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“Okay, just be more assertive,” Charlie mutters to herself as she stares at the elevator doors. “Just like Vaggi told you. You can do this. You can be so strong and assertive.”
The elevator doors open with a bright chime and the hallway that leads to Lucifer's tower greets her, sparkling with a light golden sheen and smelling like caramel apples. Charlie takes a deep breath, nods once, and puts her hands at her sides before taking a step out of the elevator.
“You're not being mean. You're not hurting him. You just need to be a bit more convincing.” Charlie repeats the affirmations as she walks towards the door. “Someone has to do it and it's better you than Niffty...probably.”
Self-assuredness therefore bolstered by thoughts of what Niffty's wake-up call for Lucifer might look like, Charlie ascends the stairs and pulls his door open in one quick motion. She's been in his room enough to know what to expect: the bed in the center, the bookshelves behind it, a few scattered pieces of clothing and the piles of ducks littering the floor. Charlie ignores all that and focuses on the lump of blankets in the center of the bed, letting the door fall closed behind her.
Lucifer, despite most certainly being awake, doesn't move. Charlie crosses her arms and mentally counts out several long, awkward bars of music in her head.
Still nothing.
“I know you're awake,” Charlie says eventually.
“No, I'm not,” Lucifer replies, muffled from underneath his blanket pile.
Charlie rolls her eyes. “I'm not going to let you hide under your blankets for two days in a row. You know the rules. There's a 24 hour limit.”
“I got up last night and got water from the bathroom,” Lucifer protests. “That resets it. I have...so many more hours to go.”
Be more assertive. Vaggi's advice rings in Charlie's head and she screws her face into a hard expression that doesn't betray how bad she feels about the fact that she's plotting on how best to physically drag her father out of his depression nest. She's not going to hurt him, and she doesn't want to make him feel worse, either, but she's not going to let this continue. If she's learned anything about dealing with Lucifer since he came back into her life, it's that letting him self-isolate is the quickest way to lose him again.
With that, Charlie makes her decision. “Okay, fine.”
“Wait, wh—?”
Lucifer cuts himself off with an outraged squawk — and that really is the word for it, bird-like as angels' noises sometimes are — as Charlie marches up to the bed, grabs two fistfuls of the blankets, and yanks it all down. Lucifer, left unceremoniously bare although thankfully dressed, squawks again and scrabbles for his bedding before pulling his knees up to his chest and giving Charlie an offended glare from where he's curled up in the now-empty center of the mattress.
“You're getting up,” Charlie tells him, leaving no room for argument.
Lucifer's expression flits between several emotions before finally settling on a pleading and somewhat pathetic look of recalcitrance. “Charlie, I don't want to.”
“Tough luck.” Charlie almost cringes when she hears those words in her voice. “Come on. Up.”
Lucifer hesitates. Silently, Charlie picks up another count. Maybe this has been enough. Maybe she won't have to do more. Then Lucifer sighs and flops back down to the bed, rolling over onto his other side and snapping his fingers to summon one of his blankets back over him.
“Look, sweetie,” he starts, sounding legitimately regretful, “it's just not that easy to—”
Charlie doesn't even give him a chance to really get in on it: she yanks his blanket off (again) and grabs him by his wrists to bodily haul him to the edge of the bed. It's less of a squawk and more of a screech this time, and Lucifer claws at the sheet to try to find purchase before Charlie gives another firm tug and he lands on the floor.
Okay, so in her defense, Charlie didn't mean to do that.
She bites her lip as she looks down at where he's sprawled on the rug, hair mussed and sweater askew, his tail having appeared in the struggle to coil behind him like a curious snake. It's not like he's hurt, but she still feels bad. Lucifer, on the other hand, is looking up at her with a borderline awestruck look on his face, his cheeks dusted with gold and his eyes wide. Charlie ignores that and remembers that she's being assertive right now. What would Vaggi do to someone who won't listen to her?
“Whoah, wait, Charlie—” Lucifer protests when she grabs him by the back of his shirt, hauling him up from the ground in a pile of flustered, clumsy angel. “Charlie!”
Charlie's tall enough and Lucifer is light enough that she can hold him above the ground with one hand, fingers fisted into the thin fabric of his t-shirt to make a thin strip of pearlescent and eerily smooth skin show above the waistband of his pajama pants. Charlie ignores that, too, and gives him a light shake to try and get him to focus on her face again.
“Here's what's going to happen,” Charlie says, calm but firm just like Vaggi told her to be. “You're going to get dressed. They don't have to be nice clothes, but they have to be different clothes. Then we're going to go down to lunch together. It runs for another 45 minutes. We're going to eat and then I'm bringing you to art therapy with me. Then, and only then, can you come back here if you want to.”
“That sounds terrible,” Lucifer whines, then he seems to realize what he said and starts kicking his hooves to try and find purchase on the bed to pull himself free from Charlie. “I mean—”
Charlie, more pissed off than she'd like to be, gets entirely fed up with her stupid father's stupid bullshit and moves away from the bed before he can use it to escape. The closest thing is the side of the bookshelf next to the stairs and that's where she goes, spinning Lucifer around before he can even comprehend it enough to protest and pushing him face-first into the solid wood with her other hand flattened against the small of his back. He makes an indignant little noise and then goes silent, tail twitching sullenly, as Charlie speaks again.
“I'm not going to lose you again, Dad. I don't want to watch you self-isolate and lock yourself in here and fade out like you did before and I know you will because I can already see it happening.” She takes a deep breath and makes an effort to calm her tone, not wanting to sound angry even if she kind of is. “I just want my dad back. I want my dad back without having to drag him there. Do you understand?”
Lucifer is silent for a few truly painful seconds, and then, quietly, he says, “Yes.”
Charlie didn't expect that to hit her as hard as it did, and she has to swallow a strange choking feeling in her throat. “Will you come to lunch with me?”
“...Yes.” Lucifer sounds like he almost can't believe he's saying it.
The relief that washes through Charlie is bright and clean, rinsing away the shame that had started to set in at the act of having to physically shove someone into a wall just to get them to listen to her. It's still enough of a terrible, dirty feeling to make her let go quickly once she remembers she's still holding him, backing up and curling her fingers into the hem of her jacket as if she can wipe away the evidence. Lucifer lands on his hooves and turns around to lean against the bookshelf, his face an even deeper gold than before. The choking feeling comes back to Charlie's throat and she finds something else to look at, settling on the mess of blankets around the bed. That's safe enough. It doesn't make her think about the feeling of his body pressed between her and a hard surface, at any rate.
“So, um,” Lucifer says, drawing her gaze back to him as he resettles his weight on his hooves. “What do you want me to wear?”