One last check at his reflection in the mirror, the umpteenth adjustment of his cufflinks, and then Lucifer finally made his way towards the living room of his spacious penthouse. Tonight, he had guests coming over, and couldn't afford looking anything less than perfect – not that he usually didn't, obviously, but it didn't hurt to check.
He'd got back from the hospital just a couple of days ago. He'd actually had to stay in that unbearable institution for a whole night and the following day – which had worked fine until the Detective and her offspring had been around. After that…well, checking out had been not only very desirable, but also a mandatory course of action, what with his too-fast-for-a-human-being healing process and all. Having his recovery being hailed by the doctors as a Dad-given miracle ranked very low on the list of things Lucifer desired. More precisely, it didn't make the list at all.
The urchin had proved to be quite persistent: after being treated, she'd insisted with the Detective that they had to stay with Lucifer at the hospital for the night and the Detective had actually capitulated. A development Lucifer had quite enjoyed – even if it had tangibly put a damper on his healing process (not to mention the fact that the child had all but coerced him to sign her cast, and with a pink, glittery marker, of all things…!)
His side was still aching a bit – nothing a nice bottle of bourbon couldn't fix, though. A joint was in order, too, he decided. After all, he had plans for the night and he definitely didn't want a minor inconvenience like a nearly fatal stab wound to spoil his fun. He made a quick job of rolling one and was about to take the first drag when the elevator opened with a ding, revealing Amenadiel.
"Brother," Lucifer greeted in a cheerful tone. "I wasn't expecting you. What brings you here?"
Amenadiel stepped inside the living room. "I just came to see how you were doing. I haven't heard from you after the bomb."
The angel's tone was neutral, and yet Lucifer couldn't help but detect a hint of accusation in his words. He had, indeed, avoided his brother, perhaps unconsciously, at least to some extent, feeling he needed to come to terms on his own with everything that had transpired at the precinct and after. Especially after.
"I texted you," he replied, without meeting is brother's eyes. As excuses went, it was a tad meager, but if it worked…
It didn't.
"No, you sent me a meaningless string of tiny weird pictures. That's not texting," Amenadiel objected.
"They're called emoticons, Amenadiel, how many times do I have to explain them to you?" Lucifer retorted, carefully eyeing the stack of boardgames adorning the glass table – many of them quite of recent acquisition, since he'd found out the urchin enjoyed learning as many games as possible – and he tried to determine if he'd missed something.
Satisfied he hadn't, he turned and intercepted his brother inquisitive stare.
"Game night," he offered as an explanation, shrugging slightly. "Young humans like these things and, you know, they're not wrong. They can be quite entertaining. Too bad alcohol and drugs are usually forbidden during these evenings," he added in a wishful tone.
Well, thankfully, the Detective was actually willing to amend to the no-alcohol rule, as long as he kept it at a reasonable level (reasonable by her standards, anyway, which usually implied an outrageously modest amount of bourbon), but she was unfortunately very strict on drugs and even smoking.
She had long since stopped threatening to arrest him for possession anymore but was still adamant he removed every visible trace of illegal substances whenever her offspring was around, and he was happy to oblige. Well, not happy maybe, but definitely willing to.
And so, he busied himself with the task, checking around the loft for anything that the Detective might find inappropriate for a ten-year-old human, and shoving them under the bar counter, out of urchin's reach (and, bloody hell, how many things did the Detective deem inappropriate! They ranged from drugs to sex toys, even including blades and lace lingerie!)
"So, how are you feeling, Luci?" Amenadiel enquired, ever so persistent, staring at him with annoying intensity.
"Peachy, brother," the Devil replied, pouring himself a generous amount of bourbon. He gestured slightly with the tumbler in Amenadiel's direction, wordlessly offering him one, but his brother shook his head no. "Why shouldn't I be?"
"You had a piece of metal embedded in your body for hours, with the Detective close by for the whole time," Amenadiel retorted, sounding slightly exasperated. "Mortals die for that sort of injuries."
Lucifer downed the glass in one gulp and made a dismissive gesture with the other hand, still holding the joint. Tendrils of smoke danced lazily at the movement.
"Been there, done that," he commented breezily, pouring another drink. He noticed a small plastic bag sticking out from the sofa and hurried to pick it up, a hand surreptitiously pressed against his side as he crouched down. He scooped up a tiny amount of the white powder in the bag and tasted it carefully – cocaine, and top-shelf. Must've dropped it during one of his fun nights. Whoops.
Amenadiel was staring at him, taken aback. "What?"
Lucifer tucked the plastic bag away – it was delicious, but not tonight. "I did die, brother," he clarified. "And, let me assure you, it was far from pleasant," he added with a shudder. "Painful and long. I'm sure that Maze could come up with some creative kind of torture out of this."
"You what?!"
"Are you suffering from hearing problems? I said I died."
Amenadiel stared at him in shock. "But…you…Then how…?" he finally stammered.
"Eloquent as ever, I see," Lucifer mocked, but the taunt fell flat. He gave a curt shake of his head at Amenadiel's astonishment and went back to the counter to fill a second tumbler with bourbon. This time, the other angel accepted it without complaint.
"Reader's Digest version: I died, made a deal with Dad – in person this time, I might add – then came back. Voilà," he explained with a flourish.
Lucifer was about to go for another drink, but Amenadiel grabbed him by a forearm, effectively restraining him.
"In person?" the angel asked, brown furred in confusion. "You mean – Dad came to Hell to talk to you?"
The devil gave a pointed look to Amenadiel's hand, still gripping his arm, and his brother promptly let him go. He moved to the counter, but didn't actually grab a bottle. He just stood there, twirling distractedly the empty tumbler in his hand.
"Ah – that's the fun part, actually. Guess what? I didn't end up in Hell, but just outside the Silver City. Weird, huh?"
Amenadiel was looking at him with an intense expression that Lucifer couldn't quite identify. He seemed – pleased by the development? Which made no sense at all.
"Luci, this is – this is great, can't you see it?"
Yep – definitely pleased. Dad knew why.
"Great? Are you out of your mind? Do you remember the antechamber of Heaven? Never seen a duller place," the Devil scoffed, slamming the glass on the bar. "Must be another one of dear old Dad's cruel and unusual punishments," he sneered. "Anyway, as usual, you're missing the point."
Amenadiel gave a curt shake of head, evidently disagreeing with Lucifer's assessment about Father's motives, but chose to let go – for the moment at least. "What point? You mean the deal?"
"Got in one."
"What did He say?"
"He offered to bring me back. In exchange, someday I'll go back to rule Hell."
Amenadiel flopped on the leather couch, the smile disappearing from his face, leaving a perplexed frown in its wake. "What? You sure?"
Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm sure – I was there."
"But…it doesn't make sense, Luci," the bigger angel reasoned. "Think about it – there was no need to make a deal. You were in His power – He could've just sent you to Hell if He'd wanted to."
Lucifer dropped on the armchair in front of his brother. "Well, the thought did cross my mind," he conceded. He took one last drag from the spent joint, then crushed the butt in the ashtray with a bit more force than strictly necessary. "But then again, it's Dad we're talking about. He probably gets a kick out of making me do it willingly 'cause I gave my bloody word – it's more fun for Him this way," he added bitterly.
"No Luci, I don't think you got it right," Amenadiel commented slowly. A pensive frown marred his features and for once he seemed too distracted to be outraged at Lucifer's blatant disrespect for their Father. "The deal – what did He say exactly?" he asked instead.
The devil huffed, not particularly keen on carrying on a conversation he couldn't see the point of. Yet, he humored his brother.
"He offered to bring me back to life. In exchange, when the time comes, I will 'go where I belong and stay there'," he intoned with a bored voice. "His words, not mine, obviously."
Amenadiel abruptly sat upright, his eyes boring into Lucifer's. "He didn't say 'Hell'? Just 'where you belong'?"
Lucifer huffed, waving a hand in an dismissive motion that clearly broadcast his lack of interest for the topic. "Same difference."
"No, Luci, it's not!" Amenadiel exclaimed animatedly. "Don't you understand?"
Lucifer actually didn't – nor did he understand why on Earth his brother suddenly seemed so obsessed on nitpicking semantics.
"He wasn't talking about Hell, Luci, because you should already be there, so there was no point in making a deal. He means somewhere else! You said it yourself, brother, where did you end up after dying?"
Lucifer gave another huff, this time with an indignant undertone to it. "The bloody Lobby? An eternity just outside the Gates of the Silver City? Oh yes – that would be so much of an improvement!"
"He wasn't talking about that, either," Amenadiel commented, giving him a pointed look, his eyebrows slightly raised in an expectant expression. The resemblance with Father was so uncanny that Lucifer was sidetracked for a moment – that's why it took him a second too many to understand what his brother was hinting at.
Not Hell. Not Earth. Not the gates outside Heaven. That only left…
When it finally dawned on him, he burst out into a hysterical laugh.
Amenadiel didn't share his amusement, though, if the stiff set of his shoulders as Lucifer laughed and laughed was of any indication.
"Laugh as much as you want, brother, but I'm sure I'm right."
"You really weren't kidding," the Devil finally managed to respond, trying to catch his breath between fits of laughter, a hand firmly pressed on his still-sore side.
"Of course not. As I said, it's a good thing," the angel insisted. "Father is giving you a second chance – it means He's forgiven you and-"
"Forgiven me?" Lucifer cut him off with a snarl, all traces of mirth gone, his eyes flashing red. "He's forgiven me? I'm the one who should be in the position of forgiving, not the other way around! And besides, what makes you think I'd ever want to set foot again in bloody Heaven?"
"Luci…"
"Don't," Lucifer spat through clenched teeth, getting up abruptly. It didn't matter how close he and Amenadiel had got during the last couple of years they had spent on Earth, they were too different at the core. Amenadiel wanted to reconnect with Father, Amenadiel wanted to find his way back to Heaven – certainly not Lucifer.
And, besides, Lucifer was sure Amenadiel was wrong anyway. Father wanted him in Hell, there was no doubt, and He had just found the perfect way to accomplish His goal without even getting His hands dirty.
And the worst thing was that Lucifer would go, in due time, for he had given his bloody word, and his word was his bond.
Just, he didn't want to think about this now.
He moved to stand in front of the French window, staring at the cloudless sky, painted red and orange by the spectacular sunset.
Part of him already regretted the outburst against his brother. Despite his insufferable holier-than-thou attitude – which had, in truth, considerably abated since his own fall from grace – and his unhealthy obsession with tests, atonement and bloody redemption, Lucifer knew Amenadiel meant well. And, after all, he was the only member of their Family who didn't think of Lucifer as an utter disgrace to be only ashamed of. Or to banish in Hell for the rest of eternity.
But tonight, he didn't want to worry about his Father's machinations, about Heaven, about Hell, about a fate that did indeed await him – hopefully, though, in a very remote future.
Tonight would be all about games, and jokes, and laughs and innocent fun with the Detective and her offspring.
Amenadiel silently joined him at the window, his broad, muscular frame brushing lightly against Lucifer's arm, his large hand coming to rest on the Devil's shoulder. Offering comfort and support.
None of them said anything, but the unspoken message was clear enough.
They stood there for a while, shoulder to shoulder, watching as the reddish hue gave way to the violet nuances of dusk.
It was only when the elevator opened with a ding, signaling the arrival of Lucifer's guests that the spell was broken, and he promptly turned to welcome them.
"Lucifer!"
Trixie ran to him in her usual bullet speed fashion and he braced himself anticipating what he was sure was going to be a painful hug. Surprisingly, though, she came to an abrupt halt just shy of touching him and then wrapped her arms very delicately around his legs – like he was some sort of fragile China doll.
"Monkey, what did I tell you?" the Detective chided her as she made her way in the penthouse, sending him an apologetic look. "No hugging Lucifer, he's still sore."
"But I've been careful," the urchin argued, the retort slightly muffled since she was still wrapped around Lucifer, her face buried in the Armani waistcoat, somewhere around his uninjured side – and surely irremediably staining the expensive clothes with chocolate, or marshmallows, or whatever other sugary treat the child fancied.
Oh well…
"No problem Detective," he interjected cheerfully. "I'm feeling way better. Almost totally healed."
"You do look much better," Chloe commented, eyeing him carefully, then shook her head in bafflement. "How you do this – heal this fast – is beyond me."
"I told you, Detective, several times already. Supernatural healing," he offered with a grin. "If you want to check my scar, be my guest," he added with a mischievous wink, his fingers dancing suggestively around the hems of his waistcoat and shirt.
She smiled in return and playfully batted his hands away. "Ha, nice try!" She reached for the child then, gently prying her from Lucifer's body. "Trixie, baby, didn't you have something for Lucifer?"
"Yes!" she yelped excitedly, one-handedly fishing a gift-wrapped packet from her backpack and handing it to the Devil. It was small and very, very pink, swaddled in what appeared to be a lot of wrapping paper with a weird motif printed on it. Upon a closer look, the tiny prints turned out to be rainbow-colored unicorns, and a polka-dotted fuchsia bow completed the package.
"I wrapped it all on my own," she beamed, evidently very proud of the accomplishment, and Lucifer figured it wasn't probably the right moment to suggest the urchin be checked out for color-blindness.
"Yes, I figured that, Child," he commented, studiously ignoring his brother's openly amused stare.
Judging by the way the spawn was bouncing on her heels, he guessed he'd better open it before she burst with anticipation. It wasn't an easy feat – she'd used enough paper to wrap the whole building, not to mention the appalling amount of tape – but when he finally succeeded, he was rewarded by a small, silvery trinket tumbling out on his open palm. It was a Monopoly token – shaped like a perfect set of angel wings.
The weirdest thing happened to him as he took sight of the tiny object – something he'd never experienced before. He felt a lump forming in his throat and there was a sudden, inexplicable prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes. He blinked quickly to dispel the feeling.
"You like it?" she asked, staring at him wide-eyed and literally quivering with eagerness.
He kneeled down and met her gaze squarely. "It is," he said seriously, for he wanted her to know it was the absolute truth, "the nicest gift I've ever received."
Then, in a very uncharacteristic move, he opened his arms to prompt a hug.
She all but squealed in delight and launched herself at him – this time, rather less delicately than before and he did feel her knee painfully bumping against his sore side, but who cared?
And while he hugged her back, the tiny trinket safely ensconced in his hand, the Detective close by, laughing softly with Amenadiel, he felt that he truly did not care what fate awaited him. Even if the deal he'd made would someday entail spending the rest of eternity ruling Hell, well, so be it: right here, right now he knew without a doubt it was totally worth it.