Title: Museum Hours
Characters: Lucifer, Jeshua
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~ 830
Summary: In which two gentlemen meet by the river and Jeshua tells the Adversary, at long last, what he really, really wants.
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Chapter Three
Museum Hours
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The air doesn't crackle with static. There's no ominous rumble, no movie-style flicker of light. Just two people past closing time, and while that may be remarkable, it's not out of the ordinary. The hall is often used for functions, meetings. Fashion shows, even.
Grunting, Lucifer brings up a hand to check for anything that might explode from the finely wrought ridge of his nose.
"I am glad you could make it," Jeshua says, hands still clasped in front of him.
Could make it? Lucifer cocks his head and drags on his cigarette. "Of course," he nods, waving a hand. "It's nothing." Oh fuck you, boy. Fuck you. Bested him there, little Jeshua has. If it's all about free will, then it was Lucifer's choice to be here - that, and enough curiosity to kill a population of cats from Bast onward. "Wouldn't miss this for all the world, rabbi."
His thoughts must be louder than traffic, police sirens, firefighters and the din of a Saturday evening put together, and still, Jeshua smiles. "Thank you," he says, walking up and into the Altar's enclosure.
Lucifer's eyes follow him.
He could be one of the thousands shacked in some hostel tonight, your average long-haired archaeology student in frayed jeans and sweaty shirt and trekking sandals. He could be one of the many gawping, stuttering tourists that stumble around the Forum in the blazing heat. He could be a lapsed novice, come crawling to renew his faith and confess to some Polish prelate, up in Saint Peter's.
Lucifer watches Jeshua's fingers as they linger on marble. Like a blind man reading Braille.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Jeshua says, looking back at him.
"What is." Lucifer's mouth is dry.
Jeshua laughs. If Lucifer could kill him, he'd kill him for that chuckle alone, so gentle devious mocking innocent complicit indulgent patient genuinely amused or... What now, Jeshua, what?! "The Altar, I mean." Long fingers brush folds and faces, trail togas and trellises.
Planting his arse on the steps to the sanctorum, Lucifers shrugs and crushes the cigarette. "If you say so. I always thought Octavian was a particularly nasty little runt."
"Mmh, quite." Jeshua nods distractedly, still gazing at the procession in front of him.
"Besides," Lucifer points out and leans forward to peer into the enclosure, "wasn't it his fault you were born in a barn like some rube? Not that I've ever held that against you, mind."
Jeshua doesn't seem to enjoy the pun, and finally, finally, their eyes lock. That was a small matter.
Is that what you think? Lucifer rises and crosses over to Jeshua. "A small matter; not your first victory? Born to die, mortal, a slippery thing caterwauling about in afterbirth and donkey shit? You could have strangulated yourself, my poor purple wormlet, tied up in your umbilical cord. Maryam could have died in childbed and left you to starve. So many things to go wrong out there, near Beit Lechem."
"But they didn't."
Oohhh. Spoken with authority now. Defending the family name and all that. But I am family, too, Jeshua. The thought saddens him, threatening, as it does, to open the wounds of his loss. Lucifer swings himself up on the altar and crosses his ankles. "They didn't," he agrees. His displeasure over that could burn holes in the air. "And now kindly illuminate me as to why we are here? I haven't got all night."
"No? Shame. I was rather looking forward to more of your polished wit." Slowly, Jeshua tears himself away from stone and climbs to sit next to Lucifer. "You haven't aged well, Morning Star," he remarks lightly.
The reply comes unbidden. "Well, you haven't either, boy," Lucifer snaps, unable to control his tongue. "Still trawling the world, desperately seeking validation. Or did you merely wish to tell me about Rome's Golden Age? Divine sovereigns marrying the soil and sacrificing like clockwork, and all shall be well, ad eternam?"
"I..." Jeshua's knuckles curl around the edge of the slab.
Lucifer catches a whiff of hesitation anger insecurity stubbornness fear. Really. Fear? Now that makes him sit a little straighter. He holds his breath and waits for the other to continue.
Flicking back his John Lennon hair, running fingers through his beard, Jeshua turns to look at him. "I am proposing a trade." I am serious, Lightbringer. Hear me out. He seems to take a deep breath. "When we met in the desert, I believe you... expressed an interest in lying with me?"
It's a testament to Lucifer's fortitude that his jaw does not drop. A maggot or three plop from his left nostril, surfing on a smear of goo. You... what. I... what? It still takes a second to filter through. Then the reptile is back, and it speaks. "In return for?"
"You will give me Juda."
Lucifer's laughter fills the hall. A rich, golden laughter that widens a crack in the floor and makes even the Vestals cover their chiselled faces.
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