A/N: Well, I'm back with the second chapter! Hope you'll enjoy it . Also, thank you for your reviews – sadly, I can't answer them if you leave them as "guest" so I can only thank you here, like this^^. Now, on with it!
Disclaimer: as seen in chapter one
OOO OOO OOO
There are still blisters on her hands. It's been a week, but seven days don't count for much if you keep on picking on the healing skin, pulling it away, just so something on you feels as raw as your heart.
She'd wanted to call an ambulance, get him to some expensive, stylish funeral home. She wanted an extravagant headstone with one of his usual innuendos etched in there. The moment she voiced that idea, Maze had lost her somber attitude and…well. She screamed and ranted, told her about a formula stuck in the head of a dead guy, of a trip to hell to save a human Miracle. Linda tries to calm her down but there was never any way to stop this train wreck from happening. Then half of Maze's face seemingly melts away. If she closes her eyes, she can still see the laid bare mandible, the milky white eye and the grey, raggedy looking ruin of her cheek and forehead. And yeah, she finally believes that Lucifer is the Lucifer, The Son Of The Morning, the Devil. But at that point it's too late anyway. Apparently, there's no way back for him now. Wings cut off, Pentecostal coin all used up, and Amenadiel a Fallen, no way to fly down and pick his brother up. So he's stuck downstairs, and they can't bring his body to a hospital because they'd do an autopsy and aside from the weird things they'd find in his back, where there's additional bones and things because there used to be two more limbs there…yeah. Aside from that, Maze has no idea if his bloodwork would be even remotely human, and humanity can not be trusted with something like divine blood. They call Ella and Dan, wait until they are done with their breakdown/existential crisis and proceed as if to hide a crime.
They drive out to a big stretch of woodlands Ella recognizes, but she doesn't ask. She can't handle anything else right then. They dig deep. No shallow grave for him – this isn't so much hiding a body as it is a funeral after all. So they dig a proper six-feet-deep and add another one for good measure. Lucifer is dressed in his favorite suit – she can imagine him bitching away, being scandalized that the suit is going to be ruined and Detective, you can't be serious! This is Armani, you can't put an Armani suit under seven feet of dirt cover! Blasphemy!
She can't see his face, or anything of him, when they lower him down. He's wrapped up in one of his bedsheets; a bit like a sailor before he's given back to the seas.
When they start to pack the dirt back in, each shovelful sounds like the caricature of a death knell to her ears. But this is still Lucifer, and she thinks he would hate how silent everything is. There's no music, there's no party and…
…And she blinks back to the present when someone slaps a file down in front of her. Right. Work. She's at the precinct and there's a new case and she can't think about any of this right now.
OOO OOO OOO
She's back at his grave later that day. It's raining cats and dogs. There's thunder and lightning, and this is the way it should've been the night they buried him. The skies should've been weeping. Instead it had been a beautiful, clear night; full moon, stars shining bright and cold as crystal. She's always been fond of the stars, but ever since that night she couldn't stand the sight of them. How come they got to go on when their maker was stuck somewhere he couldn't even bask in his masterpiece?
It takes her hours to dig the grave back up, and by the time she can see the dirty sheets it's gone midnight and her hand are bleeding again. The rain stopped quite a while ago, but it's still overcast and she can't see a single star tonight. She's glad of it. She cuts the sheet open with a pocket knife and lets the cool night air touch his face.
The she climbs up the ladder she's brought along (she's going insane with grief, not stupid), sits on the edge of his grave and takes out her phone. Moments later Billie Holiday is singing Body and Soul. She would go and lie down with him, but she's not quite reached the point where she would cuddle up to a corpse yet. So she lies on her back, feet dangling down and looks at the overcast sky. The air smells like rain and ozone, of overturned earth and decomposing vegetation. The greens are the only thing returning to nothing though. His face had been pale when she looked at it, and the slack, motionless features had been hard to see but that was all. No bloating, no maggots, nothing. He had looked exactly like the day he's been buried. That's got to mean something, right?
She keeps on lying there, the song on repeat, her eyes closed and waits to wake up from the nightmare.
END