To You My Soul I Will Bare
This one was rough. It isn't really to my liking, but see what you think. It goes along with Tempest's Favourite Son, this one is set after Pops, so there are spoilers! Once again, the characters are not mine, and I claim no right to ownership, only the plot is of my own device. Errors are too.
"Your father… has a plan for you…"
"You know…"
Lucifer wakes, gasping for air like a man half drowned. Rain pitter-patters above his head, hitting the windows in a way that reminds him of timid knocks on a door. Quiet, there but so faint that one could almost convince themselves they'd made it up. He's quivering, beneath his silken sheets and piles of pillows, skin too hot and dry in the cool air of his apartment. He tries kicking off the sheets and growls when they tangle between his long, long legs. "Bloody hell, why?"
Why him? Why him? Of all people He'd had to let down, why Frank?
In a movement that is more instinct than thought, Lucifer reaches to his side, searching for the warming comfort of another body that has, mysteriously, yet to awaken at his commotion. He finds it cold and empty.
Right.
Fuck. Bloody fuck. Maze is in her own room, now, for the first time in a very long time; his bed is empty and cold, just like her betrayal.
She betrayed me, and not for my own good. No, she did it for herself. Betrayed me, just like my Father. Some plan, eh Frank?
Frank. It stings to even think about the man; it puts tiny fissures in his walls that leak out his emotions and weaken him. And just like that, all the rage – all the anger and the hate and the hurt comes spewing forth like a stream turning into a torrent. It bubbles to the surface in what is half laugh, half sob – a broken cry as his eyes sting and tears fall. Fall just like he did. For the first time in eons, if not ever, Lucifer cries.
Once the dam has been cracked wide open, the walls come crashing down. Clutching a pillow to his chest, confident in his isolation, Lucifer lets himself weep, lets the pain ooze out like pus from a poorly bandaged wound. It seeps out of the cracks in his ancient, mouldering walls, laid bare before the rain and the impersonality of the City of Angels.
"Lucifer?"
"Bloody hell!" Lucifer jumps like a cat that's just had its tail stepped on, nearly leaping out of the bed as his eyes go almost comically wide and his heart roars into a sixty mile an hour staccato. Chloe Decker stands in the entrance to his "bedroom", the space he'd artfully sectored off for his bed when he'd first had the place renovated, with no walls or doors to shield her from his cries. She's sleep mussed, hair a mess and eyes bleary, but behind the glaze, he can still see the concern and discomfort in those honey brown eyes. Lucifer curls in on himself, wishing not for the first time he had his wings to hide behind again. He doesn't want her to see him like this.
"Go away, m'fine."
Truth be told, Lucifer had forgotten she was here, dozing on the couch. Apparently Detective Douche had taken the Small One home, and so she'd offered to stay the night with him… But refused to share the massive bed of course. Left him on his own again. And now he chides himself for being stupid enough to let his guard down, to forget for even a second that he wasn't actually alone and let the weakness shine through.
Chloe scoffs, and there's the sound of footsteps as she pads towards him, and then the bed dips as she settles herself on the edge closest to him. Warm hands cup his naked shoulder, her thumbs stroking his skin in smooth, gentle strokes. Expert hands, that of a mother.
"You're not fine and we both know it," she murmurs, edging close enough to him that he can feel the heat of her body against his own. A deep breath, he can sense her opening and closing her mouth again, searching for the right words to say.
"…And… It's okay to be not fine. You lost someone who meant something to you and it hurts. You have to deal with it somehow."
Lucifer scoffs now, looking up and trying to focus on her face through the blur of the tears, blinking a few times. He tries not to think about how silly he must look at this moment, the Lord of Hell weeping and clinging to her like a small child. Mumbling, he stumbles out a retort.
"But I don't want to deal with it. I want it to go away… I want all of this… this.. bloody emotive bull shit to disappear." He wants to go back to the numbness that corrupted his soul when he was in Hell, presiding over the souls of the damned.
Chloe smiles, a sad, sad smile, and reaches out with one hand to cup his face. Lucifer stills, heart thundering in his chest; since when did the Prince of Darkness have stomach flops - butterflies? Is that what the humans called them - for a lowly LAPD detective?
"It doesn't go away, Lucifer. You have to deal with your emotions. That's part of being human."
Human. Human.
There's a lump, in his throat that wasn't there mere seconds ago. Lucifer tries to swallow around it, but finds himself instead making a soft noise like a whimper, searching Chloe's eyes for something. The smile on her face grows a little softer, a little sadder. "It's okay, Lucifer."
The Lord of Hell lets her sweep him into a hug, tears slipping down pale cheeks to be lost in hair the colour of gold. If Lucifer squeezes her too tightly, if he nuzzles her hair in his grief, if his ribcage hitches in a strangled whimper-sob, Chloe doesn't say anything. Instead, she lets him cry and cling to her like a small child, rubbing his lower back in soothing circles, humming an unintelligible tune under her breath.
Eventually, the shaking subsides, and the tears stop falling. Eventually, Lucifer untangles himself from Chloe, and glances at her from beneath those dark, dark lashes. His nose is red, eyes too – rimmed pink and he looks so utterly vulnerable. So much like that day mere weeks ago when he begged her to not touch the scars that marred his back.
Don't, please.
He opens his mouth to say something, maybe apologize, but Chloe cuts him off by holding up one index finger.
"Hush," She says, face falling into a serious expression.
And then, a little softer, she repeats, "Hush. It's okay, Lucifer. It's okay."
And Lucifer blinks, dropping his gaze to the impressive thread count of his sheets, picking at them with an absentmindedness she's never seen in him, his eyes far off somewhere else.
"It's okay." Chloe urges, and his eyes meet hers again, childlike in their wideness. "It's okay."
There are wounds, in his heart, he knows. Wounds that are raw and bleeding. But one day, maybe, Lucifer will learn how to take needle and thread and stitch those wounds shut. Maybe, with this wondrous woman beside him, he will finally accept what has come to pass, and learn to move forward, that maybe He really does have a plan, and that it will all be okay. For now though, Lucifer is content to sit here in bed, with her arms around him and her voice soft in his ear, listening to the combined reassurances she breathes and the tapping of the rain on the roof with his soul laid bare and tears still drying on his cheeks.
Again, not my best work, but please leave your thoughts. Constructive criticism is welcome. Have a wonderful evening.