A/N: Lucifer discovers why he's been so sick as of late. His Father decides to restore his wings and the whole process is quite physically painful. Lucifer, happy to have them back, realizes how much he'd missed them. Maze and Amenadiel help him through the ordeal.

Chloe shows up demanding to know what is going on with him, clambering up to his room, she gets more than an eyeful. The sight of a peacefully sleeping, Lucifer—in the nude, gets her so hot and bothered that she contemplates jumping his bones!

As always, your reviews and feedback would be much appreciated…

Chapter 9: The Sound of My Wings

Asherah sits atop Lucifer's chest with her hands clamped around his throat, her grip grows stronger with every choked whimper that escapes his mouth. He thrashes around beneath her, desperately trying to knock her off, but with all of his strength sapped—he can't. Asherah, aware that her victim is noticeably weakening, feels his resistance dissolving. Confident she will prevail; the goddess foresees the devil's demise.

Asherah finds strangling the life out of Lucifer a task test-worthy of her superpowers. The devil was not going to surrender easily. There was still a glimmer of life in the black windows to his soul. Determined, she digs down deep, summoning every last bit of her strength, her eyes glow red with renewed power while she redoubles her effort.

A sure sign that Lucifer is losing the fight, happens when his wings lose control, frantically unfurling, splayed beneath him, they flail; as the fallen angel's life force dims in the process.

His eyes stare but no longer see, his face flushed deep red from exertion, his lips have turned blue from lack of oxygen—he's run out of time…

The goddess delivers him the coup-de-grace when she crushes his trachea under her fingers. Convulsions followed by suffocation ensue—he gives up the struggle.

Asherah squeezes out the devil's last dying breath.

Heartbeats fading—the last sound he hears—till deafening silence reigns. Blackness engulfs his spirit; death's steely embrace is but cold comfort.

A single beam, a bright white flash, emits from Asherah's eyes, pulverizing Lucifer's body into cosmic dust. With a single puff, she blows his essence out of the palm of her hand into the very far corners of the universe. Expunged from the realms of heaven, earth, and hell—the devil ceases to be.

A jubilant smile illuminates Asherah's face, glaring straight up towards the heavens, she cries out, "Now…we're even."

Waking up with a start—his heart still pounding, Lucifer sits straight up from napping on the couch and takes a great gulp of breath. Filling his lungs, he attempts to reclaim the air he'd stopped breathing a few moments ago, while he was dreaming.

He knew it had only been a dream, yet it had felt so real. Lucifer ran his hand over his neck just to make sure.

Shaking his head to wake up, he screws his face into a puzzled frown, "hang on, I had my wings in that dream—they felt so good on my back again. I do miss them…What an impetuous ass I was to have destroyed them…"

His chills were gone and so was the queasiness he'd experienced earlier. He seemed to be back to his normal self—a bit on the warm side—just the way he likes it.

Well, that nap seems to have done me a world of good, but I could really use a drink.

Pouring himself a good stiff glassful, he welcomes the familiar heat of the alcohol as it warms his insides.

Now that's better, no more of those pesky chills.

Back to his old habits, he pours out a series of shots in a neat line on the piano and starts to play, sucking them down one after another. The simple act of playing music is a release for Lucifer as well as a great source of consolation. It helps him to think clearer. Goodness knows, he has plenty on his mind.

After a few rousing renditions of some blues and honky-tonk tunes, he becomes decidedly more reflective. Was it the three lines of shots he'd downed or was it possible for the prince of darkness to be afflicted with a case of the blue devils? Lining up yet another row of shots, Lucifer begins to play anew; elegant hands with long graceful fingers weave the haunting melody of Debussy's Claire de Lune.

Beads of sweat drip from Lucifer's forehead onto the keyboard, he feels quite hot—even for the devil. Interrupting his reverie long enough to remove his jacket and vest, he notices that his Prada shirt is saturated from perspiration. Tempted to remove the wet shirt that was now sticking to his body, he decides to roll his sleeves up instead.

No mind, I welcome the heat.

Picking up where he left off, Lucifer drifts back into the music—Claire de Lune is one of his favorite pieces. One which he never fails to draw comfort from as he caresses the enchanting notes from the piano keys.

Unfortunately, his musing is short lived as his body and mind begin to break down. The more he plays, the more incoherent he becomes. He wonders if he is drunk or delirious—or both? While attacking the fourth line of shots, Lucifer feels the room spinning out of control.

His consciousness on the wane, the glass slips from his hand and falls to the ground. In the next instant, he crumples onto the instrument, crashing his head down on the piano top and sending the line of shot glasses flinging off into every direction. Limp hands fumble down on the keys in a loud discordant manner, while his lithe body, continuing its slow descent, slips all the way down to the floor while taking the piano bench with it.

It was now early evening when the last rays of sun streamed through the penthouse windows causing the shattered shards of glass on the floor to sparkle. The fading golden light formed an eerie halo around Lucifer's twisted form. Still unconscious, he had been lying on the floor for hours. The normally dapper devil is now a hot mess: he's soaked to the skin from sweat, his hair is wet and stuck to his temples, his face is flushed and his breathing is ragged.

As soon as the elevator door opens onto the penthouse, Maze and Amenadiel immediately sense that something is very wrong. Switching on the lights, they see the overturned piano bench and catch sight of the form sprawled out next to it. It is Lucifer who is passed out cold on the floor.

Rushing over to the fallen devil's side, the pair stares down at him in astonishment.

"Amenadiel, how could something like this happen to him? Do you think that your mother could have done this?"

Closing his eyes, momentarily slowing time, Amenadiel murmurs, "No, I don't sense her presence having been here." Kneeling down next to Lucifer, he examines his unconscious body for signs of a struggle or of an attack—none were found. The angel, at a loss for answers, cannot figure out what has happened to his brother.

Concern forming a lump in his throat, Amenadiel begins to feel apprehensive, "He was fine when I left him here this morning."

"Enough talk, I know what he needs," yells Maze, disappearing into the back rooms of the apartment.

Caring for Lucifer—her master—was still her job. Unfortunately, demons, and this one especially don't tend to be the nurturing kind. In a flash, she returns to the scene carrying a bucket of ice cold water and proceeds to pour it on Lucifer's head. Unfortunately, the water does not produce the desired effect. The patient did not respond to her treatment.

Clearly puzzled by Lucifer's strange and sudden affliction, Maze's notorious impatience mounts.

Frustrated, the demon hissed, "what should we do now?"

Sensing that Lucifer was in no immediate mortal danger, Maze asks Amenadiel for help, "Let's get him out of these wet clothes and put him to bed—he'll probably sleep it off."

Amenadiel gently picks up Lucifer, holding snug his collapsed brother in his arms, he carries him up to his bedroom. A flurry of dark hands relieves him of his wet clothes, flinging all of the parts of his prized designer suit unceremoniously into small piles around the room.

Caring for her master can at times, be trying—this was one of those times. Maze dutifully towel dries Lucifer and decides to subject him to a bit of naughtiness: her eyes dance over his pale body, she knows it like the back of her hand: every inch of it. Grinning wickedly—she leaves him splayed out on his bed—au naturel.

Feeling his forehead, the demon finds that he is still burning with fever.

Outwardly, she cursed him for being such a pain in the ass, "what had he gotten himself into this time?" But, inwardly, she hated to see him in such a weakened state.

Temper flaring, her face twisting into a scowl, running her tongue along the bottom of her razor sharp teeth, Maze swears, "I'll get to the bottom of this. Whoever is responsible will be punished by me—personally."

Several hours of peace and quiet had befallen the penthouse, when later into the evening, screams emerging from Lucifer's bedchamber broke the tenuous truce. Maze and Amenadiel, napping on the couch, were brusquely awakened by the commotion. Bounding up the stairs to his room, they found the devil writhing around on his bed—howling and crying in pain.

God's gift…

"What's putting him in this state? He's only getting worse." Maze huffs.

Remembering the agony, Lucifer had gone through when she cut off his wings, she recalled he'd said, "it was the most physically painful thing I've ever experienced in all my life." Maze had a gut feeling that the misery Lucifer was currently suffering through might be related to the scars on his back. She knew that Lucifer endured frequent bouts of phantom pain from where his wings had been cut off, but nothing of this magnitude.

Maze had never seen her lord like this, the mighty king of hell was literally crying in pain while he gathered himself up into a ball; exposing the source of his suffering. The demon's eyes widened as she could see the scars on his back were pulsing with activity like some horrifying SCIFI flick.

A great gasp escapes the demoness, "Wait" she shouts, her jaw dropping in amazement, "his wings—they are growing back!"

Bones, blood vessels, and feathers, coming to life beneath the scars, were piercing their way up through his old wounds. Lucifer's back had become a landscape of broken bloodied skin, protruding bones and feathers, and rivulets of blood.

The devil manages to turn over onto his stomach where he is able to bury his face in the pillow to muffle the screams as the waves of burning pain wash over him.

"Bloody Hell" he wails, "it hurts more to grow them back than it did to cut them off!"

Maze attempts to blot the blood off of his back with towels, but there is so much of it, that she can barely keep up.

Stunned by what is happening to his brother, Amenadiel drops to his knees and prays to their Father for guidance. Telepathically, he receives an answer. Pure joy fills his heart as a rapt smile crosses the warrior angel's face. Feeling his Father's touch, though it was only fleeting, comforts him and fills him with a renewed sense of much-needed fortitude. Beaming, he whispers into his brother's ear:

"Luci, Father heard the doubts and fears that you expressed last night in our conversation. He heard you declare your remorse over destroying your wings and has decided to restore them to you. He knows you are going to need all of the help you can get to bring our mother back to hell."

Lucifer muffled into the pillow, "Thank you Dad, but do I detect an extra bit of tough love there in the pain department?" Just then, he's racked by another searing fit of agony, he gasps, "I take that as a—yes."

Considered throughout the heavens as a one-of-a-kind celestial masterpiece, Lucifer's original wings were the envy of all the other angels. God never made another pair as beautiful and as powerful as them again—until now. This new pair of wings is a clone of the originals. Like the first pair, they are a truly special piece of divinity. Each feather is a separate divine entity that glows with the warmth and love of God. The individual feathers have special healing powers that can heal divine beings and mortals from deadly injuries.

The wings were now unfurling from the scars on Lucifer's back. He felt their familiar heft and the sensation of them throughout his body. He'd forgotten how they made him feel. How they seemed to inform his very essence. Without them, he wasn't really sure who or what he was, but now, his sense of self was re-emerging. Amenadiel had been right about him assuming his natural form. Lucifer hadn't longed to assume it because he didn't realize how much he'd lost until his wings were returned to him.

Over the next couple of hours, Lucifer's wings are fully regrown. They are a sight to behold. The wings mesmerize, emitting their own divine light that shimmers in a pearlescent otherworldly glow. They are as beautiful as his first.

It is now almost dawn and Lucifer finally, falls asleep. His face is at peace, his breath relaxed, and his soft warm wings envelop him in the way they were always meant to. In this moment, he finally admits to himself just how much he'd actually missed them.

Everyone in the penthouse was in a fitful sleep; Maze and Amenadiel cuddled on the couch and Lucifer finally tranquil, when the elevator comes up to the floor. Before the doors open, the demon and angel jump up to the entrance. Chloe Decker is at the door and she is not amused.

Looking clearly concerned, Chloe barks, "Where is he? I called all day yesterday and last night. He didn't return my calls—Is he OK?"

Maze and Amenadiel look at each other like cats that had swallowed a canary. Despite her glaring disapproval of Lucifer's pet detective, Maze begrudges her an answer, "he wasn't feeling well most of the day, but he is finally feeling better and is now sleeping it off."

The wily demon omits one tiny detail—that Lucifer's wings had been restored by—God!

Not convinced that the culpable pair before her was telling the truth, Chloe gives them both a once-over and decides, using her seasoned powers of deduction, that they are withholding information.

"Ok," she offers, "so I will go in and see for myself." Storming off, she bounds up the stairs to Lucifer's bedroom.

"Uh, oh," Maze lets out under her breath, snickering, "his pet detective is going to get an eyeful…"

Bracing for the scream that was sure to ensue once Chloe would set eyes upon her partner; now turned angel, sleeping naked on the bed in all of his winged glory. The angel and demon closed their eyes tightly and waited, and waited—but it never came.

Chloe had clambered up to Lucifer's bedroom to find his usual immaculate chamber in a complete state of bedlam. His clothes were literally thrown around the room, there were piles and piles of bloody towels and bloody sheets—everywhere.

When her eyes finally alight on him, lying in the center of his bed, she can't help but stare. Lucifer, in the nude, was sleeping ever so peacefully. What a beautiful sight to behold, she had never seen him look so…angelic. At that instant, he really was the most beautiful angel, in Chloe's mind at least. His wings were invisible to her at the moment. Evidently, Lucifer had pulled them in at some point during the night, otherwise, there would have been a lot of explaining to do.

Chloe stood there, drinking him in for a while—she couldn't help herself. Here was her free pass to examine him without being subjected to any lewd comments or propositions. The temptation was too much to turn down—so she didn't.

It just wasn't fair for a man to have such beautiful dark lashes long enough to brush his cheeks, his slightly parted mouth whose lips begged to be kissed; his neck, arched toward her, solicited a trail of love bites. Tracing down his chest and stomach, her eyes take in all of the little details, like that tiny mole at his collar bone. Contemplating his defined chest, rhythmically rising and falling; she imagines it heaving, in the throes of passion—panting.

No wonder women throw themselves at him—he is the living breathing embodiment of temptation.

Only yesterday, she'd been introduced to his smooth-skinned, torso. All of those delicious moments came rushing back. The feel of his skin when she pressed her face against his chest, the smell of him, and feeling the warmth of his embrace when he'd held her close.

Continuing, down to his stomach, where she'd felt for a scar yesterday. Lucifer had taken her hand into his, urging her to feel the perfect smoothness of his unscarred skin; gently proving to her that there was no vestige of a wound.

Her eyes continue to trail downward to where she most wants to let her hand wander—lower. Biting her lip, her gaze comes to rest upon his hard-on. A slight gasp escapes her mouth; she feels fluttering in her belly. She fantasizes what it would be like to caress…OK! That's quite enough—she chastises herself. She'd seen enough today…

For the first time, Chloe actually contemplates jumping Lucifer's bones—right there and right then.

Her heart was melting over this man. She knew she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, no matter how much she denied it: their thing was on! He could be such an ass, but he was also the sweetest man she had ever known. She knew he would do anything for her as she would for him.

How much longer would they play this cat and mouse game before giving into their feelings for each other? After all, they were both nearly killed a couple of days ago—life is too damn short. Yet, she still continued to harbor reservations about her partner.

Abruptly, Chloe ends her contemplation of Lucifer, tearing her eyes away from him, she cautions herself; I better get out of here now before he wakes up and tries to drag me into his bed. Because right now, I would not be able to turn him down.

Before leaving, she covers his body with a sheet in an almost motherly fashion and plants a little kiss on his cheek.

As she turns to leave, she notices a single small downy white feather floating in the air over him. The feather is absolutely beautiful. It seems to glow from within—it has an ethereal presence. Chloe catches it in her hand and the sublimely soft feather glows in her palm while throwing off a gentle warmth. She feels completely at peace while holding the feather like the whole world is right. For the first time ever, she thinks she feels the love of God filling her heart. While she doesn't really believe in that sort of thing, there's no denying how her heart feels right now. All that from a tiny feather? Could the feather be from a real angel?

She'd heard Lucifer wax poetic about his wings, he had described them as magnificent and divine: he said they carried the light of God within them. But his wings were gone now, he had told her that he'd destroyed them. So was this little feather in her hand somehow a remnant of those wings?

Chloe knew intrinsically that this feather belonged to Lucifer—it somehow contained the essence of his being. Touching it was like touching him. Watching him sleeping so serenely, he looked so innocent. She tried to picture him with his wings, her heart skipped a beat at how beautiful and powerful that image was.

What a paradox he is. Am I falling in love with the devil or an angel? I'm trying to make peace with one day possibly having sex with the devil. I've never imagined what having sex with a real angel would be like…oh God! Have I gone completely crazy?

Preparing to leave, Chloe carefully wraps Lucifer's hand around the little feather. Walking out of his bedroom with her ponytail in full bouncing mode, she does not see the beaming smile on his face. He is watching her intently, while gently cradling the errant wing feather in his hand.

I'll let her see the real me when the time is right… He couldn't wait.

On the way out, Chloe glares at Maze and Amenadiel and scowls, "What happened to him? What's with all of the bloodied bed linens and towels—what really went on up there?

Met with resounding silence, Chloe huffs, "OK, don't tell me, but I will find out what you two are hiding."

After Chloe leaves, the supernatural pair assesses Lucifer's condition. He had lost a lot of blood and would be quite weak for a few days. But other than that, they were sure that his strength would return and that he'd be up and flying about in no time.

With that assessment, the angel and the demon, decide to take their leave of him for a few hours. After all, watching Lucifer sleep is akin to watching paint dry—boring!

Besides, what could possibly happen while they were away.

The Tempest Is Nigh

A short while later, the skies darken, the wind picks up and it begins to storm…

Lightning flashes off into the distance, illuminating passing dark clouds. Thunder rolls, building in intensity and sound, as the storm approaches. Terrace plantings sway in the wind leaves flutter; rain pelts into the broken windows.

A breeze wafts the wet smell of city streets up through the penthouse. Inside, palpable humidity oppresses. The languid clime of a stormy afternoon belies the crackling atmosphere charged with unbridled wrath—slowly seeping in.

An unnatural hum vibrates the penthouse with growing intensity. Directly overhead, lightning's bright flash momentarily illuminates before a booming peal of thunder rattles what's left of the windows.

Small cracks appear on one of the building's corner terraces. The hum turns into a loud whine as the building tremors.

Lucifer, weakened by the extreme loss of blood suffered during the rebirth of his wings, lies naked and vulnerable on his bed. His nascent wings are still quite tender and can't yet support flying. Overwhelmed by exhaustion, the devil succumbs to sleep: deeply, dreamlessly and peacefully, like he hasn't in quite some time—unaware of the approaching tempest…