nothing to talk about. That Abby’s fine and they’re overreacting. Ready for Mel to be protective of Abby while she silently stews in her worry for her.

So when Mel finally looks up at them, lips pursed but nodding, they’re at a loss for words.

Mel’s calmer than they’ve seen her in days, “You’re right.”

Macy was ready for any response, any rebuttal at all. She’d spent most of last night preparing her arguments, she’d even made notecards. Mel merely agreeing with her was not even in the top ten scenarios she’d been ready for.

So naturally, she stutters, “R-right. Yes. Okay.”

Then Mel chuckles and her sisters’ eyes bug. She muses that they must think she’s lost her marbles by now.

“You’re right, Macy, we do need to talk because,” here, Mel pauses, shaking her head as she collects her thoughts, “whoever the hell that was yesterday, it sure as shit wasn’t Abby.”

Maggie’s jaw drops, a smidge of panic starting to set in because if even Mel is agreeing that that wasn’t Abigael, then they’re screwed. She swallows thickly before asking, needing Mel to explain like she’s talking to a five year old.

“Wait, hold on. How do you know that?”

Mel purses her lips, sighing, “Abby can’t stand walnut.”

“Yeah, Mel, she kinda made that crystal clear last night.”

“No, Maggie,” and the apprehensive look on Mel’s face clues in her sisters as to what she’s about to say but it doesn’t stop her from explaining through her barely restrained rage, “the crate, the one Francesca used to use for Abby’s special time-out, was made of walnut wood. The monster grew them in their backyard and made the crate from it. The smell makes Abby gag, and the texture gives her phantom aches in her hands from when she used to claw at it to get out. Abby can’t even eat a walnut; it triggers her PTSD so bad.”

Mel swears that if she were to ever get her hands on Francesca, she’d easily wring her neck. By the looks on her sisters’ faces, they might help her.

(Despite whatever issues they’ve had or still have with Abigael, all three can agree that no child deserves that kind of upbringing. Abigael never stood a chance.)

Mel watches her sisters, waits for them to realize why this piece of information is her concrete proof that the person they spent the day with yesterday isn’t her Abby.

It takes a minute but it starts to dawn on Maggie first because she witnessed it, Macy too busy getting Joxen off their property.

“Abby assembled the chair with Lydia.”

Mel’s jaw tightens but she nods.

“Oh, this is bad.”

Macy purses her lips; she can see how much this is hurting Mel. And she’s not always the best at the whole feelings thing, she’d never want to leave her sister in pain if she can help it.

“Well, I mean, there are moments when she is Abby. Right?”

Mel’s head wobbles in an odd mixture of a nod and a head shake, weary.

“I don’t know anymore, Mace. I mean, I think so? There are moments that she’s the woman we’ve known for over a year now, the same snark and charisma, the woman that’s loving and doting when it’s just the two of us. But those moments seem to be dwindling, like whatever’s happening to her is chipping away at her slowly but surely, y’know?”

“Hey, that’s a good thing.”

Maggie looks at Macy like she’s absolutely crazy, while Mel’s brow tightens like she’s about to yell at Macy for the comment.

“No, hear me out. If we can still detect that there’s still some Abby in there, it means it’s not a shapeshifter or something pretending to be Abigael. That narrows it down a little.”

Maggie snorts, humorless, “Yeah, to a shitload of other options. Like some demonic infection, or possession. Real narrow there, Mace.”

“Okay, rein in your snark, Maggie, that’s definitely Abby’s job around here. I’ll admit, I’m not her biggest fan or anything, but I do want to get Abigael back, and sniping at each other isn’t going to accomplish anything.”

“But Maggie’s right, Macy. The possibilities are endless, especially when you factor in all the different types of magic there are from all the different cultures around the world. If anything, I think looking for a shapeshifter might be the easiest option.”

“Guys, we’re not going to lose ourselves in research. We’ve got a perfectly good first hypothesis; Abby’s got some kind of demon disease or infection resulting from the blue cut she sustained on your date. We never examined it properly. Granted, she was being an ass about it and wouldn’t let us, but I think it’s worth looking into again. I know research about it didn’t yield any results, so I propose we conduct some tests instead.”

“And how do you propose we do this? She barely let me dress the wound when she still had it, she’s definitely not going to want to revisit it now that it’s fully healed.”

“I just need some blood or something, Mel, and if anyone can talk her into giving us some it’ll be you.”

Maggie looks a little apprehensive then, “I don’t know about this, guys… Abby’s developed a bit of a short fuse lately, and if she doesn’t like what we have to say, it could get messy, and that’s the best case scenario. If she’s possessed or whatever’s altering her personality doesn’t, like, agree or doesn’t want us to probe into the situation, she might,” here, Maggie looks at Mel briefly and worriedly, “attack us…”

Mel sighs, and she hates herself, but she nods, “Agreed. So… we have to restrain her first. Maybe a containment spell again?”

(Hates herself for the idea because she knows the containment spell, despite being see-through, will only agitate Abby’s claustrophobia, and send her spiraling further into her PTSD that she’s been struggling with since her stint in the Tomb.)

Macy nods but Maggie’s still on the fence, firm when she states that they, “have to be sure before we do anything.”

That, finally, makes Mel’s cool slip a little, and she snaps faintly at her sister, “I know that, Maggie. Believe me, I know. I haven’t slept a wink last night because all I can think about is how worried I am for Lydia, worried about her being alone with this thing masquerading around as Abby.

And after all of this time, all of the effort and the hurt Abby’s endured trying to build relationships, healthy ones, with the only two family members willing to give her a chance, I cannot even begin to explain to you what a truly awful feeling this is; to have to be the one that might need to stand in her way.”

There’s silence in the aftermath of Mel’s words, Maggie looking appropriately chastised; she silently admits to herself that she’s been more focused on what Abby’s anger will do to her, instead of thinking about the fact that Abby’s a victim of something here that is taking away her consciousness and her consent, and changing her into something Abby would never allow herself to become for one reason or another.

The silence in the kitchen is cut when Mel speaks but it doesn’t lessen the tension that’s been growing because Mel sounds almost- scared?

“I can’t sleep because I’m worried about the fact that whatever is causing this change, it’s twisting my Abby into something that has no inhibitions, no restraints. Something that is happy to ignore and dismiss the idea of consent. Something that has no qualms about just taking what it wants.”

The space around them feels like it is covered with crystals, like every surface is suddenly fragile and will break at the slightest movement. The implications of Mel’s quiet admission seem to vibrate against everything so loudly that the frequency is sure to shatter reality itself around them.

Both of Mel’s sisters seem to decide that to hell with reality. Maggie makes her way around the counter to sit at Mel’s side, leaning over to hold her closely, while Macy stands nearby and covers her hand with both of hers, quiet when she asks, “Mel… has she tried to hurt you…?”

Mel’s throat feels so full of- something wet and slimy, stuck to the walls in her throat and vibrating in place. And no matter how hard she tries to swallow, this slimy ball – acidic and putrid and sticky – only bobs in place. It clogs her airway and she thinks she’ll never take another breath again. All she can do is shake her head as Maggie’s arms around her tighten.

They wait her out, only offering their steady support and strength with each hand and shoulder squeeze. Finally, after what feels like the hundredth attempt at swallowing, Mel pushes out her words.

“She hasn’t hurt me, she wouldn’t. You both know that. But… this thing would. And I can see it trying to, and I can see Abby pushing it back when it does. But I can also see her struggling to do so more and more. And if we don’t do something about it soon, save her… I’m afraid.”

Mel’s breath rattles around in her mouth and in her lungs, nothing getting in or out past the slimy ball in her throat. So she lets herself breathe through her sisters as they hold her, lets their safety sustain her instead of oxygen for the time being.

Macy’s voice is low and gentle, but there’s an undercurrent of steel in it, “We’re going to fix this, and save Abby. And there’s no way in hell we’re going to let her hurt you. I promise.”

(Macy doesn’t say it, but Mel knows that the “we” that will keep her safe from Abby includes Abby herself. Knows that if it came down to her own life or Mel’s, no matter what kind of possession or mind-altering disease she’s suffering from, Abby will choose Mel every time.)

Chapter Text

They go their separate ways after that with the agreement that approaching Abigael about this subject is going to be best when done in person, so they’ll wait for her to stop by to see Mel again before Mel brings it up. Granted, there is a risk that it could be a while before Abby comes by again in her efforts to distance herself from the Charmed Ones, and they run the risk of whatever’s changing Abigael getting worse. But they agree that doing it in person is the best option; she’d be less likely to deny Mel if Mel’s pouting at her cutely, right?

Mel tells them she’ll text Abby soon and ask her to come over so they’re not too delayed in figuring this out before she grabs a banana and heads to the solarium to try meditating, already stressed about this whole problem.

So Macy takes the opportunity to drag Maggie out to the backyard and reveal to her a few more things she’s keeping from Mel. Like the fact that she’s staying in contact with Joxen to get updates on Abby, and her plan to infiltrate the demon club so she can observe Abigael. She can’t put her finger on it, but Macy’s got a bad feeling about Abigael in her Overlord habitat, and how she may be actually handling the rumors about Mel’s baby.

To her credit, Maggie at least lets Macy finish laying out her plan without any interruptions before she vehemently refuses to participate in any part of it.

“Macy, we don’t even have the time for me to explain all the ways this is a bad idea!”

“Maggie, Abigael’s proving to be more and more unhinged by the day; we cannot rely on her to protect Mel and the baby for much longer. She still hasn’t told us how the demon world is handling the news, how she’s handling them handling the news, or what she plans to do about any of it.”

“Sure, fine. I’ll give you that, Mace, but going behind Mel’s back like this? This will completely wreck our sisterhood!”

“There won’t be much of a sisterhood left if Abigael slits all of our throats while we sleep in the middle of the night!”

Maggie rolls her eyes in a manner so hard, only a Gen Z person could pull off.

“This personal witch hunt you’re on when it comes to Abby is getting a little out of hand, Mace.”

Macy’s glare could melt steel and Maggie immediately feels bad for what she’s said.

She watches Macy take a deep breath and rein in her anger before slowly exhaling to speak, “I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not her biggest fan, Maggie, but I’ve moved past wanting her hurt or dead. She’s important to Mel, and Mel’s important to me. That’s all I need to know. This is not a “witch hunt,” it’s us keeping them both safe however we can. And contrary to popular belief, I am starting to trust Abigael, so it hurts that everyone keeps thinking I don’t or I’m out to get her for whatever the hell she’s going through right now.”

Maggie raises both hands in surrender, soft, “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I know you’ve been trying, and so does Mel, okay? We’re not blind or oblivious. I think we’re all just a little tense about all of this.”

“Well, we’ve gotta move past tense real quick and put our thinking caps on. We’ve already turned the other cheek long enough, I’m worried we might even be too late.”

Maggie’s voice lowers, quiet in her worry, like a child concerned that the tooth fairy is gonna skip over their house that night, “do you really think she’d hurt Mel?”

Macy softens, reaching out a hand to squeeze Maggie’s, “I don’t think Abby would. But the thing walking around wearing Abby’s face? Yeah. I think it really would.”

Maggie squeezes her hand back, both of them silent for a moment, Macy giving Maggie a chance to collect herself and Maggie trying to figure out the best response. Eventually she sighs out a heavy breath, “Okay. I’ll help you figure out the glamour spell and how to make it last longer. But this has to be a last ditch effort sort of thing. Abby’s dangerous, she could hurt you if she finds out or feels threatened.”

Macy already knows she’s not going to wait for things to get dire before she goes to investigate, pursing her lips against saying anything because she doesn’t want to lie to her sister.

“I mean it, Mace. And we have to tell Mel we’re doing this so it doesn’t destroy our sisterhood. Plus, if it blows up in our faces, and she’s faced with dealing with Abby and the aftermath, she’s not blindsided by it or it’ll ruin their relationship too.”

“Maggie, I tried suggesting this plan after Lydia’s birthday, remember? She was not a fan. We can’t tell her.”

“That was different; she didn’t think there was something wrong with Abby then, but she sees it now. I’m sure she’ll change her mind. We tell her, Macy, or I can’t be a part of this.”

Maggie can see that Macy doesn’t want to include Mel in any of this, at least not yet. Macy’s frustration is written clearly across her face, like a flashing neon sign. But Maggie’s adamant that they do this as the formidable threesome they are.

“Besides, Mace, what if something goes wrong? That club is always crawling with some seriously powerful demons; you’d likely need the Power of Three to get out of there, and we’d all need to be on the same page for that. Any cracks in our sisterhood could mean serious danger for you going in there.”

Macy’s lips purse tightly, still insistent they keep Mel out of the loop. Maggie raises her chin in defiance, standing her ground about including Mel in the plans. They’re locked into a silent staring match for long moments before they both sigh and give in.

(They compromise)

(Maggie, as the queen of glamours, will help Macy get the spell right, and they’ll practice it in secret to make sure it doesn’t glitch on them in the heat of the moment.)

(Macy agrees to tell Mel but only before they’re ready to use it for real to tail Abigael.)

(They both think the other’s approach is a bad idea.)

(But that’s sisterhood for you, right?)

The next few days are riddled with frustration.

Mel’s frustrated because she still hasn’t managed to see Abby in person, and therefore hasn’t been able to ask her for a blood sample.

(Not to mention that she misses her girlfriend terribly. She’s still not entirely convinced that the cure to what ails Abby isn’t just a Xena marathon while they cuddle in bed. Preferably naked.)

Maggie’s frustrated because she’s forced to keep her and Macy’s glamour experiments from Mel and it’s giving her an upset stomach to have to lie.

(Not to mention that Macy keeps taking their experiments out for test runs but refuses to tell Maggie where she’s going. Maggie thinks she might have an idea as to where Macy goes every night, and she’s sure it’s not late night milkshake runs.)

But perhaps the most frustrated of the three of them is Macy.

Because Macy’s spent every night since her and Maggie started tweaking the glamour spell at the demon bar behind her sisters’ back, with only Harry and her earbugs as backup. She thinks Maggie probably guessed where she’s going, and will likely give her an earful about it, but she figures it’s best if she starts showing her face at the bar; establish herself as one of them, blend in and get on the radar slowly rather than just show up one day and ask to speak to the Overlord.

That, in itself, isn’t the frustrating part, though, because she knows if the situation was any different, her sisters would think her plan makes sense. Hell, even Abby would agree that it’s the smart way to handle it.

No, the frustration comes from the lack of said Overlord’s presence.

Because apparently, according to Joxen’s daily updates on Abigael, she’s been behaving… normally. There have been no rage-filled outbursts, no overindulgent punishments or needless demon torture, not even an errant fireball thrown at Joxen’s head for wearing a tie she dislikes. Abigael hasn’t even gone back to the demon club in a few days, it seems. Macy should be pleased; if Abby’s behaving less like a psychopath and more like her simply annoying self again, then they’ve been worrying for nothing, right? That, maybe, whatever infection or illness has been plaguing Abby has run its course and she’s healthy again, wouldn’t that be a possibility?

But Macy’s gut instinct won’t let this go; she knows there’s still more going on here, and they can’t yet afford to let their guard down.

(Not to mention that despite her supposedly behaving like herself again, Abigael’s somehow managed to drop off random gifts for Mel all throughout the day for the past few days. Things ranging from flower bouquets to pastry boxes to even a leather jacket or two that Maggie’s claimed for herself before Mel even got to see them. And while showering someone with gifts isn’t completely outrageous when you’re in a serious relationship, it certainly doesn’t seem like it would be something Abby would do, and definitely not so excessively.)

(Maggie rolls her eyes at Macy’s concerns, shaking her head at her eldest sister because, “now you’re just grasping at straws, Mace.”)

She’s yanked out of her thoughts on how to best tweak a potion they might be able to use to enhance the glamour spell – without needing to involve Mel, the “potion princess,” Macy thinks while gagging a little – when the doorbell rings. She rolls her eyes as she calls out that she’ll get it, heading over to pick up what is likely yet another floral arrangement sent by Abigael for Mel.

She passes Mel in the living room on her way to the door, raising a brow at her as she teases her sister, “We’re running out of space for all these flowers. Tell her to at least send more pastries; those we can all benefit from, sheesh.”

Macy’s swung the door open as she finishes that sentence, fully expecting to find another vase full of flowers sitting alone on their doorstep.

So when she turns to find Abigael Jameson-Caine leaning against her doorframe, wearing a smirk and a ridiculously expensive, charcoal three-piece suit – she’s understandably startled, yelping as she jerks back.

“Might I suggest you switch to decaf, Lab coat Barbie?” Abigael sounds endlessly amused as she teases Macy, and Macy can admit that that’s pretty on-brand for her, normal even. She rolls her eyes as she steps aside and opens the door further, dramatically gesturing for Abigael to head into the living room where Mel’s already calling her name, no doubt hearing Abby’s charming snark from her spot on the couch.

Macy follows as Abby pushes past her, hips swinging even though she’s wearing- Oxford shoes? Since when did Abby dress so… masculine?

She watches from the living room entrance as Mel’s face lights up at the sight of her girlfriend, sees her eyes rake over Abby from head to toe – taking in the outfit with a hint of surprise too – as Abigael reaches her. When Abigael bends down for a soft and lingering kiss, another smiling one pressed to Mel’s cheek, Macy notes Abby’s hand gently cradling Mel’s bump. It admittedly warms her insides to witness the domestic moment.

(When she hears Abby’s intimate murmurs about, “terribly missing you and Sunflower,” against Mel’s lips, her thumb gently brushing back and forth on the baby bump, Macy feels her chest expand more than her ribcage will allow and she decides to step back to give them their privacy.)

Mel’s grateful to not have eyes on them at this moment, even if Macy’s probably just around the corner. She wants to be able to relish in Abby’s presence just a little longer before she has to bring up the uncomfortable topic of a blood sample. She makes space for Abby to settle in beside her, fingers traveling up along Abby’s arm on the way to her chest to absently fiddle with the burgundy pocket square neatly tucked into the breast pocket of Abby’s blazer.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this look on you, Abby, but what gives?”

Abigael merely shrugs, smirking as she brushes a stray lock of hair behind Mel’s ear before leaning in to lightly nibble on her earlobe, muffled against Mel’s skin when she murmurs, “Wanted a change.”

Mel decides that her request for Abby’s blood has waited this long, what’s another few minutes while she lets herself relax courtesy of her girlfriend’s talented mouth?

(And if she whines a little, a pathetic little noise of protest from deep in the back of her throat, when Abby pulls away with a soft smile and all the adoration of sunflowers in her eyes, she can’t be blamed. Abby’s mouth really is that good.)

She leans into Abby’s touch when she feels slender fingers gently carding through her hair, loose about her shoulders and a mess, before tracing her jaw lightly and ending the journey tracing Mel’s bottom lip. When Mel presses a dainty kiss to the thumb she feels gently brushing the seams of her lips, she’s rewarded with Abby’s beaming smile, radiant and warm as it crawls into every little crevice and crack inside Mel’s heart.

“How’ve you been, darling? I’m sorry I couldn’t get away to see you sooner, I know you’ve been wanting to talk about something. Is it the baby? Is she alright?”

The warmth in Mel’s heart expands outward until it’s coating every surface of her body, seeping into all her veins, flooding through her entire body with every pump of her heart as Abby’s brows crinkle in worry and her hand flattens against Mel’s belly. Like if she cradles the baby closer like that, instead of teasing them with her fingertips, nothing bad will ever happen.

“We’re fine, nothing’s wrong. I mean, I’ve been having some insane cravings lately, but nothing life-threatening. Unless Harry gets the wrong brand of ice cream again.”

“You’re sending Harold out to fetch your cravings?”

“I would’ve sent you had you, y’know, been here…”

Mel doesn’t do it on purpose, doesn’t even expect that she feels this way, but she sounds a little – for a lack of a better term – salty even to her own ears. And Abigael easily picks up on it if her pursed lips are anything to go by.

“I’m sorry I’m not around more, Mel, but I’m trying. You know I’d much rather be here waiting on your every whim and fantasy instead of out there dealing with cranky, man-child demons all day…”

Mel sighs, nods, and leans in to press a faint kiss to Abby’s cheek.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just been a little harder lately, and I’ve been really missing you. I feel like I haven’t gotten to see you in ages, and when I do get to see you, others are always around. I grew up with Maggie, and she kinda forced you to learn to share whether you liked it or not, but I’m tired of having to share you with everyone all the time…”

Abigael sighs, heavy and weary and downright exhausted, but she still leans over to press a kiss to Mel’s temple and brush her fingers gently through her hair. She’s about to say something, anything that’ll bridge this gap that’s grown between them lately, when Maggie unceremoniously barges into the living room. She’s not even looking up from her phone to check if perhaps she’s interrupting anything, Abigael notes with deep-rooted annoyance.

“Hey, Mel, I’m making lunch, do you want anythi- oh. Hi, Abby. Didn’t realize you were over…”

Abigael watches her closely, notes the hints of nerves creeping along Maggie’s facial features, creasing the corners of her eyes as she tries very hard to avoid making eye contact with her. Abigael’s eyes rake down along every inch of Maggie’s form, clinical and critical and assessing. It makes Maggie swallow harshly before speaking again to ask Abigael, “Are you staying for lunch? I found this great little authentic Palestinian store a few blocks from Safe Space, and they’ve got the most amazing fattoush you’ll ever taste. None of that whitewashed quinoa crap. Truly, life changing.”

“Thanks, Bouncy, but I think I’ll pass. Perhaps you should pass on your next caffeine fix too; you seem on edge.”

Maggie looks ready to pass out, giggling nervously as Abigael’s watchful eyes continue to assess her.

Mel seems to notice, gently squeezing Abby’s hand that’s still on her belly for her attention, firmly telling her girlfriend to, “Stop teasing my sister. I thought you outgrew that.”

(So, naturally, Abby’s instant response is, “Never.” Mel thinks the only thing missing would be if Abigael were to petulantly stick her tongue out at her too.)

The momentary distraction proves to be just what Maggie needs, collecting her thoughts and inhaling deeply before finally meeting Abigael’s eyes, “I’m actually glad you’re here, Abby; I have that info you wanted. About Parker…”

Abigael’s head whips over from staring at Mel so fast, Mel worries she’ll snap her neck.

Then she notes the intense look Abby’s fixed on Maggie, a brow raised expectantly. Like she’s in full Overlord mode and waiting on her minions for answers. It troubles Mel to her very core to see that look aimed at her sister; she knows that the price of disappointing the Overlord is very costly.

(And Maggie sees it too, if the look she shoots Mel is anything to go by, and Mel can see her doubting her decision to do this for Abby. What would they be getting poor Parker into…?)

“It wasn’t easy; the only way I could think to try was to scry for him-”

Abigael rolls her eyes, a frustrated growl that Mel’s never heard from her before claws its way out of the back of her throat, “I’ve already tried that with no results. I expected the Charmed Ones to do better-”

Abigael’s eye roll is met with a fierce one from Maggie; she may be hesitant and a little scared of Abby, all things considered, but she’s not about to let her get too snarky with her.

“He’s somewhere in Asia, Abby.”

That seems to stun Abigael into momentary silence. But it doesn’t last very long, Abigael standing up and quirking her head at Maggie. Her eyes narrow a little, and there is a fleeting sparkle of silvery grey in them, glinting and dangerous. Mel watches her undo her blazer’s buttons, smoothly slipping it off to drape over the back of the couch, and with every step that Abigael takes closer towards Maggie – who remains firmly in her spot, unwavering – Mel feels electricity grow in the air, feels a chill roll into the room around her feet as Abby slowly but purposefully starts rolling up her sleeves to her elbow.

When Abigael speaks next, her voice is low and slow, and all the sweet-tasting sin that drips from it is gone. Instead, Mel thinks, it sounds raspy in the same way that fantasy movies always try to make dragons sound like. Absurdly enough, in that moment, it reminds Mel of Smaug from The Hobbit movies.

Abigael’s practically toe-to-toe with Maggie by now, voice and words roiling with controlled rage that makes Mel chafe at having Abby so close to her baby sister, “‘Somewhere in Asia.’ That’s the best you could do? What next, I need to find a needle in a haystack perhaps? Honestly, Maggie, when did you become so daft?”

Mel struggles a little to get to her feet, but there is fire in her eyes when she promptly gets between Abby and her sister, eyebrows pinched tightly as she glares up at her girlfriend, “Abby! That’s rude and uncalled for, back off! Maggie’s not one of your lackeys, and you don’t get to talk to her like that; she’s doing you a favor!”

Macy’s stepped back into the room too, body tense and ready for a fight, but not yet intervening because this is Mel’s fight with Abby. And boy is Mel ready for one because nobody talks to her baby sister like that.

Mel’s gearing up to go again when Maggie stops her with a hand on her shoulder, both frowning as they watch Abby’s fingers tremble while she loosens her tie and undoes the top three buttons of her shirt. There’s a faint sheen of sweat growing along Abby’s skin that seems to glow with heat.

Despite the hostility from Abby literally moments ago, Maggie still steps around Mel to get between her and Abby, voice not shaking at all but still laced with worry when she asks, “Abby, are you feeling okay? You’re, like, really flushed…”

The three sisters watch as Abby divests herself of her vest, clearing her scratchy throat, “Yes, I’m just- is it suddenly warm in here or is it just me?”

It seems to go downhill from there, rather quickly.

They watch as Abby’s flushed skin gets redder, and a faint pulsing glow starts running along her veins; as if they’re filled with molten lava and spreading through Abby’s body with every pulse of her heart.

When they look at her face, her eyes are bloodshot and glazed over, Abigael blinking them rapidly in a futile attempt to get things back into focus; Mel’s horrified to see all the microscopic little veins in Abby’s face alight with that same lava running along her arms.

Abigael’s knees give out under her and she lands on her hands and knees as she desperately gasps for air while Mel pushes past Maggie to get to her, her earlier anger forgotten completely.

(Mel thinks the look of panic, the sheer terror she sees in Abby’s eyes will haunt her for a very long time.)

She’s hot- no, scorching, to the touch and Mel has to yank her hand back from where it went to steady Abby by the shoulder. She’s helpless, forced to merely watch as Abby struggles to breathe and attempts to get more shirt buttons undone, desperate for some relief from the heat – heat that seems to be boiling her from the inside.

Her breathing is labored and choppy, gasping out her words in a panic, “Wards… changed the wards…?”

Mel’s head snaps to both her sisters for an answer, knowing they’ve been working on something together late into the night when they think she’s asleep.

Macy finally steps further into the room, shoving a magazine into Maggie’s hand as she picks up another to start fanning Abby in a feeble attempt to cool her off, voice a little panicked at the state Abby’s in, “Ye-yeah, Mags and I found a spell last night that we thought would do the trick- I guess it did need the Power of Three to work properly.”

(Mel doesn’t miss the narrow-eyed glare Maggie shoots at their eldest sister, but she ignores it for now to focus on waving her hands at Abby to help cool her down. She’ll get the truth from her sisters after she’s sure her girlfriend isn’t about to become demon ash on her living room floor.)

Abigael’s practically shirtless by now, stripped down to her very expensive bra, growling out a gasp and a demand to, “fix it-!”

“It’s not that simple, Demon Spawn; there’s a potion we need to brew, and gotta find or write the counter spell-”

Mel shakes her head, “there’s no time for any of that… Abby, can you phase shift out? You need to get away from here immediately.”

They watch as Abby shakily nods, coughing out what little air she’s able to gather in her lungs.

Eyes unfocused, Abigael can barely make out which one of the three blurs around her is Mel, squinting at her, “C-come to… penthouse. Dinner… stay night… please.”

Mel can’t freaking believe it; even on death’s doorstep, Abigael Jameson-Caine finds the time to proposition her. It coaxes a little chuckle, panicked and endeared all at once, from Mel’s lips. She nods but urges, “I will, but you have to get out of here right now. Please, baby, just go…”

With a final ragged breath, Abigael dissolves into smoke and seeps out of the manor’s cracks.

Mel staggers to her feet, hands shaking as she turns on the spot in a blind search for her phone, “I have to call her, or Joxen, make sure she got home safe, that she’s alive… where the hell is my phone?!”

Maggie finds it for her in a blink, pressing it closely into Mel’s hands even as she guides Mel to a seat.

They wait and watch as Mel shoots off her worried text to Joxen, calls him, calls Abby. Nobody breathes for long moments on end – which, Mel muses to herself, is in poor taste considering Abby was literally choking to death before their eyes – until Mel’s phone dings and she swipes along it so hard, Maggie thinks the screen’s gonna crack.

They watch as Mel reads the text and breathes out heavily in relief, faint as it may be, and her shoulders sag down, released from the tension they were locked in.

“It’s Joxen. He just found her, passed out on the couch but breathing normally. He says her temperature seems normal too. She’s gonna be okay…”

The three of them exhale loudly, a moment of silence passing over them before Mel’s asking them why they didn’t get her for the ward-altering spell if it needed all three of them.

She frowns as she watches her sisters exchange a nervous glance, Macy bucking up eventually and speaking, “there was no spell, Mel… we haven’t touched the wards at all. They’re the same ones we’ve always had.”

“No, Macy, that’s not possible. She’s never had that kind of reaction. Hell, she’s never had any kind of reaction. Let alone one so severe.”

Maggie squeezes her shoulder, calming, and Mel resents that her sister is likely using her powers on her right now. Macy takes advantage of the calm spreading through them all to reiterate her point, “Mel, I swear to you, we didn’t change a thing, we didn’t cast any spells,” Macy, for her part, at least looks apologetic, contrite.

“I think up until just now, Abby’s two sides have canceled each other out in a way; her demon side prevented her from getting past the wards unless we let her in, and her witch side allowed her to be within the wards once she’s in the manor.”

Suddenly, Mel feels like she’s the one unable to breathe. She thinks she knows what’s happening, but she’ll be damned if she’s the one to say it. She locks her eyes with Macy, silently pleading for her to say anything else.

“So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying… that whatever’s gotten into Abby? It’s either boosting her demon side in a way that’s overpowering the witch side, or… it’s flat out getting rid of that side of her completely.”

Chapter Text

It’s been ten whole minutes and Mel has yet to pause her pacing.

She muses that her sisters – sat side-by-side on the couch and watching her pace like she’s the world’s most agitated caged tiger – must think she’s lost her marbles.

It certainly feels like it.

But she can’t bring herself to slow or pause or even stop altogether. Because if she does, then her brain will have the time to process the fact that there’s something dangerous going on with Abigael, and if she gives her brain a chance to really think about that, it becomes real.

(The possibility that she could lose Abby becomes real. Whether to herself, or lose Abby because Mel will be forced to do something about it. Neither scenario seems like it would be conducive to a happy life for Mel.)

So Mel’s not about to give herself a chance to think about it, and therefore it can remain this asinine hypothetical where Abby’s just got some demon flu or some shit that’s making her act out. That’s it. And Mel’s going to stay in this illusion as long as she can by giving her brain something else to busy it with, such as demanding that it make her put one foot in front of the other and pace.

(She’s definitely not about to let it think about the fact that she agreed to go over to Abby’s penthouse for a date and possibly more. Agreed to be alone with Abby in this state, without her sisters for back-up. Where she’d then need to broach the topic of Abby’s erratic behavior with Abby herself, and ask for a blood sample to test.)

Nope. No, Siree, she’s definitely absolutely not thinking about any of that as she cradles her baby with both hands.

(A baby that was as calm as can be when Abby arrived and spoke to it in soft tones.)

(A baby that’s been hella active since Abby’s Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde routine twenty minutes ago.)

Unfortunately for Mel, her sisters don’t live inside her brain and therefore don’t understand that she’s keeping it occupied with her pacing. They have a need to ask, to broach the topic she’s trying to avoid thinking about, trying to avoid manifesting – the loss of Abigael.

“You have to go,” is Macy’s input.

“But you can’t spend the night,” Maggie tacks on.

(As if she’s not already aware that those are her only available courses of action.)

“Of course, I’m going. I have to see that she’s alright for myself,” Mel finds herself saying. Even in these dire times, her first and foremost concern isn’t her own safety; it’s Abby’s wellbeing right now.

(Maybe she really shouldn’t be a mother if she’s still struggling to prioritize her child over her relationship…)

She continues when Macy opens her mouth, knowing that her sister wanting her to go to Abby isn’t because she’s concerned about any lasting damage the wards may have dealt Abby; she’s more concerned about getting a blood sample. Mel figures that’s fair; a blood sampling would mean a cure to what’s happening to Abby. Macy’s just thinking about Abby’s wellbeing in the long run.

“And to get her to give me blood. Yes, Macy, I know. And no, Mags, I won’t spend the night. I just- I need a minute.”

They look hesitant, but Maggie and Macy understand that Mel needs a little space right now, needs them to stop hounding her about dealing with Abby. So they get up and give her the room, Maggie mumbling that she’ll bring her a sandwich for lunch before disappearing into the kitchen.

It takes everything in her for Mel to not cry.

It isn’t long after that before a shoe box shoes up on their doorstep, magically dropped off for Maggie to find with her name on it along with a card.

“You are many things, Bouncy, but daft is not one of them. I hope you’ll accept these Chanel boots along with my apology for behaving like an arsehole, much in the same manner as Andi’s friends and that dreadful, incompetent boyfriend of hers. Honestly, the man is a supposed chef and he burnt grilled cheese. Bloody straight people…

- The Overlord Wearing Prada”

(Needless to say, once Maggie puts on the boots and finds them to be a perfect fit, Abby’s forgiven.)

While she’s amused and watching on fondly as Maggie squeals about her new boots and Abby’s snarky card, Mel’s still not fully ready to forgive her for how she spoke to her baby sister, regardless of the fact that she’s worried about Abby’s sanity. She’s putting together a list of things her and Abby need to talk about when she goes over when her phone dings with a message from her girlfriend, as if summoned by the sheer force of Mel’s thoughts.

(Considering how erratically Abby’s powers have been behaving lately, Mel’s not yet ready to deny that that’s exactly what’s happened.)

The text isn’t anything elaborate; Abby’s letting her know that Waverly and Lydia have come over for afternoon tea, and so the sisters can discuss a new development in their plan to retrieve the Blade of Clarity from their mother. Mel’s obviously welcome to join them, Abby notes, rounding out her text with a, “if not then I can’t wait to have you… oops, I suppose I mean see you for dinner tonight xx.”

That makes up Mel’s mind; she heads to her room and grabs the fabric paint kit she had bought on a whim for Lydia along with a few plain white baby onesies. She arranges them neatly into a bag, changes into a simple floral maternity dress Maggie had insisted she buy to brighten up her wardrobe a little, and yells for Harry to take her to the Command Center.

She’s not proud of it, hates how manipulative (see: abusive) it is, but Mel thinks that it might be an easier task to get Abby to cooperate with her blood sample request if she’s in the presence of her sister and niece, under the added pressure to behave in front of them.

She decides that she needs all the time she can get to gather her courage, so Mel portals to the alley she knows borders Abby’s building. It takes her about thirty steps to make it into the lavish lobby of the building. It’s silent, and her steps echo around her, getting louder the closer she gets to the elevator. It takes several attempts before her finger, shaking and cold and weak, even makes contact with the elevator button. When she finally applies enough pressure to press it, watching the button light up as it makes the faintest little ding, it sounds to Mel like a crack of thunder about to bring down this entire lobby on her head.

She feels queasy as she waits for the elevator, and has to lean back against the back of it to brace when she’s finally in it. Her eyes remain glued to the numbers above the door as she shoots her way up the building, far too quickly approaching her destination.

She isn’t sure what to expect; the last two times she’s been to this penthouse have both been rather jarring experiences. She catches herself tensing her hand, ready to use her powers on whatever threat she may face once the elevator doors part to let her out.

What she doesn’t see coming, however, is the sound of giggling and joy.

(She feels joy swell in her chest when she recognizes some of it as Abby’s, and it feels like there’s spot of sun brightening a shadow that’s been crawling over her. It’s so bright and warm she’s sure flowers are blooming along her ribs and in her lungs right then and there. It would explain why her breath catches in her throat at the sound.)

She’s still not in full view, and her arrival has not been announced or noticed, so Mel creeps to the side further out of view of the living to watch.

Her face aches as a smile takes over her face, threatening to cleave it in half.

Among the laughter, Mel hears music. None of Abby’s usual classical pieces, rather – to Mel’s surprise and amusement – Taylor Swift.

She watches as Abigael Jameson-Caine – formidable Demon Overlord and witch extraordinaire – jumps around with a four year old to Shake It Off. Lydia’s giggling madly at Abby’s purposefully (Mel hopes) terrible dancing, while Waverly sits back on the couch to film the whole thing.

When the song ends, both aunt and niece are breathless and absolutely beaming at each other.

“Had enough yet, Sprout?”

“No, Auntie Abigael, more! Please!”

Mel sees Abby shoot her chuckling sister a playfully withering glare as she fights to keep her lips from stretching into a smile.

“How does a four year old even become a Swiftie, Sister?”

“The same way her supposedly too cool for school auntie knows what Taylor Swift fans are called; exposure.”

Mel covers her mouth tightly to muffle the snort; Abby had spent a while at their house, and Maggie was in a Swiftie mood at the time.

None of the adults get to dwell on or question it further because Lydia’s soon jumping at Abby’s waist for her attention, begging again for another song, “Play Wildest Dreams, Auntie Abigael, please!”

“She knows them by name too, eh? Is this even appropriate for a child?”

Despite her protests, when faced with Lydia’s pout, Abigael melts and gives in. Mel muses that Abby’s going to be absolutely wrapped around their daughter’s littles finger from the very first moment she’ll lay eyes on her. Lord help Mel…

Whimsical, Mel thinks to herself, as the song starts. It reverberates around them thanks to Abby’s excellent sound system, and Mel feels the notes caress her.

(It reminds her of nights spent in secret, long ago, laying against Abby’s front in between her legs. The two of them covered in expensive silk sheets, shadows, and not much else. It paints a vivid memory of Abby’s breath tickling the spot behind her ear as she murmured sweet nothings and mischief to Mel moments before her lips would connect with Mel’s heated skin.)

As Taylor’s voice fills the space around them, Mel muses that if she were to flip the pronouns, the song could describe Abby…

She’s so tall, and handsome as hell. She’s so bad but she does it well…

Boy, does she ever, Mel thinks, watching Abby twirl Lydia around in a dance. No matter how bad the inner turmoil in Mel’s chest gets regarding the mess they’re in with Abby, she feels her ribcage expand as her heart grows at the sights and sounds of Abby’s absolute joy. She mentally catalogues the relaxed lines of her face, her smile radiating in her eyes even if she’s pretending to be exasperated. Mel can’t remember the last time she’s seen Abby’s shoulders so relaxed.

She must make her presence known somehow, Mel realizes, when three pairs of English eyes turn on her, Lydia happily squealing her name mid-spin. Mel watches her gracefully – or as gracefully as a four year old haphazardly spinning around can – redirect herself towards her while still dancing along, and she wonders absently if Lydia’s taking dance lessons. She wonders if Abby ever did.

(Knowing what she knows about Francesca and the way she “raised” Abby specifically, she highly doubts that. The idea makes her sad as she watches Abby’s eyes soften, her smile relaxed as she drinks in the sight of Mel; she thinks little four year old Abby would have loved dance classes.)

She’s pulled out of her thoughts by Lydia’s little hand slipping into hers and yanking, watching Lydia’s other hand reach out for Abby’s.

Mel inexplicably blushes when she realizes what her girlfriend’s niece is trying to do. Her cheeks darken a little more when she catches Waverly’s amused smile and Abby’s raised brow, her bottom lip bitten to not smirk too teasingly at Mel.

Abigael bypasses taking Lydia’s hand in favor of extending her hand directly to Mel, as she suspects Lydia wants her to do anyway. Mel’s only moment of hesitation comes from spotting a colored line along the inside of the arm extended to her; a new tattoo. It’s simple and straight to the point; a medium-length rainbow line, neat and looking brand new. A proud, unapologetic sign of who Abby is. She takes the moment to run her finger along it when Abby reaches her before slinging her arm around Abby’s neck, smiling at the kiss hello Abby presses to her cheek while both her hands anchor themselves to Mel’s waist.

Lydia proceeds to dance around them as Abby elaborately moves Mel about the open space made for this dance party, coaxing laughs from Mel at the more elaborate spins Abby twirls her into. Waverly’s cajoled into getting off the couch and participate as well when her daughter demands she get a dancing partner again, and for a moment in time, Abigael feels at peace.

But then the song starts to wind down, and Mel’s internal storm, sated for those moments twirling in Abby’s arms, roars back to life. She hears the lyrics again as Taylor’s voice sounds around them, soft and low and little pleading she thinks, and it makes Mel wonder if songs could be prophetic in a way.

She feels a shiver run along her spine as Abby leans in, close, breath warm and the smile evident in her words as she whispers some of the last remaining lines into Mel’s ear.

Say you’ll see me again, even if it’s just in your wildest dreams…

(Suddenly, Mel’s stomach is in tight knots and it has nothing to do with being pregnant and everything to do with the hot, rough stone of dread that pushes its way into her belly.)

She holds on a little tighter to this moment, to Abby, to her Abby, as the song comes to an end.

Mel must not be very subtle about her growing anxiety because Abby’s fingers tighten momentarily on her waist before loosening. Instead, Abby keeps holding on to Mel, still gently swaying them despite the music ending. She presses a soft ghost of a kiss to Mel’s temple before quietly asking, “Are you alright, my sweet?”

Mel swallows two times to make sure no sobs escape her throat when she tries to answer. She still only offers a nod, fingers tangled in the hair at the back of Abby’s neck and scratching softly. Leaning back to look at Abby’s face, Mel’s eyes roam Abby’s face, hungry and desperate to remember each and every minute detail.

“Yeah… everything’s fine. Just committing this moment to memory…”

“Do I not take you dancing enough, darling?”

Mel smiles faintly, shaking her head softly.

“An error I promise to remedy then.”

And Abby looks so… pleased and untroubled in these moments. Mel detests that she’ll be the one to utterly tarnish this memory for her.

They break apart when Waverly clears her throat at them pointedly, her raised brow teasing, and they’re only spared a verbal teasing because Lydia tugs on Waverly’s hand to tell her she “need to use the loo, Mummy.”

They watch Waverly take Lydia by the hand to lead her towards the bathroom Abigael points them to, Abigael’s smile amused before she looks back at Mel and it drops away, head quirked a little in confusion.

“You’re traveling rather light; no overnight bag?” then her smirk’s back in full force, excited, “not that I’m complaining if your plan is to sleep in your birthday suit. Assuming I let you sleep at all, of course.”

Mel clears her throat as Abby steps away towards her bar, pouring herself a hefty drink – which seem to be getting heavier and harder lately, Mel realizes and internally chastises herself for not seeing it sooner – and a glass of water for Mel. So Mel speaks to Abby’s back, her courage not yet finding her to speak to her face to face.

“I’m not spending the night, Abby, I’m sorry. My sisters need me at home for something.”

Silence surrounds them, stifling, as Abigael’s motions halt. Mel watches her back turn rigid with tension, her shoulders raised to brace for impact. But when she speaks, tone low like earlier in the day when she turned on Maggie, like the Demon Overlord has come out to play and it is more demon than anything else, Mel wonders if she should be the one bracing for impact.

“And what of my needs, Melanie?”

Mel narrows her eyes, bristles a little at the way that sounds. Like she’s only there to scratch an itch for Abby, to satisfy her needs and whims. Like they aren’t partners.

“I am thinking of your needs, Abby. Your need to get better.”

Abby’s scowling when she turns back, and the harsh clank of her whiskey tumbler making contact with the bar top loud in the tense silence growing around them.

“I beg your pardon?”

Mel takes a deep breath; she needs this to go right, she needs Abby to work with her not against her. She needs to keep a level head.

“Abby, you haven’t been acting like yourself lately. For the past few weeks, actually. I’m worried about you, we all are.”

“That’s nonsense, I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, you’re not. That outburst today with Maggie?”

Abigael rolls her eyes and huffs, “I apologized for that, and sent her present. She even sent me a thank you text. I assume I’ve been forgiven.”

Mel purses her lips, “The reaction you had to Joxen picking up the wrong order?”

“He screwed up a simple task. I had to make sure he would never do something like that again. Like when your little puppy shits on the carpet so you push his face into it.”

“Abby, Joxen is not a puppy, and your reaction was not at all warranted! Not to mention out of character for you.”

“I’ve said this once before, Mel, but you don’t understand how things work in the demon world, nor how I conduct myself in it.”

“That’s what’s so worrying, Abby… I don’t know the details, but I know you. You are not careless and cruel, and you don’t punish loyalty like Joxen’s.”

“So he caught me on a bad day! What’s the big deal here, Melanie?”

Mel snaps, worried and Abby’s stubbornness not helping, “The big deal is that you triggered the demon wards around the house and it almost killed you!”

Abigael’s jaw tightens. As do her eyebrows, her lips, and every other line and muscle in her body as she glares at Mel.

“Your sisters changed the wards.”

“No, Abby, they didn’t. That was all you; something about you has changed, something demonic,” Mel takes a breath, re-centers herself again before continuing in a softer tone, “Baby, please. We just want to help. We think you might just be sick with something, maybe something left over from that blue cut you got on our date. All I need is a blood sample to analyze and we can figure this out together.”

Mel watches with bated breath, dread filling her lungs, as Abby eyes her from head to toe in a lazy manner, her smirk dry as it slowly stretches across her lips.

“I see. I’m establishing myself further as the Overlord while also jeopardizing my life for you lot and your precious magical baby, and suddenly I’m too demon for your taste? Something must be wrong with me for this to happen, right? It can’t possibly just be me, in my nature that none of you accept, eh?”

“Abby, you know that’s not true. I know I’ve struggled with your demon side in the past, but I am not trying to change you!”

“No, you’re trying to fix me.”

And Mel knows exactly how this seems to Abby, how bad it reflects on Mel. But- is Abby wrong? She trembles with the knowledge that she doesn’t have an immediate “no” for that question.

Still, she keeps trying, perhaps pushing too hard now, “There’s nothing to fix, Abby, and you can prove that to me with a sample of your blood. Come on, it’s just a vial, what do you have to lose? If anything, you’ll get the chance to rub our noses in it when you’re proven right.”

Mel holds still under Abby’s gaze, both of their eyes connected and unflinching. She watches Abby’s back straighten further, chin raised, calm and collected.

“My blood is powerful, and may lead to chaos in the wrong hands. I cannot and will not part with a single drop.”

“Abby, it’s not the wrong hands; it’s my hands.”

“Maybe so., but how could I ever trust you with something so important when you don’t trust me?”

Mel’s stunned into silence at that, her eyes coating with a film of tears against her will. She didn’t think she’d ever hear such words from Abby, and certainly didn’t think they’d hit her so hard right in the chest. Abigael doesn’t seem to notice, or even care, as she gives Mel her back to fiddle with her drink again.

The ensuing silence is only broken by Waverly, and Mel numbly looks over at the sound, wonders how long she’s been there and how much she’s heard.

“Mel… would you like a ride home?”

She’s slow to process the question, her gaze drawn back to Abby’s back, “I- Abby…”

“I have no interest in further talking right now, Melanie. Take the offered ride.”

Against her better judgement, Mel takes a step closer to Abby, intent on reaching out a hand to her too.

(Neither one of them notices Waverly’s eyes watching Abby like a hawk, taking a step closer too as Mel does. Protective, but over who exactly…?)

Mel tries again, voice soft and intimate when she utters Abby’s name again. But any further efforts die in their tracks as Abigael’s fingers tighten around her glass so hard it shatters in her palm, voice a harsh guttural growl, “I said leave.”

Mel almost stumbles in her step back from Abby, Waverly there in moments to steady her. With a flick of the wrist, Waverly’s gathered her things as well as the bag Mel had brought with her. And not a moment too soon as Lydia bounces back into the room from washing her hands in the bathroom, oblivious as can be to the coils of tension pulled taut all across the room. Upon Waverly’s soft prompting, Lydia chirps a goodbye to her aunt with a quick hug of Abigael’s side, chasing after her mother and Auntie Mel.

Lydia falls asleep in the car within moments; Waverly quietly fills the silence between them with the knowledge that her daughter gets car sick and it often leads to her just falling asleep on drives.

“A blessing when she was a baby and wouldn’t stop crying; all I needed to do was put her in a car and take her around the block.”

They lapse back into heavy silence, Mel staring straight ahead as she continues to process what’s happened so far.

It has been an impossibly long day.

Waverly doesn’t say anything more until she’s putting the car into park in front of the Vera Manor. Before Mel can say anything, thank her for safely getting her out of there or step out of the car, Waverly takes her hand in hers.

“She’s not been herself, has she?”

Mel meets her gaze, swallowing thickly at the concern she sees in Waverly’s eyes. For Abby, yes, but also for Mel herself. It occurs to Mel that she hasn’t been very kind to Waverly in the past few times they’ve met, but she’s so grateful at this moment to see none of that aimed back at her. Karma’s a bitch, and she would have earned it had Waverly chosen to give her a taste of her own medicine, but it seems Waverly’s rising above that.

She swallows again and only nods, avoiding Waverly’s gaze. Would she think that Mel’s failed her sister? Failed to keep her safe, failed to see something wasn’t right til it’s possibly too late?

Waverly nods softly too despite Mel not seeing it.

Then she heads inside with Mel, determined to help them save her sister.

They meet in the living room, Macy and Maggie anxious about how it went. Seeing Waverly carrying a sleeping Lydia into their home behind a defeated looking Mel tells them everything they need to know.

Once Lydia’s settled in Maggie’s room to sleep, they tell Waverly everything. Understandably, she’s deeply concerned too. She explains that certain things are starting to make a little more sense to her now too, such as Abby’s bodyguard secretly checking in them randomly every other day, and not so randomly on the days Abby’d be in touch with Waverly.

At that point, Mel’s heard enough. She’s tired and weary and refuses to listen to any more stories about how Abby’s possibly a danger not only to herself but to her family, like Lydia. Not after everything she’s been through to even have this family. She excuses herself back to her room and crawls into her bed.

(It still kinda smells like Abby.)

(She curls away from it.)

She refuses to leave her room for the rest of the night.

Macy, Maggie, and Waverly watch Mel trudge away.

Maggie’s lips purse tightly as she side-eyes Macy’s jaw setting in determination.

Waverly watches the two of them critically, waiting. She can see there’s more they’re not saying, possibly waiting for Mel to be completely out of earshot first.

It’s Maggie that speaks up first when the sound of Mel’s bedroom door shutting reaches them. Waverly notes how shaky and nervous it sounds.

“So. I’m guessing it’s time for Plan B, Mace?”

Waverly watches Macy hum, eyes still on the staircase Mel disappeared up on before finally looking back to them with a confident nod. Waverly hopes this means they’ll clue her in as to what this mysterious alternate plan is.

She’s proven correct when Macy eyes her before asking, “Waverly, how do you feel about earbugs?”

Chapter Text

For some inane reason, Macy had thought it would be easier than this. Certainly, it should have happened much sooner, right?

But really, when does anything come about easily in the Charmed Ones’ lives?

They make the assumption that with Abigael being so upset – possibly pissed – that she’d definitely head to the demon club that night, at least to unwind.

She doesn’t.

Alright, so the following night.

She still doesn’t.

Joxen continues to feed them information about Abby’s comings and goings. Except- she doesn’t go anywhere…

According to Joxen, Abby just stays in her penthouse. She goes over budget reports, dabbling in the stock market, and binge watching Xena.

(She’s already on the second season and nearly done with it. Joxen estimates that season three will start within the next four hours.)

By the fourth day of Macy heading into the demon bar, “just in case Abby changes her mind tonight,” only to end the night with zero results again¸ Waverly detests the horrid earbugs so much she thinks she’ll never use regular earphones again either.

(At no point do they tell Mel about what they’ve been up to, Macy arguing that it will only upset her more and, really, they need to keep her calm and stress-free for the baby’s sake. It gives Maggie some of the worst stomachaches in her life, and Waverly doesn’t feel comfortable enough to disagree or get in the middle of these sisterly arguments just yet. Especially not after witnessing firsthand Mel and Abby’s last interaction.)

So the three witches decide to take a break and wait til Joxen gives them the go ahead to head to the bar.

Maggie’s thrilled about catching a break, immediately calling Jordan up and planning a night out. Macy hears something about karaoke night and shudders.

Waverly decides that perhaps she ought to spend some time with Mel. Both as a fellow witch concerned with her wellbeing – especially considering what’s happening with Abby – and as Mel’s girlfriend’s sister. She figures the sisters have been kind to her, made the effort to make her feel welcomed despite how some of them feel about Abby, and aided in the mending of their sisterly relationship. Plus, they’ve been more than kind and accepting of her daughter, so Waverly’s eager to put in more effort to get to know them too, outside of their shared connection with Abby. So she sets Lydia up with a playdate and heads to Vera Manor, armed with witchy herbal remedies no pregnant witch should be without, and a bundle of hand painted onesies Lydia’s crafted for Mel’s coming baby.

Macy, for her part, wants to be stubborn and keep trying but Harry – combined with Maggie’s nagging – convinces her to take a night off and go out. He reminds her that they haven’t been out on a date in a while, raises both his brows in a pleading puppy sort of way and she caves with a huff and a smile. Truth is, she’s been so focused on the Abby problem that she’ll admit she’s neglected Harry a bit. And he’s a darling enough to not hold it against her, but she still feels bad for being so distant.

She dresses to the nines, hair and makeup flawless and wearing a simple but gorgeous royal blue dress. She’s in the process of fitting her earring in when she spots the vial of potion they’ve been using for their enhanced glamour spell.

Logically, she knows she’s not going to the demon bar tonight; she’s going on a date with her boyfriend, probably to some fancy French bistro he’s newly found for an evening he’s likely spent hours planning.

Logically, she knows this. Just like she knows that stomachs, or really any internal organ, are not sentient and do not possess human qualities like feelings. She knows that, logically, her “gut” can’t be an accurate or reliable way for her to use in decision-making.

And yet, she can’t bring herself to ignore the tingling, reckless feeling in the pit of her stomach that’s urging her to bring the glamour potion along anyway.

Just in case.

In hindsight, she regrets ignoring the logical part of her that told her to bring the earbugs too.

Macy’s “just in case” moment comes around as their dessert is being set on fire tableside.

(A delicious and utterly decadent saffron crème brûlée that Harry insists is the sole reason he fought tooth and nail for a reservation at this restaurant for that evening.)

A dessert he’s forced to order to-go because that’s the exact moment Joxen sends a text message; Abigael’s going to the club.

He tries to protest, tries to insist they call Maggie and Waverly for back-up. Harry even prods Macy to tell Mel already. All he gets for his troubles is a loving but firm refusal, and Macy’s devastating confidence, “There isn’t any time to wait for them; who knows how long she’ll stay there. Besides, I trust you, Harry, wholly and wholeheartedly. You’re all the back-up I need. It’s going to be just fine.”

Famous last words, Harry grimly thinks to himself.

‘It’s loud,’ is Macy’s immediate thought as she steps through the door. It’s always her first thought, no matter how many times she’s been here by now. She inhales deeply to focus herself as the wall of sound crashes over her.

She does what she’s done every time she’s come here; she gives the punk rock band a cursory glance on her way to the bar. She’s been here enough times now that the bartender slides over her chosen drink when she arrives, having spotted her walking towards them moments ago. Macy settles in at the counter and looks around as casually as she can, sipping her drink slowly and nodding along to the tune blasting from the speakers. She’s even met some of the bar’s regular demon patrons, gotten comfortable enough to strike up a strictly small-talk type of conversation with them.

It’s in the middle of one such conversation when she feels eyes along her back. The hair at the base of her neck tingles, and Macy feels herself tense up.

Like she’s being hunted.

The bartender gets her attention and nods her towards where she knows the Overlord would be sitting if they were present in the bar. Macy’s almost too afraid to look.

(Afraid of what she’ll find looking back.)

Macy’s not really sure what she expected to see. A lot of intimidating, somewhat pointy accessories maybe. Something revealing, in leather perhaps. Definitely scotch.

She sees the earrings, notes the chokers. There’re leather pants, and a corset top that’s more lingerie than anything else. And most definitely there is scotch.

There’s also a small crowd surrounding Abby. And she seems to glow in their attention. It makes Macy’s stomach churn to watch a man and a woman on either side of Abby, practically draped over her. Macy watches the strangers vie for Abby’s attention as they trail fingers along her bare skin, lean in to whisper into her ears. Sometimes, they get bold enough to press their lips to her jaw or cheek. All they get for their trouble is a bored expression on Abby’s face and her fingers absently scratching in the man’s hair while she looks around the bar. While there is anger in Macy’s stomach, roiling, that makes it worse; not only is Abby behaving like a jackass lately, but now she’s one step away from cheating on Mel? And she looks like she’s bored, like it’s whatever and not the biggest stupid thing she’s ever done?

She thinks on how she’s going to approach Abby, has to actively stop herself from just stomping over to yank off the demons lapping at Abby’s heels for attention. But that problem proves to be not much of a problem at all; it seems Abigael spotted her, has been watching her, from the moment Macy stepped into the bar. Macy can tell from the relaxed way Abby’s watching her, appraising her from head to toe, that she’s had time to fully take her in and wonder about her, maybe even make some assumptions; it definitely seems like Abby hasn’t deemed her a threat.

(Which, rude. Macy so totally is a threat, thank you very much.)

Their eyes remain locked even as Abby tilts her head to speak to someone and, for the first time that night, Macy spots Joxen. He leans in to hear Abby over the din, and Macy watches Abby gesture in her direction. She can’t be sure, but Macy thinks she sees Abby mouth, “I want her,” as she point Macy out. To his credit, Joxen doesn’t let on that he recognizes her, doesn’t show anything on his face at all as he nods to Abby’s command and approaches Macy.

(Macy hopes she plays it half as cool as he is.)

He stands before her, at his full height, and Macy’s suddenly acutely aware that she is, in fact, a witch in a den of demons.

Joxen’s voice is gruff, with a hint of a growl, “The Overlord is requesting your company.”

(The way Joxen speaks, Macy gets the distinct feeling it isn’t much of a “request” at all.)

She looks back at Abby, and swallows; Abby’s gaze is, for a lack of a better term, intense on her. And, Macy realizes, hunger; Abby’s eyes are not at all shy as they trail along Macy’s body, and she suddenly deeply regrets choosing these tight pants and low cut crop top as her demon disguise.

When Macy meets Abby’s eyes again, Abby’s brow is quirked and she’s smirking; it makes Macy feel unsettlingly seen. Like maybe Abigael can see right through her glamour and is simply toying with her.

She hears an impatient growl coming from the back of Joxen’s throat and it reminds her of the fact that she’s presented with the perfect opportunity to observe Abby up close and personal. So she adopts an air of cool and pushes past Joxen.

And if Abby wants a show – which, Macy thinks, she likely expects, expects demons to fawn over her – then Macy will give her a damn good one. She paints on a charming smile, sways and swings her hips a little more, and makes sure her boobs look great.

(And she hits the mark on all three fronts if Abby’s wandering gaze is anything to go by.)

Abby’s eyes don’t leave her as she walks closer, almost like a challenge; who will look away first. She also doesn’t stop her ministrations in the male demon’s hair, nor does she dismiss her companions, even when Macy stands mere feet away and stares down at them. Another silent challenge, perhaps, to see if Macy will simply fit herself in somewhere between them, or if she’ll attempt to claim Abby all to herself.

(Faintly, Macy wonders if she’s supposed to bow or something to Abby. The idea makes her squeamish.)

She settles, instead, for a polite and neutral head tilt, almost a nod.

“You summoned?”

Abby’s smirk intensifies, shooing away her grumbling… playthings as she’d likely call them.

(Macy hopes they don’t have laser eyes as powers; the dirty glares they level her with for interrupting could burn her to ash.)

“My, my. You’re rather haughty for someone that’s been looking for me, aren’t you?”

Abby pats the seat right beside her, brow raised invitingly. When Macy scoots onto the seat, she leaves a bit of space between them that Abby pats, silently demanding the gap be closed. Reluctantly, Macy complies.

Macy will be the first to admit it, she’s not the most social person out there. Her sisters definitely inherited all the extrovert genes from their mother. But she also thinks she does well enough when she needs to start or carry on a conversation; she just needs to view this as a work function where she needs to impress the boss to score the funding.

(It occurs to her that had things played out in a way where they defeated Alistor and the Source, and still remained in Hilltowne, Abby would be her boss as head of Alistor’s companies. The concept of answering to Abigael Jameson-Caine seems so very strange.)

Except- for the life of her, she can’t figure out what to say in this moment.

(How had they spent weeks planning this exact moment, down to her outfit, but had failed to prepare an opening topic of conversation?)

Abigael’s looking at her, expectant. It seems to Macy like Abby’s going out of her way to make her as uncomfortable as possible – quite the feat considering Abby’s personality and her track record in dealing with Macy in particular. It makes something niggle in the back of Macy’s head, a little warning alarm telling her to be ready.

Macy makes the choice to hit the snooze button on it.

Abigael leans back in her seat, laying her arm on the back of the seat behind Macy’s head. Her eyes roam Macy’s form again while she waits, seemingly not in any kind of rush to get Macy to talk. No rush to extract any information from Macy, she thinks, like she already knows everything she needs to know about this stranger that’s been actively seeking her out lately.

The alarm rings again in her head, a hint louder.

(Snoozed again.)

Macy feels herself growing warm under this odd, relaxed form of scrutiny. So she blurts out, “I’m new in town.”

It makes Abigael smirk before chuckling. It sounds low and dark, like a decadent bite of dark chocolate. It surprises Macy how attractive she finds it.

(And, okay wow, where did that come from? Macy’s obviously a complete ally of the LGBTQ+ community but she’s also very much straight and very much in love with her boyfriend. It makes her scientific mind wonder; does Abby have some kind of pheromone-based power or ability that helps her be so irresistible to others? Macy admits, because y’know she has eyes, that Abigael is very attractive and can be extremely charming when she wants to be. But looking around, seeing all the jealous eyes on them, the longing and hungry looks thrown at Abby, she wonders if there’s a supernatural aspect involved here too.)

(Or maybe she’s just not as straight as she always thought she was. Damn these Caine half demons, are they really the Vera women’s type?)

She’s pulled back to this ordeal she’s put herself in by Abby’s sinfully honeyed voice, “I gathered as much. You didn’t even give the Overlord a curtsey or used my proper title,” Abby’s head lolls back on her neck towards Joxen, her voice teasing, “these young new demons… have they stopped teaching them manners and proper etiquette?”

“Certainly seems so, My Lady,” Joxen smirks back at Abby indulgently.

Macy notes Abby’s use of the word ‘young,’ mentally frowning; she’s older than Abby is, most demons in this room seem to be. What an odd way to phrase it… is Abby older than they originally thought?

When Abigael’s head rolls back towards her, that damned brow raised again, Macy clearly reads the expectation on her face. She offers a tight smile that she hopes comes off as apologetic, tilts her chin down a little and offers, “My apologies, Overlord. As I said, I’m new in town and have yet to familiarize myself with the demon customs of these parts. It won’t happen again.”

(Macy’s mouth feels like it’s full of chalk to even say these words, to lower herself to this pleading state for Abby. They might have started to get along before this whole mess started, and she might have even agreed to play this kind of role if there had been a plan that required it under different circumstance, though she’d definitely be irked the whole time, but to do this for this, almost evil version of Abby? It makes her blood itch in her veins.)

The way Abby smirks, like she’s won a challenge Macy wasn’t even aware they were competing in makes Macy’s skin crawl. That feeling of being seen comes back to ring the alarm in Macy’s head.

Abigael hums, “Not quite the way I expect to be addressed but I’ll allow it. For now.”

Macy knows what Abby wants, has seen and heard Joxen address Abby numerous times. But like hell she’s gonna refer to Abby as ‘my Overlord’ or ‘my lady’ or any such nonsense.

“You’re generously forgiving.”

“Oh, I’m certainly generous, but I wouldn’t say I am forgiving.”

Macy’s body stiffens completely, rigid, when she feels Abby’s fingers intimately trailing along her thigh and up her body. Then the fingers are gone and Macy contemplates relaxing again, almost does so even, when Abby shifts to sit angled inwards towards Macy. She leans in closer, fingers suddenly tracing the exposed skin of Macy’s collarbone, trailing slowly downwards towards her cleavage. Macy struggles to keep her breathing in check, prays that Abby can’t feel her hammering heartbeat beneath her fingers. That would definitely send the wrong message.

Just as Abby’s fingers drag painfully slowly along the swell of a breast, she leans in to whisper in Macy’s ear.

“For instance, I’m generous enough to let you get this close, let this charade last this long. But I’m not about to forgive my girlfriend’s sister spying on me…”

The alarm in Macy’s head, the one she’s snoozed no less than three times by now, becomes a raging siren. The kind used to warn towns about incoming natural disasters.

Macy barely has time to widen her eyes and sputter before Abigael’s hand shoots up from her chest to clench at her neck, squeezing every last drop of air out of Macy’s throat.

The last thing Macy hears before her vision darkens is a sinister laugh, gleeful.

Mel will admit, it’s a little weird to be spending an evening alone with Waverly without the blond being there for Abby, and certainly without her daughter as a buffer. Still, she understands why Waverly’s here; they’re both important people to Abby, and they should get to know each other, be civil. After all, isn’t that the same thing she wants between Abby and her own sisters?

Plus, it’s been really helpful to have a witch with knowledge on magical pregnancies through this whole thing. Mel loves her sisters, dearly so, but they’re almost more clueless than she is about being pregnant.

Waverly’s just finished explaining exactly how to best soothe a colicky magical baby that might turn mommy into a popsicle if they get upset enough when a dark and angry cloud of smoke materializes before them.

Abigael.

Phase-shifting into the living room with a passenger.

Mel and Waverly jump to their feet with Waverly moving a little in front of Mel, jaws working soundlessly as Abby holds her travel partner by the throat. Her expression is cold and stony, uncaring as the figure claws at the fingers clenching their throat. Mel has no clue what’s going on but she watches with horror as an apparent glamour spell fades and the poor soul struggling for breath in Abby’s clutch morphs back into her own big sister.

Abigael shifts Macy into herself, standing behind her as if she’s using Macy as a shield. Abby’s voice is low and relaxed though nobody’s delusional enough to miss the venom dripping from it.

“I believe this belongs to you,” she intones slowly and deliberately, not once loosening her hold. With a final slow kiss to Macy’s ear, she flicks her wrist and drops Macy at Mel and Waverly’s feet.

Abigael’s gaze finds Mel, silently watching Mel rush to help Macy. She watches them in a detached way as Macy coughs and Mel fusses over the forming bruises on her throat. When Mel looks over at Abby, her eyes are disbelieving and full of anguish.

The emptiness in Abby’s hazel eyes, the complete lack of remorse finally sears it into Mel’s mind that her Abby is gone. Replaced by some monster she’s going to have to stop.

Mel’s full of words, too many to count, and as a result nothing comes out at all as she watches Abby.

Abby, in turn, drawls out, “is this what we’ve come to, Melanie? I refuse you my blood, so you send your sister out to, what, spy on me? Forcibly take it from me?”

Mel thinks that whatever monster is residing inside Abby sure knows how to act like it cares or has feelings, thinks she hears genuine hurt in that statement.

It continues speaking, tone matter-of-fact even as it threatens them, “if you try to come after me again, you’ll get blood. But it certainly won’t be mine.”

Those empty eyes shift to Waverly then and Mel shivers, wonders if this monster has developed ice-based powers too as a chill sweeps over them all, “As for you… I’d choose my side very carefully if I were you, Sister.”

Abigael’s face turns back towards Mel, the empty eyes locking onto hers again as the dark and angry grey smoke envelops Abby.

With a final blink, the space Mel was staring at is barren.

Joxen hates being in this space; it’s dark and dank and definitely smells like mold and rotting flesh.

But Lady Abigael seems to be spending more and more time in this underworld cave, and he hasn’t got a choice except to follow where she leads.

Tonight, he finds himself deeply troubled and distracted; he’s praying that Lady Abigael didn’t cross the line he’s been dreading for weeks now. Prays that Macy is alive and not dead in a ditch somewhere. He’s desperate to get a moment to himself so that he may text Ms. Mel and ask.

It’s this distracted state that makes him miss the new turn they take into this cave system. Makes him miss the murmurs in the dark corners of the space that seem to be seeping and slinking out of the shadows towards Lady Abigael.

When he tunes back into the moment, Joxen hears the voice – eerily familiar – inform Lady Abigael that they’ve, “found him in Tokyo.”

With building dread, Joxen realizes who they’re talking about – Parker.

“And I assume he’s being fetched as we speak, yes?”

As the slithering voice confirms that, yes, someone is “fetching” him, Joxen’s desperation to get out of here for a call grows; he needs to warn Parker, or the Charmed Ones. He knows in his very bones that if Lady Abigael gets her hands on her brother, bad things will happen.

So he tries to excuse himself, his own safety be damned. He waits patiently as his Lady Abigael hums, back to him as she contemplates his request to be excused.

“And why, pray tell, do you need to step outside, Joxen? I imagine we’ve got terrible cell reception down here; no plausible way for you to report back to the Charmed Ones about our plans or whereabouts.”

Joxen’s body tightens, looking around him for a way out when he feels two powerful hands on his shoulders.

Lady Abigael doesn’t even turn back towards him when she gives her command, “Take him. Remind him what we do to those with wavering loyalties.”

Finally, she turns. The swirling, glimmering silver of her eyes is the last thing Joxen sees before he’s whisked away into the darkness.

Chapter Text

It’s silent in the aftermath of the departing storm, deafeningly so.

(Not really; the living room is filled with the sound of Macy coughing, the noises Waverly makes as she rushes to help Macy get off the floor and check her over for further injury.)

But none of it registers for Mel.

She feels trapped in a vacuum where it’s so quiet the only sound wheedling its way into her ears is the sound of her heart, shattering.

She can’t un-see the emptiness in the hazel eyes she adores.

It makes the roaring in her ears spread to fill her whole head, spread in her veins with every hammering beat of her broken heart until it replaces her blood and stitches itself into every organ in her body.

She sits, kneeled beside Macy – dimly aware of a dull ache developing in her knees – as the reality of their situation carves out a space for itself in her mind. The reality of what she must do.

Mel is going to have to vanquish Abby.

Harry orbs home in a panic when Macy calls for him, voice coarse from the abuse her throat has suffered. Waverly’s helped Macy to the couch in the meantime, and Mel distantly notes her pursed lips and utter disapproval. But Waverly stays silent as she watches Harry fuss over his girlfriend and heal her throat, like she’s waiting for her to be okay before she says something.

Mel thought Waverly might be upset with Macy for this stunt she’s pulled with Abby until she realizes that… Waverly doesn’t look surprised.

Waverly knew this would happen, or perhaps that it has been happening. Mel’s mind reels as she remembers the past week or so, remembers that her sisters have spent long nights together in the kitchen, working on some kind of potion they hadn’t felt the need to tell her about.

(There’s a bitter lump that grows in her throat as she internally scoffs at this because how do you dabble in potions without the Potion Princess herself…)

Oh, Abigael…

It’s quickly forgotten as she watches the scene before her, her anguish over Abby’s situation swept aside by her growing anger.

She aims the barrel of it first at Waverly.

“You knew Macy was doing this. You knew she was going to spy on Abby. Is that why you’re here tonight, why you came up with some bullshit about “wanting to bond” with your sister’s girlfriend? You were just the distraction so I wouldn’t ask any questions.”

The way the occupants of the room stiffen at Mel’s tone, angry but in a quiet way, like agitated waves at sea, warning of a brewing storm, tells Mel they all knew. She thinks the way Harry avoids her sweeping burning gaze hurts the most.

“You were all in on it.”

She feels a low growl in the back of her throat, not unlike the kind she’s heard from Spike when it took over for Abby, as she turns and yells up the stairs for Maggie, uncaring if she interrupts the special time she dragged Jordan up to her room for after their karaoke date, “Margarita Emilia Vera, come down here this god damned instant!”

Waverly must be very brave or very stupid, Mel thinks, as she sighs and approaches Mel. Attempting to soothe her, “I did not come here tonight as some ruse or distraction; I genuinely wish to get to know you better. With the way my sister looks at you, I imagine you and I will be in each other’s lives for quite some time.”

“Bold of you to assume you know anything about your own sister.”

Waverly’s eyes spark with anger that almost matches Mel’s, her jaw tightening right along with her eyebrows, glaring fiercely at Mel as her back straightens.

“No. Stop. You don’t get to claim Abby all to yourself, you don’t get to presume you’re the only one that really understands her. And you certainly have no right to lay claim to all the grief for her this situation is causing. We may not have had the best relationship growing up, but I am her sister, and I’m trying. I am just as worried about her as you are. You can’t keep doubting and questioning me on this. So you need to check yourself with this self-righteous attitude. I am not your enemy, Mel. I’m trying to help.”

Mel can’t bring herself to say anything to that; she knows she’s been extra difficult with Waverly. And she can pretend it’s because of what’s been going on with Abby, because she’s wanted to protect Abby as best as she can during a time Abby may not be able to protect herself. But… she knows it’s also because she’s scared. Scared that Abby may leave her to pursue her relationship with her family. Scared that Waverly and Lydia would sweep Abby off her feet and give her the life and love she’s always wanted, and she’ll no longer need Mel. She knows that it’s ridiculous for her to be afraid of that; she wants nothing more than for Abigael to be happy, and she knows this will make her happy. She also knows Abby wouldn’t abandon her when she connects with her sister; Mel knows she’s not a placeholder for Abby meant to temporarily fill a hole til the next best thing comes along, and that she can exist with Waverly and Lydia in Abby’s life.

It’s a little irrational and absurd, but deep rooted fears and trauma wouldn’t be so hard to conquer if they were simple.

So she chooses to clench her jaw, refuses to back down and let go of her anger just yet. But she moves on from unleashing on Waverly any further.

Especially when she knows the real culprits for this new mess are her own sisters.

Maggie’s finally made it down the stairs, looking a little disheveled with her usually perfect hair tousled, no doubt Jordan’s doing as he guiltily avoids Mel’s gaze and fixes his hastily thrown on shirt. Mel spares him – and his inside out shirt – a big sisterly glare before turning back to her sisters.

Maggie looks ready to bolt or barf. Mel doesn’t put it past her that she might do both. Macy, she notes, at least looks a little contrite but Mel imagines it might be because she got caught, not because she did it.

She trudges on, brows knit together tightly as she speaks, “I told you not to do this. I told you Abby’d react badly. You two completely disregarded me and went behind my back! How are we supposed to fix this- hell, how can we be the Power of Three if we can’t trust each other?”

Maggie takes a step closer to Mel, hand reaching out to comfort her, and Mel immediately takes two steps back, “No, Maggie, don’t you dare try to incept me to calm down with your powers right now.”

“Mel, I wasn’t going to…”

Maggie looks so hurt at the rejection that Mel almost feels bad. Almost.

When Maggie’s hand falls back to her side, biting her bottom lip and falling silent when she looks to Macy, the eldest Charmed One speaks up, “Mel, you saw how she was behaving. After her reaction to the wards, not to mention that she looked ready to attack Maggie, we had to investigate further. It’s been weeks and we don’t know anything about what’s happening with regards to your baby. You know, the sole reason she’s been distancing herself and immersing herself in her Overlord role. Which, by the way, wow.”

Mel scowls, “this wasn’t how it should have happened, Macy! Your investigation may have triggered something worse in her, we could lose her completely with no chance to save her. Then again, you don’t really care about Abby, do you, so it doesn’t really make a difference for you.”

“Wow, Mel. You’re really going for a hat trick in assholery right now, aren’t you?”

Mel bristles further. She dimly registers the others in the room shivering a little as the temperature around them cools just a hint.

“Waverly’s right; you don’t have the monopoly on this grief. She’s irritating most of the time, but I don’t want her hurt or dead. Dare I say it, I might even consider her a friend. And whatever’s happened to her, she doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve her autonomy stripped from her so violently.

And she’s your partner. I know she’s important to you, and you’re my sister. You and Maggie are the most important people in my life; I’d do anything to spare you hurt and pain. That means I’ll do whatever I can to save Abby. If that means going to spy on her or whatever you want to call it, and risk your wrath, then I damn well will.”

“I should have been involved.”

“I tried that! You were pretty dead set against this idea, and when the blood plan fell through, we ran out of other options.

And just so we’re clear, I didn’t attack her. That wasn’t the plan at all. I went to observe, to see if she’s behaving as erratically there as she is with us, if there are any triggers or signs or what have you. Any kind of clue that’ll help us figure out what’s gone wrong.”

“So, what, she reacted that violently over you just watching her?”

“I don’t know what even happened. She shouldn’t have been able to know it was me; Maggie and I made an airtight glamour spell. We even boosted it with a potion. I don’t know how she saw right through it…”

Harry pipes up then, and it surprises Mel; she had completely forgotten he was there.

“Ladies, I suspect the how of the matter will not be answered until we answer the what of it. As in, what is happening to Abigael? So shall we focus on solving that question first instead of fighting amongst ourselves?”

Maggie flops onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Jordan sits on the armrest beside her and gently squeezes her shoulders, “She’s not exactly being cooperative, Har.”

Maggie snorts, a humorless puff of air pushed past her lips, “Maybe we should abduct her, stick her in a confinement spell and leave her there til we figure it out. At least we’d know she’s not out there doing something nefarious, and we’d be able to monitor her for changes.”

The gathered crowd seems to be seriously considering Maggie’s suggestion. Except for Waverly, shaking her head, “somehow, I suspect that won’t work. Whatever’s taken over Abby’s body is very powerful, and seems to be amplifying her already considerably strong powers. I imagine a containment spell won’t hold her for long. If she almost killed Macy for merely trailing her to observe, I can’t imagine what she’d do to us all if we tried to trap her.”

Macy nods, adding on, “Besides, the containment spell makes her feel claustrophobic, she said. A lovely remnant from your mother’s delightful upbringing. I can’t imagine that’ll help at all.”

Mel sits heavily on the other side of Maggie, weary as her anger flows out of her like water through an opened tap. She swallows thickly as she hesitantly reaches for Maggie’s hand, a silent apology she’ll actually voice later on once this immediate crisis is figured out. Mel sighs in hints of relief when Maggie smiles and squeezes her hand, holding on as they continue discussing.

Except… nobody has any ideas on how to further go about this whole mess they’re in the middle of.

So, as their resident human, Jordan poses the question for them, “So what now? Do you just try a bunch of different exorcism rituals or something and hope for one to stick?”

Something uncomfortably itchy settles in Mel’s stomach. She knows what needs to happen, knows that her sisters are going to arrive at that same conclusion soon too.

(If the pinched look on Waverly’s face, the utter sadness in her eyes, is anything to go by, Mel thinks Waverly’s already figured it out.)

Macy sighs, and it sounds to Mel like she’s grasping at straws, a desperate attempt to avoid saying the solution they’re all creeping closer to as things with Abby get worse.

“There are too many things that could go wrong if we use the wrong spell or potion or ritual. Besides, we don’t even know if Abby’s possessed. It really could be a nasty demon cold or something that’s reacting this badly because she’s not a full demon. I think… we should just start brewing potions and antidotes to known demon diseases and hope for the best.”

As the silence blankets them again, Jordan hesitantly speaks again, “and if that doesn’t work? Or makes things worse still? She’s getting dangerous…”

“Then we-”

Mel swallows harshly, hand not in Maggie’s cradling the flurry of movement her baby presses against her stomach. Nobody wants to go there. She squeezes Maggie’s hand when her little sister offers another option still, stalls.

“What about the ritual you two were doing when the Perfecti put you in the Tomb? Wouldn’t that work?”

“The ritual that was meant to strip the magic from her? That seems… like a fate worse than death for Abby. Besides, I’m pretty sure she has to be the one to perform it, and I’m pretty sure she’s not going to agree to that.”

Mel knows they’re skirting speaking it into existence for her sake, knows that she has to be the one to suggest. Give permission in a sense.

“Death might end up being our only option.”

The ensuing silence is suffocating. It feels humid and thick, burrowing into everyone’s lungs in thick tendrils as it fills their entire respiratory system and coats their throats. Mel’s mouth feels sticky in the aftermath of her words.

The quiet seems to stretch for hours on end, but it’s likely only a few minutes before Macy inhales deeply, “How?”

Mel’s grateful to her sisters for taking lead of this conversation; she knew she had to give them the permission for it, but laying out a plan to vanquish Abby would have broken her.

Maggie sounds so small and devastated, “Power of Three should do the trick, right?”

Mel wonders if her feelings are seeping into Maggie right now and causing these emotions in her.

(Then she reminds herself that Macy and Waverly are right; she doesn’t have the monopoly on this grief. Abby’s theirs too.)

Jordan, Abby’s friend Mel reminds herself, looks a little panicked at their new topic of conversation, “No, wait- there has to be another way, right? I mean, Abby’s a witch too, you can’t just- kill her.”

Mel can’t stand staying seated anymore; it’s not like she wasn’t aware of Abby’s witchy-ness, but to hear it phrased like that? She gets up to pace, ignoring the eyes on her.

Waverly clears her throat, “At the rate Abby’s deteriorating, it is possible there isn’t much witch left. This may be the only way. But you’ll need more than a spell. A demon as powerful as Abby, the Demon Overlord, would need a combination of spell and potion. And you have to take into consideration that she’s a hybrid when you brew your potion.”

Mel frowns as she looks at Waverly; she doesn’t like her tone. Like Waverly knows something they don’t.

(Like maybe she’s already tried this before, knows exactly what kind of potion they need.)

Waverly must see the questions in their eyes, sitting up straighter on the armchair she chose to occupy.

“When we were younger, an attempt at such a potion was made by my mother.

She spent months trying to figure it out after she’d thrown Abby out onto the streets, like a crazed woman. Very little of Abby’s leftover belongings survived the constant experiments; anything that could have had a trace of her DNA was used to determine if the potion was a success or not.

But it continued to elude her, missing one ingredient that she just couldn’t identify.”

Mel feels like she’s going to be sick as she feels the familiar rage she feels towards Francesca swell alarmingly hot.

“Then, a few years ago she called me up and told me she’d finally cracked the potion, that she would make sure I’d be safe and that Abby’d never be able to hurt me ever again.

She sent me the instructions on how to brew the potion that same day, and insisted I memorize it then burn the parchment.

And I did.”

Mel can’t tell what she’s feeling now, beyond the white hot rage. She supposes she should be happy that only two people know the potion necessary to vanquish Abby. Then again, the fact that there is a potion with that purpose is sickening to her. And then, still, she’s back to feeling rage because one of these two people is Abby’s sociopathic asshole mother who wouldn’t hesitate for a second to throw that potion at her own daughter.

The silence stretches between them all, Macy looking like she wants to speak but unsure how or what to say. Waverly seems to take pity on them and continues being the bearer of bad news, “I’ll start brewing it, though we’re missing the final key ingredient – I need Abby’s blood. I shared the knowledge of this potion’s existence with Abby during one of our meetings; I suspect that’s why she refused to give us the blood. Or at least why whoever’s in control of her refused.”

Mel’s voice sounds hollow and distant to her own ears, strained, “I should do it. It should be me to brew it.”

When Waverly turns to her, eyes softening and filled with resignation and anguish despite the soft smile adorning her lips, Mel’s resolve finally cracks. Her tears slip then.

“No. Abby knew this day might come someday and she made me promise that I wouldn’t put that burden on you, no matter how much you insisted.

Nobody should be the reason for the light leaving their love’s eyes.”

Chapter Text

It’s dark and cold, the smell in the air musty; some kind of underworld cave system, he guesses, not unlike the ones his father used to drag him to as a child, in his attempts to make a demon out of his half-breed son. He muses to himself that the sack they shoved his head into is unnecessary; he could never find his way around these parts anyway.

He hears the sounds of his shoes slapping in stagnant puddles as he’s blindly dragged along. Try as he might to resist, Parker’s overpowered by the burly supernatural hands gripping him. The metal of the power inhibitor cuff on his wrist itches and he’s absently wondering what kind of moron demons his sister has sent after him if they don’t even know he isn’t a demon anymore.

Before he gets a chance to think on it too hard, his ears prick at the sounds of- cutlery? And classical music? Before he knows it, he hears the sounds of a chair scraping over uneven rock and he’s shoved into a seat. When the sack is pulled off his head, Parker’s met with Abby’s mischievous smile and sparkling eyes as she takes a sip of her wine.

“You’re rather underdressed for dinner. That won’t do, little brother.”

Parker’s still catching his bearings, looking around him to find an exit or something as the demons standing guard are waved away, when Abby gestures over him. He goes from jeans and a plain grey t-shirt to a navy suit that compliments her red dress, complete with a red pocket square. He’s absently thinking he’s glad this magical wardrobe change skipped out on putting him in a tie; he swallows harshly at the thought of Abby using that to suffocate him to death.

(It doesn’t occur to him just yet to wonder how she even changed his outfit without any spells or potions. Hindsight’s a bitch, he muses.)

As a plate of dinner appears in front of him, he eyes it then Abby. His sister goes back to casually cutting into her steak – rather bloody in Parker’s opinion – and humming along to the music playing in the background. She glances up at him when he doesn’t move to take his own bite, raising a brow at him.

“It’s not poisoned, you know.”

“What game are you playing now, Abby?”

“Ooh, a game sounds like fun. Perhaps we can engage in a rousing game of charades.”

“Abby. What’s going on, what do you want from me?”

“Can’t a girl invite her baby brother to a nice family dinner without there being an ulterior motive?”

Parker merely glares at her, jaw clenched. There’s a tickling in the back of his mind, urging him to be more on edge, be more wary. But that voice is drowned out by the other voice telling him he has nothing to fear from Abby; if she wanted him dead, he would have been ages ago. He’s mortal now, and of no real use to her. Perhaps she really does only wish to have dinner with him.

Still, he waits her out. He’s not about to show her any vulnerability or weakness just yet.

So she rolls her eyes and goes back to her meal, perhaps an attempt to show him that it isn’t, indeed, poisoned.

“If you must know, I’ve recently been reconnecting with my sister, and it’s made me… realize the importance of family. I wish for us to be in each other’s lives. And let’s face it, I’m all you’ve got in that department anymore. Why not stick together?”

“And you thought the best way to build a healthy relationship with me was by having your goons hunt me down and kidnap me?”

“Was it the sack over the head that was excessive?”

Parker shakes his head, sitting back and taking his wine glass for a sip; he knows better than to try and extract information from Abby. If she’s not willing to give it, he’s not gonna get it til she’s feeling chattier.

So they lapse into a silence only filled with the classical music and their cutlery against expensive plates, Parker hesitantly joining Abby in eating.

“So. Read any good books lately, brother?”

There’s that tickling warning again in his head, something so oddly familiar about this situation that he can’t quite put his finger on yet.

Scoffing softly, he takes another bite of steak, “I’ve been rereading Dante’s Inferno, ironically enough. You?”

“Oh, nothing quite so exciting. Ancient tomes and budget reports. Who knew being Overlord would involve so much paperwork, eh?”

Parker offers a faint hum, eyes roaming their surroundings again, “interesting choice for a “family” dinner. Dad used to take me to somewhere very similar to this cave…”

He remembers an alter his dad used for rituals, and there was a rock formation in the corner above it. An odd thing to remember, he knows, but he remembers thinking that the rocks’ shadows dancing on the opposite wall looked like a bird in flight.

Abby hums as she takes a sip of water, “Yes, I’m aware. I found notes on those father-son excursions in some of Dad’s old journals that I’ve uncovered. Must’ve been so hard to have his love and attention, yes?”

“Oh, yeah. I felt really loved when he murdered my mother and tried to put the literal source of all magic in me, uncaring what it did to me,” Parker intones harshly, his grip on his steak knife white-knuckled.

(If he paid more attention to the tickling warning in his head again, he’d realize there’s something weird about Abby’s statement, about her voice and her word choices. But sense leaves him in favor of anger whenever he thinks of his father.)

“You’re testy.”

“I wonder why that is, Abby. Look- I’m not… opposed to us building some kind of relationship, but not like this. Just let me go, and I’ll get in touch with you, like we mundane mortals do. With a phone.”

This time, when the tickling warning goes off in his head again, Parker listens. He watches the faint spasm that threatens to crease Abby’s forehead and furrow her brows at the sound of those words.

Like the news of his mortality is… a surprise to her. Like she wasn’t the one to take away his demon side for him.

But it’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment, her expression remaining neutral except for the perpetual knowing smirk that tugs at her lips.

Parker feels his body switch to high alert, looking around him again for an exit.

Abby sighs, big and a little fake, sitting back in her seat and turning her unwavering gaze on him.

(It sets Parker on edge to be on the receiving end of her undivided attention. It makes him wonder if this is what deer feel like when they sense the presence of a hunter stalking them in their woods.)

“Fine. I’ll admit it. There’s another reason, besides mending bridges and all that, for sending for you.”

(He wishes he wasn’t as surprised, or rather, as hurt as he is. The little kid in him that still craves a stable and loving family curls in on himself in a corner.)

He grits his teeth, jaw tight when he meets her eyes head on, waiting for her to continue then.

“There is a ritual I’ve uncovered. A rather ancient one that I need to perform to unlock… certain things. In order for it to be successful, it requires a blood relation.”

“So ask your sister, or your mother.”

“Demon blood relation.”

“Well then, unless Dad has more children out there that survived his assassination attempts, I guess you’re fresh out of luck, Abby.”

“I need it to be you, Parker.”

“I fail to see why; I’m not even a demon anymore.”

She smirks, white teeth glinting dangerously at him in the shadows cast around them by the flickering candles on their dinner table. Abby’s gaze seems to sparkle and glint at him, and there’s a familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Abby sounds as casual as can be when she speaks, “why don’t you let me worry about that, hm?”

Parker feels himself get a little drowsy as he looks at his sister further, like there’s a heavy blanket being draped over his eyes, warming his whole head and filling his ears with this pleasant buzzing sound that’s lulling him to sleep.

“The only thing you need to do, Parker, is agree. Willingly participate in the ritual.”

As the warm blankets keep wrapping around him and he feels ready to surrender to the tug of sleep, something cold races through him, starting at the back of his neck. A memory of his mother, telling him about this exact feeling, and how he should never let the sleep take him. That he has to break free from the blankets no matter what he needs to do.

His grip clenches around his knife, arm jerking as he slams the sharp point into his bicep, biting down on his cheek against the pain. He tastes the metallic salt of blood on his tongue.

Abby sits back in her seat and Parker just now realizes how she had leaned into his space, adamant about keeping her eye contact with him. Her gaze is critical, appraising. She doesn’t look at all surprised though, like she might have seen this coming. Like perhaps she’s seen something similar to this already.

The itching warning in his head blares, louder the more he connects dots together. His chair loudly scrapes against the rough stone, drowning out the clattering sound of the bloodied knife he drops onto the table, as he rises to his feet. He walks backwards to put some distance between himself and Abby, eliciting a disappointed sigh from her, “I had really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that you’d find it in your heart of hearts to help your family.”

He needs to get out, Parker thinks frantically, as he watches… not quite Abby lazily watch him panic.

“You- you are not Abby, not entirely. You shouldn’t have been able to do that. Who are you?”

Her wrist flicks and before Parker can even think to flinch, there are powerful hands on him again holding him in place by the shoulders. A demon clenches their fist around his bleeding bicep extra hard just for kicks and Parker has to swallow his pained groan.

“Oh, Parker. It seems I keep underestimating you. No matter. It won’t be an issue for too much longer. Take him.”

She turns her back on him as he’s dragged off, kicking and screaming for Abby to snap out of it, to help him, to stop this.

Abby only finishes her glass of wine.

As he’s dragged off, Parker finally sees the shadows of a bird in flight across the cave walls.

Chapter Text

It’s raining.

But when is it not in Seattle, Mel muses to herself from her spot by the window, watching the raindrops coat their backyard.

She’s cold but can’t bring herself to wrap up in the blanket she brought with her; it smells like Abby.

She hadn’t quite realized how much everything in her room, in her closet, smells like Abby. In her short stay at the Vera Manor, Abigael Jameson-Caine had managed to seep into every nook and cranny she could fit into, Mel thinks as she glances down at the mug in her hand, steam rising from the tea Abby had demanded they stock in their pantry because, “only the very best gets past these lips and into this body. That means Mel and Barry’s tea. Honestly, Harold, you ought to know better.”

She runs her fingers along the rim of the mug, thumb ghosting over the faint stubborn lipstick stain she hasn’t tried to wash off too hard. She remembers that morning; Maggie had bought Abby a gaudy pink princess mug, complete with glitter and curly font proclaiming the blond girl in the giant poofy dress a “magical princess.” Mel watched Maggie’s shit-eating grin as she elaborately presented Abby with her “very own mug,” a little stick-on bow attached to the handle on the second morning Abby woke up in their home. Abigael had huffed and rolled her eyes but she’d taken the mug with a gracious nod, the two of them sharing an awkward chuckle at the whole exchange.

It’s the only mug Abby would use after that.

(She’d always have glitter on her for the entirety of the day, a lingering gift from Maggie’s mug that she’d constantly complain about while pouring her tea into the very source of her annoyance.)

The memory fills Mel with the same warmth it did on the day; underneath their snark and pretend hostility towards each other, Abby was kinda officially welcomed into their lives that day. And if the look on Abby’s face afterwards, when only Mel was looking (because Mel’s always looking) is anything to go by, the significance wasn’t lost on her either.

Her fond trip down memory lane halts then; how many of the moments she’d shared with Abby lately were… with Abby? She shudders at the thought; who was she sharing a bed with, letting them talk to their child? Letting them touch her like only Abby should…

She feels sick, feels like there are cold nails dragging agonizingly slowly along her spine as dread and queasiness fills her entire skeleton. She feels violated.

Her hand trembles as she hastens to put the mug down, her throat getting tight with the slimy feeling of tears clogging her airway.

She feels like all she’s done today is cry.

Her breaths shudder and rattle around in her mouth as they attempt to shove past the lump in her throat when she feels a presence behind her, heart racing as her head whips around to find her sisters standing behind her. They’ve brought blankets and pillows, silently asking if they can join her with a faint head tilt towards where she’s sitting.

Maggie cuddles into her side almost immediately, lightly touching her fingers to the baby bump to gauge if the baby’s awake. She’s already claimed “fun aunt” title from both Macy and Waverly.

They’re silent, and it soothes Mel’s bruised heart a little to be in their presence. In what feels like the end of days, she’s glad to have them beside her.

All three of them jump, both Mel’s icicles and Macy’s fireball ready for a fight, at the sound of fabric rustling.

Waverly stands before them, both hands faintly raised in surrender. She looks haggard; Mel supposes it’s from having to answer all of Lydia’s questions about their abrupt stay with the Charmed Ones. In the aftermath of the threats issued by the monster wearing the Abby mask, there was a silent agreement that Waverly and Lydia should stay at Vera Manor until the issue is resolved.

(One way or another…)

(And, Mel thinks, the cauldron bubbling away on her kitchen counter, brewing a deadly concoction with Abby’s name on it could be taking a toll. She spares a glance at her sisters again as they all put their “weapons” away; she’d rearrange the cosmos before she could bring herself to make a vanquishing potion for them. And a part of her, the still wary and angry part that resents the way Abby was treated as a child, wants to claim it’s because Waverly doesn’t care about Abby that she can even casually mix this potion together. But the part of her that’s really looking at Waverly, watching her approach the counter with her shoulders drooped heavily and her eyes rimmed with sadness… that part ultimately wins out.)

She waits for Waverly to finish checking on the cauldron, the half-finished potion needing to be brewed for at least a day, before she calls out to her and gestures for her to join them too.

(At least Mel’s got her sisters to rely on, to support her. Waverly potentially has to murder hers to save the world.)

(She remembers the excitement she possessed when she first found out she was a witch, the thrill of actually being able to save the world, at last.)

(Now, all she can think about is how much loss and hurt magic has inflicted upon her. How utterly unfair it is to carry this burden.)

Waverly settles in beside them, and it’s silent again for a moment.

“Thank you for letting Lydia and I stay with you. I know you’ve got a lot going on as it is, and despite the connection that links us, we’re still sort of strangers to you,” Waverly breaks the silence momentarily. Her voice is fused with the gratitude of a woman well aware that these three women are potentially saving her daughter’s life simply by giving them a room.

Macy smiles, reaching over to squeeze Waverly’s hand, “you’re a part of our coven now.”

Mel speaks up softly, feels the need to check; she owes it to Abby to make sure her niece is okay, “are you settling in okay? Do you or Lydia need anything?”

“Everything’s been wonderful, thank you. Though you didn’t need to give up your room, Maggie; we would have been just as fine on the couch.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Maggie starts to ramble then, “It’s hard enough to be a mom, and a witch, and working, and busy brewing actual literal death for your sister-” and it’s only Macy’s elbow against her thigh that cuts her off. Both Mel and Waverly avoid each other’s gaze.

“Maggie’s point is you need to be well rested, and Lydia deserves to be comfortable in this new environment.”

Waverly smiles and nods appreciatively at Macy. Everyone’s grateful for Macy’s calmness; an anchor in turbulent seas.

Mel asks again, “So Lydia’s settling in alright?”

She doesn’t know why she feels this somewhat desperate need to make sure the little girl is alright in her home.

(That’s not true; she knows, remembers how much Lydia’s smile mirrors Abby’s.)

(Lydia’s a part of Abby, and Mel’s desperate to cling to any part of Abby she can right now. Her fingers press back against her baby bump as their daughter moves about.)

If Waverly thinks she’s being weird, or is uncomfortable at the attention Mel is showing her daughter, she doesn’t let on and Mel’s grateful for it. The blond smiles and nods, voice quietly soft and proud how it is whenever she speaks of her daughter, “she’s having a blast; she loves spending time with you three, and is excited to play the board games she’s peeked in the closet. She’s adamant about being on Harry’s team though. Sorry, Macy.”

The women share a chuckle, and for a moment it’s almost- normal.

Almost.

Mel’s voice is quiet too, much like Waverly’s was just now. Except Waverly sounded soft and infused with joy whereas Mel sounds almost… muted, dim.

“Has she asked about…?”

“She has. Several times. I told her Auntie Abigael’s busy with work out of town. She thankfully accepted that since that’s what happened with us, moving here from London.”

There are nods and still more silence blanketing them. There is so much to say, Mel thinks, and no words to say them with. She leans her head against the wall, eyes closing as she takes a deep breath, the smell of her tea filling her nostrils. It fills her mind with memories of mornings with Abby. She hums softly to herself, and it makes Maggie’s fingers playing with her daughter slow.

Her little sister looks up, smiling softly at the surprisingly contented look on Mel’s face, voice full of that curiosity that borders on annoying that little siblings have when they want to be involved in their older sibling’s business, “what’re you smiling about?”

Mel’s head lifts, looking at her sister, noticing that Macy and Waverly are watching her too, both cautiously smiling at the prospect of a lighter conversation. And Mel thinks they’re due for one, even if it’s still about Abby.

“I was just thinking about the first time Abby and I…” her blush elicits a happy laugh from Maggie, the younger woman wiggling her brows suggestively as she lightly nudges Mel to continue. Waverly playfully shudders and holds up a hand, “hang on, if we’re going to talk about my sister’s sex life, I’m going to need alcohol.”

Macy nods, an impeccable impression of a bobble head as she gets up to help Waverly find something stronger than tea. It makes Mel huff in protest, “that’s not fair; what about me?”

Macy cheekily brings her a juice box, Harry stocking their fridge with them once it was settled that Waverly and Lydia were staying over.

“This is very unnecessary; I wasn’t even thinking about that. You guys are just pervy.”

Maggie rolls her eyes, announcing that she’s, “making Mes,” Macy snorting when she realizes Maggie’s pulling out the ingredients she’d need to make margaritas.

Waverly smiles softly, genuinely interested, “how did you two get together?”

Mel hums, thinking on that. She’s not sure she can pinpoint an exact moment when she realized she had feelings for Abby.

“Would you believe me if I said I don’t know? Weird, I know.”

They don’t rush her, Maggie handing out shots while they wait for Mel to gather her thoughts.

(Mel glares faintly when she’s handed a shot glass of apple juice, Maggie insisting she take it so she’s, “not left out.”)

Maggie teases when she brings the margaritas over, smirking, “I mean, I can’t say I’m surprised; Abby’s attractive, to say the least, and she’s got that daring, ‘I do whatever the hell I want’ thing going on that you’re so into. She’s a bad girl, and that’s your type.”

Mel rolls her eyes, “that’s not true-”

“Jada.”

“That was one time-”

“Niko was pretty daring too. And need I remind you of your high school girlfriend? You know. The punk rock one with a motorcycle. You really gave Mom a hard time with that one.”

Waverly chuckles as Mel huffs in annoyance.

“Anyway. I guess… it was after we’d saved magic. Despite her constant insistence on projecting this blasé, apathetic, selfish asshole image of herself, she helped us when she didn’t have to. She was dying and still she agreed to perform the demon mind meld on us despite the toll it would take on her already weakened state.

And she came to the future with me. I remember her disbelief at the idea of me sacrificing myself to save my sisters, how hard it was for her to accept that when I could’ve stayed there and ensured my own survival.

I remember thinking, after it was all said and done, how ridiculous it was for her to be surprised by that when she was doing the same thing by agreeing to help us at all.”

They’re listening to her every word with rapt attention and Mel realizes she never got a chance to talk about her relationship with her sisters before this mess started, they never got to stay up late and gossip about this like normal sisters would. How cruel that it has to be done like this, like they’re fondly reminiscing about a dead loved one at their wake. The thought wedges a red-hot ember between her lungs and rib cage.

She clears her throat, the ember in her chest flaring and searing her bones at the motion, “anyway. I went to go see her after we’d settled things here, just to check on her; it was late but I couldn’t sleep from the events of the day.

Evidently, she couldn’t either; she was cleaning up around her penthouse, already looking as glamorous and impeccably put together as always when she answered the door, scotch glass in hand of course. We didn’t say anything as she let me in, and poured me a drink silently too. We ended up putting on some random show neither one of us watched and talked through the night.

She told me about her family company, I told her about the job at the university I was interviewing for. We talked about books and booed the news. She made popcorn with her powers, I chilled her scotch with mine. It was- I think it was one of the few times I had seen Abby let her guard down, and we were just two women sharing a night.”

Maggie sighs, a dreamy sound, and it makes Mel chuckle faintly. She grins softly when she continues, “we went up to the building’s roof for the sunrise. She’ll probably disagree about who started it if she were here, but I still maintain that she kissed me as the sun finally crested the horizon.”

“That sounds hot,” Macy smirks, proud of herself for that one. Maggie groans at the pun and Waverly seems endlessly amused at their dynamic. Mel takes a sip of her juice box again before finishing up her story, “we went back inside, and I – foolishly – insisted on making us breakfast,” she nods emphatically at Maggie’s wince, “she was a good sport about it, even tried a bite of the eggs before her self-preservation instincts kicked in and she spat them out.”

Maggie waggles her brows, smirking, “I bet she had a different breakfast in mind anyway, right?”

“Maggie, don’t be crass,” Mel glares, “we had cereal.”

Macy frowns a moment, puzzling something out, “I could have sworn you had breakfast with us that morning… you didn’t stay?”

Mel smiles faintly, sad around the edges as she shrugs and shakes her head, “I couldn’t; how would I have explained it to you guys?”

Silence weaves its way between them again, Mel’s sisters avoiding her gaze while Waverly looks like she completely understands. Mel doesn’t hold it against them, moving on, “she asked if she could kiss me again after we ate, asked if we could keep doing this. She didn’t hold it against me when I hesitated. In hindsight, I hate how resigned she was to the fact that you didn’t like her, that she couldn’t have this. I hate how I let her feel like she was… less.”

And it’s true; Mel had wasted so much of their time together hiding when that is something she’s never done. Something she doubts Abby’s ever done either. And for what? Her sisters had figured it out on their own, and they’d been more than accepting and happy for her. What was she so afraid of?

She shakes her head, “she told me to think about it, and if I wanted to pursue this then I should come back that night for dinner. If I didn’t show up, Abby’d get the message and she’d never bring it up again.”

Waverly smiles, “obviously you went to dinner.”

Maggie winces, “we were demon hunting that night.”

Waverly’s smile falls a little, Mel nodding with a faint smile, “I did go though, after. These two don’t know it, but I snuck out after they went to bed. I was still wearing what I wore to vanquish the demon and it was splattered with demon goo but I didn’t care. I was antsy and eager, and a little desperate to see her again. So I picked up half a dozen donuts, a simple bouquet of snapdragon flowers, and went over.”

Waverly smirks, “you know, snapdragon flowers symbolize deviousness, among other things.”

Mel chuckles, “yeah, she made sure to tell me that. She asked if I was trying to call her wicked without outright saying so.

We ended up spending that night much in the same way we had the night before,” Mel blushes here again as Maggie wolf whistles at her, “except, you know, with more kissing.

Things gradually developed from there for the next few weeks. Sometimes, Abby’d phase-shift into my room at night, but she’d always be gone before the sun rose so we never risked being walked in on. She stayed patient and understanding the whole time. Even after the trial and dosing her with truth serum, she didn’t push me to “come out” to you guys, even though I could tell it was taking a toll on her. It only got really bad after the coma, and now- well. You know the rest.”

A solemn quiet surrounds them, the air getting heavy as their reality settles in around them again.

The cauldron on the kitchen counter lets out a particularly loud hiss as it bubbles away, forcing Waverly to go check on it.

Maggie can’t stand the quiet, not yet ready for their almost normal night to end. She shoulder nudges Mel again, “but, like… how’s the sex? Is she the sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll sex queen she pretends she is?”

Mel laughs as both Macy and Waverly make matching grossed out faces, Macy exaggeratedly downing another shot.

“Look, it has to be; Mel’s been in such a better mood since, and now we know it’s because Abby’s been regularly blowing her mind. And other parts of her, I’m sure,” Maggie exclaims.

Mel surrenders to the playful atmosphere her little sister is valiantly trying to keep up, smirking as she leans over best she can with her protruding belly, “I mean, she’s even bett-”

Mel doesn’t get to finish her thought; there is frantic banging on their front door.

The playfulness of the night is wiped away completely as Macy and Maggie turn towards the door, Waverly rushing out the kitchen to secure her daughter. Harry pops into the living room, looking disheveled and sleep-addled in his matching “old man” – Maggie’s words – pajamas, wielding a baseball bat while approaching the front door.

(It’s not lost on Mel that they all strategically place themselves in a way that keeps her at the very back of the formation, rolling her eyes but staying silent about it for now.)

They wait for Waverly to join them, knowing that there’s safety in numbers, before Macy gestures that she’ll open the door with her telekinesis. Harry gets closer, ready to clobber whoever it is over the head.

Macy’s about to swing the door open, Harry’s grip choked up on the bat and white-knuckled when the person on the other side shouts, sounding strained and hurt.

“Maggie? Maggie! Please, open the door!”

Eyes widen as the occupants of the house look to each other, Maggie snapping back to reality and rushing past Macy to open the door.

Parker, sweaty and a little bloody, stumbles into their foyer, weighted down with the limp body of Joxen.

Chapter Text

It’s dark and quiet around him, and it’s such a relief; it gives him a moment of reprieve to properly take in situation.

Parker curls up around himself on the dirt floor, entire body aching from the beating Abigael’s demons just inflicted upon him. Eventually, he turns onto his back and stares up at the jagged stone ceiling above him. Taking stock of his aches and pains, he’s relieved he wasn’t hurt enough to bleed. Touching a hand to the bandaged wound he inflicted upon himself at dinner – a desperate attempt to snap out of the mesmerizing spell he was being put under – his thoughts turn grim; Abigael needs him alive and willing, whatever her plans are. He can only assume there will be more beatings in his foreseeable future.

Foolishly, he’d thought that giving up his powers meant he’d never be pulled back into anything like this again. That, perhaps, his sister would… he doesn’t know what he thought; that Abigael would protect him somehow? Keep an eye on him from afar? Oh, fool you, Parker Caine.

His movements are slow and measured, a little jerky when he feels the strain in his lower back from a particularly harsh kick, getting onto all fours before trying to rise to his feet. He’s looking around the cave-turned-holding-cell they tossed him into when the door swings open.

His sister walks in, eyes looking a lot more alert and frantic than the patient calm that filled them over dinner. Despite the wild gaze coating her eyes, Abigael’s strut into his space remains controlled and strong.

She says something to the guard posted at his door and shuts the dungeon door behind herself with a loud clang, turning her eyes on him again. It makes him back up hurriedly, stumbling onto his ass in his haste when the red gaze of the Overlord – eyes he sometimes saw reflected back at him in the mirror – sweeps over him.

It is then that her demeanor shifts, almost drastically. She looks at him, really looks at him from head to toe, almost like she’s assessing him for injury. She rushes forward then, both hands raised to show how empty they are, how little harm she means him. He wonders if it really is hurt he sees flashing in her eyes when he keeps scrambling back to keep the distance between them.

But then his side twinges in pain and it reminds him he’s here to be hurt and used by her for some, no doubt, nefarious purpose.

To her credit, Abigael doesn’t take any more steps closer, voice low and urgent, “Listen to me, I’m not here to hurt you-”

“Of course not. I guess the goons you sent in here to beat me up were just the welcome home committee, right?”

Her lips purse, eyes looking him over again and he almost believes the pain he sees in them.

Almost.

Abigael looks over her shoulder again, hands wringing together anxiously.

“Parker, let me explain…”

“I don’t have to let you do anything, Abby! And I think that’s the problem; whatever you need from me, I have to be the one to give it to you. You can’t forcibly take it. So. Either let me go, or get out and let your lackeys get back to torturing me into submission.”

His eye roll matches hers pretty much exactly and it makes Parker wonder if that means they get it from their dad.

Abigael snaps at him, then, before he gets a chance to say anything more, “Parkey-poo!” and she’s relieved to see that it at least shuts him up enough for her to get word in.

She takes a deep breath, thumb digging into her palm in a harsh massage, “it wasn’t me that brought you here. Let me explain?”

It’s the way she asks him to let her explain that gives him pause; the Abby from dinner didn’t seem like the type to wait for permission. Parker clenches his jaw, watching her for any sort of trickery. The only thing he sees is an Abigael on edge, like a wounded animal on high alert ready to either bolt or attack. He doesn’t exactly tell her to speak but he must offer a small nod or something that seems to signal to Abby that he’s at least listening.

She blows out a breath, getting straight to the point “In his pursuit to be rid of me as Overlord, Godric got his hands on a scroll of some kind, detailing some powerful ancient ritual. Something so old it’s been practically lost to the magical world.”

Parker watches her clench her hand into a fist, massaging the back of it. It makes him frown; he doesn’t remember Abby ever being this fidgety, “a ritual that does… what?”

“From what I understand… it resurrects magical beings in a sense.”

Dread fills his gut; dinner is starting to make more sense to him now, and the picture forming in his mind is terrible.

Abigael sees the dots connecting for him, pursing her lips as she nods, “the ritual requires a host that is descended or a blood relation of the being that willingly agrees to partake in the ritual. Once the ball gets rolling on this whole thing, the resurrected being slots into place in the host’s body and starts taking over until it’s the only thing left. It seems to be the very essence of the being, keeping its powers and developing the ability to use them the more control they gain over the host. The process is… rather painful.”

Parker watches her hands fidget again, realizing she’s not merely fidgeting.

He takes note of her body; rigid and tense in the way she holds herself, movements limited like she’s trying not to strain anything. The way she’s rubbing her hands reminds him of when he was a boy and his dad would make him practice writing demon languages for hours on end without any relief from the stiffness and pain.

His brows tighten; he’s starting to feel… worried about his sister, “And you’re…?”

She smirks faintly, utterly humorless and defeated, “hosting. It’s funny; when I was a little girl, I always imagined what it would be like to get the opportunity to bond with my father. I never thought I’d get the chance, certainly not so literally…”

A thought occurs to Parker, frowning hard as he momentarily sets his worry for Abigael aside, “you said the host has to participate in this willingly.”

He sounds accusatory, he knows, and he can see it in her eyes that Abigael agrees he’s right to be. Still, it clearly annoys her that he would automatically think the worst of her even in a situation so clearly dire.

“About two or three months ago, I was on a date when Godric’s demons found and attacked me. I was infected with a blue substance. I didn’t suffer any severe side effects at the time, and the cut healed normally, so I didn’t think much of it. As it turns out, the ritual also includes a potion that must be ingested, which they introduced into my blood stream through the cut.

Except Godric must have screwed up the translation or whatever because it didn’t work how he expected; I wasn’t a willing participant in the ritual.

So now instead of my essence slowly but surely fading away to make room, both Father and I are still in here, fighting for control. Neither one of us can stay in charge for long, and when he’s at the helm- I don’t have any control, nor am I even aware of what happens, and vice versa. Whatever he’s said or done as me…”

Parker eyes her, watching Abby’s hands start to shake and her throat start to bob harsher as she swallows; whatever’s happening to her is taking a toll and they are running out of time.

“So… what now?”

Pressing a shaking palm into her eye, brows knit tightly against the pain she must be feeling, Abigael swallows harshly, “now we get you out of here before they crack you like an egg. It seems the plan is a bloody family reunion; Father wishes to resurrect Hunter as well. I have no doubt in my mind that he plans to raze the magical world to the ground. We can’t let that happen, no matter the cost.”

“Alright, agreed. So, what, we exorcise him out of you and banish him? The Charmed Ones could do it; they kicked his ass before.”

Her head snaps up then, and the eye she had been covering is visible to him; it’s bloodshot and glazed over, unseeing.

She hisses through a pained groan, jaw tight, “No, Parker. I don’t want them anywhere near this mess. They can’t help anyway; it wasn’t even them that vanquished him last time, it was the source.”

“Abby, we can’t fight him alone. Hell, there’s no we about it; you’re out of this fight. What am I supposed to do without powers?!”

She sounds the most sure she has since walking into his cell, her still seeing eye focused and no longer faintly panicked. Abby’s voice is pure steel, “listen to me very carefully. The only reason I’ve held out this long is because I know I’m the only thing standing between him and Mel. He’s already turned his gaze upon her and I haven’t got a clue why. If something were to happen to her-”

He blinks, momentarily forgetting about the utter shitshow he’s been pulled into, “you and Mel…?”

She glares at him and it’s enough to get his focus back on task, “right, okay. That still doesn’t tell me how I’m supposed to handle this without their help, Abby…”

Her breathing seems to be getting harder, and Parker finds himself helping to steady her as she sways. Wheezing, Abby continues, “it’s too late for me, an exorcism won’t work; you’ve got to vanquish me. Here,” in a puff of smoke, Abby conjures a blade in one hand and an empty vial in the other, pressing the vial into his hands with her own shaking one. Pressing the sharp edge of the blade into her palm, she makes a clean slice right down the middle and gestures for him to fill the vial with her seeping blood. Once filled, she seals it with a spell , covering his hand around it with hers.

Abigael’s voice shakes, strained as the oxygen fighting its way into her lungs diminishes more still, “this is now the most important package you’ve ever been in possession of. You must get this to my sister, Waverly Jameson, and nobody else. It can only be unsealed with her magic. The sisters will know how to get in touch with her. But whatever you do, do not give it to anybody else. She’ll know what needs to be done.”

He looks at her then, takes in her determination about this plan, her resignation that this is the only way, and his heart breaks. He remembers being excited at the prospect of having a sister when he found out about her, only for the betrayal that came with her attempt on his life to taint it all. They’d had a rocky relationship, if he were to be generous about it, but a part of him still held out hope that they might be able to have some semblance of a relationship at some point. He didn’t want her to die…

She must see it on his face, in his eyes, and it makes her smile. A small thing, but genuine nonetheless, “come now, little brother. Don’t go getting soft on me now.”

“There has to be another way, Abby…”

“There isn’t. You must go, now. Father’s almost back in control already, I can’t keep him at bay for much longer.”

She presses a different vial into his hand once the one containing her blood is secured, “smash this at your feet when you’re ready to get out and it’ll whisk you to their door.”

Parker takes another moment to look at his sister, wonders if this might be the last time he sees her. Suddenly his chest feels full of words he wishes he knew how to express. Abigael squeezes his hand as best she can while so pained, nodding. He thinks she hears what he wants to tell her all the same. With a final look at her, he’s about to smash the vial right then and there when she remembers something, halting him hurriedly.

“Godric- you have to vanquish Godric first; he memorized the ritual and burnt any evidence of it. It’s rather clever of him, really; he’s now indispensable to Father. If you vanquish me before vanquishing Godric, then Godric will just find you and do this whole song and dance all over again, sticking Father in your body instead of mine. It’ll all be for naught. So you must vanquish him first.”

Parker looks grim but nods.

Then Abigael’s knees buckle, breath gasping and ragged, and he helps her sit against the wall. Her eyes glaze over and flash silver, and Parker knows he’s running out of time to get out of here before their dad comes back.

“Abby… I don’t want to leave you like this…”

She shakes her head, weak, “He won’t let me die; he needs me, remember? I’ll be alright, this is just one of the many ways he’s been trying to get me to submit for weeks now. The agony’s been… endless.”

He purses his lips, readying himself to leave when she suddenly grips his forearm, tighter than he thinks she ought to have strength for. He’s startled at the tears forming in her eyes, the harsh swallow he sees her throat attempt valiantly. It’s a soft and hushed croak, “Parker… I’m sorry. For everything. I know that isn’t enough, it never will be, but…”

He holds her hand back, squeezing. It seems Abby’s thinking the same thing he was; they might never get to see each other again.

“Could you tell Mel that… every moment I spent with her, every second it was just the three of us, was truly me with her and not him? She needs to know that, please… will you tell her?”

He’s confused about who the third person Abby means is but now is not the time.

“And- there’s another cell down the corridor. There’s a prisoner in there that… get him out, will you? If he’s alive, then save him. And if he’s not… then, please, give him a proper burial, would you? He was my friend…”

Parker swallows harshly, watching a tear finally slip free from Abby’s unseeing gaze. He swipes it away with his thumb and, surprising both of them, leans in to press a kiss – perhaps in goodbye – to her forehead.

He doesn’t turn back when he leaves, steeling himself against the agonized screams that emanate from his former cell.

Instead, he heads for a different cell like she instructed him.

He runs.

Mel’s reeling from the turn this night’s taken.

She’s pacing behind the couch as Parker finishes recounting the events of his abduction. Her back is killing her, and she thinks she should probably sit down. But how could she, now that they finally know what’s happening to Abby? Her body feels alight and buzzing with a desperate need to do… something.

Silence encompasses them all as Harry finishes healing Parker on their couch, and if their faces are anything to go by, Mel knows her sisters are struggling to come up with something to say too.

Alistor Caine is back.

Chapter Text

Mel hasn’t stopped to sit down a moment, anxiously rotating between checking in with her sisters and Parker in the living room, Jordan treating Joxen in the attic, and trying to find a foothold in the kitchen to help Waverly make healing potions.

“Melanie Vera, you get out of this kitchen right this instance. I told you I have it under control. Go sit down.”

Waverly’s been repeating some combination of these words for the past fifteen minutes as she works on brewing healing potions and salves to help Jordan treat Joxen.

(He’s their friend, Waverly knows, so she doesn’t express how grim she thinks it looks for Joxen. But the demon that Parker Caine lugged into the house was more corpse than anything else. If Jordan can manage a way to revive him, even with the help of her potions, she’ll find a way to knight him.)

(“Sir Jordan Chase has great ring to it. Challenge accepted; point me at him,” Jordan had grinned when they’d called him in in the dead of night despite the sleep still ringing his eyes. Waverly thinks he was probably too sleepy to consider how bad it might actually be…)

First though, she’s got to get Mel out of this kitchen as she brews because it’s no easy feat to heal a demon; her potions are utilizing some ingredients that can be rather dangerous, more so for a pregnant woman.

“These potions are going to take too long; I can help speed up the process,” Mel exclaims. Waverly ignores the little childish foot stomp she sees Mel do. Now’s not the time to put a Charmed One in time-out.

“No, you can’t. You haven’t got enough control over your powers to help, and these ingredients aren’t the safest as it is; the last thing I need is for you to accidentally heat something up and blow up the whole kitchen. Now stop distracting me and go help out there. Perhaps Parker needs something.”

And it’s a little odd, meeting her sister’s brother and having him not be her brother too. It’s even odder because he feels about Abby the way she had felt all her life; distrusting, fearful, always waiting for her to hurt him. The only difference is that she’s had the chance to process her feelings and work to get past them, to find a way for her and Abby to heal and be a family.

She pours the latest batch of potions into vials, takes a bottle of water for Jordan, and starts climbing the stairs towards the attic. As she passes the living room opening, she glances towards the couch again and, awkwardly, makes eye contact with Parker. They share a somewhat uncomfortable smile and she sees his hand slip into his jacket pocket. His face twists into a pinched look, one of discomfort as Mel walks back in and he avoids looking her way. His glance back at Waverly, hand still in his jacket pocket, makes her heart sink. She reckons she knows what he’s got in there, and it cuts into her very soul; she really had hoped they’d have more time to figure out a different solution before having to resort to… that. But it seems Abby’s had the same thought as they have, however, if Waverly’s guess is correct.

Abigael’s sent Parker home with a vial of her blood.

Taking the stairs slowly, Waverly wonders if they shouldn’t just… take the fight to Alistor right now; if Abby’s given them her blood of her own volition, does that mean she doesn’t think they can win any other way? Does that mean she’s telling them to get on with it already?

She knocks before walking into the attic, a mere courtesy so as to not startle Jordan with her sudden presence. He looks over briefly from stitching up a rather large gash in Joxen’s side and nods for her to set her tray on the ground; the only surface not covered in bloody rags and bandages.

She unscrews the water bottle she fetched him and sticks a straw in it, holding it to his mouth. His sigh is grateful as he sips, not once stopping in his suturing. It makes her smirk, “shall I wipe your forehead of sweat too, doctor Chase?”

Jordan chuckles, tired.

“Not actually a doctor, but I appreciate the offer.”

Waverly smiles, but it doesn’t last as her eyes are drawn back to Joxen’s prone form, “It’s not looking good for him, is it?”

“No, it’s not. I’ve done the best I can, and he’s pretty close to human anatomy but just left of center so I don’t even know if what I’m doing is enough. But you never know, he might pull through by some miracle. What’s the demon equivalent to a miracle, a satanic blessing or something?”

Waverly shrugs, humming.

Her head turns towards the door as faint, muffled voices reach them. She’s suddenly very happy she sealed off Lydia’s room for the night; Mel’s yelling – and it is Mel, there’s nobody else it would be – would have definitely woken her daughter up by now.

Jordan hums too, “that doesn’t sound good either.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Parker’s likely revealed that he’s got Abby’s blood in his pocket, and that I’m to finish brewing her vanquishing potion.”

That seems to make Jordan’s nimble fingers hesitate, only for a moment. He glances up briefly, “he gave you her blood?”

“Not yet, but I saw him fidgeting with something in his pocket while avoiding Mel. What else would it be?”

“You don’t think there could be another way? I mean… she’s still in there…”

Waverly wonders if Abby truly knows how much these people care for her, even those that pretend otherwise.

The truth is, she’s been thinking about a different solution as well, and seeing the hope in Jordan’s eyes when he asks makes her almost spill about her idea.

But looking at the state of Joxen, Abby’s friend, and how little control she had to prevent this… Waverly doesn’t even know if it will work. And she shudders to think of Mel’s reaction if she suggests this only for it to fail.

But Jordan looks so earnest. It makes Waverly think she ought to talk it out with someone, right? Even if he’s just a mortal and wouldn’t know how to work out any kinks they could encounter.

Sighing, she rubs her forehead, “I’ve been considering… the ritual Mother and I used to separate Abby’s demon side from her. Remove whatever demon is possessing her and lock it away in a totem.”

She watches his eyes light up, done with his stitches and bandaging the wound. It makes Waverly purse her lips, “don’t get too excited. Knowing who the demon inside her is… I don’t know if we’d be able to do it, even with Charmed help. Or if it will work without killing her…”

Jordan sits back, cleaning up a little as he thinks on that.

“But it could work, right? Like, that’s a possible alternative to vanquishing her…”

“I suppose so, yes. But you understand why I’d be hesitant to bring it up without having a solid plan…”

“Mel would latch onto it and refuse any other plans.”

Waverly nods, looking back to the yelling coming from the ground floor. It must be getting really heated if they can hear it all the way up in the attic.

“There’s also the slight problem of needing the Blade of Clarity, currently still in my mother’s possession. As you can imagine, she’s not going to jump at the opportunity to save Abby’s life.”

Jordan hums, both of them acutely aware of the fact that Francesca Jameson loathes her own daughter so much, she created a potion to destroy her.

“You’re gonna have to bring it up eventually.”

“Eventually.”

They lapse into silence again, Jordan done cleaning up with Waverly’s help. He checks on an unconscious Joxen one last time before getting to his feet.

“There’s not much else I can do for Joxen right now, so I guess we should probably go down there and make sure they’re not trying to kill each other too hard.”

Waverly nods again, humming, “Go on then. I’m going to check on Lydia first.”

She’s stalling, of course, and both of them know this.

Still, with the way Mel’s voice keeps carrying up the stairs, Jordan’s not going to hold it against her.

They’re arguing when Waverly finally rejoins them.

Silently, she takes a seat on the armchair across from the couch. Parker looks at her then, and she sees it in his eyes; he wants to talk to her alone.

Glancing around at the arguing sisters, each standing at various points in the living room, Waverly’s not sure how they’ll be able to slip out of there undetected. Waverly purses her lips and subtly shakes her head at him, hoping he understands that she’s asking him to wait a little. Instead, she tunes back into the argument happening before them.

“Mel, we don’t even know where they are! How do you expect us to go after them?”

“She’s a witch; we cast a spell or scry for her. Hell, she must be a red dot on the witch board by now!”

As expected, Mel heard that the monster inside Abby has yet to get rid of Abby completely, and now she’s not going to agree to any plan that isn’t, inherently, a rescue plan.

Waverly watches Macy and Mel square off and feels awful for Maggie who’s caught in the middle, trying to placate both. It occurs to her; would this have been her life with Abby if they had had a normal and healthy upbringing? Then she looks at Parker, wonders if his life with Abby would have been like this.

(She lets herself fantasize, just for a moment, about a life where they’ve rescued Abby and she’s in perfect health, not a scratch anywhere on her body and not a crack anywhere in her mind. And in this perfect existence, her sister is happily raising a child with her partner, and they get together once a week for family dinners. They include Parker because he’s their little brother and Waverly has a grand time as the middle child. Her daughter is happy and thriving, surrounded by all these aunts and uncles that adore her. Life is good.)

“Mel, we can’t let Alistor back into the world! Abby would agree with me, you know she would. We have to vanquish him.”

The fantasy is shattered, just like that.

“I agree, Macy. Him. Not Abby. We are not going to vanquish her.”

Later, Waverly will wonder what ever could have possessed Parker to speak up at this moment despite the fact that he’s making the right points, “You might not have a choice in the matter, Mel.”

“No, stop. There’s always a choice. If I’ve learned anything from being with Abby, if she’s learned anything in life as she heals, it’s that there’s always a choice. I will not give up on her because it’s the easy thing to do.”

Later, Waverly will think that whatever possessed him must have possessed her too.

Waverly glares, voice hard, “You think this is easy? That we’ve decided this on a whim? Bloody hell, Mel, get your head out of your arse, I thought we’d established already that she doesn’t belong to you, that we love her too.”

It slips out so naturally that it shocks Waverly with how real it feels; she does love her sister.

And she’s going to lose her before she ever gets the chance to tell her.

Suddenly the searing hot lump in her chest isn’t the result of anger at Mel’s selfishness, but rather sorrow at the sheer size of the loss she’s going to endure.

“I wasted years of my life twisted into hating her, and I finally get the chance to make things right. Now I have to live with the idea of having my own sister’s blood on my hands for the rest of my life. So don’t you dare think for a moment that brewing this potion, even an incomplete one, isn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

She watches Mel tighten her jaw, glaring right back at her. They stay there, in a tense stand-off until Mel’s shoulders sag and Waverly spots the faint wobble of her chin. Waverly understands her valiant efforts to hold back tears; now’s not the time to grieve. They’ve got work to do.

The silence is taut with tension for a moment, everyone averting their gazes to let Mel and Waverly collect themselves.

Maggie gives them ten more seconds before bulldozing right through, “so what are we going to do about Daddygael now?”

The ensuing silence is tense for different reasons.

Macy’s pinching the bridge of her nose, and Mel looks like she might be having an aneurysm. Waverly’s forced to bite her cheek to stop herself bursting into laughter.

Macy’s tone is measured, her words slow as she enunciates as clearly as possible, “First order of business is that we’re never going to call him that again.”

Mel’s head resembles those silly dashboard bubbleheads, Waverly muses, watching her nod emphatically. The blush rising to Mel’s cheeks tells Waverly far more about her sister’s sex life than she ever needed to know.

“Agreed.”

Maggie mumbles, chastised, “We need a way to distinguish them…”

“Not like that, Maggie, I’m begging you,” Macy pleads, pained.

Maggie flops down onto the couch, leaning into Jordan’s side after a brief and devastatingly awkward glance at Parker. Waverly notes all three parties’ terrible discomfort at the situation and makes a mental note to gossip about it with Abby later.

Because if she makes future plans in her head with her sister, then that makes it seem like they’re definitely going to win and get Abigael back. It’s a blindly and overtly optimistic way of thinking about it, but what else can she do?

She glances at Jordan, him nodding her on with a pursed-lips smile. Clearing her throat, Waverly speaks up before another argument breaks out, “I’ll finish the vanquishing potion,” she holds up a hand to stop Mel before she starts to argue again, “we’ll need it if all else fails.”

Glaring, Mel speaks up anyway, raised hand be damned, “how are you even going to do that without her blood?”

That makes Waverly’s gaze turn to Parker, raising a brow at him expectantly. When all eyes swing to land on him, Waverly feels a little bad for drawing everyone’s attention – and ire, in Mel’s case – to him, especially when she notes him shrinking a little.

He reaches into his jacket pocket again, fingers looking tense when he pulls his hand back out. Mel goes to take a step forward when Waverly beats her to it, holding out her hand for it with the saddest little smile she can share with him. Murmuring, “It’s okay,” she transfers the half-filled vial into her own palm and closes her fingers over it. There’s barely enough for one batch, she thinks grimly; she can’t mess it up.

Parker croaks, “She’s sealed it, I think. Considering how adamant she was that I give it directly to you and nobody else,” they glance at Mel then, neither one of them missing the flash of hurt in her eyes, before continuing, “It’ll probably only open with your magic.”

With the blood now firmly in their possession, and the possibility of making the potion a tangible prospect instead of just an idea in the ether, Waverly watches Mel finally sit down. She looks worn down and droopy, exhausted beyond just pregnancy.

To Waverly, Mel looks defeated.

Everyone silently agrees to let Mel process and come to terms with what’s going to happen next, Macy taking control of the conversation, “You said ‘if all else fails.’”

Waverly hums, “I’ve been thinking about a different plan. I don’t know how to pull it off, or even if it’ll succeed considering it’s Alistor and not some regular mildly powerful demon…”

Waverly’s words seem to breathe new life into Mel, her head raising. Waverly expects her words to be harsh or forceful, but Mel sounds cautiously optimistic and controlled, “What’s your plan?”

“We’d need to amend it, of course, and I’d likely need your help for the ritual but… I was thinking that perhaps the ritual Mother and I performed to split Abby’s demon from her.”

There’s silence, the gathered crowd processing that idea, Maggie snarking that, “for someone who hates Abby so much, your mother sure spent a lot of time thinking about her…”

Parker frowns, sitting up, “You wanna split Dad from Abby? And then what?”

“Well, I figured we’d stick him in a totem like we did with Abby’s demon.”

Macy shakes her head, “that poses the risk of someone opening the totem like Abby did to release Spike. We have to vanquish him.”

Parker protests, “Then Godric will just redo the ritual and we’d have to do this all over again. Abby and I would have to look over our shoulders for them for the rest of our lives.”

There’s strength back in Mel’s voice when she speaks up again, “So we’ll vanquish Godric first.”

Maggie snorts, “You say that like it’ll be easy.”

“It’d be easier than vanquishing Alistor. Hell, it’d be easier than splitting him from Abby too.”

Jordan pipes up, “Fine. You get rid of Godric. That still doesn’t solve the Alistor problem. Like Macy said, putting him in a totem risks someone releasing him.”

Waverly speaks up again, shrugging, “So they do. It sounds like he needs a host body that can only be acquired through Godric’s ritual. No Godric, no ritual. Alistor would just be magical essence with nowhere to go.”

Parker slouches back against the couch, “my dad is powerful even incorporeal, and obviously still has loyal followers. They’d find a way to bring him back. The totem plan is risky. Not to mention… it sounds like it’d be a powerful and straining ritual, right?”

Waverly thinks she knows where he’s going with this, nodding slowly with pursed lips.

Clearing his throat, Parker continues, “Abby’s in bad shape; I don’t know if she’d even survive something like that.”

Harry speaks up then, his hand on Mel’s shoulder, and Waverly realizes she’d sort of forgotten he was even there, “Abby’s a lot stronger than we give her credit for.”

“Not in the face of constant pain, Harry. She told me she’s been in agony for weeks; because Godric screwed up the ritual by infecting Abby with the potion instead of coaxing her to agree willingly, there’s been a split, and now both her and Dad are in there. So Dad’s been hurting her in an effort to get her to submit. She’ll crack at some point. No, we should do what she asked us to do.”

Waverly notes Harry’s hold on Mel’s shoulder tighten, perhaps to keep her seated instead of lunging at Parker’s throat like Waverly imagines Mel wants to do.

Mel grits her teeth, “We’re not going to vanquish Abby if we have another viable plan we can pursue.”

Nobody voices the fact that if this other “viable” plan fails, Abby’d still, most likely, die.

Maggie stands up, too full of jittery energy to sit still now, “So we’re gonna vanquish Godric first, then split Daddygael from each other.”

Macy pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing patiently, “Seems like that’s the new plan.”

Mel gets back to pacing, and Waverly frowns at the way she’s rubbing her back again, realizes she has been all night, “No, we split Alistor from Abby first. If Parker’s right, she doesn’t have too much time left. Once he’s in the totem, and Abby’s safe, we have time to hunt down Godric at our own pace.”

Parker deems it necessary to remind them just then, “They’ll likely be together. You need to have your Godric vanquishing plan ready.”

Jordan then poses the question they seem to have forgotten, “How are you going to get Abby in place for the ritual? If she’s not in control of herself, or at least not in control long…”

“We’ll put her in a containment spell, in the command center. That way, even if Alistor takes control again, he can’t use his demon powers,” Macy decides.

“Right, but how are you going to get her there…?” Jordan asks again, “She’s not going to come with you willingly. Abby actually seems really determined to stay away from you guys right now.”

Mel hums, “we’ll knock her out and orb out.”

Waverly snorts, “We aren’t doing anything; how long has your back been aching?”

That makes Mel frown, and her sisters turn to her with appraising gazes.

“What’s that have to do with anything right now?”

Jordan catches on, clearing his throat, “backache could be a sign of labor.”

Mel’s expression hardens, pointing a harsh finger at Waverly, “You will not bench me. I’m fine, the baby’s fine. She’s not going to be born anytime soon; Future Me is gonna be back for her before then.”

Maggie tries to get Mel to sit again, “Mel…”

“No, I’m going on whatever rescue plans we hatch.”

“You’d be a liability; the whole plan could be compromised,” Waverly speaks up, no nonsense. At this point, she’s the only person that can stand up to Mel as someone that cares about Abby; taking care of Mel takes care of Abby.

“Like hell I would, Waverly! You need me for the Power of Three anyway.”

“No, we’d only need you for the ritual to split them; you can just wait in the command center for us,” Waverly remains calm in the face of Mel’s growing storm.

Macy rests a hand on Mel’s arm, soft, “She’s right, Mel… there’s no need to endanger yourself or the baby. We can’t risk the baby being born out of her time, we don’t know what that might do. You’ll be involved in the hard and most important part anyway. And- and we need to brew a potion to help vanquish Godric, and who better than the potion princess to brew it?”

Mel glares at Macy, both for the obviously busy-work she’s giving her and for her use of that nickname. It earns her a mumbled apology from a wincing Macy.

Mel looks at Maggie, then, desperate for someone to support her, jaw slack when Maggie avoids her gaze too.

Setting her jaw, Mel glares at Waverly, “You better bring her back.”

Waverly merely raises a brow, silent, but eventually she acquiesces and offers a small nod.

Jordan speaks up after the tense silence between Mel and Waverly stretches longer than is comfortable, “So. What now?”

Somehow, despite the dire situation they’ve all been thrust into, Waverly manages to sound even grimmer, “Now we pay my mother a visit about a blade.”

Chapter Text

Try as they might, they can’t get Mel to stay back and rest before she goes into full-fledged labor.

But there’s no way in hell Mel’s not going with them to see Francesca.

So Waverly, begrudgingly, brews her a potion that slows down labor temporarily, and they all head to the command center.

Stepping out of the portal in front of Abby’s childhood home – house, Mel reminds herself because this place was never a home for Abby – Mel’s first thought at the sheer size of the place is, “posh.” She glances to the side, Maggie’s and Macy’s wide eyes taking in the place telling her she’s not the only one surprised by this place.

She’s not sure what she expected though; a dilapidated cottage deep in the forest? A part of her does agree that that’s what she expected, partly because of how good both Abby and Waverly are at identifying magical ingredients and their uses, and how talented they are at brewing potions. Mel had thought that that’s likely due to them growing up surrounded by nature, as well as Francesca’s tutelage and focus on those aspects of magic.

The darker part of her mind whispers, angry, that she’d hoped they lived somewhere remote and isolated, that they weren’t so well off – to say the least – because that would explain how Francesca managed to get away with abusing Abby so thoroughly. Looking around at the lush garden and the imposing stone building, the blatant displays of wealth and a comfortable life, Mel’s rage bubbles in her chest; how didn’t anyone realize there was a monster living in this house? How didn’t anyone realize there was a little girl in here, desperate for love and attention, suffering abuse at the hands of the one person that should have loved her unconditionally?

Suffering for merely existing.

Didn’t Abby have any neighbors who might have cared? A teacher at school who would have noticed bruises and fears?

Did Abby have no one who cared?

Mel’s heart breaks, cleaved right down the middle in two; what a lonely life.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when she hears Macy’s voice, “You grew up… here?”

Waverly only hums, nodding, picking her steps carefully as she walks towards the front door. Mel initially thinks that perhaps Waverly’s avoiding traps of some kind, before she realizes Waverly’s merely trying to avoid stepping on the flowers lining the path.

How utterly normal, how utterly mundane, despite the atrocities hidden behind that door.

Mel can’t help it, she needs to know, “seems a little isolated; how far is town or the school you went to?”

If Waverly catches on to what Mel’s really asking – “where are the people that could have saved you and Abby from Francesca?” – she doesn’t let on. Calm and neutral as can be, Waverly tells her that they, “were homeschooled.”

Maggie teases, “What, no fancy boarding schools?”

Waverly smirks, and it infuriates Mel to no end, “And risk us learning that the abuse she inflicted on Abby was unacceptable? Risk not only Abby fighting back more than she already did, but me standing up for my sister as well?”

That quickly sobers the mood, Mel watching her sisters’ jaws snapping shut against any more witty commentary.

Mel hurries her pace, shoulder to shoulder with Waverly soon enough and reaching for the house’s doorknob first. She sounds tense when she speaks; she’s not looking for a fight, but she’s ready for one if it came down to it, “Let’s just get this over with, okay? Abby doesn’t have a lot of time.”

Mel’s about to melt the doorknob right off when Waverly clears her throat and holds up a key, brow raised.

(Mel willfully ignores her muttered, “Bloody Americans, always going for brute force first…”, only rolling her eyes at Waverly.)

(There’s a distant part of her brain that’s petty, that finds glee in the idea that someday this ‘bloody American’ might be Waverly’s sister too.)

(It’s that thought that makes her brain short-circuit long enough to let Waverly unlock the door and push in past her without any protests from Mel.)

(Mel’s willing to consider marrying Abby someday. What a concept.)

She’s the last to enter the house in her distracted state, so she misses the looks of awe on her sisters’ faces when they see the interior; it’s just as grand and posh as the outside. Mel spots a grand piano in one of the rooms and wonders if Abby can play.

She makes a mental note to ask her when they get Abby back.

Because they will get her back, Mel knows it. There’s no solid proof of that, technically, but when she feels her daughter moving inside her, Mel’s entire chest fills with the knowledge that there is no way her future doesn’t include Abby.

Mel follows Waverly to a painting, watching her remove it to reveal a safe. “How cliché,” Mel thinks while observing Waverly turn the dial to open it.

Waverly fails, gaze wide and faintly panicked when she looks up at Mel.

“She’s changed the combination; she must know we’re coming. We have to leave-”

“I expected this kind of foul behavior from your sister, but you’ve so sorely disappointed me, Waverly.”

As usual, Mel rolls her eyes when her sisters and Waverly get in front of her, but she thinks that – in this case – it’s more to protect Francesca from Mel than the other way around.

(Or at the very least prevent Mel from going to prison for homicide.)

Ever the voice of reason, Macy speaks up first, “We’re not here to fight, Francesca. We just need the Blade of Clarity.”

“So you thought you’d steal it from me. Yes, I can see how that wouldn’t lead to a fight.”

“Mother, just give us the Blade, please. We’ll be out of your hair.”

The look Francesca shoots Waverly is made of the purest ice, her words venomous, “Be quiet. I’ll deal with your betrayal later.”

When Waverly cowers a little, Mel’s anger roils inside her chest. Setting her jaw, she turns to the exposed safe and raises her hand. Easily, perhaps far too easily, she melts the lock away and yanks open the safe door to reveal the ritual knife.

Gripping it tightly, she glares past everyone right at Francesca, “I don’t know why we’re arguing about this when clearly we don’t even need you.”

In hindsight, Mel knows she probably shouldn’t have taunted the psycho-witch bitch.

Francesca smirks, arms crossed against her chest in the most nonchalant way imaginable, “tell me, Melanie, is it true? Has my monster of a daughter really snapped like I’ve heard? I assume that’s why you need the Blade; to save Abigael’s life. Surely that’s why she’s not here herself, yes?”

The room around them chills, Mel’s voice icy to match, “Don’t you dare speak a word about Abby.”

Francesca holds up her hands, a fake surrender, smirking still. It drives Mel crazy how closely that gesture resembles something Abby would do. She’s not blind or an idiot, Mel knows Abby can sometimes be cruel. She just never thought that she’d likely have learned cruelty from her mother. From her mother’s treatment of her.

“You’ve got what you came for, what’re you still doing here?”

Mel feels the same way, turning to leave with the Blade of Clarity firmly gripped in her fist. For the first time in days, she lets hope bloom in her chest, pushing out the anger and hurt; she’s got Abby’s salvation in hand. Things are looking up…

… Except. That was too easy, wasn’t it?

Maggie voices those exact thoughts just as Mel turns back around, tensions building in the room.

Francesca chuckles, and it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to Mel’s ears. She’d love nothing more than to just… sock the woman in the mouth. She can feel her palm sweat with the anticipation of it.

Waverly frowns, “What’s the catch, Mother?”

They watch her strut to her bar and pour herself a drink. Mel wishes she had better control of her time powers so she could speed up this entire ordeal. Or speed up Francesca’s molecules into bursting. Both solutions sound like win-win to Mel.

“Why don’t you try using the Blade, darling?”

Mel looks at it in her hand with a frown, about to try something when Waverly snatches it from her hands. Mel’s about to snatch it back when Waverly glares at Francesca, “You’ve tampered with it, haven’t you.”

Francesca chuckles again, and it makes Mel want to rip her own ears off.

“The Blade will only respond to my magic. So you’re free to walk out of here with it, but it’ll ultimately not do you any good. Abigael will still be dead soon, and I’ll finally be rid of the biggest mistake of my life.”

Mel sees red, pushing past everyone to lunge at Francesca. She’s only held back by Waverly and Maggie, Macy’s lips pursed as she steps in front of her to address Francesca again, “Unlock the Blade, Francesca, or you’ll regret it.”

“I’m sorry, did a Charmed One just threaten me? I’m tickled.”

“If we don’t save Abby, the whole magical world will fall into ruin,” Macy retorts, barely restraining herself from yelling.

“The magical world will be saved when that filthy demon dies. Really, you’re doing a poor job of convincing me to help you save her.”

“How about this for a reason then; if you don’t help us, and we lose Abby to the demon taking over her body, her father by the way, you’re gonna be the first person on his shit-list.”

That seems to give Francesca pause, and Mel will admit she’s not following Macy’s train of thought either.

It must show on their faces because Macy continues, “He’s not been her biggest fan, but time and again, Alistor has proven that he cares about his family in his own twisted way,” Macy chuckles, humorless, “I mean, the man conquered freaking Tartarus to retrieve his son.”

Mel thinks that’s probably not entirely true, but she sees where Macy’s going with this, so she doesn’t interject as Macy continues, “And you treated Abby terribly. Hell, you treated her so badly that she’s still loyal to the father that, upon finding out about her, tried to have her assassinated at thirteen. And despite you, Abigael grew up to become a formidable young woman, a fearsome demon. Someone Alistor would be almost proud of.

So, sure, he’s trying to obliterate Abby’s very soul and take over her body, but she’s proven herself enough that he’d at least make you pay for all you’ve done to her.”

Maggie pipes up then, looking brave and bouncy, Mel thinks with a bittersweet smile, “and it’s safe to say he’s not going to end you quickly. So. Give us access to the Blade, Francesca, and do what you do best; selfishly save yourself.”

Mel watches Francesca, and she thinks they’ve got her now, that she’ll submit to their demands. That the tide is finally going to turn in their favor when the wretched witch laughs.

“That’s a lovely story you’ve spun, you almost had me convinced for a moment. But I’m powerful; I’ve taken Alistor on before and I can certainly do it again. Him showing up here to ‘end’ me wearing that monster’s face will only fuel me further.”

There’s a burning rage in Mel that won’t be put out, and before she knows it she’s marched past her sisters and Waverly, almost toe-to-toe with Francesca, sneering, “You know what, why don’t we just obliterate you? That will probably unlock the Blade just as well as any other solution, and we’d have one less monstrous child abuser in the world!”

Mel’s ears are roaring and she feels them heat up, it distracts her from hearing her sisters’ gasp. When Francesca takes a step back, away from Mel, with her gaze drawn to her hand, Mel looks down too. She definitely hears her own gasp.

There, swirling away in various shades of blue and hints of hot, burning white, is a fireball cradled in Mel’s palm.

Maggie steps up behind her, voice hushed, “how are you doing that…?”

Her free hand shakily cradles her belly, and Mel shivers at the almost overwhelming burst of magic she practically feels racing along her veins and coating her insides. Mel sounds awed, hushed too as she answers, “This isn’t my doing… it’s the baby…”

Waverly startles them, everyone turning to look back at her as her eyes fixate on Mel’s baby bump, croaking, “Bloody hell… your baby is Abby’s, or the very least a Caine somehow, perhaps through Parker.”

Mel looks to the fireball in her hand, and then down at her baby bump. Her fingers press back against the pressure she feels her daughter – hers and Abby’s – exert against her fingers.

In her heart, she had already known the baby’s other parent would be Abby; she may have had moments of doubt when Abby was behaving erratically, but she’d overcome those hesitancies. So to have this biological confirmation literally in her palm, it doesn’t scare her. It doesn’t surprise her either. All it does is reaffirm her belief in Abby and in herself, and in them.

Reaffirms to her that she’s deeply in love with Abigael Jameson-Caine.

It also sparks – pun intended – a new hope in her; if the baby is biologically Abby’s somehow, then that means they win, right? That they get Abby back.

Mel turns her ice-cold gaze on Francesca again. Raising her hand, Mel growls lowly, “why don’t you give me a good reason not to turn you into barbeque right here and now? Lord knows nobody would miss you…”

A part of Mel – likely the part that’s been in Abby’s company too long – feels gleeful at the fear she starts to see in Francesca’s eyes. The older woman looks over to her daughter, raising a brow at Waverly in pleading question, “Waverly…?”

Waverly’s face goes blank, jaw tight as she answers, “I’m inclined to agree with my niece on this one,” her eyes sharpen to daggers as she steps forward too, wielding the, at the moment, useless Blade of Clarity like a weapon, “after all, you sent a demon after my baby girl. Why shouldn’t I get to stain this carpet with your blood?”

Maggie and Macy share looks of alarm that go unnoticed by both Mel and Waverly, the sisters hurrying to get in front of the weapon-wielding pair.

Maggie tries to reason with them first, “we are not here to kill her! Both of you, stand down right now, this isn’t the way, and it’s definitely not how Abby’d want it!” Maggie glares over her shoulder at Francesca, “no matter how much she’d agree that Francesca deserves it, she wouldn’t want it to be on you two. Mel, Waverly… Francesca isn’t worth your souls.”

The fireball sparks a little and swirls more volatilely, Mel’s eyes smudged with hesitation before the flames fizzle out. Waverly’s grip on the Blade’s hilt grows white-knuckled even as her hand starts to lower. Macy sets her jaw and turns to Francesca, voice hard as she tries one last time, “I suggest you unlock the Blade before they change their minds.”

It’s late when they get back to Vera manor, and Mel’s feeling the effects of her labor-slowing potion fade away as her backache starts to flare up again.

She heavily eases herself onto the couch, intent on ignoring everyone as Harry, Jordan, and Parker crowd them to ask about what happened, if they were successful.

The only thought Mel can entertain at that moment is that she’s pregnant with her and Abby’s child.

(And that apparently their child has pyrokinesis. Mel grimaces at the idea of trying to soothe their child only for them to singe her eyebrows off in the middle of a meltdown.)

(It’d probably be karma for her singing off Francesca’s eyebrows before leaving her house with the unlocked Blade of Clarity. Still, she wouldn’t change a thing. Abby would have loved it.)

There’s a silence around her that forces her to tune back into the conversation, alerting her that the boys were likely just informed of the identity of the baby’s other parent, and how exactly they’ve arrived at this conclusion.

Waverly looks at her then, grim, “you know what this means, don’t you?”

Mel purses her lips, refusing to verbalize the thought, refusing to put it out in the universe. But she also knows nobody else wants to be the one to say it either.

“Alistor is going to come for the baby.”

Chapter Text

Unanimously, they agree to take a day to plan.

(Everyone’s worry about Mel’s state, the possibility of her labor beginning in the middle of all of this, goes unspoken.)

(Mel’s own worry must be double all of theirs combined because when Harry offers to orb her up to bed, she accepts without any protests.)

(Waverly’s secretly glad; she needs to finish brewing the vanquishing potion, and the last thing she needs on top of the day they’ve had is to contend with Mel glaring at her across the counter when she’s trying to carefully mix demon blood into an already volatile brew.)

The next day is spent hatching an extraction plan, as Mel insists on referring to it; they need to find Abby, subdue her, and bring her back to the command center where Waverly will cast the circle for the separation ritual.

Finding Abby would be the easy part, there are several ways to go about it; there’s the obvious choices like checking her penthouse or the demon bar – which they agree is the most possible scenario; there’s the option to check the witch board, cross referencing the dots with the demon board to find the one overlapping dot; then there’s the option of a spell Waverly vaguely remembers, something about summoning a lost witch. They’d need to fill in the blanks Waverly’s drawing on the exact incantation, and then still amend it to take them to Abby instead of bringing Abby to them. Nobody wants to even entertain the idea of what would happen if they summoned Abby and it’s Alistor that’s in control when she arrives.

Subduing her might pose a bit of a problem, but Mel insists that the sleeping spell she’s seen Abby use would work just fine. They just have to make sure to get her into a containment spell as soon as possible.

The separation ritual causes them the most trouble.

It’s a complicated process as it is, the incantation written in Sumerian – “Of all the dead languages, it had to be Sumerian? That’s even deader than Latin…” Maggie complains on her third time messing up the chant – and it’s wordy. They also realize they’ve got to alter it so that it could work to extract someone as powerful as Alistor, not extract Spike in the process, and keep Abby alive through the whole thing.

The majority of the day is spent working and practicing the ritual after instructing Harry and Parker to hunt down a suitable vessel that can hold Alistor without breaking.

(Maggie insists that Jordan stay behind with them at the house while they practice, “just in case we get hurt or something,” she claims. Mel’s not stupid though; she knows he’s meant to stay and keep an eye on her – her backache hasn’t relented at all.)

By evening, they’re feeling more confident; the sisters can happily claim that they’ve had two complete ritual run-throughs without a single hiccup. They even find the time to stop at the command center and draw out the circle pattern for the ritual on the ground and position the necessary candles in the correct spots.

When Harry and Parker come back, sweaty and dirty and a little scratched up, beaming and holding up a bronze statue depicting a demonic looking creature posed in the classic “hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil” format, the witches feel like a cautious celebration with Chinese food is in order; things are coming together slowly but surely, and there is a solid plan they’ll follow. What could go wrong?

(Famous last words, Mel will think when she looks back at this moment.)

It’s over passing a container of chicken and shrimp dumplings that Mel’s sisters and Waverly tell her she’s staying behind when they go to find Abby. They’re braced for an argument, everyone’s shoulders so tense they’re practically on the same level as their ears.

“Sounds good. I’ll wait in the command center.”

Nobody saw the easy agreement coming, jaws left slack as silence blankets them. It makes Mel roll her eyes.

“I want to save her, I want to be there to save her. But,” Mel takes a deep breath, like she’s struggling to verbalize this, “Waverly’s right. I’d be a liability.”

(She dutifully ignores Waverly’s smug raised brow.)

“Besides. I have to protect our daughter too. And giving birth in the middle of a magical battle isn’t exactly the exciting birth story I want for us.”

Maggie sees an opening for a lighter conversation, holding on to it with both hands, “What exciting birth story do you want?”

Mel smiles faintly, shrugging, “a boring one, actually. Hopefully a hospital with doctors and equipment, and the wonderful drugs that make the pain go away.”

Waverly chimes in, smiling, “Abby’d be there, holding your hand. I think you’d break hers.”

It makes Mel laugh, a happy sound.

Abigael, murmuring soothing nonsense to her through her contractions and wiping the sweat off her forehead when she’s limp on the bed. Abigael, encouraging and supportive when she pushes, despite all the abuse Mel thinks she’d hurl at her. She thinks she really would break her hand.

Abigael, face sheet-white and the perfect rendition of panic when they hand her a squirming bundle of blankets, wringing out her hands and wiping her sweaty palms on her designer jeans.

Abigael, body relaxing instantly and face morphing into pure awe and utter love the moment she lays eyes on their daughter. Mel imagines she’d have trouble getting Abby’s attention after that, knows Abby’d be instantly wrapped around their daughter’s tiniest tiny finger.

What a fantasy.

Mel would give anything to be able to have an ordinary, boring, stereotypical birthing story. She hopes they get things right in this present so that she can experience this with Abby in the future.

(She ignores the twinge of sadness poking her between the ribs at the thought that she won’t get to have this with Abby now. It seems rather unfair to her that she carries the baby and bonds with her so thoroughly, only for her future self to come back and take her away before Mel even gets to meet her. All the hardships with none of the rewards.)

(The price of magic, she thinks to herself.)

The rest of their dinner lapses into silence.

Just as well, Mel muses, there’s not much to be said anyway beyond, “Abby’s coming home.”

They drop off Mel at the command center. Jordan stays with her, and they make Parker stay back too, despite his protests; the last thing they need is for him to be taken again. Besides, Jordan argues that he’ll need a hand here both to prepare the area in case they need to heal Abby, and in case Mel goes into labor.

(All three parties involved avoid each other’s gazes; the last thing Mel ever thought would happen to her was her little sister’s current boyfriend partnering up with her ex-boyfriend, who is also her girlfriend’s little brother getting up close and personal with her… personal space.)

The sisters and Waverly arm themselves with a multitude of potions; teleportation ones they thought to brew last minute for a quick getaway, generic vanquishing potions for any demons that might get any ideas, and the invisibility potions they’ll use to get into the demon bar where the witch board said Abby was. A vial each containing a potion to absolutely decimate Godric.

Mel watches intently as Waverly tucks one last vial into her jacket pocket, safely hidden and protected. The potion swirls together in shades of smoke-grey and Mel can see deep red smudges lance through the greys occasionally. It makes her insides twist on itself like thick smoke, much like the contents of the vial holding Abby’s death in its confines.

Maggie and Macy embrace Mel in tight hugs each, reminding her to take it easy, that it’ll be okay. She tells them to be careful, be safe.

Mel then turns to Waverly, swallowing softly. She can see the anxiety in Waverly’s eyes. She must be worried about Lydia too, despite leaving her in Celeste’s capable hands.

A grim thought clogs Mel’s throat; what’ll happen to the little girl if Waverly doesn’t come back from this?

(Mel will fight tooth and nail to keep her, she knows. She won’t let anything happen to Lydia. She hopes Waverly knows that.)

(When Waverly nods at her, once a little hesitantly then a second time more sure, Mel thinks that means she knows. Thinks it means Waverly’s thankful.)

Waverly sounds so calm and confident, firm when she speaks, “We’ll bring her back. One way or another.”

“Yeah,” Mel thinks, watching them take Harry’s arms and orbing out, “that’s what I’m worried about.”

They end up in a bush, Maggie yelping at a thorny branch poking her in the side. She’s busy grumbling about Harry needing to practice his landing more when she’s shushed.

“Rude, guys-”

“Maggie, be quiet. Something’s not right,” Macy sounds tense, peering over the hedge towards the bar.

Maggie spots what she means immediately; where there would be a line around the nondescript concrete building, there’s no one. Where there would be a bouncer, testing entrants’ blood for demonic trace, there’s just an unguarded door.

They could simply walk in.

It makes Maggie feel so uneasy. This reeks of being a trap.

Looking to Macy and Waverly, they agree. Harry deems it necessary to voice it too.

“But what choice do we have?”

None.

Harry watches them down their invisibility potions much like they would a shot and head inside.

He murmurs softly once he stops hearing the leaves crunching under their boots, “Good luck, ladies.”

The place is crowded and loud, far more than the other times Macy’s been here before.

And yet, finding Abigael is easier than they expect; seated in the same booth as before, practically draped with the same demons, clinging on to her every word.

Like before, Macy’s skin crawls as she notes, Abby’s eyes find her, find them, with startling ease despite their invisibility.

Alistor, Macy amends in her mind.

They watch in horror as “Abby’s” arm lifts in a wave towards them. If the silence that befalls the crowd in the aftermath is any clue, Alistor’s just lifted their invisibility.

“Macy, darling,” “Abby’s” voice drawls with a lazy and sleazy smirk, and it makes Macy want to vomit, “how lovely of you to stop by.”

The demon to “Abby’s” right leans back to make room; Alistor sits back, smirk lewd as he looks Macy up and down. Spreading his legs and patting a knee, he leers again, “Tell me, love, have you come back for more?”

And Macy’s used to this from Abby, used to Abby playfully flirting with her with the intention of annoying her.

But this… this monster wielding Abby’s face and voice like a blade to be used to commit God knows what kind of atrocities in Abby’s name… it’s sickening.

The thought of the violation Abby’s experiencing, the potential damage he’s done to her life and body without her consent fills Macy with a rage that fuels her voice, hard when she takes a step forward, “Release her, and nobody has to get hurt.”

It dares to laugh, loud and bold and full, in the face of Macy’s resolve.

“How utterly charming. You think you can threaten me.”

The demons surrounding them seem to dislike that idea very much, a few growls and snapping teeth sounding from the gathered crowd.

Alistor stands then, long designer jacket flowing behind him. It’s so odd to watch him take the next few confident steps towards them, not faltering for a moment in the stiletto heels he’s wearing. It’s a jarring reminder that it’s still sort of Abby too, no matter how much the sisters are able to separate her from Alistor in their minds’ eyes.

He hums, eyeing them all intently, Abby’s perfectly white teeth glinting in the dim lighting when he smiles, “Seems the Charmed Ones are short a musketeer. Is little Mellie not feeling well enough to come play? Perhaps it’s the baby giving her grief, hm?”

Macy’s blood runs cold as the gathered demon crowd around them begins to murmur amongst themselves. At least now she knows for a fact that the demon world had not been made fully aware of Mel’s baby til now.

They watch in stunned horror as “Abby” turns to the demons, hands spread with a relaxed and indulgent smile, “Friends! We live in a blessed time! A Charmed One in our time and right at our doorstep is with child!”

The murmuring crowd gets louder, a frenzied energy growing in the room. Alistor turns Abby’s hazel gaze, filled with malice, on the sisters and Waverly again. He lowers his borrowed voice, dangerous and growling, “I want it. Whomever successfully cuts it out of the witch and brings it to me will earn a prestigious place at my side.”

The room bursts into motion, demons scrambling and stampeding towards the single exit. Some decide to team up, one group going after Mel while the other hangs back to stall the Charmed Ones from getting back to Mel.

Maggie, Macy, and Waverly try to scramble back and out while also dodging the various demonic attacks coming their way. Waverly flings demons out of the way with her telekinesis while Macy throws fireballs around haphazardly. Maggie’s thankful she remembered to bring her baton with her when a demon chucks an energy ball at her and she succeeds in batting it away. Maggie, absurdly at this moment, thinks about her little league coach; she wonders where she is right now…

“We have to get out of here, get to Harry!” Maggie states the obvious, rolling her eyes at herself.

“Bloody hell, is it just me or are their numbers not dwindling?”

And Macy realizes Waverly’s right; the demons seem to be stuck in the building.

Which means so are they.

With these blood thirsty demons.

They’re getting caught in the chaos and commotion, about to recreate Mufasa’s death scene, when they feel a magical force yanking them out of the stifling stampede.

Abby’s hands are cold and shaking on Macy’s arm. She looks paler than mere moments ago, a sheen of sweat building. Her other hand is clenched into a fist and raised at her side towards the exit while she yanks them the opposite way. Her eyes are wild and it’s the only thing that prevents Macy from attacking her; she sees Abby behind the frantic gaze sweeping over them.

Her voice sounds like herself too, if a little hoarse, a little pained, “This way, you have to get out of here, get back to Mel…” her head snaps back over her shoulder to look at them again, eyes red rimmed, “Tell me you didn’t leave her alone- tell me you weren’t stupid-”

Macy watches Waverly’s cool resolve crack, just like that. Macy understands though; if either of her sisters were being consumed by one of the worst evils she’d encountered, she’d be rather distraught too.

Waverly clutches at Abby then, and it makes Abby focus her gaze on her sister too. It breaks Macy’s heart to hear the resigned anguish in Abby’s voice, “Waverly, please…”

“Abby, I beg of you, don’t make me do this…”

Abigael shakes her head, stopping them towards the back of the club. Macy sees her eyes dart around between them and the exit and she realizes what’s happening; Abby’s blocked the exit, trapping the demons inside.

She’s keeping them from getting to Mel as best she can.

But Abby’s losing the fight; already weakened from constantly fending off Alistor, there are just too many demons here for her to be able to hold back on her own now.

So Macy covers Abby’s fist with her own, lending her the additional strength to keep her here, just a little longer, “Abby, we have a plan. You just have to stay in control long enough to get back to the command center, Mel’s waiting there too…”

Abigael vehemently shakes her head, and a drop of the blood that had started to drip from her nose falls onto Macy’s hand clutching Abby’s.

“You all know there’s no other way, no other plan. He must not be released into the world, in any way. You have to do this right now because there may not be another chance.”

Waverly grips Abby’s wrist, “this isn’t fair; I just got you back, you can’t give up…”

Despite the craziness around them, Abby smiles, a soft and small thing that is so genuine it fills their little corner with sunlight to the very brim.

Macy squeezes her hand and pats it; permission granted for Abby to drop the barricade on the exit and take the moment to be with her sister.

“I’m not giving up. I would never give up on you or Lydia. But if I don’t do this… no one person should come before the many, Waverly…”

Gently, like she’s been the world’s best big sister all her life, Abby coaxes her own vanquishing potion out of Waverly, holding it in her own palm with a forgiving smile, “I will not stain your hands with my blood, Sister. Tell my niece I loved her very much.”

Macy swallows, looking away as Waverly’s tears flow freely and Abby’s stubbornly stay at the border of her lashes. Instead, she spares a look to her own sister, Maggie’s jaw working and poised to say something.

Most likely about Mel and the baby. Rather specifically, the baby’s other parent.

Quickly catching Maggie’s eyes, Macy shakes her head.

(“Don’t interrupt them. Don’t do this to Abby now.”)

Maggie looks unhappy, ready to protest because Abby clearly needs something to fight for.

(Macy disagrees; Abby’s got something to fight for. She’s got her sister and her niece, her little brother. She’s got Mel and their little baby, regardless of biology. She even has Macy and Maggie, Harry and Jordan. Abby’s got herself to fight for.)

(But… Abby’s got the rest of the world to fight for too, and telling her she could have everything she’s ever wanted just to snatch it all away like this seems far too cruel.)

Nonetheless, Maggie says something, “Abby, this plan could work; we’d be rid of him and save you…”

They’re on the move again when Abby spots demons coming at them, her hand moving of its own accord and throwing them across the room. It’s getting harder for her to breathe, and Macy knows from Parker’s recollection of his Abigael/Alistor encounter that it isn’t from all the running around; they’re running out of time before Alistor snaps back into control.

But Maggie’s words seem to have an effect, Abby’s resigned gaze looking at them with sparks of hope…

… That promptly leave her eyes when her body jerks in tension, jaw slack with a pained gasp.

It all happens so fast after that; Abby’s hands go lax and release both Waverly and her vanquishing potion, the vial shattering at their feet and staining Macy’s shoe. Now, Macy thinks grimly, that they have no choice except to make the separation ritual work.

Abby’s eyes lose their focus, and no sound beyond nonsensical agonized grunts escapes her. Macy thinks they’re about to witness Alistor taking back control from Abby, and all she can think is that they’re far too close to him if that happens, that he could just reach out a hand and snap their necks.

But then the air behind Abby’s body shimmers and solidifies into a shadowed humanoid being with its hand gripping Abby’s shoulder tightly.

Horrifyingly, the shadowed creature’s face lightens until Godric becomes recognizable, his eyes hard and cold, a dead gaze. Macy sees his shoulder thrust forward and twist behind Abby, hears Abby’s gargled gasp as blood splutters from her mouth and it clicks; there’s a knife in Abby’s back, literally and perhaps metaphorically, and Godric is twisting it.

Inanely, Macy watches Abby smile, gruesome and bloody, eyes streaked with relief that perhaps this ordeal will be over now. Godric clutches her closer, his body turning to smoke and ash again, ready to whisk Abby away, perhaps to finish her off elsewhere.

Despite her filling lungs, Abby starts to choke out something, “Tell Mel… I lov-”

Macy blinks.

When her eyes reopen, she’s still in the chaos of the demon bar, in very real danger. She’s left to stare at the spot Abby had been in a literal blink ago.

And the now empty spot Maggie had been standing in too.

Maggie doesn’t know what possesses her to do it, but she lunges forward. Before her brain can catch up, she’s grabbed hold of Abby’s wrist moments before things go dark and she’s taken away from her sister.

(That’s not true, she knows exactly what possessed her to do it; she couldn’t, wouldn’t let anything happen to Abby – Abby is family.)

(Besides. Abby has something to say to Mel still, and Maggie’s not the post office; she will not be delivering any deathbed messages at this time. Abby’s just gonna have to pull through and tell Mel herself.)

Maggie prays Macy finds them soon.

She’ll worry about asking for her forgiveness later.

They’re in shock but it doesn’t, can’t really, last too long; they’re witches in a den of demons and their only possible protection was just… taken away, Macy adamantly thinks.

She grabs hold of an increasingly more frantic Waverly and pulls her through the crowd, flinging demons aside left and right to carve a path down the middle and sthrough them.

With a final burst of power, she yanks Waverly behind her harshly and bursts out into the night, screaming Harry’s name as the pair of them run towards the bush they left him in.

Macy barely has time to register the frantic look in his eyes before colliding into him for a hug, breathless, “No time to explain, we have to get back to Mel now!”

Bless his heart, Harry doesn’t disagree or ask any questions, grimly holding out his phone.

“It appears we’ve got another problem.”

Macy feels lightheaded as she looks at the phone;

“Mel’s in labor.” – Jordan

Chapter Text

They crash to the rocky ground in a tangle of limbs, Maggie grunting when she lands somewhat awkwardly on her shoulder.

The dust that’s kicked up makes Maggie cough, the weight that heavily slumps onto her making breathing harder still.

Maggie hears a pained grunt that coincides with a sickeningly wet squelch. A metal door slams shut and it prompts Maggie to open her eyes finally.

She’s in a cell, a cage really. Then her eyes track to her cellmate; Abby, unconscious and prone. Her back is bloody and Maggie’s mind hurtles back to the fact that she witnessed Abby get literally stabbed in the back with a knife, and she scrambles forward to… what? Check if she’s alive?

Maggie presses her hand onto Abby’s back wound to staunch any bleeding, and it elicits a rattling and aching breath from Abby. Maggie sighs out in relief because at least Abby’s not dead.

(Later, when this mess is behind them and they’ve all lived through it, Maggie will scrub her hands raw to get the sight of Abby’s blood all over them out of her mind.)

“This is unexpected, but what a pleasant surprise. How lovely to see you again, Maggie.”

Times like these – and Maggie hopes they don’t make it a habit to be in situations like this – Maggie wishes she had more active powers. Something as cool as shooting lasers out of her eyes; she’d slice Godric’s head right off his neck before he could even blink. Instead, she has to settle for glaring at him really, really hard.

He sneers down at her from behind the bars, his eyes briefly flitting to where her hands are pressed into Abby’s back. It makes Maggie realize something’s not right; glancing down too, she sees the blood flow trickling to a stop as the wound seals itself like it was never there. When Abby’s ragged breathing eases too, something tight in Maggie’s chest loosens. But one look at their surroundings, up at their jailer, tightens it right back up. She wishes she could freeze time right now; she’d freeze Godric and force-feed him the vanquishing potion she’s got tucked into her pocket.

She tightens her jaw instead, sets her brows into a fierce glare, “She’s never going to give into Alistor.”

“Ah, but we don’t need her to do so anymore. There is a wonderful new alternative.”

Maggie’s not an idiot; she knows he means the baby. Knows why that is a wonderful new alternative, as she glances down at Abby again. Oh, God… Abby doesn’t even know the baby’s hers…

Maggie’s about to tell him off with some sassy remark when the body she’s sitting over, protecting, coughs. It sounds wet and like it’s bouncing against every single one of Abby’s bones on its way out of her throat. She’s struggling to move onto her back, noises pained, and Maggie realizes Abby’s lower half isn’t moving. With building dread, she silently pinches Abby’s calf as hard as she can, only to be met with no reactions.

The knife to the back must have severed something. Maggie’s whole chest aches.

She doesn’t say anything about it just yet, won’t reveal this in front of Godric. Instead she helps Abby ease onto her back, murmuring, “Hey, you’re okay… I’ve got you, Abby.”

Godric’s faked pleasantness drops away like an anchor dropped into harbor waters, his voice rougher than stones dragging against each other, “The child. Tell me where it is and this can all be over.”

Abby grunts, eyes fluttering open then and it makes Maggie’s heart sing to see Abby behind the patented condescendingly bored gaze, “Over my dead body, Godric.”

“That can most certainly be arranged, Abigael.”

Abby smirks tiredly then, and it’s gruesome to see her usually perfectly white teeth stained with her own blood, “That’s My Overlord to you, lackey.”

(Maggie really wishes Abby would stop taunting the not very nice demons holding them hostage.)

Godric’s eyes flash a dangerous yellow before he gets his rage in check, “No matter. There are ways to make you talk.”

Abby speaks in a growl, rumbling from deep in her chest, expression hard and unwavering, “do your worst.”

When Godric smirks at her, Maggie’s heart sinks.

Despite her bravado, Abby’s too tired and weak to try and fight when Godric motions for Maggie to be yanked out of the cage. The fact that she’s paralyzed from the waist down doesn’t help either.

Still, Abigael tries to hold onto Maggie as best she can; she’s not about to just let them torture her family.

Maggie grips her wrist back, tight enough to bruise, and makes eye contact. Her voice is firm and steady, smile reassuring, “I’ll be okay, Abby. I can handle this.”

And she could, Maggie knew she could. No matter what they threw at her, Maggie would handle it. After all, she was in Tartarus; what could Godric do to top that?

(Later, she’ll muse to herself that they really need to stop challenging the cosmos like this. Their hubris is going to be their undoing.)

Twisting the proverbial knife further in Abby’s back, Godric makes sure she’s propped up to have a clear view of the show.

No sooner than Maggie’s been chained to a chair does a backhand find her cheek, hard enough for her head to whip backwards. Abigael flinches away when she sees Godric’s hand raise to deliver it, a burning rage filling her lungs when she looks back to see Maggie’s lip cut from Godric’s ring.

Abigael’s fingers clench and flex, desperate to form a fireball; the idiot’s failed to put any power cuffs on them. Godric likely thinks that her father’s going to keep her in check. For once, Abby’s grateful for male arrogance.

She watches him slap Maggie again, and the rage burning in her lungs grows to a wildfire across her whole body. She can feel her body repairing itself – likely aided by her father’s essence present inside her, she loathes to admit – and sensation is returning to her legs as they start to tingle. But she’s still so exhausted from constantly fighting Alistor off. She knows it won’t last, but he’s gone dormant for now, likely so she’s forced to behold this spectacle. She knows that she needs every single moment of this break to regain her strength before she launches any kind of attack, she needs to play this just right if she wants to have any chance of getting Maggie out of here.

She’s ashamed to say it, but that’s why she didn’t fight too hard to take Maggie’s place, turning her head away to avoid watching the next few blows. Her jaw clenches when she hears Maggie’s suppressed whimper finally break past her lips; the smell of burning flesh reaches her nose, and it takes everything in her for Abby not to retch.

Steeling herself, Abigael turns back to watch; she owes it to Maggie to not flinch away from this.

Godric’s hand is raised as he seems to be heating the metal chains holding Maggie against the chair. Abby remembers that pain; she touches a hand to her neck at the phantom pains the image before her conjures.

Despite the atrocities before her, Abby feels the fire in her chest dulled by… pride. She watches Maggie’s face, pained yes, but strong as she takes everything Godric’s throwing at her. She’s never told her this, but Abby’s always thought Maggie’s one of the strongest witches she’s ever met. She may not be the biggest fan of witches, but Abby understands that you have to possess a certain kind of steady strength to be an empath and not allow it to stain your soul with bitterness.

She hopes she gets the chance to tell Maggie that. That she’s always admired her from afar.

At the first sound of a strangled sob, Abby clenches her fist and wills her body to repair itself faster. She can’t attack him yet, not until she’s capable of running if the opportunity presents itself. She wonders if she’s holding on to a foolish hope that she may, too, make it out of this. They did say they have another plan that wouldn’t kill her…

Abigael slams her fist against the side of the cage, growling, “Godric, let her go! This hasn’t got anything to do with her, and you bloody well know it!”

“I’ll be more than happy to be done with this unpleasantness. Just as soon as she tells me where the child is.”

Abby smiles faintly at the swell of pride that’s back again when Godric bends down to be eye level with Maggie, only for Maggie to spit into his face.

“Go to hell,” Maggie sneers at him. Abigael wonders if this is what it feels likes to have a feisty, troublesome little sister. She muses to herself that Mel has nothing to worry about when it comes to Maggie…

Maggie’s strength, her resilience, and sheer stubbornness in the face of actual torture… Abigael thinks, if she ever had children, she’d want them to be like Maggie.

(With Mel’s dimples and scrunchy-nose smile.)

It makes Abby laugh, a full sound that’s so ridiculous for their situation, echoing around their cavernous jail. It’s enough to make Godric pause to look back at her, assess if she’s finally lost all her marbles.

Perhaps she has, Abby thinks, but she can’t help herself.

“You’re not demon enough to break her,” Abigael goads.

“We’ll see about that…”

He reaches for a tool from the table set beside him, and Abigael sits up; gardening shears. She can imagine what he plans to do with those, and so can Maggie. She watches Maggie’s eyes widen in fear, clenching her fists to hide her fingers away, and struggling in her seat in a futile attempt to get loose.

Abigael’s not ready, she hasn’t regained enough of her strength yet. But the sheer panic growing in Maggie’s eyes is what propels her forward; before she knows it, Abby’s standing at the bars with her arm extended beyond them and smoke is wafting from her fingers. Godric slams into the rocky wall, his jacket singed on the back from where Abby’s fireball connected.

Dread pools in Abby’s chest; that act alone has zapped her of a lot of the strength she had slowly regained. Slumped against the bars, her vision swims a little as she watches Godric get to his feet with a grunt. His enraged yellow eyes land on her. Abigael makes sure she doesn’t blink when she steadily meets them with her own red ones.

He brushes the dirt and dust off himself, “Very well, my Overlord,” he intones sarcastically, “we’ll do this your way.”

With a wave of his hand, Maggie’s restraints melt away, and she’s dragged back into the cage. They don’t even look at where they’re tossing Maggie before they’ve rounded on Abby, power cuff tightened around her wrist as they drag her out by the hair to toss at Godric’s feet.

The smirk on his face is twisted and gruesome, “let’s put the bait on the hook.”

Maggie scrambles up and off the ground, pressed against the bars to yell at Abby for being such an idiot when she sees it, her throat going dry.

Abigael doesn’t see it, or doesn’t realize what’s coming til it’s too late.

A hook, large and sharp and barbarically curved, attached to a chain materializes in Godric’s hand.

She watches Godric’s men pull Abby to her feet harshly. She wants to say something, to scream, to fight, to- do anything that’ll prevent what happens next, but her throat feels drained. Hollow.

Abby’s barely gotten her feet under her before her blood curdling scream bounces about the cavern around them; Godric slams the hook through Abby’s shoulder, and Maggie’s sickened at the sound of flesh tearing. She can practically taste the metallic taste of Abby’s blood in the air.

To make matters worse, Maggie watches the guards grin sinisterly, letting Abby’s weight go to sag as her knees buckle under her while Godric holds up the chain, sadistically tugging on it.

Maggie thinks she’ll never forget the agonized whimpering sound she hears Abby make.

She brokenly calls out Abby’s name, the other woman hanging limply as the demons pull her up. Godric secures the chain in his hands first, and Maggie thinks they’re really going to leave Abby like that; like a bloodied animal carcass hanging from a hook at the butcher shop.

(Maggie’s veganism is reaffirmed in this moment. She’s sure she’ll never be able to pass a butcher shop without gagging ever again.)

The pain must have been overwhelming, Abigael passed out and not stirring at all when they chain up her other arm. Maggie, foolishly, assumes that means they’ll at least give her a moment before they… she shakes her head. Before they start to torture her? Abigael’s been getting tortured for months now, right under all their noses.

Godric fists Abby’s hair, yanking her head back harshly, and Maggie’s heart jumps into her throat when she hears Abby’s faint moan, when she sees Abby’s eyes flutter open. They’re unfocused and glazed over with pain, but at least they’re open.

Godric smiles, and if he wasn’t a literal demon, Maggie would say it kinda looks pleasant. Charming even.

“Now. Why don’t you save us all a lot of time and just tell us how to get the child. I don’t want to hurt you more than I need to, Abigael.”

Maggie prays that Abby keeps her mouth shut, not about the baby because she knows Abby would never tell them about the baby, but she prays that Abby doesn’t say something infuriatingly Abby.

Abby grunts as she lifts her head, lifts her whole body best she can, and Maggie’s sure that’s sending searing embers of pain through Abby’s shoulder. Why must she be like this…?

Abigael connects their eyes, even leans her head forward a little, smirking dangerously if a little shakily, “is this all you’ve got?”

Maggie doesn’t know how long it’s been since they’ve been here. Hours? Days? Mere seconds?

All she’s aware of is the pain.

Abby’s pain.

Maggie thought she could handle it, that she could handle tuning into Abby’s emotions and feelings to help her through this. She’d incept Abby with strength and dull her pain, give her the support she would need to get through this. And it worked.

For a while.

They had started off easily enough, if you can say that.

They beat Abby for a while; the kidney punches hurt the most. The punches themselves elicited faint grunts from Abby, but not much else. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. At some point, she smirked at them too, taunting them, “you punch like a pixie.”

(They wiped her smirk clean off with the next punch because it was hard enough to jostle her on the hook.)

(She still didn’t give them more than a bitten back grunt.)

Maggie did well while they kept that up; she kept Abby calm and collected, lent Abby her own strength. She watched Abby the whole time and when they made eye contact, Abby shot her a grateful half smile.

She should have known that wouldn’t last though; they’re torturing them for information – and it is them that they’re torturing; Maggie knows that Godric knows she’s an empath and torturing Abby tortures Maggie too – and neither one of them are being exactly forthcoming.

They were left in the hands of Godric’s goons when he left to attend to some business or other, and they decided to up the ante with… fire.

Maggie and Abby shared a look when they whipped out a blowtorch, smiles gleeful and flames shining in their eyes.

“Idiots,” Abby’s eyes seemed to say to Maggie; she’s pyro-kinetic, fire wouldn’t hurt her like they were thinking it would.

So Abby put on an exaggerated show, moaning and groaning and writhing in pretend pain, and for one, fleeting moment in the middle of this darkness, Maggie smiled in genuine amusement.

It was a brief reprieve but necessary, Maggie thought, as she watched some strength faintly seep back into Abby’s shoulders.

But eventually Godric came back and brought the electricity with him.

Abigael’s pained grunts were less fake after that.

With every single current traveling through Abby’s cell, starting in the hook where Godric monstrously connected the cables all the way down into Abby’s toes, Maggie seizes right along with her.

And that is when both Abby and Maggie start to break.

Because, Maggie, realizes, the physical pain was nothing in comparison to the overwhelming panic and fear Abby experiences every time Godric flips the switch on the generator responsible for Abby’s electroshock therapy.

When the shocking stops, Maggie’s left panting and breathless as she slumps against the cage bars. Her mind and heart are left scarred and scabbing as they fill with Abby’s silent pleading mantra.

“Stop, Mother, please… I’ll be good I’ll be good I’ll be good…”

By the second round, Maggie’s left in tears.

By the third round, Abby’s passed out from the agony.

Maggie’s grateful for both of their sakes.

The reprieve doesn’t last long; Godric is losing what little patience he had, and his agitation levels seem to be rising. It puts Maggie on edge even more than she already was.

But Maggie can’t afford to think about that right now; Abby’s groggily coming to just as Maggie’s brain registers the sound of something whooshing through the air.

Abby howls, her body jerking on the hook.

Maggie’s back feels like it’s on fire. It makes her own knees buckle, and she reaches behind her to check if perhaps she’s bleeding too.

Godric’s voice rings out around them, hard and angry, “Tell me where the witch and the child are!”

It breaks Maggie’s heart when Abby whimpers, pathetic and in pain. Showing weakness like she hasn’t til now.

When she spots the raised whip – corded leather and branching into nine smaller whips, the tips of them glinting metallically – Maggie thinks, for one fleeting moment of her own weakness, that they should just… tell him. Knows that her sisters are strong, and Macy would never let anything happen to Mel. That Mel would rip Godric’s very spine out with her teeth before she lets him hurt her child.

But then Abby’s ragged breathing registers, and her voice moments after it, “Maggie.”

She doesn’t know if it’s Abby’s tone that does it or if it’s the use of her actual name instead of one of the slew of nicknames Abby has for her, but whatever it is manages to focus Maggie’s brain and makes her shakily get to her feet. She croaks back, “I’m here, I’m ready.”

Abby doesn’t break eye contact with Godric, not for a moment, “No, Maggie. Turn around and tune out. Focus on yourself.”

“Abby-”

Abigael growls out a, “Now,” that has no business being as powerful as it is.

Maggie hopes her niece or nephew is as resilient as Abby is, as strong.

(She wishes she could be too, but when Abby finally breaks eye contact with Godric to find Maggie’s eyes, hazel eyes cloudy with agony and permission, Maggie breaks too.)

She slumps against the bars, back against them by the time she’s sitting on the ground.

When the first blow comes, when Abby’s scream fills every hollow nook and cranny in the cavern around them, Maggie lets her tears flow.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t last very long. Maggie counts five lashes.

(Rather, Maggie feels five lashes licking flames of agony along her back. Hard as she might try, she can’t seem to tune out of Abby’s emotions and feelings; the pain is overwhelming, suffocating. It fills the spaces between Maggie’s molecules.)

(Maggie thinks her and Abby are bonded now. Bound together with chains of suffering.)

Godric leaves when Abby’s screams, agonized, taper off and the cavern is left eerily silent. Maggie finally risks taking a look.

She doesn’t know what she really expected.

She should have expected the blood; she had smelled it in the air as it filled the space around them. It makes her gag.

She doesn’t dare to think about how the gash splitting Abby’s left eyebrow came to be, Abby’s face streaked with blood.

(It explains the splitting headache Maggie’s been feeling since the second lash. She muses that it’ll probably scar. If it weren’t for the circumstances of how Abby acquired it, Maggie thinks Mel would think it’s hot.)

(She doesn’t dare think or even look at the drops of blood slowly trickling and pooling at Abby’s feet either, the source unseen but not hard to imagine; Abby’s back is likely torn to shreds. Maggie grimaces when she looks at the whip Godric left behind, the metal tips of it equally streaked and soaked with blood.)

Maggie needs to get them out of here somehow. Who knows how much longer Abby will survive this…

(Worse still, how much longer before Abby gives in and lets Alistor take her body?)

Looking around, Maggie’s suspicious; they’re alone at last. No Godric, no guards, not even a pesky fly on the wall.

But she’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth; maybe they can finally get out of here, Maggie thinks, fingering the teleportation potion in her pocket.

Maggie starts looking around her cage for a way out. “I mean, it’s a rudimentary cage,” she thinks, “how hard could it really be to break out of it?” It’s even rusty, she can probably dislodge a bar like in the movies…

(She makes a mental note to force Mel to teach them all how to pick locks while she attempts to blindly wiggle a bobby pin in the cage’s door. Needless to say, she’s unsuccessful.)

She wonders if Abby knows how to pick locks, maybe she could give her directions…

… If she were conscious anyway.

Harshly whispering and trying to keep quiet to not draw any guards to them, Maggie calls out, “Abby, wake up… please, wake up and say something… I’m going to get you out of here, but you have to wake up and help me…”

It takes a few tries, Maggie losing the first bobby pin when it slips from her hands and breaking the second one in the lock, before she spots Abby’s fingers, those left unbroken, flexing weakly. When Abby speaks, labored and rattling, she doesn’t lift her head too far up. Maggie thinks she likely can’t.

“And how do you propose to do that, Bouncy? Made a wish on a genie, perhaps?”

It fills Maggie’s soul with joy to hear the sarcasm and nickname, albeit tired and weak.

“I have a potion, Abby. I’ll throw it at you and it’ll take you back to the manor-”

Abigael’s head jerks up, and Maggie’s startled at the hard look she’s shooting her. The blood lining her eyes and almost coating half her face doesn’t help either, “Don’t you bloody dare. You’ve had a way to get yourself out of here this whole time and you haven’t used it?!”

(Maggie will spend a long time after all of this trying to figure out why Abby’s still won’t let herself have people.)

She glares at Abigael, squares her shoulders despite her legs shaking from the aches in her body. She fights back for the both of them, “I wasn’t going to leave you to these monsters!”

“Instead you left Mel out there, without the Power of Three!” Abby cries out, yanking on her chains and jostling herself on the hook. It makes Maggie wince and grip her shoulder where she feels Abby’s phantom pains, glaring at her for doing this to both of them.

(She doesn’t dwell on the fact that Abby didn’t react at all to the pain. Maggie imagines that Abby’s entire body has been through so much pain in the span of hours she must be numb. Or worse, unable to distinguish what hurts more anymore.)

Maggie hisses at Abby through clenched teeth, “stop wriggling like a worm on the hook; I feel like my arm is going to fall off.”

Ridiculously, Maggie feels Abby fill with anger, feels it fill her own chest because of whatever empathic bond that’s formed. It makes her grind her teeth.

“You didn’t tune out like I told you to?!” Abby sounds pissed, but… she’s also radiating worry and guilt. So much guilt… Maggie has to make the conscious decision to relax herself, to not lash out. Maggie made the decision to attach herself to Godric when he was taking Abby. Maggie chose to use her powers to help Abby survive this. Abby has nothing to feel guilty about.

And yet she’s so full of it Maggie’s gagging on it.

“Not for a lack of trying! It’s a lot harder than you think, Abby. I think- we’ve formed some kind of psychic or empathic bond or something. But that’s not the point right now.”

“The point,” Abby grits out, agitated, “is that you’ve left Mel defenseless. They’re going to go after her, after her child.”

“Mel’s not alone, Abby, and she’s definitely not ‘defenseless’. You better not say that ever again if you don’t want to sleep on the couch for the rest of your life.

She has Macy and Waverly, she has Harry and Jordan and even Parker. Not to mention that she’s a hormonal, pregnant Charmed One with a short fuse. If anything, Mel’s the biggest weapon we have right now, and Godric’s a whole dumbass for trying to take her baby from her.

You, on the other hand, were alone. You needed us too.”

She wishes Abby would stop resisting. She doesn’t want Abby to stop fighting, only to stop resisting Maggie on this, on having someone to care for her too.

Abby’s been trying so hard to care for everyone else, a misguided attempt at redemption, that she won’t even entertain the idea of someone caring for her too. Certainly not anyone other than Mel. The feelings overwhelm Maggie; she silently promises Abby that she’ll do better about being Abby’s family too.

Maggie watches Abby make the conscious choice to not shake herself on the chains or hook again now that she’s aware Maggie’s been feeling every last movement. She takes a slow breath, and Maggie feels her own lungs struggle to expand, feels her ribs ache; Abby’s ribs are probably bruised, and that’s best case scenario.

Abby’s voice sounds controlled, a little stronger than when this conversation started, “Maggie. Use the potion, get out of here. I’m going to be fine. I’ll be out of here in no time.”

“In a body bag maybe, if you keep antagonizing Godric,” Maggie huffs, “Abby, I won’t leave you. I just need to get out of this cage before they’re back, and we can both get out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, so you need to go already.”

“Like hell I’m going home without you-”

“Don’t you understand, I haven’t got a home to go back to!” Abby snaps. Maggie watches all the fight drain out of Abby, slumping heavily again despite how much it hurts when the hook in her shoulder moves.

She takes a deep breath again, centers herself. Her voice is quieter, resigned.

“I can’t… go back. Not after all of this. The things I’ve said and done…”

Defeated.

It breaks Maggie’s heart.

“None of those things were you, Abby, we know that. We understand that. Nobody’s going to hold Alistor’s actions against you when you had no control over any of it. When your consent was so violently ripped from you…”

 Abby shakes her head, adamant, “No, you don’t understand… there are brief flashes of memory… moments where I see myself, me, giving into the darkness, into my most basic demonic urges and desires. Where I almost take what I want and damn the consequences…”

Maggie doesn’t need an empathic link shaking with guilt and shame to know Abby’s talking about moments she shared with Mel. She can hear it so clearly in Abby’s voice.

“And I can’t even blame it on him because it was me, I was in the driver’s seat when they happened, but I…”

Maggie watches her, waits for Abby to gather her thoughts or finish speaking. When nothing comes, she pipes up again, “Mel’s not going to hold any of that against you. She loves you, Abby. So much. It’s actually kinda sweet, in a sickening way. I can only hope Jordan and I get to be as lucky in love as you two have been…”

When Abby laughs it sounds hoarse and broken, a frightful and foreign sound in this space. With Abby’s physical state, it almost looks like she’s gone mad.

“Look around, Bouncy. What about any of this has been ‘lucky’ to you?”

Maggie admits that she could have waited for a better time to say any of that to Abby, huffing out a humorless chuckle, “Yeah, okay. You know what I mean. I haven’t seen my sister so… at ease in so long, Abby. That’s because of you. And you’ve come a long way from being the annoying asshole She-Devil we were always one step away from vanquishing. That’s because of Mel.

You two… don’t exactly complete each other because neither one of you is half a person but- you complement each other. And I think that’s even better.

So. Help me get out of this cage.”

“Maggie… please don’t do this, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. You need to go because I… I can’t fight anymore, I’m not strong enough… please don’t ask it of me anymore…”

“Abby…” Maggie’s heart breaks again. She thinks her heart hasn’t stopped breaking since they put Abby on that hook. Maggie wonders how she’ll ever put the little pieces back together again…

She watches Abby straighten up as best as she can despite her pain, watches her swallow harshly. Abby gathers what’s left of her fleeting strength, coating her voice with it, “They’re going to need you to cast a vanquishing spell, I’m sure of it. Go while you have a head start. I can hold off til Godric comes back before I… submit… but Maggie, if he takes out that cat-o-nine-tails whip again…”

Maggie looks at Abby, looks at the way Abby’s avoiding her eyes. Like she’s ashamed of being seen as weak. Ashamed of being weak. As if she hasn’t been the strongest person Maggie’s met in the past few hours, let alone the past few months.

It makes her think about the annoying, obnoxious She-Devil they met so long ago. How far Abby’s come.

Definitely not this defeated woman who is about to give up.

Maggie rolls her eyes a little, tries to make a wisecrack to lighten the mood, to bring Abby back to her, “Of course you know what different whips are called…”

When she’s rewarded with a faint eye roll, Maggie starts feeling some hope seep back into her, and it makes her bring out the big guns, “You can’t quit, Abby. What about your baby?”

Maggie watches Abby lift her head again, meet her eyes to glare at Maggie, “that is a cheap trick, Maggie Vera, you are better than that. We both know the child-”

“She’s yours, Abby. Yours.”

Maggie wants to scream at the doubt and argument she sees brewing in Abby’s eyes still, adamant about denying it, “I know the sex education programs in schools tend to be lacking, Bouncy, but you do know that Mel and I are lacking certain necessary parts for procreation, yes?”

“The baby’s most responsive and active when you’re around or when we talk about you.”

“That means nothing, Maggie, and you bloody well know it.”

Abby’s disbelief isn’t so much disbelief as it is her absolute denial that it could actually be her child somehow. Maggie feels her insides fill with Abby’s fear at the prospect. What is she afraid of…?

“Deny it all you want, Abigael, but you’ve somehow gotten my sister pregnant.”

“Maggie, stop.”

Maggie thinks she’s getting to her now, getting through to her, ramping up her efforts “She has pyrokinesis. Her flames are a gorgeous blue. She sort of tried to kill your mother with them when Francesca was talking shit about you. It was kinda cute, actually. In a homicidal, Wednesday Addams sort of way.”

“Maggie, stop!” Maggie’s startled by the tidal wave of grief overtaking her, her chest feeling so tight it feels like a boa constrictor has taken residence in her lungs. She looks at Abby then; for the first time since this whole ordeal began, she sees tears in Abby’s eyes.

Abby’s breath rattles in her throat, brokenly trying to get past her lips to form words, “The thought that it could be mine… bloody hell, Maggie, how am I supposed to keep fighting?”

Well. That had a backwards effect on Abby, Maggie frowns.

“Your family is waiting for you-”

“No! All this does is paint a bigger target on Mel’s back, on her child. God, how could I be so stupid, how didn’t I realize sooner that’s why they wanted the baby…”

“Abby, I don’t understand…”

Abby looks like she’s really struggling to breathe, like she’ll choke on pure air any moment. The harder she swallows the more Maggie feels her choking.

“If I don’t give in now, nothing will stop them from going after the baby-”

“Abby, nothing will stop them from going after the baby regardless! You being in control is the best chance we have at saving you and your child. If you don’t get your head on right, right now, and help me get us out of here, we’re all doomed,” Maggie snaps, slams her hands against the bars of the cage.

She can’t believe her ears, can’t believe the shitty logic Abby’s employing right now. She understands how they’ve gotten to this point; hours of relentless torture are bound to make one a little unstable, to say the least. And then being told that the magical baby your girlfriend is carrying is also the magical baby you had already desperately claimed as your own? Yeah, Maggie can acknowledge that Abby’s been having a rough day. But still. She expected more fight from Abby than this.

Abby’s still resistant, albeit weakly. Maggie finds herself glaring at Abby, snapping her fingers in her direction, “Hey, hey! Focus, Abby. Mel was showing signs of labor when we left to find you; if you don’t help me get us out of here, we’re both going to miss it, and I will never forgive you for making me miss my niece’s birth, Abigael.”

Maggie feels Abby’s walls start to crumble, she senses Abby’s heart constricting at the possibility that the baby really is hers. Maggie pushes some of her own feelings back into Abby, determined to worry about the ethical implications of her actions later; she tries to fill Abby with the joy and excitement that should accompany knowing you’re having a baby, the giddy nervousness that comes with it.

(She feels overjoyed to realize that she doesn’t need to try too hard; she feels Abby’s doubts melt away the more she opens herself up to the idea. It brings a few tears to Maggie’s eyes when she feels the joy after so much agony.)

They hold eye contact in silence, Abby miserably blinking away some drying blood out of her eyes.

Then, she grits her teeth, clenches her jaw. Maggie’s elated to see the fight back in her.

Abby croaks, “You’ll have to act fast to get us out. And you must to make sure I’m contained before all else when we get back. My father went dormant to let me fully experience this torture in the hopes it’ll make me break, but if that’s not in the picture anymore…”

“We have a ritual ready; we’re going to extract the bastard and shove him into a jar. The circle’s already been prepared, we just have to get you into it.”

Abby looks towards the cavern entrance, and Maggie swears she sees her ears twitch and wiggle to catch any sound that might be drifting their way.

Looking back to Maggie, Abby lowers her voice, “repeat after me,” and carefully enunciates a Latin spell that Maggie just as carefully parrots.

When the lock on the cage literally melts away, Maggie’s heart starts beating a much more frantic beat. Her hands shake as she pries the door open and rushes out towards Abby as silently as she possibly can. She’s left dumbfounded, though, at the prospect of unchaining Abby; what is she going to do about the hook?

“You can’t take it out; I’d bleed to death if the pain doesn’t kill me first. Lift it off the chain first before you undo the chains on my other arm.”

It takes a couple of tries, Maggie profusely apologizing when she jostles Abby too much. With shaking hands, covered in Abby’s blood again, she finally releases the hook from the chain, Abby immediately half slumping onto her with a hissed groan.

Despite her careful navigation of the hook and her efforts to keep Abby upright, Maggie still ends up making too much noise as the chain rattles; they’re almost free when they hear the guards’ hurried steps coming towards them. It makes Maggie’s hand shake all the worse.

It isn’t until Abby’s shaking fingers, those left unbroken at least, cover hers to steady her hand that Maggie remembers to take a breath.

“We’re almost done, Bouncy. Breathe,” Abby murmurs to her softly, calmingly.

The guards are closing in when the last of the chains is unwrapped from around Abby, the woman falling into Maggie with a bitten back moan.

Maggie wraps her fingers around the potion vial in her pocket just as they hear the sizzle of the first energy ball forming.

Chapter Text

Their arrival at Vera manor is a harsh one, Abigael whimpering in pain when they land messily in the foyer. The landing jostles her hook, tears her flesh a little more, and her hand trembles when she tries to secure it against any more movement.

Through the haze of the pain that’s starting to cloud her mind again, Abby mentally notes to herself that the ritual Maggie told her about was to be done at the command center. They need to move, but Abby’s blood feels like it’s boiling in her veins; her father is trying to get back in control already. The pain of the last who knows how many hours, coupled with this newfangled torture makes Abby dizzy. She falls onto her side with a grunt, dimly aware that she at least didn’t land on the shoulder with the hook.

The house is silent, the only sounds echoing around them are Maggie’s cursing and Abby’s pained, labored breathing. Maggie’s on her knees beside Abby in moments, securing her on her side. She finally gets to see Abby’s back too and it makes her stomach twist and drop; the skin is torn and Abby’s muscles are exposed. The only saving grace that Maggie forces herself to see is that at least she’s not bleeding anymore.        

“You need… I need to call Harry, you need healing, Abby-”

Abigael grips Maggie’s wrist weakly, croaking, “No- contain… cast it now…”

“No, we can’t- the ritual is set up at the command center, we have to go. But you’re so hurt, Abby, we need… HARRY!”

Maggie’s frantic energy is giving Abigael a headache, as well as filling her body with the same nervousness. It makes Abby realize their empathic bond is a two way street, explains why she’s feeling a burn in her calf that isn’t there; Maggie must have been hit with that energy ball Abby remembers seeing fly at them.

Ridiculously, Abby wonders if this bond will last beyond this ordeal, assuming Abby lives through it. Will they be able to feel each other forever? If Maggie’s… busy… with Jordan, is Abby going to be privy to every last detail? She imagines that Maggie will find a way to sever the connection the second she starts feeling Abby getting frisky with her sister. The absurdness of the situation brings a weak smile to Abby’s lips.

Abigael hears a crash somewhere in the living room, Harry’s proper English decorum falling away as he swears like a sailor. He’s blurry to Abby’s gaze as he runs into the foyer, calling out Maggie’s name. It takes Abigael a few more moments before she realizes the blurriness is from blood seeping from her head and into her eyes. “That’s gross,” Abby distantly thinks to herself.

She doesn’t hear what they say, can’t focus enough to decipher the words, but Abby sees the moment Harry’s eyes find her lying there and bleeding out in their foyer. She thinks the way the blood drains from Harry’s face likely mimics the way her blood is leaving her own face slowly.

She watches Maggie push him toward her, likely saying something about healing her. Thinks he’s probably stuttering through reminding Maggie that he can’t heal demons. Oddly enough, Maggie’s voice does penetrate the fog her brain is stewing in then, and Abigael wonders if their empathic bond has something to do with it.

“She’s also a witch, Harry, and you can easily heal those! Focus on that before we lose her!”

That seems to clear Harry’s head. He nods, breathes in slowly and kneels over Abigael. When his shaking hands glow over her torn flesh and aching bones, Abby’s breathing comes a little easier; it’s warm, tingling as she feels some of her skin pull and slowly stitch back together. She thinks she can feel Harry caring about her, pouring that into his healing to help her.

But there’s resistance; her father’s not about to just let her be saved. When she feels some of her skin not heal, feels some more fresh blood trickle along her back, Abby grits her teeth. She feels the hook start to get warm in her shoulder, feels it start to burn. The smell of burning flesh makes her want to vomit, and she weakly pushes Harry’s hands away.

(Maggie’s gripping her own shoulder when she desperately urges Harry, who’s breathless and seemingly in pain too, to stop. Abigael sees her anguish despite her gaze blurring and darkening around the edges. Abigael has to find a way to break this connection before Maggie goes mad from pain.)

“That’s enough,” Abby croaks, hoarse and weak. “Maggie, cast the containment spell. Do the ritual here.”

Maggie’s nodding, about to call her sisters, about to demand Harry go get them when he shakes his head.

“We can’t, you have to get to the command center.”

“Harry, look at her, does she look like she can mo-”

Harry’s next words make Abigael’s heart both sink and sing with unfettered joy.

“Mel’s in labor, Maggie! The baby’s coming any minute now, and she can’t orb. We have to get to the command center, one way or another,” Harry looks down at Abby, expression grim. He must know how much pain Abby’s going to be in if they try to move her again. “I can try to heal you more there, but we can’t dawdle here any more than we already have.”

(Abby rolls her eyes a little at the way he words that; as if she’s lazing about in bed on a Sunday morning and not dying on the floor of the manor’s entryway.)

She needs a moment; to gather her strength, to gather her wits, to swallow down a sob, she doesn’t know. She turns her face into the floor, breathes shakily with her eyes closed. She can feel tears on her lashes and she doesn’t even know why.

All she can think about is how they need to perform the ritual now before the baby’s born. She doesn’t want to even consider what her father might do if they don’t contain him before then. Could he break out? Could he just jump ship and into her child?

Abigael doesn’t even get to enjoy the prospect of her child coming into the world; she can feel her head growing heavy with Alistor’s excitement, with his eagerness to get to the command center.

After actual, literal physical torture, that is what threatens to break Abigael completely.

“I can’t go there…” Abby croaks into the ground, fingers clenching into fists as more tears stream from her eyes, “I can’t be there when the baby’s born, not if my father’s not contained.”

Maggie, who feels the sinister glee filling every space inside Abby’s body, feels it ooze from her like acrid, toxic waste, somehow finds her sanity enough to kneel beside Abby, “We’re going to the command center. We’re going to put you in the containment spell there. We’re going to extract your bastard of a father. And then- we’re going to have a baby. I am not going to let either of us miss this, Abby.”

Abby sniffles, weakly shakes her head. She desperately wants this, wants to hold Mel’s hand and get yelled at for doing this to her. She wants to cut the umbilical cord, wants to hold her baby and bring her to Mel. Wants a family.

But how could she risk it?

(How could she let Mel see her like this; breathlessly broken, weak?)

Abby feels Maggie’s fingers, gentle and slow when they touch her shoulders. She feels Maggie’s forehead press into the back of her head, her controlled breathing whispering against the back of her neck, “Please, Abby…” she hears Maggie murmur to her, quiet. “You’ve held on so long… you can do it, just a little longer… please?”

Abigael feels her blood, bubbling and boiling only moments ago, cool down with Maggie’s hope, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel within reach.

Abby turns her face out, meets Maggie’s eyes. She swallows harshly when she sees tears in Maggie’s eyes, likely mirroring her own gaze. Then her eyes drop to Maggie’s hand, gently upturned and offered to Abby.

Her fingers shake, badly so, but they’re strong when Abby slips her hand into Maggie’s.

Maggie squeezes her hand, holding eye contact a little longer before she demands Harry help her get Abby to her feet.

It proves to be more difficult than they anticipated; they have to be mindful of both the hook and the messy state of Abby’s back. “We have to extract this hook somehow,” Harry tries to argue, only for Maggie to glare at him because if they do, “Abby would bleed out.”

Abby feels touched at how protective Maggie’s being over her.

(Either that, or the blood loss is making her delirious. Abigael chooses to think of it as Maggie’s concern for her, it makes her feel better.)

“We have to find a way to get it out eventually, Maggie…”

“Yes, eventually. Not right this moment when Abby’s still recovering from being tortured to within an inch of her life. We have more important things to worry about.”

At least Abigael’s finally on her feet, her weight slumped onto Maggie a little, Harry uselessly trying to figure out how or where to hold her in a way that would help.

“Not that I don’t enjoy it when women yell at Harold for his incompetency, but I’m barely holding on here. Could we get to the command center and continue berating him there?”

(And yeah, okay, Abby does genuinely care about Harry and she knows she’s being mean right now, but she’s pretty sure you could teach muscle anatomy on her back, and this blasted hook is becoming unbearably hot. She worries it’ll melt into her flesh soon. So she feels she can be excused about being an arsehole to Harry, just this once.)

They hold Abby between the two of them, Harry making sure he’s got a good grip to not lose either of them, when they hear the shuffling about in the kitchen. They all freeze, Abby’s grip tightening on Maggie’s arm, whispering to her lowly, “That could be Godric here looking for Mel. You have to get out of here, I’ll hold him back.”

Maggie rolls her eyes. She can’t help it when she pinches Abby’s side in reprimand, “you can’t even hold yourself up; how do you plan to hold anyone or anything back?” And she knows what’s coming, Maggie knows Abby’s gonna try to argue that Godric will want to take her back to either torture her some more or to coax her father back into control. Maggie won’t have it though, “Get it through your head, Abigael, we are not leaving you behind. You do not need to give your life for us. You don’t have to die to be redeemed. Now shut up and lean on me.”

Abigael can feel Maggie’s determination. It makes her spine straighten with a strength she hasn’t been feeling in what feels like ages, helps her stand taller on her own two feet.

(She also feels Maggie’s anger, her frustration, and her utter ‘done with this shit’ energy. It makes her smile; these Vera-Vaughn women are all passion and heart. She can only hope her child takes after them too.)

They’re ready for a fight that never comes, Abby’s breath hitching when he’s in sight; Joxen, bruised and banged up and hobbling along.

Alive.

He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees them and Abby feels one loosen from her chest too, feels tears prick her eyes again when he weakly smiles and bows his head to her a little, “My Lady Abigael. We’ve certainly seen better days, haven’t we?”

The chuckle that escapes her throat is wet, dripping with her joy.

It’s slowly starting to sink in for Abby, and she reckons it’s because she’s so stubborn that she’s refused to see or accept it til now, but she’s got people. She’s got a family and friends.

Abigael isn’t alone in the world anymore.

The realization makes her sag against Maggie. It occurs to her that she can finally let herself be vulnerable and weak; there are those that love her enough to be strong for her right now.

She has so much to say to Joxen, so much to apologize for. But nothing comes, or rather, they haven’t got the time for it right now. Abigael can only hope that she’ll be around later on to make the time.

He hobbles over to them, stable when he reaches out to help steady Abigael. She lets Joxen take her weight off of Maggie, grips his arm tightly in gratitude.

The words bubble up in her throat then; a little giddy, a lot delirious from blood loss but she needs to say them, needs to tell her friend. The more she says them the more she starts to believe them, the more she wants to shout it from the rooftops, “The baby’s mine, Joxen. I’m the other parent.”

His smile is slow and cautious, like he doesn’t want to overstep any lines or boundaries by being too happy. But it’s there in the lines of his eyes, in the excited tension in his body. It makes Abby even giddier…

… Until she feels a particularly sharp stab of pain lance across her back. It makes her gasp in agony as her knees buckle; it feels like the cat-o-nine-tails whip again, marring her flesh. She chokes down a sob as she feels fresh blood trickle along her back.

Her father is breaking down the door keeping him locked up with all he’s got.

They are running out of time.

Chapter Text

This time when they land, it’s a lot less jarring despite Harry’s terrible orbing skills.

(It helps that Joxen’s got a firm grip on her, keeping her upright.)

(Abby’s mentally calculating what percentage his salary raise should be.)

But the pain her father is inflicting on her makes her knees knock together, and Abigael is starting to feel nauseated from it. They’ve landed on the upper landing in the command center, and Abigael has to lean over the railing both to keep upright and to ward off the bout of vertigo bringing her down.

She sees the elaborate circle drawn on the ground, the candles laid around. She’s about to say something, ask where everyone is when she hears it; pained screaming.

Mel’s pained screaming.

For one heart stopping moment, Abigael thinks Godric’s here and gotten his hands on Mel. She forces herself to stand up again, ready to run to her despite her host of injuries, when the screaming stops and she hears her own sister’s voice, strong and encouraging even though it sounds far.

“Not long now, Mel, you’re doing great… it’s not going to be long before you’re holding your baby, okay? Just hang in there a little longer…”

“No! I can’t- not without Abby, not without Maggie… we need to find them, save them. We don’t have time for this…”

Waverly sounds strained, Jordan piping up that contractions are less than five minutes apart now, “as much as I want my sister back too, Mel, right now we haven’t got the luxury to go find her. We have to trust that Harry’s got a lead.”

Abby feels like that’s the right time to announce their presence, get this ritual started while Mel’s not yet begun pushing.

Alistor, of course, has other ideas; Abby’s insides feel like they’re on fire, her grip on the upstairs railing useless as her knees completely give out under her. Maggie tries to help steady her but the way she hisses in pain lets Abigael know that she’s feeling the phantom pains of her own insides melting too. They need to be rid of her father if only to save Maggie any more of this pain.

Abigael slumps onto the ground, breathless and leaning against the railing. She calls out, voice weak from the pain, “Waverly…”

For a moment, there is silence. It’s jarring in the wake of Mel’s pained sounds and Waverly’s firm words. It’s broken by hurried steps rushing into the main room of the command center, Macy’s and Waverly’s eyes wide and searching. Abigael can see her sister’s shoulders visibly relax when she takes them all in, mostly on their feet.

But none of that matters when she hears it; Mel’s voice, trembling with pain and echoing with feeble hope, “Abby…?”

Abigael feels like her lungs are expanding finally, despite the pain. She feels the clouds clear as the sun peeks into her chest again, feels it give new life to the wilted sunflowers that weakly clung to her ribs.

She wishes she could get to her feet, go to Mel. See her one last time before…

Abigael clears her throat, shouts hoarsely, “Waverly!! Start the ritual!”

Waverly starts to run up the stairs, two at a time, towards them. Her words sound tense when she utters them, “We’re a little busy right now, Sister!” She falls to her knees before Abby’s battered body, gasping a little at her state, eyes catching on the hook, “You look like shite.”

Abby’s so tired of fighting off Alistor, so weak. She’s shivering from the strain. She doesn’t have it in her to snark back at her sister, “Trust me, it feels far worse than it looks.”

“Abby, I can’t cast this ritual with you this hurt; you might not survive it-”

“We haven’t got a choice, Waverly. The baby, my baby, cannot come into this world before my father is removed from it. It’ll all be for nothing if we don’t do this now.”

Waverly looks up at Maggie, seeking her help. Frustratingly enough, Maggie agrees with Abby, “She’s right. Ritual first. While Mel still can.”

Abby closes her eyes at the sound of Mel’s shouting, “Abigael Jameson-Caine, don’t you dare do something stupid, and definitely do not ignore me right now!”

It makes her smile in pure joy.

Abigael sighs heavily soon enough; she can’t stall this any more. She reaches out for Joxen to help her up, clinging on to the railing when she’s on her feet.

“Waverly…”

“Alright, alright. But we have to heal you a little first.”

Abby snorts a little, “This is after a little healing.”

That makes Waverly balk a little, take another look at Abby from head to toe in assessment. She shakes off her horror when she realizes that it’s likely some kind of miracle her sister isn’t dead if this is after being healed. How bad was it before, she wonders as she eyes the hook sticking out of Abby’s shoulder.

“That thing’s got to come out. And you have to talk to Mel before we start.”

“Really, Waverly, it’s very problematic for you to try and force something to ‘come out’,” Abby snarks weakly, her voice underlined with the fear of the pain she knows will come with trying that.

(The fear of talking to Mel after all of this, after everything they’ve been through. A part of her, small and cowering but no less present, meekly offers that what if Mel was angry with her, or wanted nothing more to do with her…?)

Macy offers, “What if Harry heals you while we’re taking it out?”

“Or ‘heals’ Ms. Maggie while we take out the hook. If you’re both feeling what the other is feeling, perhaps it would work to have him heal her and have it affect you,” Joxen suggests out of nowhere.

Maggie seems to latch on to that idea, nodding exuberantly all of a sudden, “it might even bypass the ‘I can’t heal demons’ crap!”

Abigael wants to say something, argue that there isn’t enough time, let alone the means to cut this hook out of her when they hear Jordan frantically yelling after Mel to sit down and, “where are you going?!”

She’s wearing a long shirt, and her pants are obviously nowhere in sight. Abby thinks the shirt might even be her own.

She’s sweaty; the strands of hair that have escaped her ponytail are sticking to her temple and neck.

Her skin’s flushed red and splotchy, her chest heaving with her labored breaths.

Her eyes are as dark and as full of fire as ever, despite the pain pinching her features.

Abigael thinks she’s never seen anyone more beautiful than Melanie Vera in her life.

(It makes her knees weak for entirely different reasons now as she clings on to the railing.)

When Mel breathes out her name, it sounds like a soft prayer entrusted to the wind; pleading and quiet, caressing the mountain tops in its search for answers.

(Abby swears it makes her battered and deficient soul absolutely sing.

Mel. Mel. Mel.

Once, for every labored breath.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Once, for every beat of her heart.)

Abigael spent so long rehearsing this moment. Imagining the different scenarios in which she got to be with Mel, reunited and whole again, is what kept her going. She thinks she had some elaborate speech ready, a grand declaration of her love and longing for Mel.

None of it comes to mind now as she looks into Mel’s eyes.

So Mel takes that step for her, “Abby… will you come down here and hold my hand through this already?”

Abby’s bones ache, her back’s on fire, and she knows seeing the hook up close and personal will only increase Mel’s stress levels right now. She really should keep her distance.

Abigael starts shuffling towards the stairs, holding on to the railing the whole time.

Joxen drapes his jacket over her shoulder, silently hiding the worst of her injuries. It makes Abigael smile; he knows her so well.

(She definitely owes him a big promotion of some kind.)

The sisters, both of Mel’s and her own a collective as Abby’s started thinking of them, scramble down the stairs on the other side. They talk about setting up the needed potions or ingredients or whatever they still need for the ritual. Abigael doesn’t really hear a word they’re frantically spewing at each other; she’s too busy looking at Mel, drinking her in.

(Faintly, she hears Harry talk about finding bolt cutters or something as he rushes past them too, and someone yells out for Jordan to bring his first-aid kit. Abby only briefly glances at him, but it’s enough to see the relief in his eyes at the sight of her, banged up as she is.)

Mel stumbles when another contraction comes, and Jordan just barely makes it to her and steadies her before she doubles over. Abby’s heart buckles at the sight, and her steps get more sure, more hurried.

Jordan makes Mel sit in the chair he drags over, and Abby’s on her knees before Mel in moments. Her hand’s shaking when she slips it into Mel’s grip, not even flinching when Mel’s grip instantly squeezes her broken fingers.

Abigael watches Jordan look Mel over, swallows at the pained look pinching Mel’s face and the pained whimpers slipping past her lips. It strengthens Abby’s resolve to fight off her father.

She’ll do this for Mel and their child. She can do it for them, because of them.

There are grand words of romance Abigael could have uttered, the first ones she’s said to Mel in what feels like years now. Instead, what she comes up with is a breathless chuckle, “Hey, baby mama…”

Mel snorts a little, gripping Abby’s hand tighter and closer as the last of her contraction fades for now. The sound makes Abby feel that giddiness that hasn’t really left her since she started believing that the baby is hers.

“Let me guess; I should see the other guy?” Mel croaks softly, panting, gaze roaming every visible inch of Abby, eyes stuttering and stumbling over the hook glinting in the low light of the command center.

“I hope you do; I reckon you’d rip Godric’s bloody spine out of his back with your bare hands if you did, and I for one think that would be insanely attractive.”

Mel chuckles, a watery sound. She doesn’t even know what to say to that beyond the little breathy chuckle, her eyes back to looking Abby over. Tears fill Mel’s eyes, “I thought I’d never see you again… worse, I thought- I thought that if you and I were ever in the same room together again, we’d be on opposite sides. I thought I’d have to vanq-” her breath catches too hard for her to be able to finish that sentence. She doesn’t even want to.

Abby lifts her other hand to the baby bump between them, shushes Mel softly to sooth her, to center her.

“I’m here, with you. None of it matters beyond that.”

Mel wants to argue, wants to tell Abby that she matters. Wants her to understand that being without her almost ruined Mel. But their baby is coming, and the contractions are getting closer together; they don’t have time for this conversation.

They need to be rid of Alistor before Mel start pushing.

Abby lifts onto her knees from the ground, cradles Mel as best as she can while Mel groans in pain and sags her weight onto Abby. Abby murmurs to her that she’s, “beautiful, Melanie, you’re so beautiful… and so bloody strong, I’m so in awe of you, my sweet,” as she rubs her back and lends her strength to get through her contractions.

(Abby studiously ignores her sister hovering around the edge of the ritual circle, waiting for the right moment to pull her away from this.)

(And for one, desperate moment, Abby thinks she’d rather be dead than have anyone or anything tear her away from Mel again.)

(Until she feels the press of her baby’s hand against her own, remembers that if she doesn’t move now she’ll be risking her baby’s life before it’s even born.)

Abigael waits til Mel’s contraction passes before she delicately kisses her forehead and gets to her feet with a grunt. Joxen steadies her and Abby’s surprised that she forgot all about him standing nearby.

She feels more ready, looks to her sister with her head held high and her spine straight. Waverly only offers a nod, looking to the door above the stairs where Parker’s stumbled into the command center.

Parker makes eye contact with Abby before he nods at her, gives her a grateful and relieved smile despite his concern. He holds up the bolt cutters he was instructed to bring in one hand, the other hand cradling a whole bunch of towels under his arm.

Mel insists that Abby sit down for this, and she do so beside her; Mel’s gonna hold her hand through this.

They’ve crowded around her, Macy gripping the bolt cutters and staring down at Abigael. The hook needs to be pushed through her shoulder and Abby’s in for a world of hurt.

Except none of them wants to be the one to do it, and it’s starting to frustrate Abby.

She pulls her hand free from Mel’s and reaches for the bolt cutters herself, and that snaps Macy out of her stupor. She yanks it back and breathes out slowly, “we’ve got it, just- hold on.”

Abby growls then, her eyes flashing between red and white and silver.

“I don’t have time to hold on, Macy; my father’s ripping my insides to shreds as we speak! Just do it or I bloody well will!”

Surprisingly, Parker takes the bolt cutter from Macy and steps up. He makes eye contact with Abby and the two share a silent moment. It only lasts a moment, but Parker breaks it and turns his attention to the hook.

Abby holds the hook steady so he can cut either end of it, gritting her teeth in preparation for what needs to come next.

“Maybe someone should hold her still…” Waverly offers weakly. After everything she’s seen in her life as a witch, Waverly thinks watching Abby go through this kind of pain is the thing that she doesn’t have the stomach for.

Joxen steps up behind Abby and grips her shoulders, keeps her seated. Mel takes her hand again, biting down on her pained sounds as another contraction comes. It draws Abby’s attention and she squeezes Mel’s hand in support, murmurs to her to breathe. “You’re doing good, baby…”

Parker takes that moment of distraction and pushes the hook through, cringing at the wet squelching sounds.

Abby’s eyes widen and she cries out at the pain. Mel grips her hand tighter.

“Bloody little brothers,” Abby gasps, pained tears in her eyes a little as she glares up at him.

Parker smirks faintly. It’s not traditional in any sense of the word, but removing torture tools from your sibling's shoulder seems like it would be very on brand for their family as far as sibling bonding goes.

She’s shuddering from the pain despite Harry’s healing warmth spreading into her shoulder. It occurs to her, then, that her father is adding onto the pain she’s in. She knows she won’t be able to keep this up for much longer.

Abby looks at Mel, really looks at her, and commits her to memory. She looks around her, at the people she’s come to call friends, come to call family. She prays she gets to have more time with them soon.

Abigael pushes Harry off regardless of whether or not he’s done.

She kisses Mel’s hand, holds it close to her chest after.

Then, on shaking legs and wobbling knees, she gets up and walks into the circle they’ve drawn for her. She finds her sister’s eyes in the crowd, ignores Mel’s protests that she isn’t healed enough, and nods her on.

Waverly avoids her gaze after that, instructing the Charmed Ones to take their positions.

The first set of chanting seals her in, and that’s when she feels the fear seep into her father.

It makes her chuckle a little, dark and smooth. Determined and so full of spite, Abigael feels invigorated.

She can feel her temperature rising, knows it’s likely cooking her organs. If she lives through the ritual, she wonders how much of her body is going to be damaged beyond repair regardless.

The pain brings her to her knees, but she doesn’t yet bend. She keeps her eyes on Mel the whole time, even shoots her a small smile. Mel grips Macy’s hand tighter, her chanting not faltering too badly despite literally being in labor.

Abigael knows she’ll never meet a witch stronger than Mel Vera.

(She knows she’ll never experience love like this again either.)

The spell intensifies, and Abby gleefully notes her father’s rising panic; he’s becoming more aggressive, working double time to make breathing far more difficult. Abby thinks she can feel her lung collapsing. It brings her down onto all fours, gasping for air that will not come.

When her hands shake and she can no longer keep herself up, Abigael doesn’t even have enough air in her chest to grunt in pain when she falls to the ground. Her eyes flash back and forth between her own and her father’s polluted silver as he struggles for control, but she never takes them off of Mel.

(Mel looks like she’s in a kind of pain that has nothing to do with childbirth, tears flowing down her cheeks as she watches Abby.)

But it’s working, Abby realizes with growing delight; she can feel his suffocating grip on her soul being pried off, feels the magic surrounding her unstitch him from her body. Her vision is swimming and her eyes get cloudy with a black shroud as her sight threatens to leave her entirely. She sees Waverly grip the Blade of Clarity, sees Macy bring their chosen vessel within reach of her sisters. She watches Mel and Maggie each touch their fingers to one of the totem monkeys.

She expected more pomp and fair, more drama when it happened. But Abigael is exhausted beyond measure, suffering and in agony. She’s not even sure she’s conscious when Alistor Caine is ripped from her body and stuffed into the monkey totem.

She thinks she hears herself laugh, a somewhat deranged sound, hears herself croak, “rot in hell, you bastard…”

The last vision she sees as her eyes slip shut are Mel’s eyes.

They’ve never looked more scared.

Chapter Text

Mel feels like she was pregnant for years on end.

And just like that, within mere minutes, she wasn’t anymore.

Dimly, she thinks she ought to be worried about what her daughter being born out of her time might do to the timeline. But then the little baby in her arms yawns and Mel’s whole chest shakes with love.

Her daughter.

Her daughter with Abby.

In the heat of the joyous moment, Mel tears her eyes away from their daughter to seek out Abby and share with her in the wonder of this whole thing.

Except… Abby missed the birth of their child.

The disappointment feels like it’ll crush her entirely, and she holds their daughter closer.

They never even got to talk about what they’d name her.

Mel’s eyes track back to the little bundle in her arms, and she shakily brings her fingers to the baby’s nose. So very lightly, she runs her pinky down the bridge of it and slides it off the tip, smiling softly.

“You’ve got Mummy’s nose,” she murmurs to the sleeping babe, awed.

(She pretends not to notice the sounds of cameras clicking. Probably Maggie’s Gen Z nature to document everything.)

Mel focuses on memorizing these first few moments she gets with their daughter, committing every last detail to memory so she can recount them perfectly for Abby when she wakes up.

(And that’s when not if, she stubbornly tells the sinister little goblin voice in the back of her head, taunting her that Abby might never come back to her.)

Still, her eyes track away from their daughter towards the other room where she knows Harry and Jordan moved Abby after the separation ritual. She can’t get the image of Abby’s body dropping limply to the ground and remaining motionless out of her mind.

She remembers not being able to push any air past the lump in her throat until Jordan confirmed that Abby’s got a pulse, that she’s breathing.

Mel knows things will change now, of course they will, because Abby’s gonna have so much trauma to deal with. And Mel knows she’ll be with her every step of the way.

(That’s not even speaking of the trauma she herself will have, the trauma her sisters and Waverly will have. But she can’t focus on that just yet, not until Abby’s awake and with them again. After that, she’ll throw herself into finding them all a really good therapist.)

And logically, she knows that their daughter still being here, alive and well with her ten fingers and ten toes, is proof that Abby’s going to be okay. That she’ll wake up and come back to her.

But right now, despite that knowledge, the only thing her mind can focus on is the suffocating worry. The inane notion of what if. Because what if their child being born in this time instead of her own affects the timeline somehow and takes Abby away from her? Could Mel live with that trade? Would she wish it never happened?

Mel forces herself to focus on the baby again, to banish away all the negative thoughts swirling in her mind. She starts to catalogue things in her mind so that she can accurately describe them to Abby later.

Their daughter has a strong grip, Mel notes as she slips her pinky into the baby’s palm. The tight squeeze makes Mel smile. Her little nails are the tiniest things Mel’s ever seen in existence. The hand not currently holding Mel’s finger refuses to stay within the blanket she’s bundled in, and instead sticks out all the way by the baby’s head; a Supergirl in flight pose, Macy notes with a smile.

(Mel knows this is where Abby would have likely called Macy a name – lovingly, despite her best efforts to hide it – about being a bit of a dork.)

Despite her somewhat warmer than normal temperature, possibly because she’s a demon in part, her daughter curls into Mel as close as she can physically get in search of more warmth. Mel peeks under the blanket to see the littlest toes she ever thought she’d see curled, and their daughter’s little feet crossed at the ankles. It makes her chuckle softly.

(A little lady, Abby would tease. Mel would halfheartedly argue that strict etiquette rules that dictate how women must conduct themselves are patriarchal ideas meant to reinforce gender norms and roles and there will be no such thing in their household. And then she’d agree that it’s really effin cute.)

Mel brings her nose to her daughter’s head, nuzzling. She’s heard that babies smell wonderful, but Mel’s pretty sure her baby smells the best, pressing a smiling kiss to the baby’s head. It amazes her that this little being that was wailing her lungs out only minutes ago could now be snoozing so peacefully, even snoring ever so faintly.

(Abby would definitely be making a crack about how they’re never going to get any sleep ever again thanks to their daughter and her powerful lungs. Mel would tease right back about how Abby has been whipped for their daughter from the womb and how Abby will more than happily wake up to get the baby every single time she cries.

Abby wouldn’t dignify that with a verbal comment, but Mel knows she’d smile down at the baby in her arms like the sun caressing a garden of sunflowers; utterly devoted, immensely in love.)

She brings a finger to lightly touch the baby’s hair; Mel hopes the baby’s hair remains light, like Abby’s. She’s sad to note that there aren’t too many similarities between their daughter and Abby yet. She can only pray they’ll come as the baby gets older. The touch must have disturbed the baby, Mel beaming brightly as she watches her daughter stretch then yawn, little eyelids fluttering and peeking open.

“Oh, she’s opening her eyes,” Mel whispers to not spook the baby, their sisters trying to crowd the makeshift bed Mel’s laying on to see. “I hope she’s got-” Mel starts to say when…

“-Abby’s eyes,” Mel finishes the sentence for her.

The tension in the room spikes up to twelve as everyone with a power forms a wall between Mel and… Mel.

(Maggie whips out her baton and stands before the door where Abby’s sleeping and it almost has Mel bursting into tears. You know, if she didn’t have yet another crisis to deal with right now.)

In the slim gap left by the Waverly-Macy wall in front of her, Mel can peek at… herself.

Her future self.

She takes the tense and silent moment to really study herself. Mel thinks that she doesn’t change too drastically in the future; maybe a few more, deeper lines around her eyes where they crinkle when she smiles. Someone with a joyful life.

(‘Abby’, she thinks.)

She sees herself in the future, carrying herself with a calm confidence. Someone supported and uplifted.

(‘Abby’, she thinks.)

She looks at her future self only to see a light in her eyes, and a ring sparkling on her finger. Someone who has found peace. Someone brimming with love.

(‘Abby’, she knows.)

And then her future self makes eye contact with Mel, and Mel sees someone else too.

Someone that’s there to take away her baby.

As she clutches their child closer to herself, she fills with a cold ache that drags sharp nails down her spine; Abby, this Abby, will never get to meet their daughter.

She’s sure her future self knows exactly what she’s thinking – after all, she’s already lived it, right? Or however it is that time travel works… – because she offers Mel a sad smile as she steps forward, only halting when Macy summons her fire and glares at her threateningly. “I’m sorry, Mel… I should have come back for her sooner…”

That makes Mel glare so fiercely she thinks she might melt her future-self right where she stands. “Bold of you to assume you can have her now,” comes her angry reply, ready to physically fight herself if she has to.

“You know you can’t keep her,” Mel warns as gently as she can, looking at the gathered crowd around her. She makes deliberate eye-contact with each of them, slow and lingering, and hopes that at least someone here will see reason. “She’s already been here too long, I don’t know what her being born out of her time might do to the timeline, let alone what might happen the longer she stays,” Mel explains calmly.

It strikes Mel how odd it is to see herself be so calm in a situation where she’d normally explode with fire and emotion. She wonders what happens to her in the future that does this to her; could it be this ordeal that they’ve just been through with Abby?

“I should have come back sooner, when we realized what had happened, damn the consequences. I should have taken her back before you’d gotten attached…” Mel tries, foolish with her words.

“Attached? She grew inside of me, she’s a part of me. I may have had my doubts about being a mother, but I became her mother the moment you put her in me. How dare you think I wasn’t attached from the very beginning? And now you think you can just come in here and take her? After everything we’ve been through to keep her safe, after everything Abby’s been through to keep our daughter safe?”

(Mel is under no illusions as to whom that ‘our’ refers to; she knows it doesn’t mean her.)

“Mel, please listen to me-”

“No,” she snarls from the bed as she slips her finger in her daughter’s grip. “You need to leave.”

For a moment, Mel had forgotten that she wasn’t alone with her older self; it takes her by surprise when the sound of skin slapping skin – a palm to a cheek – rings out in the silence.

Waverly’s shoulders shake with barely restrained rage, “you knew what was happening to her. You knew what would happen to Abby, and you chose to keep us in the dark. You didn’t give us a warning, you didn’t protect her, and now you expect to waltz in here and take her daughter from her, too, when she’s incapable of even fighting back? What kind of cowardly, cruel partner are you…”

Waverly makes a really valid point that Mel had been otherwise preoccupied to consider until now. She feels her magic pulse in her blood, swirl inside her chest. She feels the tips of her fingers tingle with frost and she has to consciously remind herself to suppress her magic before she gives her child frostbite.

“It isn’t that simple, Waverly, please… I would never hurt Abby. I am just as angry about it as you are.”

“Not freaking likely, Mel. Abby and I were tortured. I still have blood on my body despite really gnarly scrubbing. You could have spared us that and you didn’t,” Maggie glares right at her. Mel hasn’t seen her baby sister look at her with so much venom since she was six and Mel ate the brownie center piece Maggie had been hiding for herself. It fills her with even more disgust at her future-self; how could she sit back and let her baby sister go through something like that, let alone the woman she loved enough to have a child with? Was Mel sane in the future? Had she become some kind of unfeeling robot?

“No, hold on. You know I would never let anything happen to you, Maggie. Never. How can you even doubt that?” Mel says, finally showing a smidge of the anger and passion that’s sort of her signature, go-to emotion.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because of the lashing I can still feel on my back!” Maggie snaps then, angry and hurting. A part of her is desperate to do this on behalf of Abby too.

“Enough, everyone stand down,” Macy steps up. Her fires are still swirling in her palm as she further puts herself between this future Mel and the one in the bed. Ever the voice of reason, she keeps her cool as she eyes this Mel from head to toe, “we don’t even know if you’re the real Mel from the future. For all we know, you’re some shapeshifter here for the baby, and we’ve already sacrificed so much to keep her safe; you’re not getting within a foot of her until I’m satisfied you’re even real, let alone trying to take her away from us.”

Mel doesn’t argue with that, the only sign of protest on her face is the pursing of her lips. She looks around the room before she steps back towards a desk to give them the space they seem to need. She pretends not to notice Macy take steps to follow her, to keep her in her line of sight and ready to take her down if necessary.

“Mel, when you and Abby had your private moments with the baby, just the three of you,” Mel speaks as she walks, words slow and careful and properly enunciated, “Abby would address our daughter with a word that only we would know.” Mel stops then, leaning on the desk with her palm flat on the top of it when she makes eye contact with her younger self. “She called our daughter ‘Sunflower’.”

Macy only spares a brief glance at Mel to see if she confirms that before turning her gaze back to the supposed Mel from the future. As does Waverly and Maggie, watching with bated breath, all three of them hoping this is false so they can have an excuse to throw this person out of here.

(So they don’t all have to give in to the painful inevitable.)

Mel feels the air slowly leaking out of her lungs, like someone punctured them with the tiniest needle; it’s slow and painful and it burns her lungs to feel the air slowly pushing out of the little hole.

Her neck feels stiff, her head too heavy when she nods in confirmation.

The confirmation fills the room with a cold heaviness, a profound sadness.

It isn’t enough for Macy to back off, regardless, and she stays between the two versions of Mel. The only difference is that she drops her flames and crosses her arms across her chest instead. Clearing her throat, she speaks up again, appointing herself the one in charge for now.

“Maggie’s right though; Mel would never let what happened to her and Abby come to pass. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

Mel watches her future-self slump on the desk, and a part of her feels the same deep exhaustion she sees marring Mel’s face. As if the two of them have lived the same exact life; both of them in this time and both of them in the future, dealing with the repercussions of the past few weeks. She tries not to think about it too hard because this whole time travel thing is complicated enough without her trying to understand why she feels like she knows exactly how someone with experiences she has yet to have feels. It’s already giving her a headache and she looks away to avoid Mel’s pained expression.

She doesn’t need to try too hard because Mel is avoiding all of their eyes by this point too; she’s fiddling with her fingers and twisting the wedding band around her finger and Mel distinctly hears her make that little cleared throat noise she’s personally familiar with, the one that only comes when she’s trying very desperately not to cry.

“We didn’t…” the story starts, and Mel is forcing her head up to look at them, knowing they at least deserve this. She doesn’t try to hide her eyes, shining with a sheen of tears. “It was all going great, you know? Our lives. All of our lives; Macy and Harry and their growing family, Maggie and Jordan – you know he was getting ready to pop the question? Abby went ring shopping with him. Waverly and Lydia had firmly joined our family too, right alongside Abby. Life was hard, it always will be because of who we are, each one of us, but it was sweet with love and joy too.

We were happy enough to let our guard down, to think we’d overcome whatever came our way. So we never saw it coming.

Abby was sure she was at a point in her life as Overlord where there weren’t any more objections to her leading the demons; we were comfortable.”

Mel watches her counterpart take a deep breath here, pausing to collect her thoughts or wits or willpower. Whatever it was, whatever had happened in the future, Mel was hurting.

“We hadn’t heard from him in years, Abby just kinda assumed he’d been vanquished or something. But just as news of the baby broke out in the magical community, he resurfaced.”

“Godric,” Mel croaks before Mel can, holding her daughter close while future Mel nods in confirmation.

“He was gunning for the baby, with the same ritual he used on Abby in this time. That’s why we hadn’t heard from him in years, I guess; he’d spent all those years looking for it.”

“So, what, you thought you’d protect her by sending her back here?” Waverly bites out, angry still and not likely to cut Mel slack any time soon.

When future Mel nods, the younger one glares at her; she’s starting to understand what happened to her life, “except the future isn’t set in stone, is it? You sent the baby back here and changed the entire timeline. A butterfly effect of sorts.”

Mel clenches her jaw as she nods again, “it resulted in Godric finding the ritual years in advance. And because he didn’t know about the baby in this time, because he didn’t have the same amount of preparation time that he did in my time, his plan was to be enacted on Abby.”

“In other words, you majorly screwed up,” Maggie bites out.

“Why didn’t you come back sooner then?” Macy pipes up before an argument can break out, brows pinched in curiosity. “You could have spared us all some hurt if you’d taken the baby back sooner; we could have focused all of our energy on saving Abby instead of split between protecting the baby and helping Abby…”

Mel swallows at the words; she knows Macy’s right, but the sting doesn’t lessen. If Abby doesn’t make it now, it’s going to be her fault for not taking action sooner. She’ll lose her wife and daughter all at once…

“We had already ruined the timeline, we didn’t know what else could happen if we came back for the baby sooner. The timeline was being written in real time; I didn’t have the gift of already knowing how things played out. What if we took the baby back and it made things worse still?” Mel argues softly.

It makes the Mel laid up in the bed growl faintly, her daughter in her arms sighing at the noise, “I can’t imagine things getting worse than this.”

“Abby could have died,” Mel snaps back. “The baby being here gave her that extra strength she needed to hold on, to fight back. If that was gone too… who knows what would have happened to her…”

That’s enough to shut Mel up, snapping her jaw shut tight enough for the snap of her teeth to sound in the now silent room. All of a sudden, the little needle prick in her lungs grows into a cavernous hole and what little breath she had left is stolen from her completely. As her hollow lungs collapse in on themselves, she murmurs quietly, “I guess now we’ll find out when she wakes up to realize you took away her daughter.”

She sounds so defeated to her own ears, Mel can only wonder how it sounds to the rest of the room. She can’t bring herself to care though; her attention is held entirely by her daughter now. She has to drink her in, memorize every last line of her face, and remember every little sound. Bottle up her scent somehow to have when the inevitable empty feeling hits her and she knows she’ll want to drown in her tears to end the pain.

(As she stares into her daughter’s sleepy eyes that blear open again, it isn’t lost on Mel that when this baby is taken from her it may very well be the last time she sees these eyes ever again – Abby’s eyes. If her Abby doesn’t wake up…)

Mel doesn’t even hear it when Maggie protests, taking a step closer to the bed. “What? No, she can’t have the baby! You can’t let her take her, I won’t let her,” Maggie’s glare turns to Mel, so hot that for a moment the future iteration of her big sister worries she’ll be set aflame on the spot. “So do your little time travel trick and leave us alone, you’ve already caused enough problems!”

“Maggie…” Macy softly murmurs. The resignation in Macy’s voice makes Mel look up too; it seems both Macy and Waverly have the same defeated slumped spine that comes with the knowledge that there’s no way around this. “We should say goodbye now, okay?” Macy gently tells Maggie, and Mel finds herself eternally grateful to her big sister for handling this stuff so she can stay in her bubble with the baby a little longer.

Gulping down a breath slowly, useless because her lungs are too tight and too holey to keep hold of it, Mel quietly murmurs to her daughter as the baby seems to intently listen.

“Hello, my sweet… I want you to know that I love you very much, and I am going to miss you so very deeply. But I know you’re going to be okay and safe – you’re going to be so happy. So. Be good, my little one, and be kind. I’ll see you again soon,” Mel croaks out softly, the baby nuzzling into her like she understands.

“Say hi to your Mummy for me too, okay?” Mel adds on, pressing her lips to the baby’s forehead. She hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared to notice, Mel stepping up to the bed and standing beside her silently. She idly wonders how she even got past Maggie, looking up only to see that Maggie’s chosen to leave the room entirely.

When the hands reach out for the baby, Mel looks away. She doesn’t resist when she feels the weight of the baby leaving her arms, too emotionally drained to keep fighting. Once her arms are empty, she wastes no time turning away in the bed. She doesn’t want to see it when Mel leaves.

“The pain isn’t over yet, you know,” Mel murmurs quietly, still standing beside Mel’s makeshift bed. “She will need you to bring her back…”

“I know. I’m not going to leave her. Now go,” Mel croaks back. “Please…” she almost begs.

Mel stays turned away even as she hears Macy and Waverly say bye to their niece, even as Maggie refuses to come back to do the same. She stays turned away when she feels the surge of magic that means Mel’s going to leave, means that…

“What’s her name?” Mel turns around then, words breathless and laced with desperation. She can’t let her go without knowing what to call her…

Mel looks up, tears her gaze away from the precious bundle squirming in her arms to get comfortable, smiling softly at her younger self.

Chapter Text

Her first thought is that she must be dreaming; last thing Mel remembers is that she went to sit with Abby after her future-self came and took back their daughter. She knows she climbed into the bed to be closer to Abby, to hold her – to seek solace in her and in each other, even if Abby lay there unaware of the hurt she would still have to endure when she woke up. She must have fallen asleep.

She’s standing in the middle of Abby’s penthouse and looking around at all the familiar furniture. Her surroundings seem to blur just around the edges, like everything is made of the same smoke that Abby turns into when she phase-shifts. But there is a golden shimmering quality to it all, too, that Mel attributes to the fake afternoon sunlight that’s filtering into the space through the curtains. Her dreaming mind has conjured open windows and a soft warm breeze.

As she stands there, fingers slipping through the mist that makes up the lamp on the side table while still bumping into the solid table itself, Mel breathes out slowly at all the memories suddenly assaulting her. She can even almost see the memories play out in front of her, images of herself and Abby flickering around her in the penthouse.

They were cooking in the kitchen, Abby showing her how to bake a pie.

(Really though, it was mostly making a mess with flour and kissing til they were breathless.)

They were lounging on the couch and watching some show.

(Really though, it was mostly fighting over the remote and kissing til they were breathless.)

They were practicing magic and making potions, Abby showing her huge dusty tomes of spells and witchcraft she’d accumulated over the years.

(Really though, it was mostly squabbling over who could melt steel with their powers faster and kissing til they were breathless.)

(Falling in love til they were breathless, Mel thinks to herself.)

Mel looks at the couch, spotting the light brown stain of soy sauce Abby has either ignored or failed to remove; Mel spilled the sauce one night after coming over to see Abby. She remembers this night, evidently very clearly if the image of herself and Abby materializing on the couch in wisps of smoke is anything to go by. So she leans back against the solid side table to watch and remember.

She’d gotten restless at home, bored out of her mind since she’d finished reconstructing as much of the Book of Shadows as she remembered; suddenly and without much warning, Mel had more time on her hand than she knew what to do with. She’d tried to keep busy with a book, and with her work, and even stopped at the command center to see if there were any crises she could avert. But all her mind could focus on was memories of Abby, and Abby’s body against her own, and Abby’s words and breaths washing over her skin, and Abby’s magic twinning and intertwining with her own.

That was the first night Mel realized that Abigael Jameson-Caine, shrouded in shadows and swimming in greys, had burrowed into her chest and took up the space in her lungs that used to be saved for air.

That night Mel stood in the line to pick up their favorite Chinese takeout and finally realized that when her heart pounded in her chest, like it did right that moment, it rippled across her whole body, and the rushing blood that kept her moving towards Abby’s home thrummed and hummed and sang – Abby, Abby, Abby.

Mel watches the misty memory of herself walk through the foyer towards a surprised-to-see-her Abby – surprised but so very pleased – and she smiles; the first thing the memory does is drop the takeout bag to the floor, mess be damned, and pull Abby into a kiss so fierce Mel feels it against her lips even now.

It, like always, stole their breaths away.

Mel looks away then, smiling faintly as the memory keeps going. She doesn’t need to see the rest of it; it’s seared onto her heart forever.

(Needless to say, their takeout is cold when they finally get around to eating it and neither one of them has a care in the world about it.)

Mel’s ready to find more memories in this strange lucid dream of hers when the penthouse flickers into darkness, like all the sun and all the joy she’s had between these walls has been erased from the world. It lasts for mere moments but it’s enough to chase away the memories on the couch, blipped out of the dream and washed back into the realm of shadows.

It breaks Mel’s heart and reminds her of how bone-tired she is without Abby, has been without Abby for weeks on end now.

(She was so sure their love was finally going to be seen, that they wouldn’t have to be shadows anymore and could finally step into the light together.)

Still, she’s willing to think nothing of the dream’s little power outage if it weren’t for it happening again. She gets to her feet to look around for the source of this darkness, her mind conjuring up Maggie, in her best psychologist-in-training voice, telling her it’s likely some demon her subconscious has conjured up for her to fight so that she may work through the issues she’s facing in her waking hours at the moment.

That’s when she hears it; noise upstairs, in one of the bedrooms near Abby’s master bedroom. Except… it isn’t just noise; it’s humming. Her mind has conjured up a companion for her in this dreamscape, and Mel’s going to be a gracious host; she starts heading towards the voice when she finally realizes what the tune is.

The theme to Xena: Warrior Princess.

(Her heart does its chant again, faster and harder; Abby, Abby, Abby, thumping against her rib cage in time with each thundering step up the stairs.)

She’s never seen this room before. Granted, she’s never had a need to be in any room other than Abby’s but it seems so odd to her that she’s been so consumed by Abby that she’s not noticed an entire bedroom before… how did her brain come up with this?

Her breath hitches completely when she pushes the door open and steps inside.

It’s bathed in the warm afternoon sun again, and unfinished shades of yellow and green paint, as if someone is still trying to decide what the most suitable color to use is. Mel finds herself drawn to the brightest shade of yellow.

The furniture isn’t finished, pieces of dark mahogany wood laying around in need of being assembled to create a toy chest. A chest of drawers sits in the middle of the room, ready to be positioned somewhere against a wall, probably beside the rocking chair. There are plenty of toys though; a tall giraffe stuffed animal standing in a corner, a little table and chairs with a tea set near it. There is a mini target hanging on a wall with the tiniest bow and arrows set Mel’s ever seen leaning against the wall beside it.

There are little pieces of clothing here and there, sticking out of the open drawers as if someone was arranging them to see how they’d look. Mel spots a superhero cape and a ballerina’s tutu and a pair of designer baby boots.

But none of it matters because her attention is captured by the beautiful dark wood crib sitting under the large windows. Mel steps further into the room, careful not to step on any toys littered about as her focus narrows solely onto the crib.

There’s a mini black leather biker jacket hanging from the railing and Mel takes a moment to run her finger over the little zipper. Designer too no doubt, she muses to herself. The crib itself is outfitted with pillows around it that are meant to soften any blow the resident of this crib might experience if they were to roll over. Mel reaches into it and picks up a neatly folded little knit blanket, a soft and somewhat fluffy handmade thing in soothing shades of yellow that match the rest of the half-painted room. As Mel unfurls the blanket, she feels tears well in her eyes at the little sunflowers stitched into the bottom of the blanket in a neat little line. She didn’t realize you could cry in dreams and have it feel so real.

In Mel’s dream, in her heart of hearts, Abby’s built their daughter a nursery in her home.

It makes the hollow feeling in her chest feel like a gaping cavern or a wound that will not stop bleeding.

She’s pressing the blanket to her chest, hints of vanilla wafting from it to her nose when she hears it.

“I guess I did miss it then, after all.”

Mel spins on her heel, caught a little off-guard at the words and the voice. What an odd sentence for her brain to conjure up as Abby’s lines in her ideal dream…

The thought gets pushed to the back burner as she stands there, in the middle of this golden-hued room, and stares at the sight of Abby before her.

Abby sits on the floor, legs outstretched before her, and leaning against the wall. Her head lolls back against the wall and lazily bobs on her neck, almost limply as she stares up at Mel. Mel’s heart shatters at the exhaustion in her face; her sunken eyes and pale cheeks, the permanent drop of her lips and eyelids. The blank, glazed over look in her eyes seems to be the worst of it, and Mel all but flinches away from making eye contact – a task made easier by Abby’s own avoidance. Mel watches Abby’s eyes flicker away from her face and back to the crib, as if she was looking right through her, bringing a bottle of amber liquid up to her lips for a deep swig.

Something isn’t right here, Mel realizes when she finally notes the healing scars littering what she can see of Abby’s body; the gash going through her eyebrow is the most prominent one, likely to leave a mark. Why would her brain conjure up such a beaten, defeated and absolutely aching Abigael…? Where is her perfect partner in what should be a perfect dream…?

Before Mel can further investigate, Abby speaks up again. Her words feel like someone is pouring ice water in her veins and all it does is hurt Mel.

“So does this mean I’m not in hell then? That has to be what this means, you being here with me… I can’t imagine a hell with you there.”

Mel takes a step closer towards Abby, desperate to feel her now that she’s conscious and isn’t laid up in a bed and looking more like a ghost than a demon. She’s eager to reassure Abby that she isn’t dead, let alone in hell when Abby’s eyes drop to Mel’s flat belly – Mel knows that whatever comes out of Abby’s mouth now is only going to slash her open further.

“Except… you’d still be pregnant if this wasn’t hell, and I wouldn’t have missed the birth. If this weren’t hell, you and I would be on some beach and watching our baby girl dip her toes into the ocean for the first time. If this weren’t hell, there wouldn’t be so much unbearable pain…”

Mel finds herself kneeling beside Abby before Abby can even finish talking, her eyes glassy with tears that she holds back. She’s hurting too, and it feels like she’ll never stop hurting over her daughter and over Abby. But she knows that, right now as she watches Abby avoid her eyes, she needs to sooth Abby’s hurt first.

Ever so gently, Mel reaches over to tilt Abby’s chin up with her finger. She’s trembling a little because of how hard she holds herself back from outright flinging herself at Abby right now. She doesn’t even know if she can touch Abby. If this isn’t a dream and it definitely isn’t the afterlife, what the hell is this…?

When Mel’s fingers touch cool, pale – but absolutely solid – skin, Abby shivers. Her eyes, still unfocused around the edges, make the effort to find Mel’s in search of answers that Mel does not possess. But in that moment, when hazel meets dark, teary brown, the incessant and continuous humming that Mel’s been hearing in her ears drops away into utter silence. She lets her eyes roam over Abby’s face from this close a distance, watches Abby shift in her place and sit up better, watches her force her neck to tense up enough to hold up her head and look at Mel.

Abby drinks her in with the thirst of a woman stranded in a scorching desert, as if Mel’s the sweetest drop of honey against cracking tongue.

Suddenly, Mel feels like she’s not touching enough of Abby, like not enough of their cells are embracing, like the blood in her veins will no longer rush in and out of her heart if she doesn’t connect more of her skin to Abby’s.

She cups Abby’s jaw and cheek, holds her face and her gaze like they’re the most precious of precious things in the world. When she finally speaks, utters Abby’s name like a secret, like it is the most sacred of ancient prayers, Abby’s hazel eyes are hidden from her sight by her eyelids fluttering shut. When Abby shivers at the sound of Mel’s voice, Mel feels the quiver of her body in her own soul.

“Abigael…” she breathes out reverently, so very quietly.

She hasn’t spoken to her love in what feels like millennia, Mel swallows.

She hasn’t felt Abby’s touch in what feels like longer still; the very second Mel settles on her knees beside Abby, Abby moves forward to fuse herself with Mel.

Their kiss is devastating, and it makes Mel think of every single cliché in the book; sparks and fireworks. A soothing balm, an ocean, a relief. A scorching fire, a tornado of emotions, a passion. There is aching and pain and unbelievable desperation. It speaks of cracking and mending, of pulling at the seams and stitching. It speaks of loss and longing and finding and being found. It speaks of destiny and fate and love everlasting.

It is the taste of flowers and the scent of chocolate and the sounds of the color yellow.

It is irrational and violently chaotic. It shouldn’t make sense, they shouldn’t make sense. But when Mel thinks about their lips parting, even for air, she thinks she’ll never feel alive again, sense and sanity be damned.

Chapter Text

They kiss and kiss and kiss til they’re breathless.

(Mel pulls back just enough to fit a lock of hair between their lips so they can inhale; they’re so close to each other that it is the same breath split between the two of them.)

Mel doesn’t know how long they stay like that, and she well and truly does not care. Whatever magical space they’ve found themselves in doesn’t seem to be in any rush either as the sun stays that perfect soft gold and the calmness around them remains untouched.

When the kisses end, Mel’s surprised to find that she’s somehow ended up sitting between Abby’s legs. A well-practiced, almost thoughtless, motion later, she’s the little spoon in Abby’s firm and comforting hold and enjoying Abby’s warmth at her back. When Abby’s face presses into the side of her face – lips gently passing over her temple, her cheek, down along her jaw and right into her neck – Mel doesn’t even bother to tamp down on her relieved sigh, doesn’t try to stifle the way her head tilts to make room for Abby’s face to tuck into her neck.

No matter what fresh hell they’re in right now – and with their track record, it could be literal hell – Mel can’t and won’t bring herself to care; she could stay like this, with Abby, for the rest of time.

(And an angry and hurting part of her thinks that why shouldn’t they stay here like this forever, after everything they’ve both been through? What’s left for them in reality, waiting to shatter them further? The miserable voice in her head reminds her about their baby being gone, about all the trauma Abby’s been through, about how much hurt is still waiting for her. All Mel wants to do is stay here and protect Abby, and why shouldn’t she stay here? She’s given enough.)

(‘Because you have sisters and so does Abby, and you’ve both got a little niece who adores you both and would be devastated to lose you before she ever gets to know you,’ another, bigger and more responsible, part of Mel reminds her. ‘Because you’ve both got duties and people that depend on you.’)

(‘Because your lives do not solely belong to you; they belong to the fates and the cosmos and destiny in all its names.’ It reminds her despite how much it would earn her ire.)

(‘Because if you don’t get out of here, you’ll never meet your daughter.’ It soothes with a comforting lilt to its voice, as gentle as Marisol’s voice when she’d bandage Mel’s knee after a scrape.)

Mel lets silence swaddle them both.

“Sol.”

It’s an infinity of silence before Mel finally allows sound to ripple across them.

(It’s the direct result of Mel feeling Abby’s fingers touch every part of her except her painfully flat belly, the result of feeling her nails stutter, for the third time, in their gentle mapping of her sides every time she drags them inwards towards Mel’s torso.)

There’s only so long they can dance around the subject and they both know it.

Still, though, Abby feigns ignorance, only humming in quiet question. A wordless request for Mel to clarify, and yet Mel still hears Abby’s very quiet request that Mel be the one to start this, to rip the band aid off for both of them.

(For Mel to not make her be the one to do this.)

“It means ‘sun’,” Mel starts slowly, her throat needing to be cleared exactly one and a half times before she can continue. “She said that’s what they’ll name her,” she says, not needing to specify who ‘she’ or ‘they’ or ‘her’ are. She’s sure Abby’s feels the same stomachache she’s experiencing that tells her exactly who she’s talking about.

(She doesn’t draw any attention to Abby when she feels her palm, lax and weak, finally slide over to lay on her baby-bump-less stomach.)

Abby only hums and it makes Mel murmur the rest of the explanation she was given.

“She said it’s because she’s been the sunlight in their darkest times, the one that chased the shadows away,” Mel tells her while turning a little in Abby’s hold so her face is turned toward Abby. She needs to see her.

(‘Because she’s the reason you held on, the reason you survived. And now she’s gone before you can even meet her…’ the cruel, angry voice in Mel’s head wants to say. Wants to taunt.)

“Sounds a bit cheesy if you ask me,” Abby weakly jokes. “You’re sure these people are what we grow into?”

At least it brings a little smile to Mel’s lips; she’d thought the same thing. What a load of pressure to put on a little baby…

So Mel banters back with Abby, hoping it’ll help lessen the sting of this talk.

(It won’t.)

“We must be getting soft in our old age.”

“Speak for yourself, darling, I’d never be soft. And don’t even get me started on this old nonsense,” Abby easily shoots back.

(The kiss she presses to Mel’s temple betrays her softness.)

It’s silent around them again for a while before Abby quietly remarks, “I figured you’d want to name her after your mother.”

(‘After someone important, not as a way to remember this ordeal or as the thing that saved a nobody that didn’t even deserve saving,’ Abby thinks but doesn’t verbalize. She’s far too exhausted to even open that can of worms with Mel.)

Mel shrugs faintly, snuggling further into Abby. “They did, sort of. Marisol, Sol… it’s in there without outright being the same. A subtle homage,” Mel starts, slow with her words again as she thinks. “I always think that it must be so much pressure to name your child after someone; what if they can never shake off the pressure of having to live up to their namesake?”

Mel hums to herself in thought while Abby only holds her closely. They don’t talk about it anymore.

(Mel laces her fingers with the back of Abby’s on her belly, holding tight and anchoring them both together.)

(Mel eventually finds her bravery to tell Abby why everything happened the way it did; Godric hunting Sol in the future, the plan to protect her, the butterfly effect it resulted in and why Godric came after her.)

(Abby listens quietly, taking in every word Mel speaks and letting it coat her inside and out.)

(It takes long minutes after Mel’s done speaking before Abby shows any kind of reaction; she breaks.)

(She shakes and shudders and cries rivers;

Relief that they saved their child.

Pain for all the hurt they’ve been through to save Sol.

Fear of the hurt still to come.

Utter and absolute anguish at the loss.)

(Abby’s just so damn tired…)

(Mel ends up being the one holding Abby as her love drowns in sorrow.)

Chapter Text

Abby pulls herself together far quicker than Mel would have liked.

(Which would sound awful if Mel were to say it out loud, but when Abby’s dabbed her tears away and slinks out of Mel’s hold, Mel finds herself wanting to scream and beg her to stay because she’s only just gotten her back.)

(She wonders if she’ll ever not feel like she’s being abandoned.)

She watches Abby get to her feet slowly and walk around, thankful that she’s not making a mad dash for the door in an effort to get away from Mel. She can sense the turmoil Abby’s in, can guess that she wants to put as much distance between herself and Mel in some misguided attempt to protect her, and Mel just wants to pull her down into a hug that she’d never release her from.

Abby’s fingers drag along the different pieces of furniture displayed around the nursery in various stages of completion, eyes hidden away from Mel’s gaze; she knows if she lets Mel see her, she’ll see the hurt and… the desire to cease.

Cease the pain, cease the feelings, cease… to exist.

The desire to stay in whatever limbo this is and hide from the reality she knows is waiting for her.

She’s peering down into the crib she knows she’s built and touching a finger to the blanket Mel had been looking at when she hears Mel finally break their silence.

“Abby, where are we…?”

“The penthouse, I imagine,” Abby muses, her voice calm and even a hint playful.

“You know that’s not what I mean… where are we?”

Abby hangs the blanket over the crib’s railing and turns her back on it. Leaning back against it, she crosses her arms across her chest and looks around again before looking at Mel, “I thought this was hell, that I hadn’t survived the separation ritual and this was it, rightly so. Or that it failed and Father had taken over my body completely and I was stuck in the last happy memory I remember making. Or that you’d tossed us both into the Tomb of Chaos because there was no other way to contain him. Take your pick of depressing options, all valid.”

“You’re not dead, and you certainly wouldn’t be in hell if you were; I’d never leave you to that,” Mel tells her with a conviction that makes Abby ache. “The ritual worked, your father’s gone from your body. You’re just… sleeping.”

(Mel refuses to use any other word for Abby’s state because sleeping means it’s temporary and Abby will wake up once she’s rested. So. She’s not even going to think of other words.)

(Coma coma coma.)

Abby smirks at her and Mel knows she’s not fooling anyone. Still, she sets her jaw stubbornly and sticks to her story.

Abby continues, “You can’t blame me for thinking that. Here I am, in a room that symbolizing the life I have laid out ahead of me in this wonderful golden light, and the woman I adore walks in and kisses me. I thought to myself that I must be dead because my reality could never be this perfect. Until you went off script.”

“Off script?” Mel asks with a frown, confused.

“Yeah. These limbos and purgatories and afterlife scenarios all tend to operate on a script, a loop designed to drive you crazy. The Tomb was like that; Mother had a script of torment she followed and when I pushed to deviate from it she’d stick me in the crate and reset the scenario.

That’s not happening here so I guess… your guess about where we are or what’s going on is as good as mine.”

Mel hums, looking around. “So this room… the last happy memory you remember?” she’s desperate to know, uncertain how to ask. She hopes that when her eyes find Abby’s, Abby will just know.

Abby smiles faintly, finally dropping her arms from their hold across her chest, dropping away the defensiveness and rigidness.

“I obviously haven’t finished it; I’ve been converting my home office into it.” Then she smiles, teasing and light and looking a lot like Abby, “a part of me wanted to paint it bright, bubblegum pink just to watch you get huffy about reinforcing gender roles and demand I paint it something ridiculous like neon green or something instead,” her teasing smile softens into something real and sincere and devoted, “I would have complied. I still will if you’d like, even though she’s…” Mel doesn’t it hold it against her when Abby can’t finish her sentence.

“Most of the furniture’s done,” Abby continues after clearing her throat. “The big pieces are anyway, and all that would remain would be accessorizing.”

Abby watches Mel look around from her spot against the wall as she fights her tears away. “I like the yellow,” Mel tells her in the softest voice.

“I know I should have told you, asked if this was even okay instead of just assuming,” Abby starts saying before the silence can stretch too long, or before Mel has more to say, “but… I wanted to surprise you. To show you that I was committed to this, to her and you and us. I wanted you to know she’d always have a place with me, that you both would.”

“Abby…”

“I know it doesn’t matter now, that it’s silly. I’ll put it all back, but…”

“Don’t; she’ll need somewhere to sleep, somewhere to put her Ursula stuffed toy. A bright yellow wall that I’m so sure she’s going to draw on that I’ll be exasperated by but you’ll beam about and do something ridiculous like custom-build a frame around it. Somewhere for us to see her first thing in the morning and last thing at night, feed her in the rocking chair, have tea parties and pirate sword fights with.

Somewhere for you and me and Sol, to build a life together,” Mel tells her with that conviction in her voice again that makes Abby want to crumble at her feet.

(Makes her want to believe; maybe she does deserve this life despite all the hurt she brings.)

Abby shakes her head though, unable to talk about this right now, not wanting to go down this path with Mel. She knows Mel’s talking them towards a point; a way out of here and back to their reality.

(A cliff edge she’s not ready to step away from just yet.)

Mel’s hurt to see Abby clamming up and pulling away, refusing to go home with her before she even asks.

So she doesn’t bring it up just yet, watching Abby as she walks around the nursery. She purses her lips when Abby leans into the mirror that’s hanging over the chest of drawers and frowns at her reflection, a finger ghosting over the scar cutting through her eyebrow.

“That explains the headache…” she murmurs to herself.

“You’re hurting?” Mel asks softly, aware of the double meaning behind her words.

Abby only nods, humming.

“So we’re not in any kind of limbo, we’re not dead. You’re feeling pain from your injuries… where are we and how do we get out of here?”

Abby ignores her instead, pulling open a drawer that’s half opened with baby clothes lined up in it neatly. She pulls out a navy-colored onesie with a fond smile, holding it up for Mel to see; it’s got a goofy looking little monster, hairy and with only one eye and a single tooth sticking out past its grinning lips. The words over and under the monster proclaim it as ‘Mummy’s little monster’.

“A present from Joxen,” she grins at Mel with a bit of a sad smile. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t wracked with guilt and sadness over Joxen.

Mel smiles fondly, matching her sadness too, “maybe we should make him her demon godfather. Do you have those?”

Abby chuckles, “not really but I think he’d make an exception for her.”

“So let’s go home and give him that chance,” Mel bites the bullet and brings it up outright.

“Or we can explore where we are, see what’s beyond these walls. Maybe grab a snack because I am starving,” Abby tries instead and starts slowly walking towards the door, giving Mel the chance to follow.

“Abby, you know we can’t stay here…” Mel argues, getting to her feet to follow. They’ll need to look around to find a way out anyway, she muses to herself, and if this place is identical to Abby’s real life penthouse then maybe Abby’s magic books are around too and can offer insight into their predicament.

“We can probably get up to some naughty things too,” Abby looks at Mel over her shoulder as she descends down into her living room. “Think about it, darling, this is the first time we’ve both been completely alone and free together in months,” Abby tells Mel from her spot at the bottom of the stairs as she watches Mel take the steps down towards her. The moment Mel’s within reach, Abby reaches her arm out and snakes it around Mel’s waist, yanking her into herself and pulling their bodies flush against each other in a way she hasn’t been able to do since Mel’s surprise pregnancy.

“Think of the fun we could have again…” Abby breathes into Mel’s skin, her nose nudging Mel’s head back to give herself room to nuzzle into Mel’s neck.

Abby’s lips feel scorching hot against Mel’s skin and for a moment, Mel’s knees tremble; she loses herself in Abby so quickly every time, ready to forget about reality entirely as she feels her body’s need surrender itself wholly to Abby.

As Abby’s lips drag across her skin, over tendons and muscles and a rapidly racing pulse, Mel’s eyes flutter shut and her arms wrap around Abby’s shoulders to hold her close. Would it be so bad for them to have this… to forget their pain for a while and lose themselves in each other again…?

It takes Abby’s lips parting and her teeth scraping over Mel’s jaw for Mel to come back to reality; no matter how much she enjoys Abby using her teeth, it doesn’t feel the same. It’s muted and faint and done for all the wrong reasons.

So Mel squeezes Abby’s shoulders to slow her down and, like always Mel thinks to herself, Abby stops and moves to allow Mel the space she’s silently asking for.

“We have to go home, Abby. To our family, to my sisters and yours and our friends. To Lydia. We have to go so we can start healing…” Mel tells her softly, whispers it between them like it’s a sacred request. She was to tell Abby that they have to leave so they can go home and be together long enough to meet Sol again, but she doesn’t think Abby’s ready to be pushed that far just yet. “So, please. Help me get us out of here…”

She watches Abby’s eyes turn serious as they flit over Mel’s face, studying her.

Her heart breaks when Abby pulls away with a hard set frown, crushed entirely when Abby firmly tells her, “No. I will not go back.”

Chapter Text

Mel feels rooted to her spot, breathing stuttering in her throat.

She watches Abby back away from her, walk out of the room and out of her sight even, with a detached sensation.

A part of her knows she needs to follow Abby, chase her down if she has to. Needs to talk some sense into her, even if she has to knock it into her thick skull.

Then another part of her pipes up, an admonishing voice in the back of her head, and reminds her that Abby’s literally scarred from her experiences in the real world and that’s only the physical stuff. The voice prompts her to look around this room again – this nursery that Abby has spent hours putting together with her own two hands, lovingly painting and decorating and painstakingly picking just the right sized giraffe so that it doesn’t tower over Mel herself.

Touching a hand to the unfinished yellow paint, Mel’s seized with a thought; maybe Abby has a point about staying in this realm, wherever it may be.

(She knows they’ve got to leave, that she has to take Abby away from all of this, but she decides that she’s not going to be in any kind of rush to do so. She likes it here too.)

So when she steps out of the nursery eventually, her steps aren’t hurried or frantic, she isn’t desperate to get Abby home anymore. As far as she’s concerned, Abby’s become her home and now that they’re together… they’ve both arrived home. It might be a trailer right now, something on wheels and moving, but it’s a step in the right direction towards a home with concrete foundations and a steady support. Mel understands that building that kind of home takes time, and since she’s got the rest of her life to spend with Abby, she’s choosing to enjoy the scenery from the trailer instead of speeding through the construction process.

She takes the stairs towards the ground floor in slow measured steps, holding on to the railing and her composure as she listens to the sounds of Abby fluttering around her kitchen. Mel wonders if this will be like the Tomb, if Abby’s about to put on an apron and start baking enough pastries to start her own bakery.

(In other words, she wonders if she’s about to witness Abby spiral.)

(Mel idly wonders if she’ll get to taste the pastries this time; Abby seemed to be doing some wonderful things with lemons and blueberries last time, and she knows Abby’s good in the kitchen. There’s no reason they can’t eat while they figure this out, Mel thinks to herself.)

(The sense of detachment that she began to develop when Abby walked away from her continues to grow, indifference about their situation setting in. The idea of a nice dinner with Abby seems so pleasant right now. It all makes Mel wonder if maybe she is the one that’s actually spiraling.)

“Why the bloody hell is this imaginary refrigerator empty? Shouldn’t it be stocked full of a three Michelin-star, seven-course meal and champagne because my mind wills it?” she hears Abby complain as she rummages around. All Mel can offer in answer is a soft hum as she wraps her arm around Abby from behind and nuzzles her face into her shoulder.

(Mel pretends she doesn’t notice how the one shoulder stiffens a little and tries to roll away, tries to erase the memories of the blood soaking and dripping along Abby’s arm from her memory. She thinks that shoulder will never heal properly, will never go back to being the same.)

“Apparently because you’ve got a hankering for grilled cheese and tomato soup,” Mel tells her after peeking over Abby’s shoulder into the fridge. “That’s kinda cute,” she muses, “very good comfort food choices.”

Abby grunts, “how can food be cute?” she asks absently, not really expecting an answer. When she feels Mel shrug against her back, she knows Mel hasn’t got one to offer anyway. “I’m craving steak, I want to make you steak. I know you’d love that, bloody brilliant carnivore that you are,” Abby teases softly. Then she frowns as an image comes to mind; Abby has to squeeze her eyes shut to banish the memories of an elaborate dinner table set up in a dark and dank dungeon flash across her mind, her brother sitting across from her with fear and confusion growing in his eyes before he resolves to stabbing himself in the thigh in his efforts to get out from under her (his, she has to remind herself) influence as it tried to sink him.

“But I suppose grilled cheese will have to do. We should probably cut back on red meat consumption anyway,” she tells Mel after clearing her throat, her voice doing its best imitation of ‘calm’ it can muster. If Mel notices that something’s off, she doesn’t point it out and Abby’s glad for it right now.

Mel squeezes Abby to herself briefly before letting go to explore their surroundings while Abby pulls things out to make them sandwiches. “Are you powers working here?” she asks curiously as she checks the bar where she knows Abby keeps her good liquor. Two empty tumblers floats into her line of sight as soon as she’s found the scotch instead of a verbal answer. Mel hums to herself as she snatches them from the air to pour them drinks.

(And yeah, okay, she does sneak a glance towards Abby to see whether Abby’s consciously using her powers or if it’s like before when it seemed like she didn’t need to put any kind of effort into it. She doesn’t know if she’s relieved or not to see Abby’s hand up and her attention focused on the act of levitating two glasses in front of Mel.)

(At least that answers the question of whether or not there are any residual traces of… him.)

“So we’re not in the Tomb… though I knew that since your body’s just sleeping in the command center…” Mel starts thinking aloud as she walks back towards Abby with her drink to set beside her. She gently touches a finger to Abby’s brow, stitched up by Jordan as best he could, “and you’ve got all your real world injuries, so I’d guess you’re still tethered to the real world somehow… is this like a mind meld of sort?” Mel asks, hoping Abby will help her figure it out.

As she expects, Abby doesn’t, in fact, offer any kind of hints or ideas. With her lips pursed, she sets down the block of cheddar cheese she was in the middle of grating to glare a little at Mel, “why does it matter what this is? I already told you; I’m not leaving here.”

Mel sits on the bar stool opposite where Abby’s standing, letting the glare roll off her shoulders as she shrugs a little. Avoiding Abby’s eyes, Mel murmurs that, “you might not want to leave, but I can’t stay here. No matter how much I want to just curl up on that couch with you, eat fake Chinese food and recreate our first real date, I can’t and won’t stay here, Abby… I have people that need me, the same people that need you too.”

The lights flicker around them, the sun seeming to just shut itself off for a split second. Mel thinks it’s probably tied to Abby’s emotional state, suspicions confirmed when she looks up to see Abby’s face; her eyes look devastated and her jaw falls slack. But it’s gone in the next moment, Mel watching Abby put up her walls and clench her jaw as she looks back down to the cheese in hand.

“So go,” Abby says, voice sounding neutral to anyone that wouldn’t know her. But Mel hears it, the subtle tremble, and the faintest hint of aching.

“I can’t force you to come home with me, and if this is your decision – to deny me our daughter by making this choice for the both of us, to deny yourself a life of happiness we could have together then… I want to get my fill of you first before I go,” Mel says after a moment of silence as she processes Abby’s dismissal. She doesn’t sound angry or hurt, she doesn’t yell or shout or scream. Mel’s voice only carries sadness.

“Admit it, you don’t actually know how to get out of here,” Abby tries to tease instead of a serious answer, though Mel hears the relief in her voice loud and clear.

“You know me well enough to know I’d never admit to such defeat,” Mel shoots back in order to maintain the façade of banter between them. “Besides, you promised me grilled cheese first and I don’t see you grilling anything.”

Abby only smiles in answer, dramatically assembling the rest of the sandwiches before grabbing the apparently ready-made tomato soup from the fridge to reheat, “far be it from me to keep you from food.”

Mel watches her grate cheese and butter bread and heat up a pan while she assembles sandwiches. When Abby starts to reheat their soup, Mel asks, “What’s the first thing you ever learned to cook?”

“Cereal,” Abby shoots back without hesitation, her smirk devilish at – in her own opinion – her witty response. She only looks up long enough to catch Mel’s eyes roll at her, and Mel takes that moment to throw a piece of the sliced bread she was nibbling on at Abby’s face

(Abby somehow manages to catch it in her mouth and sticks out her tongue at Mel before chewing on it, and Mel pretends that Abby’s happy laugh afterwards isn’t the most glorious sound she’s ever heard in her life.)

“This is why I can never take you anywhere nice; you’re always behaving like such a hooligan, Melanie Vera,” Abby teases softly.

(Mel bites down on the urge to tell Abby she’s not going to take her anywhere at all now that she’s abandoning Mel in favor of… this place. The thought makes Mel’s throat tighten so much she feels like she can’t breathe anymore.)

Mel only raises her brow at Abby, lips pursed and eyes expectantly on Abby. It makes Abby smile faintly, makes her huff a little in playful exasperation as she shakes her head.

“Eggs,” Abby says after a moment of thinking. She keeps her eyes on the grilled cheese as she speaks.

“I didn’t learn to cook when I was growing up with my mother, what with the constant timeouts I was in and all,” she starts, still avoiding Mel’s eyes. Mel thinks that’s for the best because she doesn’t think Abby needs to see all the burning hatred in her eyes at the mention of Abby’s abuse. “And when I was on my own, I was never anywhere long enough to need to learn, so it was mostly takeout and whatever my flavor of the week would cook for me.”

(Mel’s suddenly glad she isn’t pregnant anymore because she thinks her daughter’s fire powers would have kicked in right about now too, a giant blue fireball to match her jealousy burning white hot in her veins at the thought of Abby with other people. Ridiculous, she thinks to herself, and utterly unnecessary because Abby’s hers even if she’s exiling herself to a life in her own mind…)

Mel thinks she’s hiding her jealousy pretty damn well when she tries to move the topic along, until she hears herself clear her throat and ask, “Eggs then? I’m guessing for breakfast.” So much for trying to move beyond the subject of past lovers…

Abby glances up again at that, smirk amused and her eyes showing exactly how crazy she thinks Mel is being in that moment. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Breakfast for one,” she emphasizes.

“It happened right here in this kitchen, after Parker had become Overlord over me, and my years of work had gone down the drain. As you can imagine, I wasn’t in the mood for company, and to be honest, nobody really wanted to be with me either; I wasn’t going to benefit anyone anymore. For the first time in what felt like ever, I was alone.”

“So you made eggs,” Mel says slowly, trying to figure out how to ask if Abby seriously didn’t know how to cook for herself until she was in her 20s without sounding like she was judging her for it.

Abby scoffs, offended that Mel would ever reduce her to something so mundane, “of course not. I made champagne poached eggs.”

That makes Mel snort a little, raising a hand in surrender, “my mistake, babe. How did they taste?”

“Dreadful; I burnt them. I ended up drinking the champagne straight from the bottle and lay down on the kitchen floor.”

That certainly intrigues Mel, not really thinking of Abby as the type to give up. “Why would you even try to make such fancy eggs? What’s a simple boiled egg ever done to offend you?”

Abby rolls her eyes, fond. She busies herself with flipping their sandwiches and stirring the soup so the bottom doesn’t burn. “I thought to myself ‘it’s just eggs, how hard could it actually be?’” Abby recounts in amusement. Mel chuckles at that fondly, smiling when Abby looks up briefly to meet her eyes.

“So then what? Ordered in? Had a plaything come over and cook for you?” Mel asks, trying to keep it as casual sounding as she could. If the way Abby chuckles is anything to go by, she’s failing at keeping her jealousy in check.

“You know, if you want to know more about my… playthings… you could just ask. I wouldn’t recommend it, but I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I wouldn’t lie to you, Mel, and I certainly wouldn’t betray you like that if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

Mel shrinks a little under Abby’s soft and understanding gaze, feeling a little ridiculous about her jealousy. She’s got bigger things to worry about right now and here she is, suddenly obsessed with knowing how many notches Abby has on her bedpost. Mel finds herself having to literally shake her head to clear the thoughts.

“No, I know that, and I trust you. There was a moment when I had some doubts, when you were aggressively hitting on Macy, but really that’s not your fault you were literally possessed. I know you would never betray me like that,” Mel rambles a little. She misses Abby’s shocked expression as she looks up, face pale.

“I what? Bloody hell…”

“Not you, baby, him. That’s kinda what tipped his hand too, made us really take a step back and think,” Mel reassures softly, or at least hopes she’s being reassuring. By the clouded look in Abby’s eyes, it doesn’t really work so well. Mel watches Abby brace herself against the counter for a moment and breathe slowly.

“Do you know… what else he might have done? What other damage he’s caused? I wasn’t always aware…” Abby asks softly, afraid. She meets Mel’s eyes, desperate for Mel to tell her that…

“I’m okay, Abby. He never touched me; I knew it was always you, even when you weren’t acting exactly like you, it was still you, and we both knew it,” Mel tells her quietly, knowing that’s what Abby’s most afraid of right now. “Besides. I would have kicked his ass six ways to Sunday had he tried, and you know it,” Mel adds on, smiling softly in the hopes of lightening things up a little. Abby only manages a small smile and nod, but Mel’s happy to see her shoulders relaxing even just a little.

(She isn’t blind to the effect her emphasis on ‘both’ has, knows that Abby understands that Mel means herself and Sol in that statement. It seems to bring Abby a bit of comfort.)

Mel clears her throat, ready to move past the heavy topic before it suffocates them, “and to answer your question – no, I do not wish to know anything about your playthings. Not right now at least. I’m only interested in the eggs; you can’t stop the story now that it’s getting to the climax, and don’t you dare tell me there’s no climax; you can’t end a story like that.”

“Darling, when have I ever left you without a climax?” Abby smirks up at Mel, lewd and dirty and oh so very naughty as she winks at her pointedly. “I can give you one right now if you’d like, if my eggs story has left you… wanting.”

Abby’s left to dodge another flying piece of bread coming at her face. She laughs softly and continues, “There’s really not much left to the story, Mel. I finished the bottle and stared at the ceiling for a while as I realized that the eggs were somehow a metaphor for how my life turned out – I had set myself a goal that was lofty and beyond my reach and I had failed at it. I got up, fully intending on taking the easy way out and ordering something in when it occurred to me that that would be a metaphor too.

So I grabbed more eggs, found a recipe for scrambled eggs so simple a toddler could follow it and tried again,” Abby finishes with a smile, slipping the plate in front of Mel with a bowl of soup for them to share.

Mel smiles slowly as she watches her round the counter and take a triangle of grilled cheese, dip it into the soup and take a bite, all while Abby makes herself comfortable standing close between Mel’s legs.

“And that became a metaphor too,” Mel murmurs, “about you not giving up and always finding a way.”

Abby only hums, chewing with a little smile on her lips as she slowly lets her eyes roam Mel’s face. Lightly tangling her fingers with Abby’s, Mel takes up her own grilled cheese for a bite. She watches Abby watch her, laughing softly when Abby gets some soup on her top, lovingly helps her clean it up before it can stain too badly.

(Silently, she wonders if Abby hears the irony in her story considering how quickly she’s given up fighting and trying in this new predicament they find themselves in. Mel finds herself wondering how she’s going to help Abby turn this champagne poached eggs problem into scrambled eggs…)

Chapter Text

They leave the kitchen in a state of mess, Abby refusing to clean because, “it’s a problem for my mind magic now,” insisting that it should just clean itself up because she wills it.

Mel has her doubts but she drops it; as long as she doesn’t have to do the dishes…

They – or rather, Abby – migrate to the living room to lounge. Abby drops down on the couch hard enough for a cushion to flop over. Digging her hand in between the cushions, Abby pulls out a remote with a triumphant sound and points it at the television.

The screen remains black no matter how hard or how fast or how much Abby pushes the power button.

(Mel keeps the thought that Abby’s ‘mindscape’ wants them to talk and leave, not get comfortable, to herself. She lets a little smirk adorn her face though, out of Abby’s sight as she wanders around the penthouse touching things in an effort to find the way out.)

Mel looks over when Abby’s frustration at the TV manifests itself in a deeply demonic growl and the smacking sound of the remote as it bounces off the television screen Abby’s thrown it at.

‘Interesting… Spike is still in there…’ Mel thinks to herself before clearing her throat. “That’s one way to operate technology. Not the right way, but certainly a choice,” she lightly teases Abby as she wanders over towards her.

Abby gets off the couch to at least pick up the remote, glaring playfully at Mel over her shoulder as she squats to get the remote. As she picks it up and deposits it on the television stand, she seems to have another thought; sticking out her hand at the couch and having a cushion come floating over to her, Abby drops it on the floor and promptly lies down right there under the TV.

It doesn’t take long for Mel’s face to obscure her sight from the ceiling, smiling down at her softly if a little confused. “Couch do something to offend you, babe?”

“I love the couch. You of all people should know how much I love the couch,” Abby tells her, waggling her brows at Mel suggestively. She scoots to the side a little, her head on the edge of the cushion and patting the newly freed space, “come lie down with me.”

Mel could question it or call it a ridiculous gesture when there is a perfectly viable couch three feet away. She could say no and argue that the floor is probably dirty from shoes or vanquishes or whatever kind of demon orgy occurred here before Mel and Abby got together. All things a sane person would worry about it, she reasons with herself. She could and could and could. Or she could just shut up and lie down with her girlfriend.

She lies down after pressing a soft, Spider-Man kiss to Abby’s lips.

They lie there, with their heads on the same pillow and bodies on opposite ends, and when Mel feels Abby’s face turn just enough to nuzzle the side of hers, feels the faintest press of Abby’s lips to her jaw in a dainty kiss, she has to fight back her tears. She’s so tired of crying…

“Tell me about her,” Mel asks quietly, whispers between them really so she isn’t disturbing the mood.

(A ridiculous notion, of course, considering who she’s asking about. There isn’t any way to not bulldoze right through the peace Abby’s desperately trying to cling to.)

“Shouldn’t that be my question?” Abby muses faintly with a quickly fading smile, lips back to gently brushing against Mel’s skin.

“Not Sol, Abby…”

“Hm?” Abby asks then, distracted mostly by Mel’s sheer presence.

“Francesca,” Mel utters slowly after a long stretch of silence. Her skin instantly feels cold when Abby’s face jerks back.

“What the actual fuck, Melanie,” Abby blurts out, surprised more than anything. “Way to decimate the mood, luv…”

Mel can’t help it, the way Abby handles it makes her chuckle a little. She turns her head a little to look up at Abby who lifts up onto her elbow to look at Mel fully.

“I guess… before all of this, you and I were hiding,” Mel starts off, avoiding Abby’s intense eyes every other word as she sorts through her own. “We were hiding, and that meant all we talked about was how to make our next secret rendezvous work or whether my sisters were on to us or not.”

“And all the sex, Mel, don’t forget all the sex.”

“Of course, how could I?” she smiles up at Abby dryly.

Abby only grins like she’s winning at life.

Mel clears her throat and refocuses on her thoughts again, “So that’s how we spent our early courtship,” which makes Abby snort and Mel glare at her a little, “and then the whole Tomb thing happened, your trial, the baby, all of this…” Mel continues, trailing off towards the end.

“We haven’t had a chance to be normal, get to know each other outside the magic,” Abby finishes for her, quiet.

It takes Mel’s breath away to be so seen and known by someone, to be read by Abby so easily and not have it be absolutely terrifying. It makes her realize that the mortifying ordeal of being known isn’t so… mortifying.

“And the thing you want to know about me is… my mother,” Abby asks, states really, slowly.

“No, I want to know you, everything there is to know. The good, bad, and ugly; I’ve seen your good, and I’ve met the Susans whom I can only assume are the bad.”

“Au contraire, ma Cherie, they are definitely good,” Abby chooses to tease instead of have a serious conversation. It only earns her a hard pinch to the arm from a glaring, jealous Mel. Abby thinks she’d be worried about it bruising if she wasn’t already one big bruise.

“There’s really not much to say about Mother,” Abby shrugs a little, not sure how to talk about any of this without having a full on mental breakdown.

“That woman…” Mel starts, brows furrowed in a tight pinch as she formulates her words in a controlled manner. “I felt so much rage in her presence, our daughter felt it and tried to act upon it.”

Abby grins at that, absolutely beams, a smile that is radiant. “Is it bad that I’m supremely proud of her for attempted murder?”

Mel snorts, “I’d normally say yes and give you a whole lecture about why that’s bad and how we will absolutely not encourage that kind of behavior, but considering it was my anger that she could feel and was acting on, I think you can get a pass on this, just this once. Plus, it was really cool, so.”

“Tell me about her,” Abby turns the question back on Mel, her smile so soft it reminds Mel of toasted marshmallows smothered in a blanket of melting chocolate.

Mel hums, thinking about Sol.

“We went looking for the Blade of Clarity; Waverly was going to break into your mother’s safe and get it. As our luck would have it, things went to shit almost immediately,” Mel starts, Abby snorting in amusement and nodding her head in understanding. Lord knows she’s been there as the Charmed Ones’ usually terrible ideas go sideways.

“So there she was, in all obnoxious entitled white woman glory, wearing a dreadful pantsuit no less and sneering at us about how the Blade would only answer to her, right, and honestly all I wanted to do was sock her in the mouth. Like, give me a break, Sauron, you know, you’ve booby trapped a knife? Lame.” Mel rambles, forcing herself to keep the conversation light despite all the trauma it could stir in Abby. It helps, Abby laughing softly and teasing her for her use of “dreadful” to boot.

“Say booby again,” Abby teases with a smirk, only earning a light backhand to the shoulder from an exasperated Mel.

“And obviously because she’s a terrible person, she thought it entitled her to a villain monologue, as if,” Mel scoffs. “And I just… couldn’t take her shit anymore. I was already struggling to keep my temper because your sister is just as snarky as you, if not worse, and was being very snippy. So when Fran-bitch-ca was doing her best Frollo impression about how she’ll be glad to be rid of you and it’ll erase her mistake and all that absolute nonsense, I just… I felt rage like I hadn’t felt in so long.”

Mel’s quiet then for a few heavy moments, “I think if our sisters weren’t there, I would have killed her.”

Abby hums softly, ruminating on the fact that Mel would have taken a life for her. The thought coils tightly in her belly until it’s the most uncomfortable stone ball weighing her down.

“And then… well, Sol happened. She must have felt my rage, or hell she had some of her own – which, terrifying thought, right? Anger issues from the womb, she’s definitely my kid – and she channeled her magic through me.”

“Pyrokinesis, Maggie said,” Abby murmurs, fingers absently brushing through Mel’s hair.

Mel nods, turning her head to find Abby’s fingers with her lips. “I’ve never seen a blue fireball before, it was gorgeous. And she was powerful, I could feel the thrum of magic in my body, through my veins. It made me shiver down to my bones.”

“That’s my girl,” Abby smiles softly, voice hushed but no less proud.

“Yeah. Your girl,” Mel murmurs, eyes dragging along Abby’s face slowly. She wonders… she knows Abby's not stupid, the farthest from stupid she’s met in a while, so Mel knows that Abby’s aware of the fact their daughter won’t exist anymore now that she’s decided to not return to the real world. Maybe Abby constantly referring to Sol in the present tense, or like she’s just sleeping in the nursery upstairs while they have grown-up time, means there’s still a chance Abby’s going to change her mind? Does Abby have doubts about her own decision?

(Mel silently promises to thank every single deity she can think of if there’s even a slim chance that Abby is having second thoughts about her decision. She thinks she’ll even research more deities she might not be familiar with to thank them if Abby does come home with her.)

Abby doesn’t say anything more, laying her head back down beside Mel’s and staring up at the ceiling.

Mel wants to say more, to try pushing Abby to come home again. Hell, she wants to yell and fight and scream if she has to, if that will bring back the spark in Abby. So Mel rises to sit up and do just that when the music that had started playing in the background registers.

‘If I lay here

If I just lay here

Would you lie with me

And just forget the world?’

Mel sighs softly, “I told you to quit binging that show…” she murmurs instead of saying more. She does lie back though, the two of them staring up at the ceiling as the song continues to play around them softly.

“I can’t get through the eighth season anyway, I can’t put myself through losing Lexie and Mark like that,” Abby hums back.

The song fades to an end eventually, Mel wondering if it’ll loop on itself or if there is a whole playlist she needs to sit through first before Abby’s willing to try talking again.

She gets her answer when Abby sits up and gets to her feet, turning to Mel and extending a hand out to help her up too.

Mel’s suddenly back in that doorway, watching Abby twirl Lydia around, the memory so vivid Mel even checks to make sure she’s not somehow time-travelled back to that moment by patting her belly to make sure she’s not pregnant again. That little rainbow tattoo line catches her eye again, and just like the first time she saw it in this same position, Mel runs a finger over it before taking Abby’s offered hand and getting up.

“Right, yeah. Seems my father took some liberties, made himself quite at home in my body. It isn’t something I’d personally get but at least it’s nothing garish,” Abby murmurs as she pulls Mel into her arms and starts to sway them gently.

“You really are a Swiftie, aren’t you?” Mel hums, listening to the woman croon about her lover.

‘I’ve loved you three summers now, honey

But I want them all.’

“I haven’t the foggiest notion what you’re on about,” Abby hums as she spins Mel gently in the suddenly empty space of the living room.

“You can get as English with me as you want, but you’ve got a pattern, Abigael Jameson-Caine. You like to woo women with Taylor Swift music and twirl them around your lavish penthouse,” Mel fires back playfully.

“This has literally happened only one other time,” Abby rolls her eyes, deadpan.

Mel doesn’t bother to argue anymore, choosing to enjoy the moment as they dance together.

“You’re a wonderful dancer, Abby,” Mel murmurs as she curls into her dance partner again as they sway.

‘And you’ll save all of your dirtiest jokes for me,

And at every table, I’ll save you a seat.’

“Do I not take you dancing enough, my darling?” Abby murmurs in Mel’s ear.

All Mel can bring herself to do is press her face into Abby’s shoulder and keep swaying as the song ends again, another starting soon after.

Mel wants to focus on Abby, doesn’t care what they sway to but the song Abby’s mind picks next hits so close to home from the very few first lines.

‘It’s been days and weeks and months,

Feels like forever since I saw you.’

(It makes Mel cling to Abby tightly.)

‘I’m forgetting how you felt now,

I’ve never had this much time on my hands.’

(It makes Mel turn her face into Abby’s neck to inhale her scent as deep as into her bones.)

Abby shifts enough so her lips are close to Mel’s ear, quietly singing to her.

“All I can imagine is being in your arms.

I want you to know,

I don’t need anything fancy,

I just need me and you slow dancing.”

(It makes Mel imagine a life where she watches Abby sing Sol to sleep before going to find Mel, to sweep her off her feet and twirl her around their living room while something insanely soft and ludicrously romantic plays on what is, no doubt, an absurdly expensive sound system that Abby will insist on having.)

“Hell’s bending keeping me captive,

Heaven’s here, it’s right where you’re standing…”

(Tragically romantic, Mel thinks to herself as they continue to sway around.)

Chapter Text

Slow dancing, as it turns out, is a complete turn on.

They’re a heaving mess of tangled limbs and sweat, Mel readjusting to lie back against Abby’s stomach, right there on the ground beside the couch. Blindly, Abby grabs a sheet that seem to have appeared on the couch and haphazardly throws it over their bodies.

“Bloody hell, I’ve missed you, Mel,” Abby tells her, voice a little coarse and breath a little labored still.

Mel can’t help it, even though she knows it’s a bad idea to react to that statement in any way. But she can’t help it, and to be honest? She doesn’t really want to hold herself back anymore; if Abigael won’t come home with her, won’t respond to Mel being kind and gentle, then what’s it matter anymore? Why shouldn’t she tell her everything that’s on her mind? She’s lost anyway.

Abby’s fingers have barely settled into the rhythm of brushing through Mel’s hair when Mel scoffs, “you think you’ve missed me now? Wait til I’m actually gone…”

The stroking stops, instantly. Mel’s not surprised, she even expected that.

“That’s hardly necessary, Melanie.”

“What, I’m not allowed to be angry with you because you’ve chosen the coward’s way out of this mess? I’m not allowed to be upset you’re breaking my heart? What else are you going to decide for me, Abigael?”

Mel sits up then, pushing away from lying against Abby and getting up to find her clothes. Suddenly it doesn’t feel like Abby should be allowed to see her like this; bare and vulnerable, intimate.

“I am not a coward,” Abby tells her calmly, too calmly for Mel. It makes her blood boil more, makes her temper flare more. How can Abby be so blasé about this…?

“Like hell you aren’t, Abigael. Screw you,” Mel spits out as she gets to her feet to start looking for her way out of this place with renewed determination. She needs to get away from here before this whole thing shatters her completely.

“You just did, but if you’re ready to go again, be my guest,” Abby grins lewdly, still lounging about and watching Mel.

“Oh, grow up!” Mel whirls around to yell at her. “We are breaking up right now and you’re making jokes like it’s nothing?!”

That, at least, gets Abby’s attention, Mel notes absently to herself as she watches Abby sit up and scowl.

“Mel-”

“Was I even anything to you? Was any of it real or was I just a notch on your bedpost? Something for you and the Susans to laugh about later, for you to brag about. I couldn’t have been more than that. How stupid could I have been…? The great Overlord, Abigael Jameson-Caine bed one of the Charmed Ones!”

“You know that’s not true, you can’t possibly believe that,” Abby argues, unheard by Mel as she keeps raging.

“I can’t believe there’s a version of me out there, or there was, who thought I could have a family with you. That you’d be the great love of my life…”

Abby’s already on her feet, pulling on clothes as they appear to her on the couch. She doesn’t even look to see if she’s pulling on the shirt correctly or if it’s inside out.

“Don’t say that, Mel, please I beg you not to say that, not to do this,” Abby walks towards her, steps brisk and tone pleading. “I can be that, I am that… darling, please-”

“What did you expect would happen, Abby? That you’d tell me you’re not leaving this mindscape you’ve created for yourself, where everything is glowing a perfect gold color and that nursery upstairs would remain unfinished so you can avoid the reality that our baby is gone and our lives are a royal fuck up, and I’d, what? Keep your unconscious body in the command center, hook you up to an IV for food and come popping into your head for weekly date nights, like some bizarre long-distance relationship?!”

“You are many things, Melanie Vera, but I never thought of you as cruel,” Abby tells her, tone less pleading and more accusing. More hurt.

“Yeah, because you’ve got the monopoly on cruelty.”

“What, because I’m trying to protect myself against being bloody hurt?!” Abby fires back, forcing the outrage into her tone in an attempt to drown out the building panic that’s probably lacing her voice. She can’t bring herself to believe that Mel’s going to leave her, let alone that Mel is urging her to put herself through the nightmarish pain awaiting her in the real world… and Abby’s the cruel one?

“Abby…” Mel starts, slow and sympathetic and Abby loathes the pity she sees in her eyes and hears in her voice. Of course Mel would hear the panic building in her chest, beating against her rib cage, clawing its way out through her flesh. Abby imagines it’s oozing out of her like potent toxic waste, and all she wants is to shield Mel from it before she – her pain and suffering and the sheer essence of her – utterly ruins and devastates Mel.

“You can’t be deluding yourself into thinking this won’t hurt, Abby,” Mel insists in the face of Abby’s silence. “What are you going to do here, all alone?” and those words, Mel’s insight into the very heart of Abby and her deep-seated trauma, makes Abby flinch and look away.

(It hurts Mel deep in marrow to see the fear and growing panic in Abby, to watch her look away even from Mel, not knowing how to handle herself or any of what’s happening.

(The only thought Abby is capable of forming now is whether Mel will really feed into Abby’s trauma and abandon her too?)

(It makes her lash out again.)

“What do you care, you’ve already made up your mind,” Abby sneers, practically hissing and clawing to keep Mel away, to shove her away and expedite this ordeal so she can be alone at last and cry in peace.

(Mel, of course, sees right through her and refuses to rise to the bait this time, staying silent out of sheer spite to out-stubborn Abby; like hell she’d let herself lose an argument.)

“You Charmed flops would finally be rid of the mean old she-devil Overlord, isn’t that the end goal? One less filthy demon in the world,” Abby says, voice trying so valiantly to come off pissed and hostile only for it sound so deeply… tired. Resigned to those words being absolute fact.

(Mel feels her blood boil in her veins because the venom spewing from Abby’s lips sounds, almost verbatim, like the utter crap Francesca would spit out about Abby, and she thinks that if she was ever given the slightest opportunity, she’d kill the witch. There’d be nothing left of her once Mel had gotten through with her, damn morals and consequences and everything in between.)

Mel walks back over, gets down on her knees in front of Abby.

Gently, as if she’s reaching out to a feral cat she’s rescued from the streets, one that has yet to trust her, Mel reaches a hand out to cup Abby’s chin. It takes next to no force for Mel to turn Abby’s face towards her own, smiling so lovingly.

“You can’t possibly believe that about me, Abigael, can you…? After everything we’ve been through, do you really believe you haven’t left an indelible mark on me?” Mel asks, in her quietest voice.

(‘As if losing you wouldn’t utterly ruin me forever…’)

Abby’s fight, the fake show of being angry, depletes out of her almost instantly, and all she can muster is her dropped gaze. “There’s been someone or other trying to get rid of me since I was a toddler.”

(‘Why would you be any different?’)

(‘Because I love you beyond mortal words.’)

“Abby…” Mel starts, only to be interrupted.

“They were supposed to love me, no questions asked. No strings or conditions, just…” Abby croaks slowly.

“What they did to you, your parents, is so horrifying I don’t have words to express it,” Mel starts slowly, quietly, as she gathers her thoughts. Her thumb never wavers in caressing Abby’s cheek softly.

“Your father got everything he deserved, and if I ever get a fraction of a chance, so will your mother,” Mel tells her. Promises her.

“They never gave you a chance, never stopped punishing you for their own mistakes. Nobody, no matter how rotten they might someday be, deserves that,” Mel says, her voice firm and factual, moments before her loving gaze turns serious as it bores into Abby’s watery hazel eyes.

“But if you don’t come back home, you’re continuing their cycle of punishment and abuse, of taking away your chance at a better life. And, my darling, you deserve every chance in the world; to find joy and happiness and love. To find healing.”

“In a world where they continue to try and kill me?” Abby murmurs, weak. “Where they will literally try to erase me from existence entirely and use my shell to commit atrocities? How do I live in that world with everything they’ve done? Who will have me…?”

Mel smiles, a slow stretch of lips across her face that crinkles the corners of her eyes and pushes the forming tears past her lashes.

“You still don’t understand the depth of my feelings for you?”

“What if…” Abby wants to argue but doesn’t, afraid of even putting the thought into Mel’s mind.

(‘What if you stop loving me?’)

“Come home, Abby,” Mel murmurs instead, a gentle pleading.

“Where your sister and niece wait to form a life with you.

Where you have friends like Jordan that stick up for you against literal witches, and those like Harry that’ll make you a solid cup of tea and sit with you in silence.

Where you can argue with Macy about making cake while you teach her how to handle her fire and she goes toe to toe with your mother.

Where you’ve got some weird psychic link with Maggie, which I’m a little jealous of to be honest, and she’s willing to beat the shit out of future me and kidnap our daughter to keep her here for you. She’s got so many pictures for you to see, too.”

“To a world without Sol,” Abby croaks, voice breaking. Mel wonders if she only means their daughter, or if Abby’s world feels like it’s made of sunless skies and suffocating shadows.

“To a world with me. Where I am, ready to spend our lives together. Through the good, the Susans, and the ugly.”

“I’m so tired, Mel…” Abby murmurs, whimpers, eyes sluggishly raking along Mel’s face. It makes Mel’s teary smile shrink a little, an overwhelming sadness settling on her shoulders, like a death shroud.

“I know, baby…” she murmurs, just in time for the elevator behind her to ding. The sound of its doors sliding is deafening in the silence.

With a final, lingering kiss to Abby’s forehead – as delicate as the touch of rose petals to the lips – Mel gets to her feet and walks towards the elevator; her stay here has ended, whether by her own choice or Abby’s, she doesn’t dwell on.

“Mel, wait,” Abby calls out, a smidge desperate, the panic from earlier creeping right back in. When she turns to meet Abby’s eyes, she already knows what’s coming.

“I lo-”

“Don’t,” Mel stops her. “Not here, not like this,” she smiles softly. “Tell me when you come home, and I promise to say it back.”

When Mel opens her eyes again, she already knows she’s back in the bed in the command center; she can smell Maggie’s favorite candle burning nearby, and she can hear the hushed sounds of life in the other rooms.

What she doesn’t expect is to find Abby’s eyes already looking into her own, to feel Abby’s fingers carding through the ends of her hair, other hand firmly holding Mel to herself.

So, naturally, in her shocked state, she blurts it out, “I love you.”

She doesn’t hold it against Abby when she doesn’t verbally answer, when Abby’s only response is a small nod and the press of lips to her forehead. She hears the words in the squeeze of Abby’s hand on her back, and the breathless way she whispers Mel’s name against her skin.

So when Abby sits up, slow and aching and with painful difficulty, Mel watches her. Keeps watching as Abby’s stiff body slips out of the bed and leaves the room, past everyone’s surprised noises, and their calls of her name.

Once Abby’s out of the command center entirely, Mel gives her exactly a five minute head start before she slips from the bed, similarly dodges everyone’s worried questions, and heads to the witch board.

Unlike the mindscape, the penthouse is dark when Mel’s portal opens up.

It’s a mess from whatever happened here last, suspicious stains and broken furniture everywhere.

Mel doesn’t waste time looking around or calling out, only walking towards the stairs. Her steps are light and quiet, despite the fact that she’s not trying to surprise anyone.

(The past few months have been nothing but heavy in every sense of the word; Mel’s so ready to shed all that weight from her shoulder and start to rebuild everything that cracked under the pressure.)

The door to, what she now knows is, the nursery is ajar, the light seeping out a harsh yellow against the backdrop of shadows.

Every piece of furniture, so lovingly chosen, so carefully assembled, so elegantly beautiful, lies in pieces about the room. Shattered into as many little bits as the person curled on the ground, in the eye of the storm.

(All Mel has now are the memories of this room. She holds on to them with both hands and her teeth for good measure.)

She walks into the room and kneels beside a grieving Abby, who lets herself be rocked like a baby – like she never was comforted when she was a baby – and Mel silently promises her love that she’ll glue her back together again, piece by piece, splinters and all.

(Staring at the unfinished, yellow wall, a shade that reminds her of sunflowers and future, Mel thinks about the beauty of sunlight chasing away shadows.)

Fin.