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She woke to a complete and unfamiliar darkness.
Without moving, she took stock of her surroundings.
She was naked, unrestrained, and her head was on a pillow. The sheets against her skin felt silky.
She heard ice cubes clink in a glass and smelled a bit of cigarette smoke.
She shut her eyes tight in an almost wordless prayer.
Oh, no.
God, no.
But she had two bigger problems, besides the complete loss of her dignity.
Her mouth tasted vile and she really needed to pee.
She sighed silently and opened her eyes.
"Lucifer?" she called out into the darkness.
"Yes, Detective?"
Damn him for a smug prick.
"Why am I naked?"
She really didn't know if she wanted the answer to that question, but she'd take the risk. Plus, she was still sleepy and tipsy, a combination that made her a little reckless.
A warm chuckle came closer, and she could see the red tip of a cigarette moving towards her. "Well, after passing out, you woke up about an hour ago, told me, rather loudly, might I add, that it was...what did you say? Oh, that it was 'too hot in this five-star hell-hole,' tore your clothes off, then proceeded to hog the entire bed, snoring like an Albanian field wench when you fell asleep again. It was all quite impressive. And adorable."
She slapped her hands over her face. "Holy Christ in a side-car." He was never going to let her live this down.
She felt him gently tug at her wrists, pulling them down. She let him, and realized that there was just enough light for her to see.
He was dressed in black pajamas and a robe. He sat on the edge of the bed and held his glass out to her. "Hair of the dog, Detective?"
She sighed, audibly this time, and nodded. She scooched herself upright against the headboard, making sure to tuck the sheet around her as she did.
Finally, she was able to take the glass and have a sip of top shelf booze, which was much better than all of the cheap red wine she had swigged down earlier. Oh, that reminded her...
"Do you have an extra robe or...something? I need to use your bathroom." She wondered how bad she was blushing.
He reached down towards the end of the bed with one long arm and gently tossed her a robe similar to his. "Your clothes are on the shelf in the bathroom if you want to leave," he said softly. "I'll be on the balcony."
Then he got up and walked outside, the click of his lighter letting her know he was having another cigarette.
When she was pretty confident he couldn't see her, she slipped from the tangle of sheets, wrapped herself in the robe, and scurried to the bathroom.
After the longest pee in history, she looked across the enormous bathroom and yes, there were her clothes, neatly folded, on a low shelf.
If she "wanted to leave".
What she really wanted was a toothbrush. She rose, flushed, and quietly opened the drawers around the sink. She found a drawer of new toothbrushes and travel tubes of toothpaste. Tiny bottles of mouthwash were in yet another drawer. She grabbed a toothbrush, tore it open, and got to work.
Five minutes later, she felt better for brushing her teeth and washing her face and hands.
She looked at the clothes again. She should probably go home, but what did she have at home except for memories of being hurt and humiliated so badly it still made her eyes burn with tears?
But what would it say to Lucifer if she stayed?
What will it say to him if you run? another part of her whispered.
"I can't stay in the damned bathroom all night," she muttered, angrily wiping away a few tears with the back of her hand.
At that moment, a soft knock on the bathroom door startled her so much that she jumped. She pressed her hand against her chest, made sure the robe was covering everything, and opened the door.
Lucifer stood there, looking...a little uncomfortable. He handed her a mug that smelled like...
"Hot chocolate and Bailey's?" She felt her lips twitch into a small smile. "How did you find out my go-to comfort drink?"
He actually blushed a bit. "The morning I made you the omelette. I saw that the cocoa mix was next to the unopened Bailey's in the pantry. I figured you might want some tonight."
"Thank you, Lucifer." She sipped from the mug and felt herself relax at the familiar scent and taste. "Just what I needed."
He looked at her, head cocked to one side. "I have to say, I'm surprised you're not long gone by now. I expected you to yank on your clothes, then have a quick verbal sparring session with me before dashing out the door."
She ducked her head, feeling a bit ashamed that she had considered doing just that.
"We're...friends, right?" she asked before looking up to see him nod slowly. "You could have taken advantage of me, as drunk and angry as I was. But you didn't. You let me use your bed. Alone. You found and folded my clothes in case I wanted to run away." She took another, larger sip from her mug.
"I came here trashed and pissed off and you... I remember you talking to me before I passed out on you," she continued, feeling her cheeks get hot. "Literally."
She sneaked a look at him and he had his hand unsuccessfully covering the small smile on his face.
The silence spun out between them, but finally, she had to ask him.
"Why?"
He looked confused. "Why what, Detective?"
She felt the tears in the back of her throat. "Why... why didn't you want me?"
A look of understanding crossed his face. "Oh, I still want you--make no mistake about that. I realized that I didn't want Detective Dou--ahem--I didn't want Daniel to be in our heads and in your heart. That was a threesome I wanted no part of, darling."
He reached out and rubbed away a tear on her cheek with his thumb and ran his hand over her hair. "When it happens, when you're ready to be more than...friends, I want the two of us to be the only ones there. No anger, no exes, no hurt...Just us and our desire for one another."
She nodded and swallowed the last bit of doctored hot chocolate, carefully not looking at him. She felt him take the mug from her, then warm, strong arms wrapped around her.
"It's all right if you cry, Detective," he whispered. "I promise I will never tell anyone else that you are, in fact, capable of being hurt."
The tears that followed were old, hot, and bitter. "I just wanted him to love me back," she wept. "I tried so hard to fix us..."
He pushed aside his fantasies of what terrors he wanted to release on Detective Douche and picked up his Detective. He sat them both down on the sofa and cuddled her as she cried, keeping her body warm with his own.
But sooner rather than later, she eventually ran out of tears. He produced a handkerchief from a pocket and handed it to her. She looked at it, then looked at him with a level of annoyance that made him give her another smug grin. She yanked the square of fabric out of his hand, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then muttered, "When did you become a fucking Eagle Scout?"
He just laughed, relieved that his Detective was merely bruised, not broken. She gently punched his chest, then snuggled against him. She was warm and very sleepy. "Lucifer?"
"Yes, Detective?"
"Can I...can I stay?"
"Of course. I'll fetch you a pair of pajamas." He was the Devil, not stupid. He knew she desired comfort, not sex.
"Thank you," she whispered.
So he produced a set of turquoise silk pajamas in just her size, making her raise an eyebrow at him until he blushed. She changed in the bathroom while he straightened out the bedding. While she got settled in bed, he used the bathroom, brushing the taste of cigarettes and whisky out of his own mouth.
When he walked over to the bed, he noticed how small she looked in his bed, how vulnerable, how...wounded.
Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he hung up his robe and got into bed. He turned the lights off and settled on his side of the bed. He closed his eyes, content to smell the remnants of her perfume on his sheets.
"Lucifer?" he heard her whisper.
"Come here, darling," he replied, not opening his eyes, but opening his arms. He felt her, cautious and trembling, run a hand over his chest and rest her head on his shoulder. He felt her body relax against his and heard her sigh when he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing circles over her back with one warm hand.
"Sleep, Detective. We'll go back to hurling insults and double entendres at one another tomorrow," he murmured into her hair. He heard her low chuckle, then a yawn.
He lay there, warm and drowsy and content, holding his Detective. He let his mind wander down paths of future possibilities until the woman in his arms flipped suddenly on her other side, tugging him with her as if he was a bloody stuffed animal.
To add insult to injury, when they were spooned tightly against one another, she mumbled, "I don't snore," and promptly began to make a noise resembling that of a dying chainsaw with every breath.
He sighed, kept his laughter to himself, and slept, content with his nefarious plan of waking her in the morning with breakfast in bed...
...and Carmina Burana on maximum volume.
He couldn't be too kind. He was the Devil, after all.