18

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Azrael is still on the sofa when he takes a moment to get his own bearings. Father does that to him, does far more than sets his teeth on edge. Lucifer can't remember a time when an exchange with his dad didn't result in shouts and threats. He can't remember a time that it hasn't ended in red eyes on his end and thunder above on Father's. There must have been a time long ago, before humanity and when Father had grown cold and distant when things were more settled between them, but those seem like dreams.

They most assuredly are from another life.

Several in point of fact.

But now there isn't just the usual needling or finger pointing. There is no more begging to be told "I love you" from the Presence. Lucifer supposes he should have been careful what he asked for. After all, he most assuredly has his answer now. You can't plot to eliminate and replace a son you even tolerate, let alone love. Perhaps it makes things simpler. He's far from sure on that score, but he and Michael can both respectively say they have no illusions-if they ever did-about Father and His intentions.

At least as far as they're both concerned, they're headed out on the scrap heap. The faulty drafts as his twin would say. The bad drawing board work that is being redone. It still has left Lucifer shaking even as he pours himself an ample glass of Scotch. His hands are still red and burned, and he's sure his face is as much of a mess. His wings-the bad ones-have retracted and his shirt is a mess. He can feel the breeze through the holes torn in the back from spines that didn't quite finish forming. Those are gone now, but he's far from capable of putting the glamour back as firmly as he'd like for now.

He doesn't prefer to appear this way for anyone. In Hell, for a time, once he'd returned to get his kingdom in hand, then the other side of him was preferable. It was useful to rend and tear and do other, more horrid things to Dromos and his ilk. But eventually, over those millennia below, the demons had settled back into their sycophancy and loyalty. He had been able to put the glamour back and to be more refined. More himself.

So this is not a welcome return, though by now Lucifer is well aware what lurks mostly contained beneath the surface. It is just his least preferred of forms, his self hatred writ large. There is a power in it, but not one he prefers to draw from. But of all the insufferable prats he has ever had to deal with of course his father ranks as by far the most annoying. The one best able to needle him.

He takes in a deep breath and then drains his tumbler in one gulp. He pours another heaping glass, almost considers just taking the bottle by the handle and chugging, but he defers from that at the last moment because he needs some decorum.

It helps push the demonic side away more.

He takes the new glass and settles heavily in his chair. Michael and Miss Lopez have gone to her place or so he heard his brother half call before scurrying off to the lift. He knows that means now by Father's endless edicts that one of them, whether him or Rae Rae or the First Born, need to go and watch over them. Well, more specifically over Michael. Amenadiel was already ruffled enough to have to leave Charlie on such short notice in Eve and Mazikeen's care. He is hardly in a mood to take the first watch. Besides, Lucifer is hesitant there anyway. Eventually, Menny will have to take his turn on watch, but for now, it's better if either he or Azrael do it.

He rolls the glass between his hands, trying to focus on the amber liquid inside, trying to banish the anger and rage away. Trying to subdue his other half. The Detective won't be drinking below with the good doctor forever, and while she has made it clear that she can deal with this side, that she isn't scare of it, Lucifer sees no real point in exposing it to her all over again, no matter how response she seemed in The Mayan.

It is beneath her. It would be if she were, strictly speaking, only human. While she's mortal-a fact he's keenly aware of-she is still a Miracle, and subjecting her to this reddened side seems almost profane. Usually something he'd flaunt, but not like this and not with her.

"Lu?" The voice calling to him is small.

Hesitant.

And he loves his little sister dearly in that moment. So few of the Host ever gave a toss about his feelings, but the Angel of Death is as kind as her blows can be vicious. Never cross her, but when her loyalty is at your side, it is quite literally a blessing.

He looks up and hopes that the red, raw, burned mess of his skin is receding. He can't really tell if it's getting better on his face, but he think it's a bit more itself on his hands. Hopes so anyway. "Yes, Azrael? What do you wish to know?"

She nods to him, and her eyes are so large and owlish behind her glasses. "Do you want me to go watch Mi? I can start. I…I need to get some things in order. I know Death and a few other psychopomp cherubs can handle things while I'm on a new mission. Dad wouldn't have volunteered me if He didn't think the actual act of dying could run without me. Still, I do have a few things to get in order before reassignment. I…do you want to go first?"

He takes a long sip from his tumbler. "You don't think Amenadiel should go first?"

"I think Mi might slug him, and he seems like he's done enough of that with Gabby anyway."

Lucifer nods, and he knows she's picked up on the same tension from their oldest but sometimes most stubborn brother. Considering the Host are, in general, pigheaded like Father, that's saying a lot. "I think that's best if one of the two of us take shift first. I think I will. You should get your affairs in order, you're right."

She regards him and there is a beat too long while her eyes rake over him and tear up just a little. Ah, so he's not quite got it bottled as much as he'd like after all. "Yeah, good call. I…I'm sorry."

He cants his head to the side as he regards her. "Whyever for, Rae Rae? You've done nothing to me at least. I suspect there is a lot of mendaciousness to make up for where dear Miss Lopez was concerned. She really was on your list so long ago, was she?"

Rae Rae nods. "She was so nice. And I'd never met a human, even a small one, that nice before, and it was just…it didn't seem fair that she should go. I had to call in such a favor from Death and even then mess with Gabe's ledgers to try and hide it. I really thought I had."

Lucifer sighs long and loudly, and at least as he sets down his glass on the table beside him, he notes that his hands are his again. "One can never escape the Presence's machinations. Father is, and always will be, three steps or more ahead of all of us. You couldn't have known that He knew, that he was holding Miss Lopez in reserve for whatever needs He wanted to shuffle her towards."

"Yeah, but I…Lu, I didn't know. I swear."

He sighs again and fixes his cufflinks, though they're immaculate as ever. "I know you didn't. What we have left is a mess, and we have to figure a better way out of it. I doubt that will happen at four a.m. when such a bomb has been dropped on all of us. But we'll figure it out. However, for myself, I've no ire aimed your way. Of all our siblings, you are the one I worry about the absolute least."

"Mi the most?" she asks.

"Him, yes, because of the children involved now. Because I'll be damned…well moreso…if I let anything harm any of Miss Lopez's get. Doubly so if I let Father mess with them as He has with all of us. But if we're being quite honest with one another, I don't quite feel stellar about either Menny or Gabriel."

"Gabe was always such a freaking bully," she adds, taking off her glasses and cleaning them on her robes.

"Yes, truer words have never been spoken, but Michael dug after him. I don't begrudge him that exactly. But it was, perhaps, poorly thought out."

Rae Rae sets her glasses back on her nose and laughs long and hard. "You're the last one to criticize being impulsive, Lu. Like ever."

"Yes, but that will make Gabriel even more focused on Michael. He's placated, mostly, by being the chief archangel now that the three of us for varying reasons aren't in the Silver City, but Michael…he picked at wounds that Gabriel has been hiding even from himself, I'd wager. Gabby was never the type to lick his wounds in peace." He laughs but there is no humor in it. "None of us are, get that honestly from Mum and Dad both. But he will want his revenge sooner rather than later. That's a problem."

"Well, if one of the three of us always have to be with Mi, then it's not a huge one. Gabby's strong but he's not crazy enough to try and take both Mi and another one of us on at once."

"No, one supposes not. Though that actually brings me to my biggest worry, even beyond Gabriel, at least amongst the Host."

"What?"

His picks his glass up again and drains it before passing the cut crystal between his hands. "There can't be a mistake of loyalties here. There is Father's side and there is ours."

"Yeah because Dad's gonna…" Rae Rae hiccups then and starts to cry. "He can't just do this. He can't!"

He stands then and strides over to the couch, offering his open arms for her. It strikes him that they are infinite beings and both of them are far older than the human race, but he still sees her as his younger sister, as almost a child as far as Celestials go. That isn't fair to her, and she's tough as they come when she has to be, but she is still smaller. Still feels more naïve. He wishes he could protect her, no matter how much she's already seen in her long life. But there isn't any room for illusions here any longer.

For any of them.

Lucifer holds her for a while and rocks the Angel of Death. He shushes her a bit, soothing her. He stops shy of singing something low and sweet to calm her. He isn't quite up to that. News of one's coming demise tends to do that. But he comforts her first because she has seen her family ripped apart over and over, and he wishes it wasn't so.

But he's a king in his own right, and he knows intimately the pain and duty that comes from it. From having to play the ball where it lies. After a moment or two to collect herself, Azrael will get there too. But for tonight, or well this morning, he'll let her weep.

If he can help it, Lucifer very much intends not to die. In point of fact, he plans the same both for Michael and for the new twins not yet born. But for now, well, he understands his little sister's worries because the how to escape Father's wrath is far fuzzier in his mind.

"I don't want you or Michael to die," she says. She sniffles as she pulls away from him after a long while. He swears her cheeks look red, as if she's embarrassed to admit that.

"I don't want either of us to meet an untimely end either."

She blinks up at him and part of him shrinks under her gaze. Azrael's gaping a bit, and it occurs to him that she's shocked to hear such a thing from him. "Really?"

He sighs and makes a note to talk to Michael more when he gets to Miss Lopez's for guard duty. Perhaps he hasn't made his true feelings known well enough. "Azrael, I do not wish him dead. I would never want that."

"Really?"

He looks down at his lap, feeling a bit dejected. Perhaps he has earned that incredulity. "No, I wouldn't wish him dead. I was irate after what he pulled with the detective both times, but I…I don't think I'd have wanted him dead even then."

"You're not sure."

He is, after all, a creature of honesty, and he prides himself in being transparent with everyone around him. "I do not know. He stole her away, and I was furious then. But I do not want him dead now. I know that much."

"Because of the babies?" she asks, and there's a mournful quality in her tone.

They were already at each other's throats by the time she was Created. Rae Rae does not remember a time when they were truly the Demiurge, when they created a multitude of worlds together. Where he laughed as easily with Michael as now he threatens. But she seems to understand the loss of something there all the same, to be sorrowful over it.

"No," he admits. "Of course, I want no harm to come to Miss Lopez's children. It would be one of the last things I'd want in any universe. However, I do not want Michael to live only for their sake."

"You should tell him that."

"I have."

She snorts. "You should tell him that clearly because you two…I don't know even now why you get under each other's skin the worst."

"Because there are two of us, and it felt like we always occupied the same space. That we filled a redundancy. I think we were both always afraid the other would be deemed unnecessary and culled out." He laughs, and it's a bitter sound, one that chafes his throat. "I admit, at least I didn't see Father deciding eventually we were both redundant. That's quite the surprise."

"Lu, he needs a lot of help. He needs to know we're really there for him and not just the babies."

"I'll try, Azrael. Everything between us is tangled and complex. I wouldn't have been shoved to Hell without him. He did it, after all. If Michael had just told Father no then, perhaps we'd have been in a much better place now."

"And you tore his wing when you fell. I…maybe it shouldn't matter what happened before. We have now, and now's gonna run out mondo fast."

He swallows thickly at that even as the lift dings. "The past is prologue, as they say, Sister. I don't know if I can ever let so much of that bad blood go. I am sure he doesn't know if he can either."

"It's just sad. I…one day I wish our family did anything but fall apart."

He hugs her once more and strokes her back. "One day, perhaps, it won't. For now, I need to get sorted to get over to Miss Lopez's, and you've got packing up above to do as well for sentinel duties."

He lets her go and stands even as the lift doors open, and the Detective comes out. She's walking a bit crookedly, and he assumes both that she and the good doctor got into quite a bit of Lux's top shelf and that Amenadiel took Linda home by now after escorting Father. The Detective looks to him, and it is a slight pause in her steps, but he notices nevertheless how she misses a beat in her walk and stares into his eyes.

Unbidden, he reaches up and traces the smooth contours of his face with equally pleasant hands. The eyes then, well at least most of his anger has abated.

Rae Rae stands and unfurls her wings. "I just…I'm so worried."

He smiles to her, and he never lies but he doesn't always have to tell the full truth either. There is no point in telling his baby sister that he's as scared as she is. So Lucifer offers what other kernel of truth he can, "I will do everything in my considerable power to ensure nothing bad comes to pass, either to Michael or myself. I will do everything I can, Rae Rae. On that you have my sworn vow, and you know the Devil does not renege on deals. Ever."

She laughs through the drying tears on her cheeks. "Because you're a Devil of your word."

He nods. "I promise, even if there have been times I wish that was not so," and that time with Cain comes to mind quickly, "that I very much am. And I promise you, Sister, that I won't stop until both of us are safe. The twins of course in the deal as well."

She hugs him one last time before hurrying to the balcony. Something heavy lifts from his heart. He has to figure out his allies and fast, and he is unsure where Amenadiel will break in this latest battle forming. He wants to believe the five years or so between them, the repairing of their tattered relationship means something, but Amenadiel has Charlie now and has Father fawning over his grandson. Everything they've overcome these past years on earth may yet not be enough to surmount that obstacle.

He doesn't know.

Lucifer inhales sharply and strides to his bedroom. The Detective has managed to stumble up there in her inebriation. He should probably be worried about that. She drinks rarely because, truth be told, she can hardly hold her liquor. It was one of the things that amused him most about her at first. To be a cop, thrust into a man's man's world and all that rot, and be a lightweight. Then again, Chloe Decker is as full of almost as many contradictions as he is.

Like attracting like, just in a very different way than one might expect.

He settles at the foot of the bed and regards her. She's curled up under the covers but still leans against the headboard. Her hair has come loose from its tight pony tail and now is a riot of waves all over her face, a good chunk of hair covering her right eye from view and her beauty mark with it.

"I am afraid I can't stay tonight. I hope to be back by tomorrow afternoon. Little sis should be able to cover for me by then, but for now, on Father's orders."

"God was here?"

"Did Amenadiel not mention that once he supposedly came to collect Linda?"

The Detective blows a chunk of hair out from in front of her eye. "He said that it was time to go because he didn't trust Maze not teach Charlie knife throwing." She hiccups and almost tips over. "He's not even two yet!"

"Mazikeen may not be wrong now. Things are not looking great," he says.

Then, to get through quite a meeting, he explains everything he can about Gabriel and then Father's visit, about the edicts and threats, the new rules for Michael and the new routine for him, Amenadiel, and Azrael for at least the next couple trimesters.

The Detective regards him with wide, furious eyes and then gets to her feet. He is torn between loving her ferocity and laughing at her trying to locate her holster and gun. As if she could march right off (inebriated or not) and shoot his father into submission. Although, considering the short work she's made of both him and Michael at various times with her Glock, Lucifer can almost half suppose her trying to shoot God Almighty might actually work.

"Are you kidding me? What's the point of any of this? What's the point of me if your father just decided to kill you and Michael both."

He stands them, trying to ignore the barb directly in his heart that comes from her casual reminder that she's not just a Miracle but highly bothered by it and her purpose or her assumptions about her purpose. "Well, spoilers, but I hardly intend for Father to get what He wants. I have a long standing tradition of objecting to many of His plans."

"But have you ever won?" she asks.

The Detective stumbles then in her futile search for her sidearm. He grabs her then, cradling her close to his chest, and it comes fresh to his mind how many times he's done this with her, how often she's trusted him to hold her, going back long ago to her coming and, to be blunt, also passing out quite blotto on him after a fight with Daniel.

But he holds her then as she struggles against him for a gun that must seem like a marvelous idea three sheets to the wind but is nothing but comical as a choice of weapon against The Presence himself. "Detective, I promise you, I won't go anywhere. Not if I have a damned thing to do about it."

He's about to say something else when a sharp, stabbing pain attack his diaphragm and with no warning, the air flees from his lungs. Lucifer takes in a sharp gasp of breath and then tries for a second, before he finally feels his lungs working again.

"What in the bloody hell was that?" he asks, leading the Detective to the bed and settling her down again before she falls face first to the carpet.

He sits beside her but rubs at an area under his ribs. Why he felt for a moment that he'd had the air knocked out of him, he does not know, but he doubts it's something his Father has done. Sure, Father has a Rube Goldberg since of plots. All His machinations with Michael prove as much, but a sudden loss of breath as if Lucifer had fallen flat on his backside is far from Dad's style.

"Are you okay?" she asks, seeming to sober with his hitch.

He nods and rubs at his diaphragm a bit more before being able breath completely easily again. "Yes, quite fine. Just had the wind knocked out of me, although I'll be damned if I know how."

"Well your asshole father wants you dead so-"

"Celestials don't need to breathe. I mean, outside of having to do it to produce words, but not breathing won't suffocate me. Angels are, of course, made of sterner stuff. I'm not quite sure what that was, but I feel one hundred percent now," he finishes, setting his hands on his thighs.

"And you don't lie?"

"Never," he says, bringing his hand to his chest in mock affront. "Detective…" he pauses then and sets his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Chloe, I'm not going to go anywhere. I have promised myself and you if not out loud till now not to go anywhere again until you tell me to. Not to Hell or Heaven, not away. I am yours-you and the Urchin's-as long as you'll both have me. Father will simply have to reframe His plans."

She snorts at that. It's adorable. "Sure, your dad is completely reasonable and not creepy at all. Great guy."

"At least now you finally understand my ire in the earliest part of our partnership and, perhaps, why I tried to distance you from the Celestial side of myself."

She sets a hand over his under her chin. "I don't think that helped either of us, the lack of total honesty."

"Perhaps not," he admits, knowing that never lying is not the same as avoiding bluffing, and Miss Lopez called him on that long ago. She was, as is often the case, quite right on that score. "But Father has never quite been this cold before. Oh, He's been a right bastard, just ask my mother, but this is a new level of cruelty even from the Alpha and the Omega."

"He can't just do this to you and me, even to Ella. I mean, I can't see how she'd want to be near Michael again, but those are her kids and this is so wrong. It just is."

"When one is the Presence, the only right things are what they want and the only wrong things are what stand in their way. Father's Will is accepted among the Host as truth, and I'm sure after endless millennia and with neither Mother or myself to counter His ideas, Father has bought into His own hype. He is not without His mistakes, believe you me, but He thinks He's correct in this barbaric move of His."

"It's not fair."

He chuckles sadly at her and changes positions to stroke the soft, golden strands of her hair. "The multiverse never was, Detective. I wish that it were, mostly. Though I suppose if Father didn't act with such impunity and crazed dedication to His own designs, then you would not exist at all."

She pulls away from him, and his heart hurts again. Sharp and brittle as it all is these days. "I'm not a pawn or a gift or…there has to be a better reason for me than as either and olive branch or maybe a trick for you. I'm not even sure which."

He doesn't dare voice his thoughts, that perhaps the Detective is a mix of both. She made him vulnerable for so long or, at least, his love for her did. One could see that as Father's machinations, His tricks, limiting Lucifer. On the other hand, most of him would like to think Father was capable of both love and, even more than that, the spirit of reconciliation that at one point perhaps the Detective was an "I'm sorry" present.

Although if Father ever felt any compunction over Lucifer's damnation and suffering, over all that he has become since his Fall, then He no longer feels it. Not if He is now sharpening the sword to kill him and Michael both soon enough.

But, honestly, he cannot-and never could-fathom all that goes on in Father's mind. All he knows is that he chooses to see the Detective as a gift, and hopes that she has started or can one day start to make peace with the idea that it's not even her that's the present as much as her ability to see through his power over desire, to see him, as he truly is and care deeply for him anyway.

But he doesn't know.

He has always been used to being designed for a purpose, to being a tool at use for Father's benefit. He rebelled against that, and for a long time refused any part of that. But he babysat Mother to keep Chloe and Beatrice alive. He now has agreed to do something similar for Michael and his children to buy them all as much time as possible. Lucifer is, after millennia, firmly back in his father's pocket and all Dad had to do was hint He might unmake Beatrice and the Detective, and Lucifer crumbled at such threats.

So, no, he does not know what Father wanted or was thinking with making the Detective, but he assumes now that he's being replaced that whatever Father meant to do has been abandoned for a revised plan.

A far more insidious one.

He sighs and sets a hand on her knee. "Charlie has a party in a couple months for his preschool or daycare, whichever rot, class. Amenadiel had already invited father to it."

"That seems both perfectly normal and not like it could blow up in anyone's face," she huffs.

"Yes, but He's decided that's the next time He'll grace us with His august presence. He says He will have more to speak about both with Michael and myself as well as with Miss Lopez then. I…it was wrong of me to pull you off Him at that football field. Truth be told, you should have been allowed to say even more of your piece then. I was just terrified He'd harm you."

She nods and sets a hand over his, squeezing his fingers in her grip. "Now that I can see what your dad being pissed really is starting to look like, I get it."

He shakes his head sadly back at her. "You don't. Truly, not even now. You have no inkling of what He can and will do. He had his wife locked in Hell for his son to torture for eons, although I could not bear the role…believe me that Mazikeen was more than happy to try and fill it at my orders. You've seen all He's done and twisted Michael into to fulfill this beyond mad plan of His."

"Yeah, I…even if I hate Michael, I can admit this is beyond insane and cruel. Every twist your father made."

Lucifer sighs and this time forces the glamour to drop. He's not even sure if his eyes ever resettled, but he allows his other face-the one he thought for far too long was his true one-to come to the fore. He takes comfort in the fact that the Detective strokes his rough, burned cheek delicately. With far more tenderness than he's ever gotten from anyone else.

Ever.

"And as hard as this is to remember because it truly seems like several very different lifetimes ago, but I was His favorite. And you can see how well that ended for me. I pulled you away from Him then because if Father wants to, he can unmake you. Not kill, but make it so you never existed at all, and leave me with the knowledge you ever actually did. He is not one to threaten or do anything else to, but you are owed as many answers as Miss Lopez or Michael by now. So when the dinner comes, you should ask for your audience." He settled his cheek against the top of her head. "I never meant to take your position flippantly. I…angels have always known why we are here. Humans have grand questions and hopes and a myriad of religions. From the day we were Created, we were told to serve Him. I know exquisitely what it is to be His pawn, but that doesn't make it any less painful. Not for me or for you. I…I am sorry about this. If you ever wanted to leave…"

He stops then because the last thing he wants after being to Hell and back multiple times for her, after killing not just a human but his own flesh and blood to protect her, is to be left. But she has the chance to do that, to try and leave Celestial nonsense behind. Just because she was once made for a soon-to-be-eradicated devil, well, it doesn't mean she needs to go down with him too.

To go down with the ship.

"I don't want that," she says, though her voice wavers a little. "But I would…when the dinner happens, I'd like to talk to your dad one-on-one. I want to know why I exist. That seems fair, doesn't it?"

He nods. "Yes."

Lucifer reminds himself to try and make a deal before then with Father to let the Detective say-scream-out her piece without a penalty resulting. There has to be a way to get Father to swear not to eradicate her for a bit of venting. Has to be.

"So you have to go sit Michael first? Can't Amenadiel?"

"Tonight, I'm afraid not, dear Detective. But you'll be out sooner rather than later, testing the limits of your sobriety as you have tonight."

He stands then and helps settle her under the covers, even bringing the covers up to her chin and kissing her lips and then her forehead delicately.

"You get to snoring up a storm like the Albanian field wench you clearly must have been in a previous life and soon enough, I'll be home again."

He deftly dodges the pillow aimed at his head for that one.

"I don't snore that badly."

"As someone who has known more than one Albanian field wench in his time, I can assure you that you do," he replies. He offers her his most reassuring smile. Tonight has been revelations on top of revelations, and all of them are drained. The mortals in his life, but especially this one, do not deserve this type of stress. They don't deserve to be caught up in Father's games when even Celestials can never hope to survive them. Not truly. "Don't be afraid, Detective. I don't intend to go anywhere, and if I have to beat that idea into Father's rather thick skull, then I will."

Before she can argue with him, Lucifer puts his glamour back in place and unfurls his wings. In a few beats, he finds himself slipping between planes and heading in the early morning hours toward Miss Lopez's new abode.

She was, after all, kind enough to text him all the information he'd ever needed, resourceful minx that she is.

When he lands materializes in Miss Lopez's apartment, Lucifer is not sure where exactly within its confines he's appeared. He blinks around a few times, acclimating himself to the low light in what appears to be a fairly generously sized kitchen, and he may have underestimated how much she made her almost year away gambling all over. It would be far too dark for a human, but the low light here is light years more lit than the darkest corners of Hell and he sees through it easily. Shunting his wings away, Lucifer walks down a far hallway. The first door opens into a spare bedroom. It's actually neutrally decorated, a hint of a floral pattern that seems very little like Miss Lopez and everything like an elderly school marm. Lucifer assumes this space is held in reserve should her family from Detroit ever visit. It certainly is a far cry from her usual love of science fiction. The second door opens to the main bedroom, and he finds Ella and her strange, little chinchilla sleeping there. The little beast is curled up on Miss Lopez's chest, a faint, lavender glow seeping out from his fur. The final door opens to what apparently constitutes Miss Lopez's office.

And what he never would have expected would be to find his twin awake and standing before a full-length mirror, a pillow very obviously shoved under the hem of his long-sleeved shirt.

Lucifer chuckles at the sight and then doubles over when Michael turns from the mirror to face him. It is not just his stomach area he's stuffed, and Lucifer can't help but cackle at the whatever Michael's done to also enhance quite a bit his bosom.

"I can come back," Lucifer says, gasping for air in between laughs.

His brother's eyes go gold, and he yanks the pillow from under his shirt quickly. Michael also makes short work of yanking the tube socks from his bra. "You can't knock?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm here to guard you, not keep you in comfort, Twin. Besides, what on earth were you doing?"

Michael scowls at him still, but his eyes dim. Lucifer looks away from his twin. The scowl pulls on Michael's face, making both his scars more obvious, especially the newer one, the still red and slightly inflamed one, that pulls oddly at his lower left eyelid. Lucifer isn't sure yet if he feels guilty for that, but it feels awkward to be responsible for it. He does know that if he had a chance to take it back, that he probably would.

"I was being stupid," Michael admits, shoving the socks back in a drawer and tossing the pillow to a bed.

"No, do go on," Lucifer replies, looking back to his twin and straightening the lapels of his jacket, giving his nervous energy somewhere to go.

Michael sits on the daybed in this office space. Its sheets have Star Wars or Trek or something appropriately nerdy on it. Lucifer isn't sure, but it's whichever one has that green alien with the huge ears. His twin rakes a hand through his hair and with some effort and a few fumbles manages to put it up in a ponytail. "I had a weird dream, and I was far more-ugh kill me now-pregnant in it than I actually am now. I just…I was curious what it would actually look like on me when I gain that much. So, yeah, I grabbed a fucking pillow and, uh, then some."

Lucifer shuts the door so they won't risk waking poor Miss Lopez. He leans against the wood there, crossing one leg over the other as he does so. "I suppose it's natural. Never been with child myself, but I've seen films. I've seen women do it before in them."

Michael rolls his eyes. "Sure, yeah, but I'm not…" his twin pauses then, the confusion thick on his face. "…honestly, I'm not sure most days who I am and who I'm not. Between us? I don't even think Dad knows all He's done to me. So your guess? As good as mine."

Lucifer nods and stays reclining against the door. It's easier that way. Sitting next to his twin, well, in that close proximity, both their hackles would be up. Space, yes, space was beneficial to them both.

"I think you've been dealt a terrible hand, Brother."

"Really? I thought you hated my guts."

"I hate what you did. I hate that, long ago, you were the one to kick me to hell."

Michael leans back against the railing of the day bed and sighs. "I couldn't say no, Sam. I just…Dad ordered it."

"He really did, didn't He? That bastard."

"Yes, but I did think about that moment. I thought about it every day of my life since, both because it ruined me but also because, honestly, I wondered if I'd just dove first what we might have made of ourselves away from Him. I knew your Rebellion couldn't win, Sam. I knew it. I tried for decades to talk you out of it, and, like always, you didn't listen. I knew you couldn't win, that Dad would put it down whether it was me or Menny or even that ass Gabriel dealing the final blow." He stares directly at Lucifer, and it gives the Devil vertigo. He can see his brother so clearly in such an altered face, especially in the shape of his new nose and the wide, brown eyes they still both share in common. And yet, it is not the sibling he knows-not the face he knows-glaring back at him.

It is so confusing, that his mind whirls at all of it.

"It's water under the bridge. We are what we've made of each other, after all," Lucifer adds, waving his hand to the side, as if he could diminish eons of pain so easily. Could make it quit burning beneath his breastbone.

Michael rubs at his stomach. It is painfully flat, and Lucifer wouldn't believe even now that his twin is pregnant with two infants if not for both the ultrasound and Dad's proclamations. "Do you think they'll hate each other too?"

"I just said I didn't loathe you."

"Yeah, but you're being nice cause for the next however many months they're cooking, I'm Scrappy's baby incubator."

Lucifer snorts at such an unflattering turn of phrase. "And they say chivalry is dead, Brother. I confess, I've no idea how you can make such a nickname feel pleasing to her. Has 'dear' or 'honey' never occurred to you?"

"That's not who she is…it's complicated," he rebuffs.

"Mhm, seems a lot of that is going around lately," Lucifer says. He pulls out a cigarette from his case, lights it, and brings it to his mouth. Lucifer glares for a beat at Michael, seeing if his brother objects, considering his current condition. The former Sword of God says nothing, so Lucifer takes a long drag to calm his nerves. "You aren't going to make a fuss?"

"No. I don't think any of this no caffeine, no beer, no cats bullshit is really a thing. Goddess here," Michael huffs. "But Lopez made it clear there's a list of things I can't touch for the next seven months. But she's not here, and who ever heard of a Demiurge affected by second hand smoke. Insane," he finishes his point by shaking his head.

"Good then," Lucifer replies, taking a second drag. "But I don't hate you, and I don't just want you to live for the twins' sakes."

Michael snorts. "You don't lie or so you say."

"I'm not lying."

"We hate each other; we have probably before the Rebellion. Maybe since we finished making the multiverse and we came home to the Silver City. Desire beloved and Fear shunned. It's just what it is, Samael. I don't pretend different. I'm just glad you'll help me figure out a way to save them and save ourselves." His brother takes a long, deep breath before continuing. "Them first. They and Ella get safety away from that piece of shit we call a father before we get to ride off into any sunset, and if there's a choice where either they get the safety or we do…" Michael stops then.

"No, do go on."

"I…they matter the most. Hell, even if you have to save yourself before me but after them, by all means have at it. I just…Father cannot have them." His twin cups his stomach tightly to emphasize his point.

"He won't, but it doesn't change the fact that I don't hate you. That I don't wish you dead, and that part of me wishes things could have been different, Still Michael. I wish that we had both made any other choice at the Rebellion. I still think we needed Free Will, that Father was a tyrant." Lucifer snorts to himself and stamps the cigarette out against the door frame. "I was right on that much."

"Yeah, Lucifer, sure, but…we just didn't have any good choices. Maybe we never do." Michael stops hugging his belly quite so tightly, but he does rub it absentmindedly. "It would feel like a waste, though, even if we can save them…if history just repeats itself and they hate each other. I want better for them than we ever got. It's the only thing I want anymore."

Lucifer nods and pushes off from the door. Taking his chances, he sits down on the bed beside Michael. Not next to, but on the far end and giving his twin plenty of space. "Then take some measure of succor in the fact that I don't detest you that, to be quite honest, I miss what we were to each other when we were still young. I don't know how to get back there or if we ever could, but I wish that we could. And I hope the mini-urge can do better than we ever did."

Michael chuckles wryly at the moniker. "'Mini-urge?' Not sure if I like that one."

"Well, one has to differentiate between the original version."

"The new Coke to our original recipe?" his brother asks.

"Not sure on that one."

"Right, never on earth for the '80s. Nostalgia bomb television shows aside, Sam, you didn't miss much then. No wait, you like cocaine. So maybe you missed a lot," Michael drawls. "I…Azrael put you up to this? Sure little Sis was scared you'd show up here just to punch the shit out of me."

Lucifer blinks back at him. He may not ever quite get used to the juxtaposition, to a woman beside him who is rather lovely-wounds aside-but that it's still his asshole brother in there, somewhere, and that from a pleasing face comes the usual foul-mouthed and so very Brooklyn retort.

"What?"

"Nothing, I just…I did speak with Azrael, and she was worried. But I wouldn't be admitting these things if I didn't feel them too. I don't know. It's all a tumult, but I do worry about you, and I don't want you dead and wouldn't even if you were barren."

"That's a way to put it," Michael says. He laughs again, this time flatly. "Things would be better if I were. Barren I mean. But Creation is its own thing."

"As is Fear," he says. "About Gabby-"

"I took a lot, and I shouldn't have, but I was angry and he was there."

"Not reassuring. You meant what you swore. That we'd work on your…your needs."

Michael curls up his knees, bringing them to his chest. He looks small like this, and it confuses Lucifer all over again. Sometimes, it truly is hard despite everything, to see his brother in the unfamiliar form across from him.

"I know. I hate every fucking thing Father did to me. I hate that more than even this," he says, gesturing to his stomach as if his pregnancy isn't part of Michael's laundry list of complaints for Dad.

"We'll figure it out."

Michael nods. His voice is small and quiet when he speaks again. "I had a fucked up dream."

"Yes, I can see that, what with the pillow testing afterwards."

"No, I was in The Dreaming."

Lucifer eyes him, mouth agape. "We don't go there. It's not allowed. There are protocols and court rules and I don't know why Azrael mucks about with them, but I've no interest in being on the shit list of an Endles."

"Oh, she's definitely doing Death," Michael supplies.

Lucifer gapes harder. He'd like to not think of his little sister as getting busy with anyone, thank you very much. "I…yes, well that would explain some things, but you can't just pop into The Dreaming."

"I didn't mean to, but I did." Michael shrugs. "I don't mean to do half the shit I do these days. Trust me, or I wouldn't have made a chinchilla/night light who has proclaimed himself my son."

"Well that's actually rather hysterical."

"It's confusing," Michael rejoins. "Any fucking way, I did go, and I just…we need to work on so much, the both of us. We haven't been the actual Demiurge in a long time, and I think we could be. I…" he looks down at his hands and studies both for a long time. "…I think I could be a lot more, and that's terrifying because I thought for so long I wanted it. Wanted Dad's power or His throne. And I don't. I don't want any of it. I just want my body back-my self back-and to have a quiet, very plain and very mortal life with Lopez. Well…mortal on her end. But we have to do better with our powers."

"I haven't used Will since before the Fall. I don't think I could."

"I think you can," Michael says, regarding him with keen, dark eyes. "Father wouldn't be so keen to kill us off for the new regime if we weren't still a threat." He gestures to his bad side, his almost frozen shoulder. "Sure, a banged up threat but still one. I… there has to be a better way to use Creation than accidentally bleed and make little, tiny abominations."

Lucifer considers that chinchilla Miss Lopez is clearly so fond of and shudders just a bit at that malformed squirrel that died on the floor of his penthouse a couple months back. "Yes, well it would be better if you could Create us an army or some such. Right, so get the raw egg drinks prepped and cue up the theme music for a Rocky montage. Sounds completely logical."

"Do you have a better idea? If we're going to take on the Presence, we need our skills as sharp as possible, and to find all the allies we can."

Lucifer turns to his twin and frowns. "What, you can't get Oneiros to come to your rescue?"

Michael rolls his eyes. "Didn't see him there, probably for the best. Just his latest raven who is…kind of a mess, to be honest. But Lil Sis has some kind of alliance with Death so that's a start. I have a few people I might be able to call markers in with. What about you, Lucifer? You've granted a fuck ton of favors. Time to call in the due."

He nods, considering this as at least the start of the plan. "So tomorrow, we work on your…uh feeding needs and our atrophied power set."

"Exactly. In fact, I can ask Lopez about-" Michael stills then and covers his mouth. He hunches over for a second, taking ragged breaths but not moving from his crouch.

Lucifer stills and sets a hand very tentatively on his twin's left shoulder. "Michael? Are you quite all right?"

His twin sits up and then rushes from the room and across the hall to the bathroom. Lucifer's about to stand to go after him when a wave of nausea hit the Devil hard, causing him to grab frantically for the nearest rubbish bin. He barely reaches it in time, even with his speed, before vomiting forcefully into it.

He stays like that, hunched over the rubbish bin, heaving hard for interminable moments before the nausea finally abates and he can sit up. His head still spins, and his stomach cramps a bit, leaving him reeling on the floor by the day bed.

Lucifer is beyond confused by this turn of events and tries to stand to find Michael, but his twin finds him first. Michael returns from the bathroom, dabbing at his mouth with a towel, looking paler than before.

"Sorry, morning sickness is a bitch and actually about three hours late this morning and-" Michael stops then, finally noticing, it seems, not just the Devil but also the bin full of vomit cradled near Lucifer's lap. "What the fuck?"

He stands and shoves the bucket to the side of the room, by the desk. "Yes, that's what I'd like to know. I…what the bloody hell is going on?"