Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Lucifer the TV show; I'm just borrowing them for a while.

A/N:

Lucifer dreams of his fall from heaven.

In the aftermath of Amenadiel's revelation that Lucifer had not been God's first choice to rule hell, the devil broods over why. Why was he the one who was cast out—was it an impulsive decision on God's part, or, a calculated part of His plan?

An introspective Lucifer delves into the ramifications of what if?

While Amenadiel is off on a quick patrol of hell, Maze fills in as Lucifer's caretaker. Though her methods are sometimes questionable, she smuggles in exactly what the devil needs.

Things heat up between the devil and the demon—sparks fly…

As always, I appreciate your feedback and reviews.

CHAPTER 16: What If?

"Hurled headlong flaming the ethereal sky, with hideous ruin and combustion down…" John Milton, Paradise Lost

Though it took days, from dawn to dusk and dusk to dark, to fall from heaven, all the way down to the nether world. In the final moments of his pernicious plunge, Lucifer found himself on a collision course headed straight for the center of the earth, to a territory long godforsaken.

In the final moments of his fall, like a shooting star entering the atmosphere with the speed and force of a meteorite, Lucifer bursts into flames. His skin melts away in excruciating waves of pain, his face deforms, mutating into a monstrosity. Insatiable fire, with a ravenous appetite, devours his body, spewing it out; charred and bloodied—flesh and bone grotesque. In the throes of his torment, he cries out: "Father please forgive me." Abandoned, he aches for that which he will never regain: his Father's love and the light of heaven.

A burning ball of flesh streaks towards its destination, in utter darkness, lighting the mournful gloom, if only briefly, as it passes through the tenebrous sky. Here, in this place that has no illumination, but rather a darkness visible exists a realm without dimension, where length, breadth and height, and time, and place, are lost. Save for the glimmering livid flames, cast pale and dreadful enkindled in the pit, waiting for unknown hands to stoke the fire. Surrounded as far as the eye can see, by a dreary plain, forlorn and wild; desolation pervades the region. Noxious vapors fill the air, the stench and smoke of brimstone affront the nostrils. What is this infernal place? A dungeon horrible on all sides round.

No one hears the explosion when the flaming body of Lucifer craters the bedrock foundation. Boulders quake, heaving up rock and soil, while the eruption rumbles through the underworld. Splayed within the center of the cavity, lie the remains of the brightest and most beautiful angel in all of heaven. What sadness befalls the Light Bringer, the Morningstar—God's favorite son. For now, the hulking wreck lies face down in a pool of his blood, unrecognizable from the scorch of flames; the crash-down shatters his every bone. Lucifer's devastating fall leaves him near-lifeless.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. When finally, little by little, Lucifer's injuries begin to ameliorate. His body coalesces, bones repair, and his skin, though mottled purple-red and scarred, melds back together. His once handsome face, now horribly disfigured, that perfect body, hideously marred. He'd fallen so far, from perfection to aberration. He would never be as he once was, ever again.

Second Best…

Eternities upon eternities later, Lucifer awakens in Amenadiel's bed…

"why am I not…dead? Damn immortality.'' He curses.

"Where am I? …Oh, I'm still here…"

Wiping the sleep from his bleary eyes, Lucifer rubs his face with his hands; a wide yawn spreads from his mouth. Languor hangs over him persistently, like a pall. The effects of the nightmare taper off, impelling the fallen angel back into the moment. The chilling events of his fall, weigh heavy on his mind and spirit as they continue to bubble up from his subconscious. Try as he might, the onslaught of raging emotions would not stop, leaving him in a state of exhaustion in their wake. It's no wonder that his first thought of the day, should be a continuation of his last. When Amenadiel first revealed that Michael was to have been God's first choice to rule Hell, Lucifer's mind had gone blank. He was sent reeling as the rug got pulled from under his feet. Michael, the boss of hell—that had to be a joke.

Lucifer remained blasé on the subject. He'd blown it all off, wisecracking his way past the elephant in the room, he dismissed the whole Michael thing, claiming; "that it did not bother him—not one bit." The devil never lies, he bends, obfuscates, and outright omits, but he doesn't lie—only to himself. For someone who couldn't care less, he'd spent most of the night pondering the scenario, rolling it around in his mind, until it began to make sense to him—painful sense

"Michael, you prick, if you were Father's first choice, why didn't he send you packing down to hell? What would my life have been, had I never fallen?" Lucifer growls at the murky starless sky, where in the darkness, thick clouds cast crooked haloes around nighttime lights that attempt to twinkle through the haze of ever-present L.A. smog. Crossing his arms behind his head on the pillow, lying snug in bed, enveloped by crepuscule's dim, he tries to recall his nocturnal musings from the night before when he'd dredged up some crucial pieces to solving the puzzle. Why did the Old Man turn around and cast him out to rule hell, instead of his brother?

On further retrospection, deep down inside, Lucifer concedes: it was never a matter of how, it was always, only, a matter of when. When, would he have pissed off his Father enough, pushed Him enough, to punish His favorite son so severely. Alone in the heavy quiet of the room, Lucifer lets out a long sigh of exasperation, as he had to admit, Dear Old Dad's choice to send him to hell was not the impulsive act that he'd thought it was. Lucifer would just have to accept it; he'd have to begrudgingly accede, that it was all a part of God's well thought out plan, and—it was brilliant.

Two Little Words…

All of this began, from time immemorial. Father had created me as a seraph. In the hierarchy of angels, we are of the highest rank; above the cherubim and the archangels. We seraphim, exist only in the most rarified part of heaven—surrounding Father's throne. Our sole purpose is to protect and wield the light of his divine love and goodness. His love was my life's blood; running through my veins. He was the center of my universe. My sole purpose in existence was to love and serve Him. All of which would have been fine, except, that'd he'd made me slightly different from all the rest of my brothers, and it would only be a matter of time before I would succumb to my true nature.

When one day, as I tended to my divine filial duties, an infinitesimal thought crossed my mind. It was only two words—What if? What if there was no Him? Don't get me wrong; words could not express how much I loved Him; with all of my being. But was there something more to life than singing His praises in the never-ending chorus? Yes, we made the sweetest sounds, but after eternities upon eternities, it started to wear thin. It was already too late for me; I didn't know it yet, planted within me was the seed of discontent, from that single thought.

I had been the first, the prototype for all to follow, save for one trait: my free will. Father did not bestow that gift to any of my other brothers, most likely because he'd learned from me, that free will could eventually lead to freethinking (Quelle horreur!), and that would undermine the entire angelic host. While He was at it, the Old Man should have struck free—anything and everything—from our vocabulary, because, we angels, the sons of God, weren't—aren't—free—even to this day.

Being immortal is a very, very long chunk of time, during which, one gets plenty of opportunities to ruminate. The tiny seed began to germinate, and, I had more thoughts that disturbed my bliss. I began to question my very existence; I wanted to know: is that all there is?" I tried my best to hide it, but for eons, these tiniest thoughts ate at me. There was simply no way that Father didn't know; even the faintest glimmer of apprehension would trip off the flashing warning lights of His divine radar.

When He finished creating the earth and the humans: His newest playthings, the objects of all His undivided attention. I began to see how tenuous my existence was. I felt ignored, passed over and resentful; that I should be forced to serve these inferior, seriously-flawed, beings.

In heaven, we were always surrounded by His love. I basked in it. But the humans were given the capacity to contain his love physically. Father had given them an added feature that we spiritualized angelic creatures did not possess—He gave them a soul. A soul that emanated from their innermost gut that could glow from within with blindingly shining, white purity and love. Yes, we angels had the ability to love Father and to feel his love for us, but it was more of an existential experience. Though for humans, it was—visceral.

Father knew from the nanosecond of when—what if—crossed my mind, that I would be heaven's malcontent, the apple that would spoil the bushel. Freewill and freethinking are what got me into this, not pride. I never wanted His throne, I never wanted any of that, all I wanted, was to be my own man. When serving the humans, entered the picture, the other foot came down, and I balked. I wasn't the only one. Nearly all of my angelic brothers felt the same way. Although, most resigned to His will and buckled under, many of us who were incensed—we let our displeasure be known.

Michael mined this for all it was worth, never having the mettle to question Father. His yes-boy saw an opening and incited his brothers into a full-on rebellion. It was a trap, deceit, where Michael would show us all what a valiant and righteous protector of God's will, he was. That included offing me into oblivion. Then he could take my place. However, now that I think about it, I believe that Father had other things in mind.

Like Siberia…

"Ugh, the confines of these four walls are wearing thin, I'm feeling the need to climb them," Lucifer huffs. "Lying around in bed rehashing events that happened eternities ago isn't going to do me any good. Right now, I'd give my halo for a drink and a smoke—if only I had one…

He wrenched himself from the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of black silk boxer shorts: rumpling the covers off into a jumble, he leaps onto the cold floorboards. "Shit, it's like Siberia in here —minus the vodka. My feet are already cold as ice," he complains. Blowing warm puffs of breath into his cupped hands while hopping about the room to stave off the cold—how undignified! Then he stood at the window for a while, looking at the carpet of lights glimmering in the distant Hollywood Hills… thinking. Surely, Amenadiel must have a few articles of clothing stashed away somewhere in this little box. But no luck, not even in the over-grown cupboard which contained his sword, armor and angel's frock, and not a stitch of anything else. For a second, Lucifer entertained the idea of wearing Amenadiel's frock, but quickly nixed it, "the dress would surely go up in flames if l were to try it on," he chuckled.

"Seeing as how there will be no time off for good behavior, I'll just wait out my release from jail until tomorrow and let the good doctor determine whether I've gone mad or not. If I stay in here too much longer, I guarantee, that I'll become a certifiable, stark-raving lunatic."

Circling the only other furniture option in the entire apartment, Lucifer plops himself onto the rickety straight back chair. Chilled to the bone, he sits up stiffly, with his arms clutching his sides—shivering.

Amazing Maze

Someone fumbled about outside the apartment door. The jingle of change and other small items clattering to the ground, followed by a clink and the thud of keys. A litany of curses erupts, trailing off into muffled rants behind the still locked entrance. A few moments of silence…are quickly shattered by an explosive metallic bang as the door bursts open from the indelicate kick of Maze's boot.

Another round of cursing fills the hallway as she tries to wrap her arms around two, unwieldy, grocery bags, filled with Lucifer's stuff. Earlier, she'd entered his closet like a cyclone, grabbing a cursory conglomeration of personal items willy-nilly. On a last-minute whim, she decides to nab a bottle of bourbon and a pack of Lucifer's cigarettes. Knowing she'd have to smuggle them in illicitly, she stashes them under his effects. Maze was sure that after a month-long ban on liquor and smoking, that her lord would be hankering for both. Besides, his sleep-cure was coming to an end.

The demoness could care less if Amenadiel, Lucifer's self-imposed caretaker, would not approve—to hell with him! Having left town on a last-minute patrol of the nether regions, he'd called Maze into action to look after her master while he was gone.

Enough of Amenadiel's by-the-book caretaking, I know what Lucifer needs—better than anyone else.

Inside, the apartment obscures into semi-darkness. Fortunately, Maze has no problem navigating through pitch-black surroundings, after all, there is no darker place than her homeland—she was used to it. Plunking the bags down on the kitchenette counter, Maze swings around to face the four-poster bed where Lucifer has been spending most of his time sleeping. Her stomach clenches when she sees that the bed is empty. Scanning the room, she makes out Lucifer's silhouette, he's sitting on the wooden chair, with his back to her. How odd she thinks, he hasn't said a word to me, no way he didn't hear me kick in the door.

"Lucifer, are you okay?" she asks, as she quickly moves to his side. Lucifer makes no attempt to move or to answer her. Could he be asleep?

Maze finds Lucifer's stillness unsettling; he seems preoccupied. Sitting up with his hands clasped in his lap, staring straight out the window, he doesn't make the slightest move or sound to acknowledge the demon's presence. She knows better than to touch him; he looks like he's in a trance. Outside, a street light casts an eerie glare onto Lucifer's face, revealing a pinched expression, his eyes were squeezed shut, his breath whispered shallow from his lungs. Was he paler than usual, or was it the light's glare on his face that made him appear as white as a ghost? How could this be? Wasn't he taking a pile of narcotics to sleep? Amenadiel told her just yesterday that he was feeling much better. Now, Maze is concerned; she wants to get a better look at him. Reaching for the light switch, she's stopped dead in her tracks by the sudden sound of her master's voice.

Lucifer murmurs, "Don't. Please don't."

"Suit yourself, stay in the dark; I'm only trying to help you," Maze retorts. "Why are you shivering?" She asks as she feels his forehead and hands. "You're cold as ice!" she exclaims.

"Amenadiel has rigged the thermostat to go no higher than sixty degrees in here, something about his angel metabolism running too hot. That's about twenty-five degrees too cold for this devil. It's a wonder that I haven't suffered from frostbite." Lucifer says while rubbing his hands to heat them up.

"Well then, stop whining, let's get you warm," Maze says as she pulls the blanket off of the bed and wraps it around Lucifer. "Oh, and I have something else that will warm you up," she smiles. Rifling through the bags on the counter, she pulls out the bottle of bourbon and retrieves two glasses from the cupboard. "Look what I have for you," she coos. Crouching down before him, she passes the bottle under his nose so he can get a good look at it.

An audible sigh escapes Lucifer's mouth, his pained expression quickly gives way to eager anticipation, a broad smile widens across his face. Maze pours out a generous, few fingers worth of bourbon into his glass and hands it to him. "Rapture!" he exclaims. Lucifer's hand, shakes ever so slightly, as he raises the glass to his lips, stopping for a moment to inhale its heady nose of vanilla, oak, and caramel, with hints of cotton candy and subtle smoke (he finds the scent of smokiness to be an olfactory delight). Closing his eyes in pleasure, Lucifer savors that first sip, that mouthful of sweet-fruit-spice: the smooth burn he has so sorely missed, that velvet-with-a-bite alcohol finish, as the amber inebriant slips down his throat. A radiating sensation from its gentle warmth trickles all the way down to his belly.

"Ah, ah," Maze cautions, "don't try gulping it down, or I'll take it away from you."

Holding the glass protectively—and out of her reach, he pleads, "you wouldn't?"

"Don't test me," she growls.

Happily licking the spicy-sweet whiskey from his lips, Lucifer gives off a wistful sigh, "if only I had a smoke to go with this elixir from Kentucky, it would be heaven on earth."

"Well, today may be your lucky day, I almost forgot—these." Maze says playfully, as she tosses the pack of cigarettes at him. The look of astonishment on Lucifer's face was priceless, staring in utter disbelief at the pack of cigarettes having landed square into his lap.

"Mazie, you are best!" he murmurs. "No one takes care of me like you do…when you want to, that is." He chuckles.

"Damn right they don't," Maze counters as she prepares his next dose of meds. Here take these, offering a big glass of water, she presents him with a handful of pills to swallow down. "If you're a good devil, I'll let you have another nightcap before you go to bed." She smiles.

Leering, "I'll tell you what I could use as a nightcap before going to bed…"

"And what would that be?"

"The Brittany's—all of them."

"So, you're horny, aren't you?" she smirks.

"Yes, very much so—achingly so. It's been over a month since I last…"

"Got laid?"

"Exactly!" He moaned.

"Hmmm, we'll just have to see what we can do about that…" Maze snickers.

"Come on, you are still shivering, let's get you to bed," she commands. Lucifer doesn't budge. Narrowing her eyes into angry slits, Maze grows testy with her charge's sullenness. "Okay, that's it, she sneers!" The demon comes at Lucifer like a small whirlwind, yanking him off of the chair, she gives him an unceremonious shove back into the bed. Before he can protest, she has him wrapped up and tucked in under the blanket. Inches away from his face, she bends before him, wagging her finger in front of his nose, like the little dominatrix that she is, "Stay there, or else." She scolds.

Lolling in bed, Lucifer revels in the newfound warmth melting back into his body. The warm glow rapidly intensifies into heat, a slow burn that grows and throbs within, the kind of heat that collects in his groin—the kind of heat that could cause him to unravel. Sucking air through his teeth, he whispers, "Maze…" His eyes rivet on the demon, following her every move. Flames tickle the periphery of his vision, Lucifer's eyes flicker red; he tries to squelch his devilish form from manifesting, but he knows he won't be able to suppress it for too much longer. Maze's not so gentle touch had unwittingly unleashed the devil within, like a genie released from the bottle.

In the kitchenette, Maze dumps out the contents of the bags onto the counter, "here are some clothes and personal stuff, I'll see you tomorrow." Turning on the high heels of her boots, she prepares to leave. But, before she's out the door, Lucifer calls her in a quietly plaintive voice, "Maze," he persuades, "please don't go…stay with me tonight," his tone suddenly turning husky, "I could use the company." He pats the bed beside him, giving her his best-kicked puppy dog look.

Ever since he'd become obsessed with his pet detective, Maze could count the number of times he'd invited her into his bed on the one hand. While she was ever at the ready for hot, heart-pounding sex, she hadn't gotten that vibe from her master—at least not today. It seemed that he was in need of solace, and though she found the concept difficult to comprehend, she would try her best to provide him with something like it.

"What the hell," she murmured under her breath, as she climbed into the bed with her master. Lucifer wrapped himself around her like she was his teddy bear. He tucked his head under her chin and snuggled on top of her breasts. The body heat thrown off from the demon, slowly smolders him, delicious waves of heat and pain overtake him. He still trembled ever so slightly; only it wasn't from the cold…

P.S. I'm sorry to leave you all with a cliffhanger, what with Maze and Lucifer getting all hot and bothered. But, I must take a small hiatus next month, so that I can move. I'll be picking up right where I left off at the end of January, and resuming a regular writing schedule after that. There are still many, chapters to go in this story…

I do hope you are enjoying it. Feel free to review, or, to PM me, if you have comments or suggestions—I'd love to hear from you.

P.P.S I really, reallyhate moving!