Been stupidly obsessed with this wonderful show for awhile now. I've not yet seen the third season, but believe me, that's coming up this weekend. :D Binge time! This is a little re-telling of one of my favorite scenes from Season 2, while I try to get used to writing again...
Season 2x05, Closing Scene
Lucifer's flat is silent, empty. Dark, as well, with the only source of light coming from the bar, illuminating the amber liquid stored in the rows and rows of glass bottles. The soft click of a woman's heels breaks the stillness, echoing across the floor. A worried crease lines their owner's brow, and her arms are folded tightly across her chest. She looks much like any other wealthy woman in that area of the City of Angels, zipped up within an inch of her life in a tight-fitting dress, a thousand dollars (or three) on her wrists and fingers, and the tight strain of worry on a beautiful mouth where money should have erased the mere possibility of worry.
But she is no mere woman. And her troubles veer more on… the celestial side. She has lost track of her sons. Again. That's already a problem for the little humans in this universe. But when the two children in question are literally Angel and Devil, things get a little more complicated, don't they?
She checks her watch, exhaling impatiently as she takes a seat on the soft divan. Tortuous minutes pass. She's half-resolved to approach the bar and choose her poison when the sound of the elevator dinging causes her to freeze.
Lucifer.
She rises, smoothing down her dress anxiously as she approaches the silhouette in the doorway. "What happened?" she asks gently. Hope catches in her heart as he slowly approaches, fluttering like a caged bird as she earnestly searches his face. It's then she notices he's limping. And… bleeding. His shirt and face are smeared with it.
The bird stills. "Where's Uriel?" she whispers.
Lucifer trembles, the flawless lines of his face slanting, distorting. He can tell the moment the realization hits her, and the grief that spreads across her beautiful face is as sharp and dreadful as he imagines a bite from Azrael's blade would be.
The very blade he just sunk into his little brother's heart.
"What have I done?" he almost begs of her.
"No, no," she moans in response, going to him. "No, no, no…"
She reaches her son, grasping his shoulders gently, and suddenly he's crumpling into her arms, the soft down of his hair brushing her cheek and a choked sob breaking into her shoulder. Blood is matted where his dark hair meets his temple, and the crimson flow from his nose is mixing with his tears, trickling down over his lips and chin. She can feel it soak into the strap of her gown. Though the dark color of her dress masks the stain, she feels it sinking even deeper, down past this pathetic cage of flesh that is her human body and bleeding into her very soul.
"God," she cries. She knows not who else to call to, or blame.
"He doesn't hear you, Mum. He's stopped listening."
He holds her as tightly as she holds him, listening to the terrible sound of his mother crying loudly into the night. He exhales sharp bursts of air into her shoulder, as if someone is punching him repeatedly in the chest. Punishing him. And he wonders—at the very apex of his pain and hers—if this is not yet another cruel joke of his Father's. Because if this is not Hell on earth… well, then he doesn't know what is.