Author's notes:
As promised - a longer chapter (additional explanations about Lucifer's situation). 'Hope you'll like it ;)
(no music for once)
POCKETS AND ORIFICES
11
Chloe waits until they have spent the standard half hour of awkward silence, waiting for their main suspect to show up, before she has a try.
It's not because she's afraid to broach the- these issues that bother her.
Of course not.
She doesn't want to make the same mistake twice, that's all.
Even though her 2.0 emotions are screaming at her that they must broach every last unsaid thing within the hour, her mind - fortunately more professional than she has been in the past few days - is urging her to act so; like a professional.
She did her job, with her partner.
Now that they know where to look for Francis, now that they are patiently waiting for him to look for other drugs in this square; she can let her emotions speak. Speaking isn't forbidden, it wasn't the first time she spoke with Lucifer about 'sensitive' subjects in her car.
This is normal stuff.
She shoots a sideways glance towards him.
It's not that 'awkwardly quiet', not when Lucifer is able to hold a conversation on his own, fully satisfied with a few 'mmh', 'yes', 'no' and any other onomatopoeia that has passed her lips from the precinct to the square whose greenery burns under L.A.'s sun. He only turned quiet recently, whistling some tunes she doesn't recognize.
She wonders whether it's from a lack of earthly musical culture or because this melody is beyond her reach, beyond any other humans' reach.
Either way, these are beautiful sounds, even whistled distractedly.
She listens for the next five minutes, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel just as distractedly, before she speaks, "I-"
He turns to her, whistling one last note in which resounds a quizzical tune, also shown by his arched eyebrow.
"I've been thinking about all this and... there are a few things that bother me."
"Of course. They bother me just as much."
Chloe's eyebrows rise. "Really?"
She looks longer at him, notices the fine wrinkles on his forehead. That and his lack of enthusiasm since they have parked the car in the quietest corner, where the local drug dealers wouldn't be alerted by their presence.
Of course.
Of course he cares as much about this story as she does.
It's not like he pretended otherwise, yesterday like any other day. Chloe is just... It is hard to think of Lucifer's feelings as hers most of the time. The difference she notices, that she deeply feels between them - the species, longevity and their way of thinking, of living -; it goes on decreasing as their interactions go, since the day when everything became clearer for her. More difficult too.
The difference goes on decreasing, but never fast enough for her.
And with what she has just learned about herself, about him, them... it doesn't really help to restrain the divergence of perception that she can't help but imagine, as he can't help but show it, with everything he says or does.
The difference might still be there when it'll be time for him to—
She squeezes the steering wheel so she won't shake.
Lucifer nods and opens his window halfway. Only one black curl answers to the call of the breeze and moves away from the Devil's perfect haircut, brushing those slight quizzical, caring wrinkles.
"Yes," he says. "Miss Lopez never hid her… shady past from us. How could she mistake speed with cocaine? Especially since she took some in my club for everyone's salvation - additionally, the best cocaine of L.A! I can't explain it myself."
Chloe gapes at him. She blinks several times. "What?"
"These drugs might well look the same and thus mislead the best of us, but there was rose-coloured powder in this small packet; this detail can't be put aside only because you, humans, can't see through black and white like I do. We also know that the centre was lacking monetary stability these days - if Francis is the greedy type, and junkies are by definition, he must have chosen speed to avoid a particularly unpleasant starvation. Better that than going through the bins, right?"
For a second, Chloe wonders how he can so precisely know the wanted and unwanted effects of speed... and how he can see colours where she can't.
She hasn't learned so much from her own school books.
Then she remembers his long experience in this field, as long as a line of speed. She remembers that he's an angel before being an expert in narcotics during his spare time.
"That's not..." She stares at him. "That's what's bothering you? Really?"
He stares back at her. "Not you?"
"No!" she exclaims, her tone startling them both.
She hasn't meant to answer him like this. She has simply let her emotions come in the spotlight, as the predictable annoyance for his indifference. Her mind could have dealt with it, and she could rationalize that it was his 'Luciferness', but... that difference is mostly lightened now.
So what?
He told her what looked important to him last night and the rest doesn't matter, is that it?
Because these are just human concerns?
His absence this morning, at the precinct… and now this. It's too 'normal' stuff to be real normality. It's irritating, at the very least.
And, even though she considers herself a reasonable person, Chloe feels like she deserves more than that; more than getting back to normal, with a partner and lover whose 'Lucifer-centric' by definition.
Lover.
A flush creeps up her face with just a word. She shakes her head, glancing at Lucifer again.
He looks surprised by her reaction.
Just Lucifer-centric then. Just staying true to himself.
"Sorry, I..." she sighs, shuts her eyes for a second.
She shakes her head, again; staring at the other part of the square through her window.
"Isn't it supposed to be my line?" he observes.
She turns back to him, meets his gaze - debauch and repentance from one eye to the other, same intensity from his ancient difference. It's also tangible in the way he looks at people, the way he looks at her.
Would he look at her differently over time, time spent too far away from her to even situate or define it with metaphorical fruit seeds?
He smiles at her. "Given your reaction, I'd bet I'll have to make it up for you soon. Am I wrong?" He then adds, half-shrugging while his charming smile turns into sheepish expression - thus preventing her to add this smiling detail to her long list of differences between them; "That being said, I won't be against further explanations about what I did exactly wrong. My sixth sense stops at first impressions, I'm afraid."
"Angels have sixth sense?"
"As for as I'm concerned, it's more like a lingering sense of déjà vu," he answers to her, his smile almost gone.
Chloe's forehead furrows. Before her expression, he explains with his soft voice, whispered words in reply to her last burning, human irritation; "I'm used to disappointing others' expectations."
She chews on her bottom lip, then she draws in a long breath to appease the sudden contraction in her belly. "Lucifer, that's not..."
She looks away, taking another long breath. Her abdominal muscles are determined to feel guilt for her. With a long sigh, she turns her guilty grimace into a smile, partial curve of awkwardness on her right cheek.
"That's not what I heard."
Lucifer looks puzzled now.
"All these…" Chloe hesitates over the words, making her choice - awkward and uncomfortable - seconds later; "...people who asked you a favor always looked satisfied. At least the ones I met and-" She clears her throat and squeezes her thighs, which are determined to 'imagine' for her, "... questioned."
"He did this thing..."
"The best night of my life!"
Her throat would never be 'cleared' enough.
Lucifer chuckles, his self-deprecating speech quickly forgotten for the memory of his long, very long list of conquests. "Those were the Devil's days, indeed!"
Those 'were' the days? So he didn't... they no longer are?
She thought otherwise yesterday. She still thinks so today, just a little bit. It's good to hear it from his mouth, even indirectly, to hear this change in the supposed normality they have barely gotten back. For them both, with each other.
"These nonetheless scrupulously 'fulfilled' favors have everything to do with unconfessed desires," he continues more seriously. "They had nothing to do with you, Chloe, with your expectations. Or past ones."
"Past ones?" she repeats.
He nods. "I doubt you'll ever match my Father's disappointment in me." He then tilts his head to the side, old sadness clouding his smile. "Well, we disappointed each other so… even-stevens."
"Lucifer, I'm not d—"
Chloe stops. She is, but...
"That's not... I just—"
"Just?" he encourages her.
She sighs. "I just thought that today would go... differently."
"So did I. Between this stakeout and the paperwork of the last days, I can't tell which one wins the professional idleness trophy here," he sighs in return. "It sounds all the more deplorable with these contradictory words in the same sentence!"
Now he's teasing her for want of anything better to reply. Typical 'Luciferness'. Chloe rolls her eyes, trapped between laughs and smiles. "We're getting some air here, at least."
"That and a stunning view," he adds, gazing at a juggler in the middle of the lawn who's not really talented.
"Francis is as much fond of juggling as he is with speed, who knows? That or cocaine," she says shortly afterwards, just as teasing.
Lucifer looks back at her, utterly scandalized.
"Not you, Chloe! Anyone else but you can mistake these drugs, anyone! Even if you've never taken some, you must have seen many since the unforgettable raising of your breast from a hot tub, since its honorable evolution to a 34b - I really should thank your offspring for this post-pregnancy attractive feature, by the way. Anyway, you have no excuse for making such a mistake!"
Chloe lets pass a few seconds of silence before repeating; "34b?"
His eyes go from her surprised expression to her breasts, red dunes whose size is hidden under her black blazer. She restrains herself from crossing her arms when she starts to feel uncomfortable under Lucifer's insistent gaze.
"I'm never wrong when it comes to cup size, but... I won't argue if you'd oblige me to check," he whispers, his eyes rising from her breasts to the line of her neck; up to her eyes.
He smiles at her. "It's hot as Hell in there, perfect weather for checking games, isn't it?"
Might be.
Her breaths quicken with his words, which are true - it's hot as Hell; quite normal in L.A., moreover in a car parked under a star almost at its zenith -, she only slowly exhales once she notices the amused gleam in his eyes. A loud exhalation peppered with laughs and a tap on his shoulder.
He exaggeratedly winces in pain as he rubs the limb wounded by such a gentle touch, hiding thus another kind of discomfort.
"It's starting to be a habit!" he pouts.
"As yours to ask me for forgiveness every five minutes," she replies.
He lowers his hand, his arm instantly healed from any faked pain. "Should I?"
She shakes her head.
"Not really. No," she repeats more firmly, more convinced.
She turns, smiles at him.
"We're two in this. You can't always be the only one responsible for what's wrong... for what doesn't feel right, not the way I'd like it to."
"Was that a clue?"
Her smile widens. She looks down, watching his hand resting now on his thigh - just like the other night. She takes it, squeezes it gently. Just like the other night. Lucifer's thumb starts a slow drawing on her skin, from the base of her index finger to her wrist.
It feels hot.
She might feel the same.
"I... I missed you, this morning."
"I wasn't that far, was I?"
"No, this morning. At my place. On the... on the couch."
"Oh."
He can't hide his surprise, even though she can see another feeling in his gaze. His gaze, it's a lost one. Lost everywhere else but in hers, it seems. It gets lost from the dashboard to the steering wheel, then to the windshield, to their hands on his thigh.
"I wasn't..." he speaks again, hesitant, "-that far?"
"I know. I know, it's stupid."
"I wouldn't say that." His puzzled expression hasn't moved an inch from his features.
"Incomprehensible?" Chloe proposes.
Lucifer nods.
'I know," she repeats for the third time, looking straight ahead. "And I can't even blame my uncontrollable emotions now…" she sighs afterwards, resting her head on the back of her seat. "They're just... mine. Chloe's emotional headache."
"If it makes you feel any better, my lack of understanding remains quite stable either way."
She titters, gazes at him; he, quite the stability of puzzlement about her mystery to solve. "I thought... I'm aware that we don't have much time together here until your next... 'requisition' down there. I don't know how much time we have left and that's why I seek your company as often as possible; I guess? Is it gonna be tomorrow? Two days from now? Two weeks?"
She shrugs, squeezes his hand tighter. She could tremble from that, rather than from fear.
"No."
She has avoided his gaze, all the time her lips have been pronouncing these words, these incomprehensible fears, independent of uncontrollable emotions - only human ones -; she only comes back to his eyes when she hears his voice. Simple, understandable.
Many things can be felt through his gaze; she has felt his immortality, his sovereign domination over hundreds of thousands of subjects - honestly, she won't dare to imagine more than that, she'd probably never ask him. She has felt his power; of angel, of Devil.
She's feeling something special, something different. Something that only arises with her, whenever their gaze meets, only theirs. She had seen him charm many women, men too; he had never looked at them the way he's looking at her, as if she's precious, fragile, strong, extraordinary... all that at the same time.
This is too much, too much for a look, for a person like her.
Ordinary.
Her miraculous conception has a lingering sense of 'ordinary' next to an angel. Next to the Devil.
"No?" she repeats, a trembling note of hope and fear.
No?
'No' for which period; days, weeks? Less than that, maybe?
Why 'no'?
He shakes his head, his eyes gleaming with something else, darker - a single gleam for a single meaning, something 'too much', too much for the hope that his 'no' has aroused in her. Chloe doesn't let go of her hand, she doesn't look down.
The truth is staring her in the face.
That's what he told Ella.
"Months. It's gonna be months from now."
She nods at that, several times; lips closed, tightly closed on this stream of emotions. Her deep exhalation stays in their way, she almost bites her lower lip to contain this explosion of feelings within her.
This isn't enough.
They deserve more.
They deserve better.
God is an Asshole, psycho Jerk drunk with pow—
She exhales; slowly, noisy expulsion of emotional surplus. Although nothing really is exaggerated for a man like him, the Devil, an extraordinary being... for so many reasons. "H-How many months exactly?"
"Four."
Holy shit.
That's exaggeratedly short.
-xXx-
Another half hour passes without them exchanging anything but worried glances. It's rather a one-way exchange, especially Lucifer's. She only has eyes for the square, for their still invisible suspect; pictured, but never 'seen'. She can feel, predict Lucifer's each new glance from how his collar rubs against the worn fabric of the passenger seat.
A rubbing, a glance, another one and he looks at something else through the window, or in the same direction as her, an invisible spot in the middle of the square.
That... that silence can be called 'awkward'.
She's in no hurry to break it.
She is in no hurry to do anything; she is and she is not.
Four months, it's—
It's so short!
Why is it so short?
Chloe takes a deep breath, her fingers playing a tune that even the Devil, fervent music-lover before Eternity, wouldn't dare to interrupt. He hasn't even dared to touch her since she has moved her hand away from his, a touch too short, for even less time together.
This tune isn't for him anyway; it sounds wrong.
She doesn't want to hear that, not something this 'short'.
Why… why?!
Was God punishing Lucifer for finding out an unexpected, dangerous way to deflect his eternal duties in Hell? Adding an extra punishment to the list doesn't make much difference for him… That's what he'd answer if she'd ever ask him. A matter of perception, right?
Everything that His Father ever did is likely to be a divine pain in the ass for His children, never for good reasons, or sensible ones. Which is it, this time? Or is it really for punishing him, in intent to show them that there are always consequences to irrational desire?
But it's not, it's not just desire. It's more!
Love 2.0.
'Deckerstar' love, as Ella would shout at the top of her voice.
To punish her, then? What for?
If she thinks about it, a short time of reflection, Chloe can find many valuable reasons to make her pay for her past mistakes. Lack of faith in His Son, perhaps? Many say that a lack of faith, of virtue, not believing despite all opposition… It's told that 'lack of actions' is deserving divine punishment.
Or maybe it's because she did take action? In the worst possible way. An 'almost' action.
"But just remember what you're doing… is the best thing for everyone on Earth. Including Lucifer."
She had wanted, for a moment - no, for weeks… months -, to send him back down there.
Forever.
A few months of doubts for which she's getting punished now.
It makes sense.
A month of evangelical nonsense for just four months of normality with Lucifer.
This is her fault, it's—
"Say something, Chloe," Lucifer almost begs her, disturbing her train of thoughts. "Or this douche will have to juggle with his bloody limbs!"
She stares at him without a word, then follows his gaze. The juggler has indeed no talent for this, not as much as his ad claims so, given how many times he hasn't caught the clubs since she looks at him.
Her gaze hasn't changed from one to the other, puzzled from the square to Lucifer's annoyed expression who sighs noisily. "I'm doing my best to 'take it easy', as Linda would say, but…."
He sighs again, his eyes gleam with comical animosity for the pitiful juggler. Chloe purses her lips; she's in no mood to smile, but the muscles of her face don't care, so it seems.
"If we don't talk right now, this 'juggler' is about to experience rectal throw in his—"
"We must stay discreet," she admonishes him. "Francis hasn't shown up yet."
"Being 'discreet' goes against the Devil's nature, Detective," he says.
He doesn't rush out of the car, though; his animosity appeased by their revived conversation. Professional and neutral, but nonetheless revived. For a second, Chloe is tempted to go back to her thoughts of guilt and more or less plausible theories about the how and the why.
But perception….
Her perception is probably not enough to understand.
They wouldn't be too many to perceive the full implication of such a short time together, such a long time separated.
Eight months without him.
That's two months more.
Two; they're two - a couple, two people, two parts of one strong feeling, which goes beyond Earth boundaries, their bodily boundaries as well.
She can't think clearly on this, not by herself, not with her restless running thoughts.
She can't think about this on her own.
Not like last time.
"... after I saw you, saw your face... I had to get away to process things, you know?"
She definitely can't.
"It's not much."
He lifts an eyebrow. "What about two clubs, then? Hardly manageable, but not impossible! Although I doubt his arse is as much trained as mine..."
Chloe's eyes widen while she starts to imagine—
No.
No, no... no.
No.
She blinks, opens the window completely; it might help her cheeks, two scarlet roses on white as she just got her naiveté disturbed - well no-... her 'limited', very human practice.
Hell. Four months, unfair decision; let's go.
"I was talking about... your time left here," she mumbles without looking at him, certain to blush like a ripe fruit - damn metaphors! - if she ever does.
He scoffs at that, "I'm not in some final phase."
"Just living on borrowed time, then?"
"More like being on parole; which is a bloody twist of fate for the Hell's Geoler," he says, his tone more bitter than previously.
For the first being who asked for freedom, who struggled for keeping it.
God has the Devil on a leash.
She feels nauseous just by imagining, perceiving it.
She starts to understand why their father-and-son relationship is so catastrophic; it's difficult not to perceive God's actions as compulsive abuse.
"Being on parole is conditional freedom, constant freedom if you follow the rules," she says, sighing afterwards. "You said... you told me you nearly died. Died! How— How would going back there longer than you stay here ever prevent you from this again?! I mean—!"
She shakes her head, finally turning to him. "You barely survived six months. I barely survived six months..." she whispers. "Don't you need more? Can't you get more?"
Not even waiting for his answer, she shakes her head once more. "That's not fair."
"That's my Father's nature, I'm afraid," he whispers back.
Chloe closes her eyes, her fingers clutching the wheel as hard as her heartbeats, quick and confused orchestra in her chest moving up to her temples. The leather of her seat, like the hand pressing on that other round leather, can't absorb these tremors that pass through her half-open lips, down her throat, into her belly and tense limbs. Even when she has exhaled them, these tremors keep tormenting her; in her hands, her arms - pressuring leather, the divine pressuring her.
So it's a 'no' again.
No possible 'more'. They wouldn't have any kind of 'more'.
Doing the Devil a favor? When Hell will freeze over...
She opens her eyes, two narrow slits over the quiet afternoon that wouldn't slow down its course to please Chloe and her needs for 'more'. Over Lucifer, too; quiet Devil anxiously watching for her reactions, as quiet as such a being could be.
This might be a favor, him being here.
He wasn't supposed to come back to Earth.
Perhaps God sees it that way; not as a punishment or a lesson, but as a favour to His Son, ready to sacrifice their true, burgeoning love for his duty, the one he had so long ignored. Lucifer said that his Father wasn't pleased by the situation, but...
Was He? Unpleased?
"As to whether my time here on Earth would be enough or not to keep me in good shape for the eight months to come..." Lucifer continues, Chloe still not speaking through her reflection, "we won't know until then. I told you, our 'emotionally literal' union is the first-of-its-kind. If not, my Father wouldn't have been that eager to make a deal with the Devil."
Deal.
No deal today but they did make one, it had been possible - two weeks before now.
"But He could have just put a stop to these 'side effects' instead of making a deal, couldn't He? That's how it's supposed to work when you're-... God," she thinks aloud, feeling relieved that He didn't, afraid that He might do it, unintentionally inspired by her last words.
He can see right through her, can't He?
Can He?
Lucifer doesn't look more comfortable with this possibility; how he's staring at her, tense, his eyes slightly widened with surprise, how his mouth twitches - like she's just punched him.
"I don't- What I'm saying is th—" Chloe stammers, as red as the top he has praised for how it shows off her breast. "He's God; I just can't picture Him making deals with you or anyone else…."
"Which He didn't, not personally."
Passed her stammering, Lucifer's smile loses its previous tension. "And, again, our situation is unprecedented. Unprecedented situations lead to unprecedented solutions. These are unsurprisingly disadvantageous for us, but there are nevertheless some advantages not to die in a Kingdom of Fire and Blood. Of 'Ashes and Deceit', for the official version. I won't allow anyone, not even human perceptions, to roast me or soil my suits."
Keeping quiet because she just can't speak properly, not since they started this conversation - a neutral and professional start that begins to miss her -, Chloe gulps before making another try. Almost perfect from one word to the very last one. "You... You didn't talk with your Father? Make a deal with Him?"
"I-... not exactly."
She keeps her anger under control with a deep breath; a deep, controlled tremor for this new information matching with her previous assumptions. It's a matter of perception with Lucifer, again and again. Even more so with this 'unprecedented' situation.
Chloe gets fed up. "What exactly happened?"
"What I've been telling you since day one. Michael took my place, as Father ordered him to, and we made a deal, He and I. It's simple as that," he adds with a shrug.
"It doesn't sound simple!"
She throws her hands in the air, away from the steering wheel kneaked with tension, fear, and conflicting versions.
"There's no deal if the other party wasn't even there," she protests, arms crossed over her chest, for completely different reasons.
"There is, because Gabriel was there."
"Gabriel? You said that Michael took your place."
"He did," Lucifer confirms. "Gabriel only came to deliver Father's will about me, about us; as he has always done since your creation. God never comes in person, Detective."
Too bad.
For now, and probably for a long time, Chloe hesitates between punching Him in the face and embracing Him tightly; the first one for playing with her nerves and His son's, the last one for bringing him back to her when she no longer expected anything.
Gabriel, huh?
She read some things about him, about many angels, archangels or cherubs and other kinds of heavenly servants; she did read things, to nauseating perception. An archangel is not an angel and Lucifer isn't one, neither is he a monster.
He is a fallen archangel.
And Gabriel would have become one for announcing Christ's arrival on Earth, which she now knows as not being the entire truth.
A messenger, then.
She is intrigued by Lucifer's words. He said 'will' this time. God's will; which is known to be absolute, no deals with His will.
"Now you're saying that it was His 'will', not a deal?
"He had no wish to see me die or Hell fall apart because of me, here's where His will stopped," Lucifer says. "Michael has been quite clear about this!"
"And about His messenger, hm?" Chloe insists, eager for clarification on this detail. "What did he tell you?"
A sensitive subject, God's words; which the Devil is not inclined to share in detail, given how he's playing with the opening switch of the window, windy way-out or suffocating detail to share with her. As much annoyed by his behavior as his silence, Chloe extends her hand to stop his own. "Lucifer..."
His fingers freeze around the switch, open for her touch, for warm breezes eager to disturb his hair even more.
He exhales, additional air going outside the car.
"Gabriel suggested that He recognised my 'sacrifice'. Yet, He didn't wish to see me perform my duties despite my poor state of health. He was mostly worried about all those demons who would lose their King, that goes without saying - all those souls who would lose a… 'neutral' executioner; a rare quality among these lecherous creatures, as you can imagine. Pain is just a game for them! On top of that, there's this 'empty throne' issue…."
"Empty throne, you say?"
Lucifer nods. "Well, yes. Who would want or even be able to sit on mine if I'd die? None of my siblings are willing to fall from grace as I did. A short replacement is far less demanding for them than a full-time reign... eternal full-time."
There he goes again, talking about his death as if it was no big deal.
As if it wouldn't upset anyone.
"Was it His idea? The… part-time reign over Hell?"
"We can say that," he fudges, avoiding her gaze.
"Lucifer—"
"It was mine," he tells her once she said his name.
She stares at him, their places switched. She who wants him to turn towards her, to give her more than a tense profile, from which a disturbing sensation emerges. The sensation that what would follow wouldn't please either of them. And him... him, unable to answer her, unable to give one with a glance. These are his hands, if not a leather steering wheel, that squeeze his thighs, which slightly tremble on his pants fabric. It's this fabric, the one of his seat that can't absorb it.
Chloe can't dislodge this knot in her throat. "Lucifer?"
He draws in a long breath, another tremor hidden between his closed lips, down his throat and along his tense limbs. He can't totally hide it, but he nevertheless hides it better than she did herself. The Devil pretending not to know while a Miracle begs for Heaven's mercy. For some logical explanation, at least.
"I'm the one to blame for this, for this literal application of my feelings. My desires, I should say."
His voice is soft, cautious, much less prone to his usual exaggerated intonation. Neutral statement; this sounds so strange in his mouth.
So strange to hear it again.
"Now the demons know I've no intention of returning, they... they'll continue to defy me."
She doesn't want to hear this, not again.
But she does.
She can't put an end to such a short time with him, can she?
"I see, so what... what do you saying?"
She listens.
Religiously, in a way.
"My feelings have affected them too; my deepest desire…. Back then, I needed them, the demons, every one of them, to obey me unquestioningly and—" Lucifer sighs, weary. Desperate. "They tried to replace me with Charlie and-... I wanted them to only think of me, no one else but me, as their rightful King. Forever. I wanted to keep everyone safe; you, him, Beatrice…. You were there, you saw me."
She nods.
"That night, I-I haven't just created a strong link from our mutual feelings, I... I linked my power, this strong will of unchallenged domination to the very essence of Hell which is, since the Beginning of Times, a vessel for human, demonic and celestial feelings. Hell changed to suit itself to my guilt after my Fall and use it as fair punishment... as it was virgin of life and deadly dangerous when I took others' punishment into my own hands."
She frowns, yet remains silent, listening attentively to his confession. His perception.
"When I left for L.A., it remained dormant; at its most basic functions. At least until that bloody proclamation that night in the mayan temple," he continues. "Now Hell will only recognise me as Its Ruler; the demons felt it, as did God."
She felt it too. She's feeling it right now, hearing it, seeing on his face, every inch of it.
He's the Devil, Hades, the—
"I'm the King. Forever, until my glorious death. I've been close to death… It was a matter of hellish days, according to Gabriel. I would be dead if I haven't come back to you for a few months. I didn't want to at first, but... not listening to my desires isn't my nature, is it?" he tried to joke around.
Wasted try.
If he couldn't even joke around, Chloe could permit herself to react - a tiny, inconsequential reaction. "No more than not making deals to get what you want."
A corner of his mouth lifts.
Better.
"It was the only way. Hell can't be left unguarded, you already know that, especially since I literally put my desire of sovereignty into it. If I'm gone for too long, forever... we'd risk far worse than hundreds of dead bodies possessed by demons looking for a king. So…." He shrugs. "My Father accepted the deal willingly, better than Michael," he adds, mechanically rubbing his neck. "In return for which it was up to me to decide how long I'd need to be here, for how long Hell could 'live' without my command. I am the King, after all; I'm in the best position to understand my Kingdom's needs."
He looks at her, finally. " 'My' needs. Sort of. I can hardly separate Hell notions from the Devil's."
Another wasted try, wasted by Chloe's gaze, her stunned expression, uninterrupted sequence of incomprehension, new perceptions added to past facts. A descent into hell.
No pun intended.
"And, uh... Y-you only need... four months?!"
What about her needs?
Did she ever have any say in the matter? They could've talked about this the day he came back - chosen together. They could have done so much together instead of separated.
"It's-... that's all I can afford myself. I-I mean…" Lucifer stammers, upset. "Michael won't be able to contain them much longer than that, even with Lilith's assistance."
She notices how proud his intonation has turned on that name, as much as it has been despising for his brother's; the violent kind of brothers, from what she heard so far. Well... given the Devil and Amenadiel's temper; the apple never falls far from the Tree.
Like the metaphor of a myth, foreseen and to verify; such a pleonastic situation.
"Why can't he? Four months, it's not that long for an archangel, is it?" Chloe insists.
The first of the seven archangels, if she has a good memory.
She always wondered if Lucifer had been the second, or if Michael was also replacing him on this podium of higher servitude to their Father.
Michael - the eternal substitute for the fallen son. Anybody would get mad.
It helps to decrease the difference she feels between herself and Lucifer, it shows close similarity between human and celestial reactions. God created mankind in his own image; angels are only the first version. Mankind is their substitute.
"Four 'earthly' months, Detective;" he replies, like it's obvious. "This is long enough to risk Hell's fall, trust me on this."
Mouth opened, she's nevertheless mute after his answer. Right; time is different in Hell, as this place is different from Earth, from the Silver City. The first time she saw him again, he looked like he'd been through more than just a few months down there. She had suspected that his time hadn't been hers.
Of course it hadn't.
Another difference to add in the long list separating them, separating their perceptions and needs. A difference replaced for the previously noticed similitude. Everything needs balance. The punishment of a dishonest life has to be slow, slower than life, than transitional death.
The worst pain is the longest, the slowest.
Of course it is.
The Devil's desires balance the weight of his duty; slow, painful, far from here.
She feels ridiculous to... to sulk for such a 'long' time without him. It would be so much 'longer' for him.
It had been more.
"How long?"
"How long 'what', Detective?"
"How long was it for you in Hell, before you came back? How long is an earthly day down there?" she asked more precisely.
His expression changes as he starts to calculate; fast, almost nonchalant estimate of a mathematical operation for which Chloe is more overcome for its implications than for its mere execution. She can't think of anything else; this notion of unfairly lengthened time, for fair balance, a fair deal.
Because this is about Hell.
About Lucifer.
His happiness.
"Around three years."
Chloe's eyes go round, her lips eager to follow the expression of her feelings. Primal expression, that's for sure. The surprise, the shock - these are primal emotions, right?
"So you spent-… Six months here would be…" she stammers.
"Almost six hundred years in Hell, yes," he nonchalantly reveals to her. Although he specifies; "give or take a few decades. It's difficult to reckon our time with yours, like everything else."
Before her frozen, shocked expression, like the last half hour but for very different reasons - or more elaborated over 'relative' time - Lucifer smiles, a shy expression of his ancient experience of surviving alone.
She could hardly do the same.
Six hundred years.
This is...
"Lucifer, that's—"
"Francis."
"What?" she whispers.
Lucifer points at the square, all his attention focused on a spot there. His other hand is already on the car door handle while Chloe's gaze follows the direction he's showing.
She immediately spots Francis under the shady trees, about a hundred yards away. He hurriedly passes the poorly talented juggler, stumbling from time to time whenever his feet get caught in the hems of his worn trousers. He is dirtier and more agitated than the last time she saw him; predictable result of growing guilt.
Perhaps. She still needs to verify that.
Professionalism is reminding her why she's here.
Balance.
Normal stuff for the all new supernatural side of her existence. Professionalism for emotions.
Her hand also reaching for the handle, she nods at Lucifer. Car doors open in unison, Chloe being the first to hail the suspect who is halfway to the first available dealer. "Francis Rivera! L.A.P.D."
Those are perfect letters to start irrational fear. She unsurprisingly sees Francis freeze, how his eyes widen, and then she sees him turning back with unexpected agility, given his previous clumsiness to move.
Guilt gives wings.
"Stop!" Chloe summons him as she pursues him.
Lucifer curses behind her. "Bloody Hell!"
Chloe pushes and shoves several people, including a few drug dealers as panicked as Francis to be caught. One of them warns the others with a scream, revealing more illicit activity here than she has first thought. Francis was already crossing the street when she barely emerges from the sudden chaos, Lucifer on her heels.
"Shit!" she curses as she sees him take a street crowded with people.
She wouldn't catch him like that.
"He's fast," her partner says. "It must be speed."
She looks around, spotting a deserted street nearby. She could cut through there.
"Come on!" she cries for Lucifer.
She avoids the cars braking before her, ignores both the drivers and the Devil's curses behind her. Her boots stamp on plastic bags and dented cans, as fast as she can.
Fast enough to bump into Francis at the next exit.
Additional screams and curses accompany their fall. "Detective!"
Francis is a slim boy, yet Chloe hardly manages to keep him on the ground. He squirms under her full weight, until he releases one of his arms from her grasp and his elbow hits her chin. He hasn't hit her hard, but it's 'hard' enough to break her grasp. Francis pushes her aside and gets up. His flight looks all the more essential after hearing Lucifer's threatening growl a few steps away.
Still on all fours on the ground, Chloe passes her hand under her chin before looking up, alerted by another noise, a plaintive grunt this time. At first, she thinks it's just another attempt of violence from their suspect. She thinks Lucifer as the target, who's the Devil, but a vulnerable partner with her nearby. In the panic, people are ready to do anything to protect themselves. And teenagers are fond of knives, easier to obtain with just a few bills.
She felt Francis knife during their fight on the ground, right under his trouser belt. It's not a big blade, but watching Lucifer being stabbed for her lack of professionalism isn't what she's imagined this morning. She knows how to disarm a suspect, dammit!
Like a bounty hunter knows how to make an entrance.
Chloe stares at Maze, her spike heel in Francis' weak back as he keeps squirming on the ground, like a fish deprived of oxygen. Her leg is barely tensed to keep him there, relaxing demonstration of her demonic skills to dominate mankind, the vermin that would end in Hell sooner or later, where she was born. Her features are just as relaxed when she studies her friend's posture. Soon, a mocking smile appears. "Save this for Lucifer, Decker."
Chloe frowns, becoming aware of her suggestive and humiliating posture in the street. She rolls her eyes and starts to get up, Lucifer's hand giving her helpful support under her arm.
"Maze!" he greets her. "Glad to see that we can still count on you!"
The demon squints, her expression changing as her eyes stop at Lucifer. "So it's a 'we' now?"
Aware that Mazikeen said that for other reasons than this professional chase, Lucifer rolls his eyes in turn. "I'm gonna receive another lubricated delivery by the end of the week, am I? I doubt I'll be able to store it anywhere else but inside your old bedroom! Well... It's the best place to store your taxing frustration, I guess - won't you agree, Maze?"
"Lucifer," Chloe grunts, still trying to catch her breath while he doesn't seem as much bothered by this unplanned race.
He's not even sweating.
He then reproaches her for Chloe's state, his fingers touching the injured part, "why didn't you stop him before he hurt the Detective?"
Sighing, Chloe pushes his hand away. "I'm fine, Lucifer."
"Why didn't you?" Mazikeen retorts. "You were busy jerking off in a dark corner or what?!"
"I haven't done anything of the sort for a while," Lucifer says annoyingly.
Chloe's forehead furrows at that.
The demon snorts, "Must explain why you can't even walk straight!" She disdainfully gaze at the Devil's crotch.
"Okay, both of you - Stop!" Chloe cut them off with the same tone.
She stands between him and Maze, looking for her handcuffs in her back pocket and giving each of them a warning glare; the same glare she usually keeps for Trixie when she starts to misbehave. She shouldn't be surprised to use it for these two supernatural kids.
How could they have survived in a kingdom of 'Ashes and Deceit' for millennia? She'd truly like to know. If Michael is more serious than his brother, Hell must be easy to rule.
"You'll have plenty of time for insulting each other once we get Francis back to the station. If he's still breathing... Maze, will you—?" she asks her as she sees the boy starting to suffocate under the demon's hold.
Lifting her foot with a sigh and a glare towards Lucifer, Mazikeen releases the teenager who breathes in loudly; coughing and cursing back an endless tirade of nonsense. Chloe doesn't give him the time to sit up before she moves his hands behind his back, ignoring his new protests.
She does the same with Lucifer's comments, leaning over her shoulder. "Right. Let's check his pockets and orifices!"
Thanks for reading :)
I'm working on another prompt found on Tumblr (to relax a bit, this story isn't easy to write - especially for these parts of talking), so I dunno exactly when the next translated chap will be be update. It won't be long (not 8 months XD), don't worry!
As always, feel free to let me review.
As always, snippets are regularly published on Twitter ( bebec_rebecca) and Tumblr (oncewritingalwayswriting).
#StaySafe
