WE CARRY OUR CHOICES

Pairing: Cordelia/Misty

Synopsis: Misty perishes during the Seven Wonders; bereft and in her own personal Hell, she is offered a choice. Remain a witch, but remain in Hell, or be returned to the mortal world as a witch without power. Though she chooses life, the process of coping with all she has experienced becomes overwhelming.

Author's Note: So this is actually a combination of three different prompts. 1: Use Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda (one of my personal favorites actually). 2: Write the intimidating/vicious side of Misty that we know exists (see Madison getting the shit kicked out of her). 3: Misty is able to come back from Hell but she has to give up her powers. The reason I combined them all is because I really think they can all work really well together, and it wouldn't be an original if I just took one idea and used that one idea. Let's face it, they're all really good prompts and I suppose I have a little selfish desire in that I want my work to hold some weight in people's memory. And I think this combination will do that well. As a side note, I hope to eventually devote time to chapter fics for the Foxxay fandom but right now I don't have the time or my own laptop. I also have an overwhelming amount of WIPs. Also, I want to thank all of you for the kind words and time you've dedicated to reading these silly little stories of mine. I love writing – it's my escape and knowing that I can share my secret joy with others makes me incredibly happy. I hope that my work makes you happy – yes, you, reading this right now. You deserve joy.

###

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Again, again, again – Misty had tried to break away from the pattern – heal, kill, cry, heal, kill, cry. There was no loophole, no way to stop the rushing onward into misery. She was exhausted; that was the only way to put it. She had decided that these mirages were not people at all. They were like reflections, memories painfully torn from the flesh of her mind and formed into the space around her. Even when she thought she was accustomed, the present moment seared as badly as the first, the sound of little frog bones cracking underneath the weight of her scalpel as painful as it had been when this started. Why had she not been able to return?

Timeless days, months, maybe years – she did not know how long she had been suffering the torment of Hell. Moment by moment she felt degraded, decayed, in pain. She felt angry because she had not wanted to do the damn trial in the first place. She'd never wanted Supremacy for herself. Even when she had tried to back out, she'd been told there was no other choice. She could not understand why – wasn't her choice weight enough to show that she wasn't the Supreme?

Just as the scalpel was about to tear the moist green flesh under her hand, the room came to an eerie halt. All motion ceased, and the sickening smell of sulfur filled the space around her. Her hand trembling as it always did in this damned place, she dropped the scalpel and stood, legs stiff and unresponsive.

Maybe she had served enough time. Maybe she could go. As much as she could with her throbbing legs, she ran to the door, the smell of sulfur thickening. Misty used her shawl to cover her mouth, eyes

squinting at the sickening green fluorescence she had grown to hate. She tried at the door, shaking the handle as much as she had strength to do.

A low, bass laugh interrupted her effort; it startled her enough that she found herself backing against the door, seeing at first no accompanying form with the disembodied laugh. "You cannot open the door," a tall, dark figure sauntered smoothly across the tile floor. His teeth were a brilliant white, his dark face painted white – the mask of a skull painted over his skin. "You do not have the key," his vowels clicked as he spoke, his enunciation accenting every word as if he was savoring the syllables. "Unless you do and you stole it from me?"

"I don't – I ain't got no key," Misty stammered, her throat raw from the endless repetition of crying, pleading with a mirage. "Is this some kinda trick?"

"I don't do tricks, despite the hat," his smile was a leering thing – his black eyes glinted beneath the rim of his hat, which he soon removed and dipped toward Misty. "See, no rabbit."

"Listen – I don't know who you are but I ain't seen you before and I don't much like bein' here anymore so – "

The tall man clicked his tongue, "You are the witch who smells of earth and root. I am called Baron Samidi. You could say I am – a lord of death, maybe."

"One of them voodoo spirits," Misty frowned a little bit. The Baron's arrival was disconcerting, but somehow hopeful. There would only be one reason to come here – to offer freedom. There would be an exchange; if she had learned anything it was that in affairs of magic, there was never any gain without loss. Miss Cordelia only gained active Sight after she'd lost her physical sight. "You want something from me," she found herself speaking a little sharply. "I have forever 'n all, but I ain't got time to waste playin' at conversation. The longer we talk, the more the livin' world moves on without me."

"Mm, yes," Baron Samidi moved forward, his slender fingers trailing over Misty's hair. "I do want something but I think you want something more."

Misty, still frowning, stepped away from the touch, "I want out," she murmured confusedly. "I'm guessin' you can give me that."

"Nothing comes for free."

"I'm no damn fool, - Baron," she addressed hesitantly, "Tell me what you want or I'm bustin' outta here myself."

His bass-alto laughter made Misty uncomfortable. He had the power to play with lives, with fate, and he was laughing. Of course, she supposed if you had the power to condemn or free souls, one did not matter anymore than the other.

It happened quite suddenly – she felt a stabbing pain in her gut, as if something were shredding her layers of tissue and muscle by hand. Eyes dropping to her stomach, she saw a throbbing white pulse removed, bloodied in Baron Samidi's palm.

"I want your power," the tall man leered closer. "You will lose all the power you had, Life-Giver."

Misty had never been without her ability. It had defined her, connected her like a thread to many lifelines. She had felt heartbeats, seen the burning of souls nearing that place from which they could not return. Her eyes darted from the white mass in his hand, panicked tears filling her eyes. "Is that the only way?"

"It is the only way," Baron Samidi took his hat off. "It is your choice."

Misty glanced at the classroom around her; there was no alternative, she was certain. Either be condemned forever or return, powerless.

After a few moments, she closed her eyes. "Fine. Damn you," she spat and ignored the responding laughter. It took some even breathing before she could open her eyes. She looked up at the grinning fool above her.

"The deal is struck," that haunting smile leered closer. Misty was about to move away until she felt a strange sensation in her throat, like a burning. The smell of sulfur overwhelmed her and the scene began to blacken. Chapped lips pressed against her own and suddenly she was catapulted into some horrifying limbo. She felt clawing hands, smelled rotting flesh, but soon the smell became less powerful and she realized that she was smelling something familiar.

Mud. It was mud that returned her body, as it had the day she burned to death.

"I'm real tired of dyin'," Misty spat mud from her mouth and felt her heart race to life. As she wiped mud from her eyes and stumbled onto semi-dry ground, she felt familiar things: a metal watering can, a ceramic pot. It took her eyes some time to adjust, but emotion hit her the instant she realized where she was.

Home. Her shack. Tears filled her eyes and tremblingly, she stood. She no longer heard the plants whispering to her, or felt the tendrils of life growing around her. Despite the loss, her tears came from a place of relief more than sorrow.

Her limbs moved stiffly at first; death weighed heavily on the soul. She realized that she had been brought back with the very clothes she'd died in. It was all ruined, of course, by the mud. There would be no way to recover the shawl Stevie had given her, and there was a moment in which that thought devastated her. However, she knew that it was a blessing merely to be alive. She found the attached hose around the other side of her shack, turning on the pump with a quick twist of her hand and letting the water shock her system awake. Layer by layer, the mud slid from her skin and she was sort of clean by the time the cold water became too much. Shivering, Misty shed the ruined clothes and found others tucked away beneath her cot, the familiar scents comforting her as she slipped a loose dress over her frame and found an old shawl to wrap around her waist. Her hair was hopelessly caked with mud, but that was alright she supposed. She could shower when she got – well – home, she guessed. The Academy had become home as much as her shack, if not more so because of the people who lived there.

"Cordelia," she murmured into the palm of her hand. A single memory flooded – as she sunk into the dark reality of her Hell, she'd heard Cordelia. Venite ad me. We are all waiting for you. The memory hit her powerfully, tears stinging her eyes. She did not know how much time had passed, but she knew that there had been at least one soul who had tried to hold onto her. Cordelia had tried to call her back.

Her feet moved of their own accord, until her mind caught up and she was running. She ran until she couldn't breathe, and leaned against an iron fence, panting.

A long line was leading up the familiar street. She wasn't far from home. She knew it in her bones, though the gift of intuition had been taken from her. Scenery suddenly became familiar, though her long time in Hell had threatened to steal her memory. The line, however, was strange. It seemed out of place. Crowds of girls were lined along the walkway, all dressed in black.

Wear something black.

Misty moved among the crowd, pushing where she needed to. The line ended at the house, at the Academy. The large white doors lay open and ready, accepting the crowd.

"What – why is this line here?" Misty grasped a shoulder nearby, an affronted young girl pulling away from Misty's hand.

"Why are you so – you're all covered in mud," the girl ignored Misty's question.

"You're a bright one, aren't you?" Misty bit back at the girl, frowning. "Nevermind, I'll figure it out myself."

"You can only get in if you're a witch!"

Misty turned back at the words, her face very likely reflecting her confusion. The Academy – the witches were coming to the Academy en masse. They were there to join the Coven. How could so many witches know about the Academy? She was not polite in moving through the crowd. A few girls tried to pull her back, complaining about her barging through the line, complaining about the mud that transferred from her clothing to theirs, but all she could think was that she needed answers. She needed to see Cordelia.

"Hey – you can't get through that rope –" Kyle, sweet-faced Kyle, stood in a suit at the entrance when Misty tried to lift the rope herself.

"I'm on the list," Misty growled, but her voice lacked venom.

His face flickered in recognition, and his masculine hand reached forward to grasp hers. "Zoe! Cordelia! Queenie!" He shouted forcefully and was dragging Misty away, closing the doors to a disgruntled crowd of young witches.

"What is it, Kyle?" Cordelia's voice was like smelling lavenders after being surrounded by rotting shit. It was some beacon, some golden respite. Misty tore her hand from Kyle's and thought she was okay to walk, but the shock of seeing Cordelia became too much. She collapsed forward on her knees, her hand grasping at Cordelia's black skirt. She pulled the fabric to her face and began to cry, the cloth of Cordelia's skirt bunched up in her fist. "Misty," Cordelia's words broke, seemed to shatter on her tongue. Her firm grip was at Misty's arms, tugging her to her feet. "Misty – how can you be alive?"

Misty wanted to tell her – she wanted to tell her the whole story but suddenly she was overwhelmed by being alive, overwhelmed by being here in the presence of the one soul who had clung to hers until the very last possible second.

"We have to clean you up," Cordelia conceded; her unfamiliar but somehow perfect eyes darted around them. As she began to guide Misty up the stairs, Misty felt hands touching her arms. Zoe, Kyle, Queenie, all touching her gently as if to give her strength, to assure that she was alive. "Come on," Cordelia urged ever so quietly. "It's okay now –" the woman's voice seemed to tremble as she spoke, and the look in her eyes was overpowering.

She led Misty to her bathroom, helping the incoherent Cajun sit down momentarily on the edge of the tub while she ran water for the bath.

"We'll just get you clean, okay?" When the water was high enough, Cordelia helped Misty up and carefully removed each piece of clothing, respectfully averting her eyes and holding on to Misty's elbow as the taller blonde slipped into the hot water.

Misty sank into the bubbles, pulling her knees to her chest and closing her eyes momentarily. She was afraid Cordelia might leave, but instead felt a rush of warm water move through her mud-caked locks. Cordelia patiently washed the mud from Misty's wild hair, threading her fingers through as the dried earth fell away and clouded the water. Despite her closed eyes, Misty felt the woman's eyes on her.

Misty wanted to cry again, but resisted, instead biting her bottom lip and controlling the tremble of her muscles. She let the hot water and kindness do its work.

"Tilt your head back a little," Cordelia instructed gently, and Misty obeyed quietly, surprised as hot water spilled from her forehead back, the weight of mud now completely gone from her hair and Cordelia's hands massaging conditioner through the mass of tangles.

There was a little more of this before Misty found the courage to look at her current caretaker. "I had to give up my powers. That was the deal," her words grated against her throat and she dipped her head to her knees, resting her forehead there as another rush of warm water washed the final bit of conditioner from her hair. "I don't even know how long I been –" Something between a sob and a laugh bubbled from her throat and she covered the back of her head with her hands.

Cordelia's hand was moving, warm and damp over her back. "I held you – I called out –"

Misty found no words to respond, only a half-hearted nod as she lifted her head. She found herself looking at a tearful Cordelia. The older witch's chin quivered and Cordelia reached forward, touching Misty's face.

Misty closed her eyes at the touch, taking a much-needed breath.

"It's been two months, six days," Cordelia answered as her hand dropped from Misty's face. "The Academy is known now. All those girls out there, they've come to learn. The world is a better place for us now."

"I'm not a witch anymore, Miss Cordelia. All my powers. They're all gone," Misty touched her head as if she had a headache. "My purpose –"

"

"—is not tied to your power or lack thereof," Cordelia's firm response was enough to bring Misty's gaze up again. Her gaze softened. Absently, Misty realized that Cordelia looked as if she'd never been blinded, never been scarred. Her eyes were – well, enchanting. They were Cordelia's. Not mismatched, borrowed eyes, but Cordelia's eyes.

"Your eyes, Miss Cordelia," Misty murmured, reaching forward with a damp hand to touch just beneath Cordelia's eyes, grazing the patch with her thumb.

"I'm the Supreme," Cordelia spoke by way of answer, seeming to blush under the attention.

Misty laughed quietly, shook her head, "I shoulda known."

Silence fell between them, and Misty glanced at the muddied water around her naked form (though all her important bits were obscured). "I'll get you some clean clothing –" Cordelia offered quietly. "I've kept – I didn't get rid of anything you left," this last part came out quietly. "I had to move your things into my room after the Academy started filling up." Cordelia disappeared from sight, but not for long. Only a moment later she returned with clothing (and a shawl), lay it on the seat of the toilet along with a towel, retrieving Misty's slightly-muddied clothing from earlier. "I'll wash these."

Misty found no words to thank Cordelia for her kindness, nothing to articulate the overwhelming emotion she felt at her current situation; formerly dead (twice), alive again (twice), completely powerless as a witch, no longer in Hell but still burning with the memories of it. It was hard to filter her thoughts, so she focused on scrubbing her skin as the bathroom door closed, cleaning her body before standing, draining the muddied water.

Misty slipped into her old clothing, finding that everything was just a little looser now, and scrubbed the bathtub clean before leaving it as she had come in – besides a single extra towel laying on the edge of the tub, folded.

Still disoriented, she moved about the room to familiarize herself with where Cordelia seemed to have put her things: folded nicely in boxes, still sitting next to Cordelia's dresser as if she expected Misty to come back and retrieve them any day. The only thing that she realized she was missing – a single black shawl. As she stood to see if maybe it had been placed elsewhere, her gaze fell upon the missing shawl. It was laid carefully on Cordelia's pillow, half-folded underneath the soft fabric of Cordelia's sheets.

Something about this touched Misty deeply, and she knew that this dear friend, the only person she'd really grown to trust during her time with this Coven, had mourned and missed her, and two months later must have slept with one of Misty's shawls nearby.

"I just thought you should know, Auntie Myrtle is about to serve supper," Cordelia entered with these words and a knock at the doorframe. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished," Misty gave a half-grin, "Bein' dead makes a girl hungry," she headed toward Cordelia, hesitating near the Supreme. "Miss Cordelia – where'm I gonna sleep now?"

"With me. If you don't mind, that is. Or if you prefer I can ask Zoe and Kyle –"

"I'm fine with you," Misty pushed damp curls away from her face. "If you don't mind sharin'," there was just the slightest hint of uncertainty until Cordelia smiled at her. She needed no answer after that.

"You were – are – one of the dearest friends I may have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Sharing with you isn't a problem, otherwise I wouldn't have offered," Cordelia's answer was sincere, and she looked as if she wanted to linger on the topic but instead glanced toward the door. "Come, we should get you fed."

Misty followed Cordelia out and trotted down the stairs after her, hunger taking precedence over emotional processes. Familiar and new faces greeted her as Cordelia pulled out her chair for her – the seat directly next to Cordelia's at the head of the table. The Supreme gently pushed Misty's chair in as the Cajun sat down, but remained standing and tapped the glass nearby. Misty's eyes were drawn upward as Cordelia's demeanor changed; she became a sort of elegant leader the moment she needed to.

Misty felt an arm slip around her shoulders and Zoe pulled her into a side-hug.

"I don't know how you're here, but I'm glad you are."

Hugging Zoe tightly back, Misty felt weight lift from her shoulders. However much she had to sort through emotionally, no matter the amount of trauma she needed to deal with, she was in a safe place, alive and well, with people who cared about her.

"I would like to welcome you all to the Academy, those of you who are new. As you can tell our rooms are quickly filling up and I want you all to know that this place – it is home for all of you. You will find safety here. We will teach you the best we can, help you grow as witches, and help you grow as outstanding young women," Cordelia addressed the full table. "All I ask is that you respect each other, protect each other, and respect us – myself, my Council, Myrtle, Kyle. I expect kindness from each and every one of you. We have had cruel witches among us before, but I do not wish to see them among our ranks any longer."

A few glasses clinked in agreement, and the sound of chatter and dinner overtook the large dining space. Cordelia finally sat down when Myrtle entered, the red-headed woman taking a seat opposite Misty's, at Cordelia's right hand.

"Delighted to see you here, my child," Myrtle leaned forward, lifting her small Brandy glass in a cheerful gesture. "You must tell us how you've made it back."

"Not at the table, Auntie Myrtle," Cordelia chided pleadingly, reaching over and briefly touching Misty's wrist. "I'm sure it was fairly traumatic and I don't think I for one would want to revisit it at the dinner table."

Misty nodded apologetically. "I can tell you all about it, once I get settled in, if that's alright."

"Of course," Myrtle agreed gently, offering a bespectacled smile.

Beside her, Cordelia's eyes tended to linger on Misty more often than not, and something about it was comforting. She let her own gaze remain locked on Cordelia more than once, as if in all the darkness she had seen, there was a single reflection of light to hold on to.

###

I love you as the plant that never blooms

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

Before her death (the second one), Misty had not been a particularly angry person. However, maybe it was residual anger that shortened her fuse, or her various hang-ups about the fact that she could no longer participate in the beauty that was magick, or cause flowers to bloom with just the right words. Now all she had was the ability to water the plants and hope that they would grow to be something. It was incredibly frustrating and saddening. Misty tried – she tried many times – to touch the plants and feel the tendrils of life slip around her fingers, but she couldn't anymore. She just felt a leaf.

For the first time since she'd taken up a love of plants, a love of life, something died at her hands that she could not resurrect. She'd been tending to the small collection of plants Cordelia had tasked her with taking care of and found a single plant with brown, dried leaves.

Misty had begun speaking an incantation out of habit, then stomped her foot and realized she couldn't do that anymore. She had none of that left in her. She was a dampened match. She hadn't heard the door start to creak open because she was too busy chucking the small pot at the door frame. The pot shattered to bits, sprayed all along the wall and floor, dirt exploding like shrapnel.

Cordelia had begun to open the door just as Misty did this.

There was no process, no handbook on how to deal with losing what Misty had defined herself with. She felt lost and angry – angry mostly with herself, because she had been given life and here she was feeling sorry for herself. She only realized Cordelia had come in seconds later, looking absolutely terrified.

"Miss Cordelia – I – jeez," her rage disappearing at the sight of Cordelia's fear, she blushed in shame and hurried over to clean up the mess she'd made. She was on her knees picking up the little bits of ceramic when Cordelia kneeled just in front of her to help. "I'm just so damn – I'm so goddamn useless now. I can't do anything anymore. I can't even grow a plant the right way, the normal way. I'm useless." Misty bunched up her fist as she stood, forgetting about the ceramic in her hand but flinching as it bit into her flesh. She hissed in pain, quickly opening her palm. A trickle of blood pooled in her palm slowly. "I – I'm really sorry. I almost hurt you and that's unforgiveable, I shoulda been payin' attention." Her voice dipped almost inaudibly. She felt such a mixture of emotion that it was all too clouded right now.

Cordelia stood slowly, dumping the bits of shattered ceramic into the nearby trash bin before coming forward to examine Misty's wound, ignoring the verbal tangent as fear melted from her posturing. "I spent a long time feeling useless, powerless," Cordelia's words were soft, murmured gently as guided Misty to the sink, washing the blood from her palm and pulling small shards from Misty's skin. "I lost my temper, too," the lopsided smile that greeted Misty's sight was almost enough to melt the anger away. "I can't say that I know everything you're feeling," the smile melted, and Misty's gaze was directed to meet Cordelia's by a gentle touch at her jaw. "You've suffered incredibly. You've died twice and spent – far too long in Hell, returned with –" Cordelia shook her head, covering Misty's palm with her own in an affectionate way. "I can't imagine the pain, the feelings you must have. I can't pretend I'm capable of understanding completely, but you have to know that you're not alone."

Misty bit her bottom lip, frowning, but nodding nonetheless. She felt heavy with – she didn't even know what. It was hard to process the plethora of emotions bombarding her sense. "I'm sorry about your plant, and about the pot, Miss Cordelia. I don't know where the anger came from – it's like I just saw red and felt all kinds of things I couldn't deal with."

"Are you okay now?"

Misty wanted to say yes, but all she could offer was a shrug of her shoulders. She felt Cordelia's fingers threading gently by the hair that hung wildly over the side of her face. There seemed no appropriate words, but Misty noticed warmth growing in her chest. Confusedly she disengaged from the intimate moment and squeezed Cordelia's hand as she did so.

"Thank you – for patchin' me up," she spoke softly. "I think maybe I'm gonna go listen to some Stevie."

There seemed to be the ghost of disappointment tugging at Cordelia's lips. "Of – of course."

She'd never found it more difficult to walk away from someone than she did in that moment. All she desired was to be held, but some reservation held her at bay, drove her feet forward and into isolation. Although the room she retreated to was Cordelia's and by all rights, Cordelia could have come in whenever she wanted, Misty was both grateful and confused that she remained alone in that room until nightfall.

###

You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve; and I have always buried them deep beneath the ground. Dig them out, let's finish what we started.

Misty heard the music playing from the other room long after Stevie had gone silent. It carried through the vents in a haunting way, and Misty sat up slowly on the bed, tightening her shawl around her shoulders and pulling her knees closer. She was done being alone – she wanted Miss Cordelia now, needed to feel the soothing comfort the older witch always seemed to offer her.

As if beckoned, the bedroom door clicked open and Cordelia's silhouette cascaded into sight, Misty's eyes trailing upward and finding a pair of uncertain eyes watching her in the dark. It didn't take but a moment before the Cajun was on her feet and all but darting forward. She found Cordelia's arms instinctively, felt Cordelia's palms slipping over her shoulders and back, tugging her close.

"It's okay," Cordelia murmured carefully.

"I don't know why I feel like this, Miss Cordelia. It ain't very fair to you, or anyone else for that matter. I should be grateful I'm alive but I think – it was just such a nightmare bein' gone so long and then comin' back and I'm not the same anymore," Misty spoke these words against Cordelia's shoulder, fingers grasping hard at her back and feeling desperate in her need to be comforted. "I'm sorry you gotta deal with all this – you deal with so much an' I'm only addin' to it."

"Never apologize to me," it was a simple request, firm in tone. "Come, maybe sleep is the best thing for you right now," Cordelia suggested gently, her fingers knotting at the back of Misty's hair briefly before she pulled away.

Although they now slept in the same bed together, it wasn't very frequently that they ended up in contact with one another. After all, it was a fairly large bed and Misty had a tendency to spread out while Cordelia had a tendency to curl up as small as possible in the midst of her sleep.

It was harder for Misty to sleep these days. Often she had nightmares if she dreamt at all, or woke in a cold sweat completely unable to calm herself enough to rest. She disturbed Cordelia as little as possible, often laying quietly despite her inner-turmoil.

Tonight, though, she needed to be held. As Cordelia changed and slipped into bed, Misty waited for her to get settled in before she sat up, a hesitant hand at Cordelia's arm. Their eyes lingered on one another for a brief moment before Cordelia moved closer. Misty lay down on her side, only expecting to feel warmth just behind her, but instead Cordelia's arm slipped around her waist and tangled in her own. For the first time since her return from Hell, her mind was quiet.

###

She woke up tangled in Cordelia. The sunlight had just started to rise, the birds announcing its arrival with a flutter of birdsong, and Misty felt herself slowly wake from the first restful night of sleep in a while. It had been precisely three nights since the first she'd found solace in Cordelia's arms, and now it seemed to be the expectation. Even when Misty thought she shouldn't ask, she always found Cordelia's hand tangling in her own and urging her gently into her arms.

Each morning she woke still wrapped in that warmth, sometimes with Cordelia's breath gusting warmly against the skin of her throat. She wondered how the others would perceive their intimacy if they were to walk in and see the Supreme tangled in bedsheets with another woman. It wasn't like there was anything like that going on – not that Misty was opposed to it – but still, it was often a brief and passing thought when she untangled her limbs from Cordelia's.

She went through her morning routine – brushed her teeth, washed her face, tried to brush through the wild tangles of her hair – and listened carefully for the sound of Cordelia's waking. She was examining her reflection as she slipped a clean dress over her head, and from the other room she heard a brief yawn.

"Misty?"

"I'm here, Miss Cordelia," Misty answered the sleepy croak, popping her head out to see a very adorable Cordelia offer a brief smile.

"Did you sleep alright?" Stifling another yawn, Cordelia's eyes squinted almost shut even as she waited for an answer from Misty.

"Like a baby."

Misty finished up in the bathroom, listening to the sound of drawers and shuffling as Cordelia got herself together for the day. There was something soothing about being in the company of another human being in the first moments of waking. Misty appreciated it more than she had words for.

###

"I'm not real sure I –"

"Question was pretty simple."

Misty was at the bottom of the stairs later that afternoon, in the midst of listening to Stevie through headphones, when one of the new girls had approached her. She'd been tapped harshly on the shoulder and glanced up to see an unkind looking girl staring down at her. When she'd opened her mouth to say something, a rather rude question had been flung at her.

"Are you a dyke?"

"Excuse me?"

"Christ, I gotta ask you three times? No one ever sees you without the Supreme beside you, and everyone knows you stay with her. So are you a dyke? Muff diver?"

Misty was starting to get angry. She delicately placed her headphones on the stairs and stood, her height giving her some advantage over the girl. "You're real mouthy for a new girl. Do you even know who you're talkin' to?"

"Yeah, a redneck hick from the backwoods," the girl laughed. They were growing a small audience – none of which Misty recognized. "See, I have a bet going. We think that you're like the Supreme's pet. You know, get between her legs when she needs a little –"

Misty didn't know why in particular the suggestion made her angry. It wasn't, after all, the suggestion that upset her. It was the way in which it was being posed. It dehumanized both herself and Cordelia, made a joke out of someone they should be respecting. Misty stepped down and into the girl's personal space. "I don't think I understand what you're sayin', see, because you're speakin' real rude about someone who has more power than you could ever dream of."

"Is that why you're attached? Because you've been neutered?" The girl backed away, a laugh frozen on her lips. "Rumor is that you don't have any power anymore."

"I got plenty of power, just not in the way of wigglin' my damn nose. I can show you if you wanna find out that bad," Misty moved forward again, grabbing the girl by her hair and tugging downward, throwing the girl's center of gravity off. "Say somethin' again, you Harry Potter reject, please, gimme a reason to beat the hell outta you," Misty growled against the girl's ear, backing her up to the front door amidst a stunned crowd of young witches. "I'm gonna tell you right now I don't take too well to people like you, especially when they're bad mouthin' a real good friend of mine." Misty shoved the girl against the door, the thud of force causing some of the girls to mutter to one another.

"Misty what are you –" Cordelia's concerned voice tore her attention away from the angry girl she had pinned to the door. "What are you doing? You can't –"

"You oughta hear the things she's sayin', Miss Cordelia. She's sayin' all kinds of nasty shit," Misty's grip remained firm until she felt teeth dig into her wrist.

"What did you say to her?" Cordelia moved through the crowd, a few of the witches departing as if they were afraid to be accused or associated with what was happening. Cordelia stepped to Misty's side and made as if to move Misty's hand away, but Misty gave her a disagreeable look. "Misty –" Cordelia grunted softly, grabbing Misty's hand and tugging it away. "Let go at once," there was something in her voice that suggested surprise at finding Misty so aggressive and rebellious.

Misty let go, but didn't move from the girl's personal space. Her eyes flashed with anger.

"She's nuts – I wasn't saying anything. The freak attacked me for no reason."

Cordelia narrowed her eyes, "She may have acted aggressively but let me tell you something," her gaze darted to Misty, "this is a woman who is more than capable of ignoring quite a lot of idiocy. She wouldn't attack someone without good reason. I've seen her do it once before and it was because the offending party had tried to murder her."

"She said I was a dyke. Started disrespectin' you, sayin' you were usin' me for –"

Cordelia's eyes widened and she lifted a hand to silence Misty, "Is this true?" She advanced on the young witch, who gave a frightened look. The fear in the girl's face turned to anger in an instant, though, she suddenly she spat in Misty's direction.

Nothing could've stopped Misty then. She all but pushed Cordelia out of the way and grabbed the girl by the throat, shoving her against the door and driving a fist into the girl's stomach. Rage swelled inside of her and she couldn't stop it.

The next she knew, she was being forcefully pushed against the wall by Cordelia, a surprising amount of strength from the Supreme. Misty ceased struggling when she came to, realizing who it was that restrained her. Something in her wilted, softened and suddenly she realized that her victim was laying on the ground bleeding profusely.

"What's gotten into you?" Cordelia urged quietly, fear in her eyes. "I've never seen you so reactive," it was more of an observation than it was criticism, but it stung still. She wanted to get away from Cordelia, get away from all of them so her anger, her emotion couldn't hurt anyone else. Even as the crowd cleared, Cordelia's grip on Misty's arms remained firm.

"I'm – I don't know. I just – she called me a freak and when I was down – when I was in that pit, that's what they said and I just –" suddenly she was collapsing against Cordelia, disgust for herself welling up somewhere from within. "What the hell's wrong with me, 'Delia?" She shivered against Cordelia's arms and buried her head against Cordelia's shoulder.

"You scared me; I've never seen you that violent before," Cordelia admitted into the curtain of Misty's hair. "We've got to – you need help, Misty."

Those words felt like a condemnation, although they were coupled with tender fingers stroking the side of her face.

###

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way

You're not alone.

That is what Cordelia had repeated in the aftermath of Misty's blackout, the episode of rage that sent the other girl – however unkind she had been – to the hospital. She'd broken the girl's jaw and effectively run more than a few witches out of the house in fear of being the next to offend Misty at the wrong moment.

She'd kept to herself, locked herself in Cordelia's bathroom to soak in the hot water of the tub more than once. It was Cordelia who would unlock the door and sit next to the tub, eyes lingering on Misty's face. She'd suggested a therapist, but Misty didn't think that was a really good idea because most of her issues couldn't be explained to someone who wasn't a part (or formerly a part) of the magickal community.

It was not dissimilar to a soldier experiencing PTSD. While she suffered less severely, Misty was wracked with nightmares, sleeplessness, bouts of anger, anxiety. She felt overwhelmed all the time, though she kept her exposure to others a minimum. She had not only scared herself but scared Cordelia, too, and that shame was a heavy burden.

It took somewhere around two months for Misty to get to a place where she felt more in control of herself; she'd gone through some anger management therapy (without going into depth about the source of her anger, somehow) and that had helped markedly.

Misty had also begun to understand better how to look for visible signs in the plants she took care of. She knew what color the leaves should be, knew that if she touched the soil and it didn't have the appropriate dryness or dampness that she needed to adjust. In some ways, she'd become more of a scholarly expert of plants. Time once spent pouring over incantations and spells was now spent pouring over botany textbooks. She checked them all out from the library, but it was on her birthday that she received the first of her very own. There was a childlike joy in getting actual presents on her birthday – those who'd brought her up shunned the idea of birthdays and celebrating oneself in a similar manner to celebrating God – and she realized, as she sat in the midst of a growing pile of presents, she'd never actually gotten any gifts for her birthday. She was 22 and had never gotten presents before, other than the shawl Stevie had given her what seemed a lifetime ago.

"I can't believe y'all went out of your way like this –" Misty stammered, her eyes searching the small audience. There were a few of the younger witches, admirers of Misty's, as well as the Council, Kyle – and somewhere Cordelia bustled about in the kitchen getting last-minute things together. It was the Supreme who had orchestrated the party and the presents, Misty was certain. She'd been fishing for weeks to find out what Misty could possibly want for her birthday.

"It's your birthday," Queenie gave Misty a slightly surprised look. "No one ever get you anything on your birthday?"

Misty furrowed her brow and gave an apologetic smile, shaking her head. She tucked strands of wild blonde hair behind her ear and tapped her fingers nervously on her thighs. She wasn't really all that used to being the center of attention and it was somewhat difficult to deal with.

"Well, hopefully these make up for it," Kyle smiled warmly in Misty's direction and Zoe nodded in agreement, finishing off the cupcake she'd been eating.

The girl covered her mouth as she spoke, swallowing the cupcake bits, "You're gonna love what I got you."

Cordelia caught Misty's eye as she entered from the side, wearing a peculiar smile. "Ready to open everything?"

"Is – I mean do y'all have to watch me?"

"If you'll let us, I'm sure they want to see the look on your face when you see what they got you," Cordelia encouraged softly, sitting on the loveseat next to Misty and taking the first present from the top of the pile. Her eyes lingered affectionately on Misty's face, and it was hard to argue with those lovely dark eyes.

"Oh, right," Misty gave a nervous smile, "Sure."

The first few presents were wonderful – various exotic seeds and a few gift cards Misty didn't quite understand until she opened what they all called an iPod. Zoe had to explain what exactly it did and what the gift cards were for, but once Misty realized that she could listen to Stevie wherever she went, she'd grabbed Kyle up in her arms – since he'd bought the iPod – and hugged him enough for him to have to peel himself off of her.

"You're … you guys are the bees knees, honestly. I don't know what I did to deserve friends like you," her Cajun drawl softened and she glanced down. "Stevie's the perfect gift."

"Here," Cordelia murmured as she set the empty wrapping papers and boxes aside. She set a fairly heavy object on Misty's lap. It was possibly the nicest wrapped gift Misty had seen all night, and she glanced up at Cordelia in surprise.

"Miss Cordelia – you didn't have to go outta your way to get me somethin'," Misty felt her heart stutter a little when Cordelia laughed and carefully touched Misty's hand.

"Please, open it," Cordelia's voice was pitched a little low, the Supreme's gaze ducked slightly as if she considered Misty her equal, and it was in this strange and brief instant in which Misty realized that to Cordelia, she held some kind of importance.

Misty's eyes darted between Cordelia's, searching her face until she realized they were still in the room with other people. She ducked her head bashfully and trailed her fingers over the wrapping paper before opening the package. There were two books: one was a basic book with botanical information but there was another, one that Misty had fallen in love with quite quickly when she'd read it at the library and renewed it three times before returning it. "The Secret Life of Plants!" She blurted, clutching the paperback to her chest before launching forward and pulling Cordelia tightly to her.

The book she'd fallen in love with was sort of a way of reconnecting with plants as she'd been able to connect before she lost her power. It was by some man named Peter Tompkins, and it was about connecting with plants physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It was all the things she'd valued in her relationship to nature before.

She felt Cordelia's fingers gently grip her back as they embraced, but once again Misty remembered there were eyes on them so she subtly disengaged.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly to Cordelia, reaching over and squeezing Cordelia's hand in hers briefly and not letting it go.

"Lemme show you how to set this up," Queenie spoke a moment later, standing up and motioning for Misty to follow. At first Misty hadn't been sure what she was talking about but she caught on as soon as the younger witch grabbed her iPod and gift cards. The Cajun followed behind, still holding the books Cordelia had given her.

After some explaining and an hour of trying to figure out how to make an e-mail account to sign up for iTunes (all of that was like a foreign language for the first thirty minutes), Misty had all of Stevie's songs on her iPod. She'd even managed to find some she'd never heard of. She wasn't too fond of computers but she thought if there was all that Stevie floatin' around the internet, there must be something good to it. She was bouncing on her heels and hugging Queenie for helping her. She let Zoe walk her through how to work the iPodand soon was on her way through the house to find Cordelia; there was something in her that felt she wanted to share everything with Cordelia.

She headed to the greenhouse, primarily because she'd heard Stevie playing. With her gifts in hand, still fidgeting with the earbuds she entered the greenhouse and set her books down, not glancing up at first before realizing Cordelia was not alone in the greenhouse.

"Hey there, Misty Day."

That familiar voice left Misty fumbling at her iPod, trying not to drop it. She all but slammed it onto her books to ensure it was safe before stumbling back and nearly fainting. Luckily for her, Cordelia had expected it and Misty felt two tenderly grasping hands at her waist from behind. "Stevie," Misty breathed, eyes tearing up again.

"Cordelia got a hold of me and told me that you'd gone through some bad stuff, and didn't have my shawl anymore. So I figured I should bring you a new one – maybe this one'll bring you better luck," Stevie, the White Witch, moved across the greenhouse and offered the shawl folded delicately in her hand.

"I – gator scales, Miss Stevie, I can't believe I'm seein' you again," she trembled as she took the shawl, one equally beautiful to the one she'd been given before. "I'm so sorry I lost the other one –"

"Getting out of Hell and just losing a shawl? That's pretty impressive." The older woman moved forward and took Misty into a tight embrace. Misty shook, trembled in her idol's arms and was acutely aware of Cordelia's hand briefly touching her arm. "Happy birthday, girl. I'm proud of you," Stevie nodded in approval as she stepped back. "I can't stay long this time, but I wanted to be sure and drop by."

As it always did when Misty was in a daze around the woman she practically worshipped, time flew quickly and too soon she was standing next to Cordelia, still in a trembling state of awe, watching Stevie leave. Stevie left two hours later, not before kissing Misty on the cheek and hugging Cordelia goodbye, promising to visit again.

Misty remained on the porch, feeling rooted and stunned all at once.

"How did you even manage –"

"I have connections." Cordelia gave Misty a quiet response and slipped an arm around Misty, pulling her into an embrace. "I wanted you to enjoy this birthday. You have suffered so much and you deserved a wonderful day," the words were soft near Misty's ear, and she all but melted against Cordelia's frame. She buried her face against Cordelia's throat and felt emotion well up inside her.

"Miss Cordelia, I don't have the words –" but she knew, some part of her knew that Cordelia knew it all without it needing to be said. Her grip on Cordelia tightened and she felt tears sting her eyes. "You're so special to me, I can't even understand how I got so lucky to have a friend like you."

There was something in the way Cordelia tightened her embrace that made Misty feel there was surfaces as yet untouched. It had been such a long healing process that Misty was only just opening her eyes to those around her again; she wouldn't have called it self-involved, but she had certainly spent some time not being so in tune with those around her. Though she slept next to Cordelia every night, often wrapped in Cordelia's embrace, she'd never thought to pry into what Cordelia thought and felt as often as was done for her.

When they pulled away just enough, Cordelia looked stricken with some intense emotion, a gentle hand hesitating near Misty's cheekbone and tracing finer hairs behind Misty's ear. Misty felt her heart clench a bit in her chest, swallowing as she realized that even their hips aligned just perfectly, the breeze causing Cordelia's skirt to sway and trail along Misty's ankles.

She let the moment exist as long as it would before they separated, Cordelia glancing down the stairs just before Misty trotted up after her. The blonde closed the door behind her and jumped onto the bed, practically bouncing on it before laying back and putting one earbud in, playing her music on a low volume before she opened one of her books; as Cordelia changed out of her day clothes and into her nightgown, Misty read aloud.

Misty knew that there was no one she could've lain in bed and read a botany book to at 12a.m. Only Cordelia would have caught Misty's reflection in her mirror and watched with an admiring grin. Those dark eyes played with Misty whenever she caught them, and watching the muscles of Cordelia's shoulders flex just under the silken white fabric was sudden overload. Misty felt her mind travel and she tried to hide it, remain respectful, as she read a little more.

She excused herself quietly a moment later, disappearing into the bathroom where she left a pile of her night clothes, changing rather quickly and returning to the bedroom. On the bed, Cordelia sat leafing through one of the books.

"Did you have a good birthday?"

"Do you even have to ask, Miss Cordelia? I mean – not only did I get music and books on plants, I got to see Stevie again and I got – well, I get to spend time with you now. That's all I could ever want outta any birthday," Misty's voice husked a little at the end before she crawled into bed, leaning up on her elbow and resting her chin on Cordelia's shoulder.

The older witch nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "I'm glad," she spoke without looking at Misty. It took a moment to realize she was intentionally not looking at her; Misty grinned just a little before slipping her arm around Cordelia's waist and tucking her head against Cordelia's chest.

"You're like the sun and moon, Miss Cordelia." The words came from somewhere deep within her, somewhere that ached and adored.

Cordelia glanced aside at that one, judging from the way her hair shifted subtly into Misty's view. Misty felt a palm glide over her hair and the warmth of Cordelia's cheek near her temple. "And you're the very earth," she spoke quietly, as if privately to herself.

Misty closed her eyes, grateful for every moment in Cordelia's presence. Glad for a clear head, she wondered how her future would progress from here, now that she seemed to have gotten back to her old self. It was like fog had cleared from her vision and she was not yet certain of what she saw.

###

Cordelia had done so much for Misty that the only right thing seemed to be returning some of the favor. Little by little, Misty began to do more for Cordelia. She would preempt Cordelia's needs, sometimes made her smile by doing something goofy when no one else was paying attention. They sat together more often than not, and it was clear to the others that the bond between them was becoming something unbreakable.

However, there were one or two girls that seemed to disregard their unusually close bond. There was one in particular who had, since the showdown months ago, developed a sort of crush on Misty. Often at night the girl would find a way to knock at the bedroom door as Misty was listening to her music and then it would take a lot of not-so-subtle hints from a surprised Cordelia to get the girl back to her own room.

Misty didn't mind so much, but she didn't know how to tell a nice person no. Although she and Cordelia had never discussed any kind of relationship they had certainly grown close enough that it seemed the natural progression was something intimate.

The girl had approached Misty just outside the greenhouse and followed the Cajun inside, going on about some concert and how she'd love nothing more than to go with Misty. Misty was just about to tell the poor girl that she didn't want to go to any concert if it wasn't Stevie and she wasn't going to have any fun without Cordelia, when the Supreme opened the greenhouse door with a squeak. She paused at the door, her professional demeanor faltering for a moment.

"Natasha, is there something you needed?" Cordelia asked rather pointedly, glancing at the girl before turning her back and slipping on her gardening gloves.

"I was just asking Misty to a concert – it's this great band and they're playing down at some theater in the French Quarter next Friday," the girl tried to slip a hand to Misty's arm but the taller girl shook off the touch as gently as possible.

"I'm not really the concert-goin' type unless it's my Stevie singin', I'm sorry," Misty declined lightly.

"I thought we could maybe go on a date, make it a date," Natasha looked crestfallen.

While Cordelia had obviously been trying to act as if she weren't paying attention, her head snapped up immediately at this proposal and her dark eyes darted to Misty.

Misty faltered under the attention and moved closer to Cordelia, "I just – I'm not really – I guess I'm really flattered an' all but I just am not really lookin' right now 'cause I'm a little –"

The girl flushed with embarrassment, "I just thought –"

Cordelia's eyes still moved subtly between them and her jaw was set in a harsh way. From the way she was frowning and sucking on her bottom lip between glances it seemed that likely she was – well, jealous. Misty swallowed and glanced at the floor.

"Look, sweetie, I'm real sorry but I'm not interested. I'm sure you'll make some girl a great girlfriend but – it ain't gonna be me." She tried to put it as bluntly but as kindly as possible.

Cordelia seemed to glance away again, though she was scrubbing at the empty sink as if something were there. Her agitation was obvious and Misty had to smile just a little.

The girl, seeming too ashamed to say anymore, only nodded and left the greenhouse, slinking away as if she'd been scolded. Misty felt bad for her, but when she felt Cordelia's warmth right next to her, she knew it would've been silly to entertain anyone.

"Well, it seems you have some admirers," Cordelia's voice had a slight edge to it and she was avoiding Misty's gaze quite intentionally.

Misty leaned against Cordelia's arm and busied her hands with her shawl. "Funny that. I noticed 'em followin' me around. Her and another girl."

"And – how's that? Do you –" Cordelia cleared her throat and took off her gloves, stepping away from Misty and busying herself with some of the plants, "are you attracted to them?"

"Nah, they're not really my type," it came out sounding a little more sly than Misty had intended, but Cordelia seemed too lost in whatever she was thinking to notice. "Although I'm not opposed to datin' girls," Misty continued carefully.

"Oh – that – really?" Cordelia turned her gaze back on Misty, looking a little more than stunned. "I would've assumed with your upbringing and –"

Misty let out a throaty laugh, "I'm nothin' like the people who raised me, 'Delia."

"Oh," Cordelia seemed surprisingly at a loss for words. "Could you um – can you pass me that watering can?"

Misty, deciding to relent on the discussion for now, did as she was asked, but made sure each small touch lingered long enough for Cordelia's eyes to dart upward and linger on her own.

She had suffered a lot of damage, but the joy she felt with Cordelia was enough to let her know that if she was going to heal, she was going to heal happiest in the company of the Supreme. This woman had come to know her most intimately, had seen into her very mind, and even now seemed to look right into Misty's beating heart.

If it took some time, so be it.

###

[so I love you because I know no other way] than this: where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

"I do not love you"/"sonnet xvii" by Pablo Neruda

The clock read 2:03a.m. and Misty was awake. She missed the sound of the cicadas; as soothing as the sound of Cordelia's breathing was, sometimes Misty felt homesick for her swamp. She thought, as she lay, that the Supreme was asleep but she felt a gentle touch skirt down her arm, and fingers tangled in her own.

Their friendship had grown impossibly close. There had been a rare few times where things had gotten intense enough that Misty thought they were about to kiss, about to linger just too long, too close, and someone would walk in or some duty would call. Always, they left the room with longing eyes trailing after one or the other, hands would touch briefly in passing.

It had been a silent growth, but there were some times where Misty felt as if she could feel a second heartbeat within her chest. She knew the familiar thump thump under Cordelia's breast, knew precisely when Cordelia's eyes were darting up to meet hers.

"Do you think people were meant to find – the one?" Cordelia's question was a little surprising, her voice laced with the threads of sleep. "I always thought maybe that was a big myth, some… ideal that was ridiculous to chase after."

Misty remained silent, her green eyes focused on Cordelia in the half-lit room, moonlight spilling on the floor near them.

"And then – I think I've started to believe it's feeling like … this person is as much a part of you as your own lungs, your own body. As if they had been removed and meeting them reunited the two parts together. No matter where you go, if you separate, if you are somehow taken away from one another – you always feel them."

She felt like that for Cordelia. She wanted to say that to the Supreme but it seemed Cordelia's sleepy tangent was far more important to be heard than responded to. Misty trailed her fingers over the sharp edges of Cordelia's collarbone and watched separate muscles and nerves twitch in response, memorized the delicate brown beauty marks that spotted Cordelia's skin.

"Do you think everyone finds that?"

"I think it's what everyone hopes for." In the silence, Misty waited for some kind of response, but only found Cordelia's fingers knotting into her own. That had not crossed that impassable boundary yet – the one that would cement them as a couple and not mere friends, although they both knew they never had been or would be just friends. There was too strong of a connection to explain away, some unnamable force holding them together. "Someone who somehow makes our flaws less – I don't really know how to explain it. Someone who makes us feel better about what's wrong, makes us better'n we were before."

Cordelia shifted just a little, turning onto her side and tugging Misty's hand around her hip and rested it on her stomach. Scooting back, she conformed her shape to fit Misty's, the little spoon to Misty's big spoon, and it was hard not to admire the gentle curve of Cordelia's neck, the way it was dotted with the occasional freckle. Many times Misty had wondered what it would be like to press her lips just there.

"You know your lack of magick isn't a flaw, right?" Cordelia questioned gently after a few moments of silence.

"I know. Took me a while, but I know now," Misty drawled with a subtle, amused laugh. "It's hard bein' one of the normal people, y'know?"

"If there was a way I could fix it, I would," Cordelia murmured. "It's strange though, even without your magick – you radiate, Misty," the way Cordelia often said Misty's name was as if it were a reverent prayer.

"Not like you, Miss Supreme," Misty teased quietly.

They fell asleep together like that, after they fell into a mutual bout of silence. The connection between them always seemed to grow stronger with any explanation or definition, and it seemed sometimes they even shared the same dreams. A matching spark had lit in them both, many times, but it seemed most strongly manifested as time passed.

###

Misty and Cordelia were often the only ones in the kitchen. Whether or not the refrigerator was empty didn't seem to be dictated by who was seen in the kitchen. Food just disappeared. Dishes, however, always appeared. Late at night, shoulder to shoulder, Misty and Cordelia would wash dishes and dry them, place them away in the dim lighting of the kitchen's secondary lights.

It was a night like this, after a few glasses of wine, that Misty found the courage to do as she had wanted to for some time. Cordelia had just moved around the counter, Misty's legs swinging from her stool as she caught Cordelia's wrist.

"You seemed surprised – remember all the time ago when that girl asked me out 'n you were surprised to find out I wasn't opposed to seein' a girl?"

Cordelia nodded slowly, looking curious but more surprised at the way Misty was tracing her fingers over Cordelia's palm.

"Why were you so bothered by that girl askin' me out? And then so nervous after I said I wouldn't mind seein' a girl?" Misty implored, although the answer could not have been clearer over the development of their friendship. "'Cause – Miss Cordelia, I'm not gonna lie, the only reason I said no to that girl –"

"Shh – no, oh –" Cordelia, suddenly nervous, began to move back slightly only to be coaxed by one of Misty's fingers tangling in the ribbon of her dress.

"—was 'cause I can't see spendin' my time with anyone but you," Misty concluded gently, taking Cordelia's hand in hers and meeting a pair of expressively dark eyes. She lifted Cordelia's hand to her lips, pressed a kiss to each knuckle.

Cordelia let out a slow, shaky breath.

"Am I wrong in assumin' that the feelin' is mutual?"

"You're – " Cordelia swallowed, closed her eyes in her nervousness. "You're not wrong."

Misty placed a kiss on the top of Cordelia's hand, the top of her wrist, stood slowly and closed the little bit of space between them. She slipped a hand at the meeting of Cordelia's hips and her waist, tugged her in closely before taking her in a slow waltz there in the kitchen. "Does it make you nervous?"

Cordelia nodded, her eyes drifting upward to Misty's gaze before darting to her lips, "I just can't imagine – I would never want it to go wrong. I would never want to lose you," the murmur was soft, trembled on the tip of Cordelia's tongue as she searched Misty's face for some indication, some reassurance.

"When your heart beats, I feel like mine does, too. I don't think that's somethin' you can ever lose," Misty soothed quietly, her lips lingering near Cordelia's ear as they waltzed slowly, swayed together to music only they could hear. "And, 'Delia, if I ever had anything to do with it I'd make sure you were always happy."

"You're so sweet to me, Misty," the admission was laced with undertones of doubt. "How could I deserve it?"

"Don't you see the way you are? You take care of this place, the girls here, you've always given up everythin' for everyone else. 'Sides, it's not like I'm perfect. I just – I don't know, I feel mighty perfect when you look at me."

Cordelia pulled away carefully, leaving bare inches of space between their faces, just enough for those wonderfully dark eyes to linger on Misty's, search her as if she would find safety there. "When you died, I felt as if I had lost a lover, someone – essential."

"I heard you, callin'."

"I think I could love you into eternity, but I'm so scared," Cordelia admitted quietly, her thumb tracing over Misty's bottom lip.

"I can try'n fix that, Miss Cordelia. If you let me."

Cordelia's intensity was overwhelming, but Misty knew that in that moment, Cordelia needed her to be the strong one. Cordelia looked as if she were considering something, planning, her eyes locked on Misty's face as her thumb continued its trail. Briefly, Misty pressed her lips to the tip of Cordelia's thumb; that seemed to be the catalyst, because slowly and with very little noticeable hesitation, Cordelia leaned upward and brushed her lips over Misty's.

It was like electroshock. It moved through Misty's blood and made her feel as if it was the final key, the final thing that needed to happen in order for her to really live again. Soon, Cordelia gained confidence and pressed herself close, somewhat backing Misty against the counter as the kiss became more insistent. Misty maintained some of the control, listening to the small whimpers and occasional heady gasps Cordelia emitted when their lips met in just the right way. It was as if there were an almost tangible spark being lit and re-lit.

Misty felt Cordelia's insistence, felt her want and desire and knew that in all the choices she had made, in all she had lost, she had gained all she would've ever needed in life. With her she carried every choice she had made up until this moment – in this moment all of that was released, unburdening her soul and freeing her spirit once again. The magick of Stevie's music returned to her, the safety of her swamp, the thrill of joy settling permanently somewhere accessible and immediate. There was no feeling comparable to this, no sensation equal to reuniting one part of a soul to another after so long spent in isolation.

As they broke apart, they did not need to exchange 'I love you's' because the feeling wrapped around them, grew up and around each separate heart and knotted them together. It was in the way they searched one another's eyes, kissed fingers and palms and eventually throats, wandering hands and slow-burning desires pulling them from the kitchen to the bedroom they had shared for so long as less-than lovers.

They consummated the room that night, made the bed that of lovers, each leaving their brand on one another in some way; there were passionate bruises, scratches, but what was more was the stain each would leave on one another's heartbeat, a certain ghost in the eyes that would forever reflect only one another.