Devil in the Details
Portal travel did not agree with Izzy.
Moving from so many places in such a short time had Izzy's stomach doing flips. Bile rose in her throat as she landed on shaking legs in the middle of Lucifer's living room, the whole room spinning as she tried to steady herself. The couch was the closest thing to hang on to, leather supple as she gripped it for dear life, eyes squeezed shut until her brain stopped pounding.
When she was certain she could move without vomiting, Izzy looked around her, astonished at the state of her new home.
"Let me just tidy up a bit," Lucifer said as he rushed to kick some of the shattered glass under the couch. "I have a cleaning lady. She comes on Thursdays, but I'm sure she will make an exception for a few extra Benjamins."
The place wasn't that dirty. Better than Magnus's apartment at the moment. But Izzy could tell that someone had been brawling. There were cracks in the walls and dust on the floors, more glass finely broken by the bar. She could only imagine what had happened here, who had hit who, who had pinned who up against the stone and knocked chunks out of the mantle.
"Is there anything I can get you?" Lucifer asked, awkward now they were alone. "A virgin mojito? Caviar? Netflix? Or perhaps a massage? When my therapist was incapacitated I got her this lovely masseur; I may still have him on speed dial - "
"I'm fine," Izzy cut him off before his suggestions became even more ludicrous. "Just...maybe a shower?"
She was still wearing her prison whites, the same clothes covered in ash and blood and zombie guts. Layers of sweat and grime coated her skin. She was covered in filth, tracking it all over the floors of Lucifer's penthouse. Lucifer looked no better, his suit covered in a thin layer of smoke and torn at the shoulder where Lilith had raked her claws down him in wild attempts to get free. He would likely want a shower of his own.
This was his house. He should go first. She shouldn't have ingratiated herself like that. She should have asked for something more simple to start, like a glass of water. Or maybe -
"Of course."
Lucifer dropped his phone on the bar and guided her towards the bathroom. Like every other space in his penthouse, it was massive. Open concept meant that there was no door to separate the space, but it was tucked around the corner from the bedroom, reminiscent of the long, thin halls to locker rooms Izzy used to change in after a good sparring session at the Institute. A walk-in shower was featured along the furthest wall, a toilet and a double vanity on the other. Up against a large window sat a soaking tub big enough to fit four people. There was no doubt Lucifer had pushed the limits of its occupancy in the past.
"Here you are," Lucifer said, depositing two downy towels and a few other things in her arms. "Would you like me to show you how the waterfall feature works?"
"No," Izzy said shortly, too quickly, making Lucifer flinch. She felt badly. There he was, opening up his home to her, and she was acting ungrateful. "I can figure it out, but I'll call you if I have any trouble."
Lucifer didn't say anything, merely nodding his head before exiting the bathroom.
Finally alone, Izzy let out a shuddering breath. The towels in her arms felt like cinder blocks, and she rushed to the vanity to put them down before she dropped them. Along with the towels, Lucifer had given her a shower cap, a few washcloths, and a robe, all of them far softer than the ones she was used to using. The Institute's towels felt like sandpaper in comparison. How was she ever going to go back to that?
Izzy braced both arms against the bowl of one of the sinks and breathed in deeply, trying to steady herself. She was a whole world away from The Gard, from Alicante, from the Institute, from her mother and Magnus and everything else she knew. She was safe.
So why did she still feel so vulnerable?
Minutes passed and she still hadn't turned the shower on. If she waited any longer, Lucifer would come back and ask what was wrong.
The shower was complex. The waterfall feature was not something Izzy was able to figure out in her exhausted state, but she did manage to get two of the four shower heads working. Hot water steamed out with gentle pressure, inviting Izzy in with its warmth. She stripped from her clothes and threw them in the trash, underwear and all. She wanted no reminders of where she'd been and what had been done to her.
Water sliced down her shoulders, cutting into the cold core of her and warming her like a balm. Before she had lived with Magnus and Alec, warm water was a luxury that not all Shadowhunters were afforded. Such luxuries made warriors weak. They were expected to shower like soldiers: scrub your body down, shampoo your hair, wash it all off in a cold deluge, then towel off in five minutes or less. Time was lives, and none could be wasted daydreaming in the bath.
Now, Izzy let herself luxuriate. She let her body go loose and pliant under the heat. It felt good on her abused muscles, knots loosening themselves the longer the water poured. She closed her eyes and indulged in the pleasure of such a simple thing as cleanliness. Aldertree hadn't let her do much more than wipe her limbs down with soap and a pail of water, his eyes fixated on her bare body through the glass of her cage, on display like some animal in a zoo. It was a demeaning experience, a defiling one. Izzy felt dirty with each drag of that nubby bar of soap across her distended abdomen, the residue it left behind a stain on her soul that she couldn't remove.
The soap in Lucifer's bathroom was expensive. She could tell by the bottles, how they were thin and sleek and written in multiple languages. They smelled like him, she realized: like smoke and bergamot and cinnamon. She was careful how much she used, dime-sized portions that rolled across her palm slick as oil. Dirt fell from her dark tresses, staining the water brown, then red as she scrubbed at the caked blood that had seeped from her clothes on to her skin. The skin she left behind flushed pink from heat and scrubbing, clean as a whistle and rich-smelling.
Eventually she turned the shower off, steam billowing up like clouds towards the ceiling. The towel she wrapped around her waist was warm from the steam, a cocoon to shield her from the cool air outside the shower. She had to wipe the condensation from the mirror as she approached the vanity, shock running through her as she caught sight of her reflection.
The girl in the mirror was thin and tired, dark circles under her eyes and her cheekbones protruding more sharply than considered healthy. Izzy's fingers shook as she traced over their prominence, disbelief coursing through her as she recognized them as her own. From her cheeks, she traced down to the jut of her collarbone, over the skin that once held the curved rune of angelic power. Now, that skin was pink and clear, no evidence that a rune ever existed. Her arms were much the same: thin and pale and bare. Everything that had once made her a strong warrior - her marks of power, her musculature - was gone.
She hadn't realized how much Aldertree had starved her until now, her body just another thing he took from her.
Strangely enough, her mundanity was not the most shocking change.
Izzy let the towel around her body drop. The cold air made her skin pucker, gooseflesh rising on her arms and legs. Her nipples pebbled, larger and more swollen than she was used to seeing them. She ran her hands over the valley of her breasts, over the flat of her sternum and further down where her stomach now protruded further than it had last time she had a mirror. Skin stretched to accommodate the life growing there, dark lines running jagged up from her hips and down her navel.
Five months. Izzy was about five months into the pregnancy. Logically, she knew that the changes to her body would grow too large to hide. But to see the proof this explicitly was jarring.
A flutter in her abdomen stopped Izzy in her tracks. Her heart beat in her throat, blood rushing to her ears as that fluttering happened again. It felt like there were a swarm of butterflies in her chest, but lower. Right where the baby would be. Hands shaking, she rubbed over her belly. Under her palms, the fluttering picked up strength, a tiny force of nature pressing against her.
Her baby was kicking.
Tears sprang to her eyes, a sob choked in her throat. Relief threatened to take her down and puddle to the ground with her towel. How many nights had she fallen asleep in the Gard, afraid that Heavenly Fire had killed her baby? How many nights had she feared Aldertree would cut her open and rip her baby from the womb before it was developed enough to live on its own? Now her baby kicked, fierce with joy and the comfort of knowing they were out of that dark place.
They were safe. Every single change to her body was worth it.
Izzy wrapped herself in the thick terry cloth robe, the hem dragging on the ground due to her short frame. Without heels, she barely broke five-two, and Lucifer was easily a foot taller than her. This was his robe; she was under no assumptions that he had gone out and bought her a whole wardrobe in the hour he'd opened his home to her. It was a strange feeling, wearing the Devil's clothes. On one hand, it felt forbidden, like Izzy was stealing something she shouldn't. On the other hand, it felt domestic. Like they were a couple sharing clothes.
Absolutely not, Izzy told herself, banishing all romantic thoughts from her mind. He invited you here to heal as a safe space. Nothing else.
For all Izzy knew, the Devil had a girlfriend who would show up at all hours of the day and night and drive her absolutely insane. Not that any woman who claimed to respect herself would stay with a man who housed the woman he knocked up while with them. At least, Izzy didn't want to put anyone in that kind of situation. Oh, by the Angel, was Izzy wrecking anything? Lucifer had mentioned a Detective in passing, but that sounded more like a pet name than a real name. Izzy hadn't even asked if her staying there would be an inconvenience.
"All done?"
Izzy jumped, too lost in thought to notice that Lucifer had entered the bathroom. He looked at her with interest, head cocked as he leaned against the entryway. Just watching her, waiting for her to make the next move.
"Yeah," Izzy said finally, calming her nerves. "Thank you for letting me use the shower."
"What's mine is yours," Lucifer replied loftily, stepping further in the room and picking the towel up from off the floor. Izzy looked down as he bent, amused that while even inside his own home, he still wore his wing-tipped shoes. "Besides, you look much better now that you don't look like you're auditioning for the role of science experiment number two."
Perhaps it was too soon or too close to the mark of what she had actually been through. Perhaps it was inappropriate to make a joke. But that didn't stop Izzy from laughing. Lucifer was irreverent, but he didn't put on the kiddie gloves with her. Izzy appreciated that.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, brow furrowed as he studied her face.
Izzy bit down on her lip. "Are you sure my being here won't get in your way?"
"Miss Lightwood, I assure you that there is no place I'd rather you be than right here."
There was a practical reason for Lucifer saying such things. She was carrying his baby, the heir to the throne of Hell and a creature of untold power. Of course he didn't want her galavanting off where Lilith or another Greater Demon could scoop her up and whisk her away. It didn't mean anything. Still, for a creature who wasn't keen on sentiment, the words warmed Izzy in the way the shower hadn't. Finally, she allowed herself to relax.
Lucifer steered Izzy out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. The sheets had been changed, black satin replaced with red. A pair of pajamas lie folded at the end of the bed, just as silky soft as the sheets. Memories of the last time Izzy was in that bed came flooding back. They made the skin at the back of her neck prickle with heat, her face flushing in a way that had nothing to do with the steam.
"You can take the bedroom," Lucifer said.
"Where will you sleep?" Izzy asked.
Lucifer didn't have a guest bedroom. If she took the bed, then he would be kicked out of his own room. Or maybe he expected them to share...
"Sleep, while a luxury I enjoy, is not necessary for celestial beings. I'll be fine." He cast a look at the clock on the bedside table, the time zone jump sending them three hours into the past in a matter of moments. Here in LA, it was barely even midnight. "Lux will be open for hours yet. Still plenty of entertainment to be had, favors to grant and all that."
"Lucifer, I can't - "
"I must insist." He wasn't going to take no for an answer, steering her towards the foot of the bed. "We can come up with a long-term solution in the morning."
Izzy was too tired to argue. Besides, she knew just how comfy that California king bed was, how the sheet were made of Egyptian cotton and the pillows stuffed with the finest down. Pure luxury. Pure sin.
"Thank you, Lucifer."
"Don't thank me, Miss Lightwood. After all, I'm the reason you're in this mess."
Ah, yes. Her mess. Because that's what she was to Lucifer: a mess to be cleaned up, a problem to solve, a burden unable to be offloaded. It was hard not to feel her heart sink a little at the thought that he was only doing this out of obligation, not out of a desire to form a connection with their child. Not out of any desire to see her safe. Here Izzy had thought Lucifer might have changed his mind. She was wrong.
Wasn't that what she wanted, though? If Lucifer was still intent on keeping them both at arm's length, wouldn't that make her life easier? She would be the one to make all the crucial decisions involving her child's rearing. She would be the one to oversee the schooling, the training, the socialization. There would be no second voice in her child's ear, dragging them down a path she might not want them to travel.
But then she thought about her relationship with her own father, how good it was - or at least how it was before the last few months ruined it. Her bond with her father was unlike any other. Growing up, her mother never understood her, but her father always did. It was a comfort to know that he was in her corner, supporting her. Would Izzy really want to deprive her child of that bond? Did Lucifer know exactly what he was denying their child?
It was too much to think about this late at night. It was too much to think about after the trials she just narrowly escaped.
Instead, Izzy crawled under the sheets and pulled them up around her head, just high enough so a sliver of the room was visible. The lights went out a moment later, followed by the soft patter of expensive shoes on expensive floors, and then the ding of an elevator. Angel only knew what Lucifer planned on getting up to tonight, but Izzy found herself longing for his presence the moment he was gone.
Loneliness was not a good feeling, not after so much time spent in isolation. The sounds of the city were so far away. The hum of the air conditioning was as good as white noise. Not a peep could be heard from the club below, not even the pulsing beat of the music. All Izzy could hear was the sound of her own heart, the sound of her own breathing rattling in her chest.
She pulled the blankets higher, squeezed her eyes tighter, and forced herself asleep.
... _ ...
Aldertree was smiling.
It was never a good thing when he was smiling. Smiling meant he was in a good mood, and good moods bore bad omens. More tests, more blood samples, more experiments. More taunts and jabs at her family, how she was never going to see them again. How she was never going home.
"This is your home now, Isabelle," he said, soft and sweet.
It was that tone that sent shivers down Isabelle's spine. The words were just words, vile as they were. Izzy could tune them out, even as she felt him cut her to the core. But that tone...that tone she once used to trust, once used to match with a smile of her own, the one she wanted to lean into and bask in even as he brandished the needle - wicked sharp and gleaming in the artificial light.
She couldn't let him get her. She couldn't -
Izzy bolted upright in bed, chest heaving and whole body sweating. She felt like she had just run a marathon, breath rasping in and out her lungs in shallow breaths. Everything hurt, from the tips of her toes to the tightness in her chest. The clock on the bedside table glowed with numbers just past three a.m.
Then, the tears came.
They stung at her eyes, burned as they trailed down her cheeks. Izzy rubbed furiously at her eyes, willing them to stop leaking, but they just wouldn't stop. A Shadowhunter didn't cry. A Shadowhunter didn't show weakness. Those principles had been drilled into her from the time she could hold a seraph blade.
But she wasn't a Shadowhunter now, was she? She couldn't draw a rune without it burning her skin off. She couldn't make her whip transform. She couldn't even wear her necklace without alerting her that she was some kind of reject. Some kind of freak. She had no home, no family who could help her now.
All she had was her baby.
She didn't realize she was sobbing until the other side of the bed dipped and someone touched her arm. It was a gentle touch, one meant to draw attention without alarming, one made with callused yet large hands, an onyx ring on the ring finger because of course Lucifer Morningstar slept in his finest. When Izzy looked up, she saw Lucifer staring at her, trying to find where she was hurt and how it happened.
What Lucifer did not expect was for Izzy to fall face-first into his chest and sob even harder.
His chest was stiff as a board, unyielding with muscle as she tried to burrow her way deeper. Tension corded through every tendon in his body. Arms remained paralyzed at his sides, half way raised to embrace her. Tears soaked through the silk of his shirt, the layers of his vest. Jacket crinkled in her grip as she tried to hold on to something real, something that wouldn't disappear when she opened her eyes.
Eyes remained closed as Lucifer relaxed. Arms finally came around to hold her, not tightly, not like a lover, but something comforting and solid. Something that smelled like cigarettes and whiskey. Something that felt like sandpaper and steel. Something real.
The feeling of those arms weighing her down was what finally dragged her into a second deep and dreamless sleep.