Phoebe clinks her glass against Cole's and sips. Cole sets his glass on the counter and hesitantly notes that ridding the Manor of the others might not be the best of ideas. He's concerned Phoebe has left herself vulnerable to attack, especially now that he no longer has access to the powers of Belthazor to protect her. Phoebe dismisses his worries and leans in to snack on his neck. Cole gently extracts himself from her embrace. "You don't seem to understand," he tells her. "With The Source injured, you might be in more danger than ever before." Phoebe counters that Cole doesn't understand "that sometimes a girl needs a night off." In an effort to help him "relax" -- if you know what she means, and I think you do -- Phoebe leans in once more to nibble on Cole's ear, neck, and Adam's apple. He melts into her ministrations a bit before abruptly drawing away again. "It's just that without a strong leader, there's anarchy in the underworld." Phoebe rolls her eyes at this buzzkill. Together, Phoebe and Cole recite the litany we've heard since the smiting of the Smoked Bint and the attendant wounding of The Source -- Dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell would normally compete with each other to curry the favor of their leader. With said leader grievously injured, infighting ensues, with various dark demonic forces building "factions" to overthrow and replace The Source. The easiest way to impress a potential faction? Why, offing the Charmed Ones, of course. Which, if I remember correctly, is also the easiest way to impress The Source. And the Triad. And whatever dark overlord the demonic underworld happens to be harboring at the moment. Therefore, the Charmed Ones are always a target, correct? As they have been since the series premiere, yes? And this conversation is simply a waste of my time, right? Thought so.
The timer on the stove chooses this moment to blare its buzzy little signal throughout the kitchen, most likely because it's as irritated with the non-progression of this scene as I am and, as a result, has decided to shut these two up the best way it knows how. Thankfully, the timer succeeds. Cole crosses to the oven and bare-hands the casserole within. Damn. Without his demonic half, he's as stupid as Phoebe. They're called potholders, Cole. Get your girlfriend to knit you a pair for Christmas. Then again, she might poke out an eye with one of the needles, so you'd better just send her to Crate & Barrel instead. Cole tosses the casserole onto the stove and starts flapping his hand around while cursing. Phoebe skitters to his side, wondering if she should summon the Dolt to heal Cole's hand. Because Cole was injured battling a demonic casserole. Cole insists he's fine, then bemoans the fact he "used to be able to hold fire in the palm of [his] hand." Phoebe makes with more of the "but you're human now" nattering before pulling him into a hug. From over her shoulder, Cole pouts, "I'm serious about the factions, Phoebe. If demons join forces --" Phoebe pulls back to level her gaze at his. "I promise you I will worry about the factions first thing in the morning," she states. "But for now," she adds with a lascivious glint in her eye, "I want us to join forces." Oh, ew. You keep your filthy little force to yourself, sweetheart. Ick.