Hello! Thoughtful reviewers!: Skewbald (Hope the next update doesn't disappoint.), Jokerlover13 (They are. I hope season two treats their relationship with a bit more respect), SummerMistedDragon (I don't even know what to say to that but um... thank you!), louvreangel (Thank you for commenting. We'll try to get it it as much as we can. Things have been a little slow lately. Hope the next update helps tide things over and that you enjoy it.)


CHAPTER 3

Emerging from the guest room thirty minutes later, closing and locking the door behind her, Maze had two devices in hand—things they'd said were called cellphones and used to communicate amongst humans—the bat resting against the crook of her shoulder like a beloved newborn, speckled with a bit of blood and mucus. Appreciatively they'd been resistant, filled with fight, and had given her a bit of release she needed to eject the day's difficulties. Forgoing the leather chair—and Lucifer's wishes—she rejoined him.

The sound of the elevator doors sliding open and closed pulled him from a light doze, and Maze's footfalls anchored him back in the land of the bleak reality Lucifer wished to escape. He shifted slightly, got the painful response he expected, and stilled again with his back to the parlor. He closed his eyes hoping Maze would leave him be. She didn't this time.

Setting the cellphones down on the mattress and the bat against the foot of the bed, Maze reached for the filthy water bowl.

"We've a problem," she began as she put the bowl down on the bedside table, gradually stripping off the bloodied sundress. She needed to bathe, soak her muscles and rinse herself of last night, but that could wait. Dropping the flimsy fabric to the floor, she exchanged it for black jeans and shirt she'd stolen off the cooperative blonde. They were snug, clinging to her legs like a second skin, accentuating her hips and other areas as Maze caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. Admiration she pushed aside as she waited for him to speak.

He kept quiet, still hoping it would drive her away and knowing it wouldn't.

"You were right about your wings," she said, driving a painful nail into his heart without knowing it, as she slid onto the mattress, tucking one leg beneath her, the other dangling over the side of the edge as she twisted to face him.

He winced unwittingly, remembering his reflection and its misery. He wasn't prepared to talk about it. He didn't know if he ever would be. He felt like a cripple whose life was over by his own doing. He didn't want to think of anything ever again.

"Even in its free form, it seems to possess some kind of power," she continued. "Our ride from the beach is quite taken by them."

Lucifer felt cold inside. The sensation was so sudden and real it felt he would exhale vapor.

She still has my wings.

It flabbergasted him how this idea never crossed his mind that what he made her cut off was still around and quite real. Was it? Of course it was – she did cut them off, so there was something solid to cut, and it felt…

Agony, hellish agony was exactly what you deserved for such crime, and it felt like you deserved.

But having never actually seen them apart from feeling their power and radiance as the extension of what he had always been, he found the thought of them being two pieces of dying flesh – or dead flesh – terrifying. Sacrilege.

A shiver ran through him; he swallowed hard, trying to cast away the racing thoughts and disgusting images. It didn't work. He felt Maze sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him, and couldn't make himself look at her.

If they were going to stay here, Maze reflected, well, she was going to have to further take things into her hands, find means of healing him—with her prisoner's help—and get settled in properly.

"I couldn't let him leave. Them leave," she concluded, hopeful he'd get the hint without her needing to go into too much detail. "He invited someone over. A lover."

Drawing a deeper breath as if to vent the imposing reveries and fears away, he gave her a sharp look, unable to believe what she seemed to be insinuating. Afraid to believe his damage to what she was extended farther than he thought.

"What the bloody hell do you mean? What did you do? You murdered humans?"

Despite his pain, his look was agitated, perhaps even a little murderous. Maze'd felt that heat before. She craved it, more so than the broken image he'd presented over the last couple hours. Seeing him like that was disconcerting. Maybe he was feeling better? Steadily on his way to recovery?

"No," she answered, not one to toy with the truth or keep him in suspense. She had too much respect for his suffering and could see even a hint of amusement would be misplaced at this time. "Granted I didn't take it easy on them during my cross-examination. But they're still very much alive. Kicking a little, too." It could have gone a whole other direction – still might. "Nevertheless, that doesn't help our dilemma or the raging 'what do I do with them now' question that needs answering. You're aware of what demons are like in the presence of your grace, Imagine that magnified by a hundred."

She eased off the bed to give him a little time to think and process the information as she walked over to the kitchen. With the open plan layout of the loft he could still see her. Grabbing one of the glasses from the cupboard overhead, she filled it with some water.

Lucifer heard water run – she was filling a glass. He felt thirsty again, but that need was overruled by Maze's extracurricular mission he wasn't counting on. A part of him was stirred and agitated by her news, and the other still didn't want to care. So what if she threw a couple of humans around? So what if she got rough – how he knew she could and liked to get? It didn't seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter.

"Just let them go," he said, closing his eyes. "The last thing I want is you creating more problems than you can solve. It's not your precious home here. Your methods should change. Go back to them and fix it. And by fix it I mean an amiable fix."

"You've got to be kidding," she said, gently tapping his nude chest with the bottom of the glass, trying to gauge if he were giving into unconsciousness or simply too tired to look at her.

He accepted the glass, wincing as he lifted himself a bit from the mattress, and drank half of it in a couple of eager swigs.

"They'll scream angel as they run down the street. Or worse," knowing that man was already having a hard time letting go, seeing the wings were like an imperial drug; they tended to suck you in, to feed on your mind like a decaying plague of hope. Most demons couldn't handle it, and from what she gathered in the collective hours she'd spent babysitting the infuriating man, humans would insight chaos. Lucifer hadn't seen it, didn't understand that yet.

He would.

"They'll come back. They'll come with an army," she continued, unrelenting in her attempt to make him see the bigger picture, warning laced with displeasure. Though the blonde hostage appeared a less likely threat since she hadn't seen his wings, Maze didn't doubt that her accomplice would attempt to talk her into returning. Love in humans made them do strange things. Or so she heard. Given the status of Lucifer's fragile safety, Maze wasn't eager about needing to look over their shoulders at every turn. They were already on unstable ground. "What do I do then? Kindly tone down my methods and ask them to leave?"

He put the empty glass on the bedstand and gauged her expression. She was serious. It almost made him laugh, despite himself. She wasn't too keen on all the details of human life – that was mostly his hobby to pay attention to the ascending worlds.

Wincing, he lay back again and clicked his tongue, closing his eyes. "Let them come. Let's see what happens. An army, you say? I doubt he finds more than two willing participants max. You overestimate their ability to trust each other's empty words. He will talk about what he saw for years and hardly anyone will view him as anything more than a crazy zealot. You can let them go. You can even give them some generous sum for a promise to keep away from us. That can works as well – at least for his friend who hasn't seen anything holier than your anger."

Maze narrowed her eyes, vexed by Lucifer's unruffled demeanor in regards to the stowed humans or the threat they presented, battling the unacquainted urge to rebel and defy.

"Fine," she answered with resignation, unable to shake the condemnation from her tone. "I hope you're right." They didn't always agree, but his word and wisdom—in spite of her brewing qualms—was what she lived by. Not because she had to, because she chose to and he'd never steered her wrong.

Not until today.

"I'll see what I can come up as a form of compensation and get them out of here," she added, throwing a look over her shoulder at the bed as she started for the fridge. Removed the tub of fingered butter. It wasn't the worst and a possible start as most miscreants jumped at the prospect of a foods trade.

Was this world any different? She guessed she'd find out.

Unlocking the guest bedroom, she pushed the door open with her toe, confident the couple wouldn't be hanging around to club her. Limitations already met. Martin stood first and shielded the blonde. His left eye swollen shut, his bottom lip split from the impact of Maze's harrowed persuasion, hands raised in weak attempt to insinuate his willingness to fight. Maze could respect that, and at another time, might have accepted his challenge.

She took a couple steps deeper into the room and dropped the butter bowl onto the bed. "Take it and go."

Confusion and doubt reflected on Martin's bruised face, the frightened woman's eyes darting to her peace offering with equal bewilderment. Martin was the first to move, eyes locked on Maze as he moved to pick up the tub, snapping open the lid to check its contents.

"Butter?" he asked, his voice no louder than a murmur. Maze nodded. He stared.

"Reward for upholding your part of the bargain and getting us to our humble abode," Maze explained before he could ask, flashing a smile, unable to keep up this civil charade. She wanted them gone. A gesture to the door and she stepped aside, making space for them to head out.

"You promised me possessions," Buzzsaw said with a wince, his features contorting as if the mere task of talking was too much. "Anything I wanted."

The blonde's hand found its way onto his shoulder, squeezing in attempt to shut him up and guide him to their exit. Her lithe body pressing against his back. He wasn't getting any of the subtle signs.

"Then you'll have to take it up with Lucifer at another time," Maze stated coolly, eyes blazing, arms trembling at her sides, itching to swell his other eye shut.

"Another time? But you promis—"

Maze crossed the space and appeared an inch from his face. On instinct he stepped back, colliding with the blonde, waylaying her against the wall like a frightened bird, his hands raised to shield his face from a crushing blow. Maze caught the plastic container before it hit the floor.

"If you knew me," she began, straightening up, eyes glued to the label printed on the bowl, idly memorizing its ingredients while they watched her, "you'd know how hard it is for me to do this. To let you walk out of here - alive. And know that you'll come back and try to stir trouble."

Martin paled, lower lip quivering as if he were dealing with a sudden case of the chills. The blonde wasn't faring any better, although in her case, the lack of clothes might be a factor.

"We wo—"

"Don't lie to me, Buzz," Maze retorted, cutting short his promise to stay away. "You'll be back. You've seen it. You need it now. Need what only it can provide you."

He wanted to argue, to reassure her he wouldn't return and barter his safety, but she knew, could sense it in the way his body tensed every time she instructed him to leave, that he was in deep.

"So, for your sake I suggest you acquaint yourself with the idea that you'll never get your hands on it— on them," she deliberated, reaching out to gently take one hand, smirking as he flinched and tried to resist her touch. "Not unless you want to keep yours."

She wrestled his arm from his face, slapping the sullied tub back into his furled hands—waiting for him to take it—eyes locked on his face in warning before she slowly took a step back.

"Now get out before I decide that you should stay."

"Go," the blonde hissed before Martin could argue or say something else, pushing at his back, unruffled by her state of undress as she forced him toward the exit. He went, head bent as Maze followed them out, neither asking about their cellphones as she escorted them into the elevator and to the ground floor.

She locked up after they left and made her way upstairs, clutching a bottle labelled whiskey, toying with the end of the ribbon tied around the neck. Generic 'welcome to your new home' card stapled to the shiny fabric.

"More water?" she asked stepping into the loft, pausing to hear if he was still awake or if he'd passed out again while she took care of the prisoners.