#reignedhell

❝ ━━ i am sorry, mister, do you have any PROBLEM with that?  ❞

‘    what does that mean ?  hey  —  talk to me.    ’

a last - ditch effort to gain a little traction,  but he’s looking at her like she committed the ultimate breach of trust  &  it’s  terrifying.      ❪   maybe he’s telling the truth.  maybe he’s been telling the truth all this time like he said he would  &  she was too obstinate to allow even a hypothetical scenario in which it could be real.  when i see something i can’t explain,  yeah,  i look for answers.  he bled when her bullet grazed him,  just like anyone else would.  the devil doesn’t bleed,  right ?  the devil doesn’t exist.  maybe  –––––––   ❫

do i scare you ?

no.

‘    lucifer.    ’

maybe none of it matters,  because at the end of the day none of it changes what  DOES :  he’s made quite the lasting impression.  somewhere along the line,  he managed to get under her skin in a way that she just can’t seem to shake.  &  she cares.  probably more than she should.  it won’t end well for  either  of them.

she takes one cautious step towards him,  a measured approach,  testing the waters ;  he’s never looked at her like this before.  she doesn’t like it.  can’t reconcile the man in front of her with the man who’s  HAD HER BACK  at almost every turn for the last seven months.

‘    okay.  let’s say i believe you.    ’

three feet away  &  she stays put,  doesn’t break eye contact.

‘    let’s say  —  you really are who you say you are.  start there.  now are you gonna tell me what’s got you so scared,  or do we have to keep going in circles ‘til i figure it out myself ?    ’

‘    can you  —  can you at least  PRETEND  to be taking this seriously ?    ’

it never fails :  back to the grindstone for a matter of minutes  &  he’s already on his third punchline.  nothing she hasn’t grown accustomed to,  except for the fact that he’s been trailing after her like a puppy for the past couple of weeks,  complaining,  quipping,  &  babbling in that way people do when they’re nervous.      ❪   not for a lack of trying,  but he  STILL  won’t tell her what’s wrong.   ❫

she ducks her head as she side - steps him,  mostly to hide an exasperated smile that isn’t  —  in spite of her best efforts  —  without a dash of genuine fondness.

actually,  she almost laughs.

‘    i think you’re safe,  anyway.  nobody wants to kidnap a guy who never  shuts up.    ’

 reignedhell whaddup hellions.it me twin ah, yes,...

luci: i’m gonna kick my own ass

it me twin

ah, yes, it’s .... looks at smudged writing on hand, lug fur mourning stir. ( ilu armie )

becomeshope: whaddup hellions.

M Y C HI L D !!!!!

‘    okay,  you know what ?  that’s it.  i have been walking on eggshells with you for  WEEKS  now,  just hoping that  MAYBE  you’d come around  &  actually  tell me  what’s wrong instead of  —  instead of shutting me out,  &  i am  done.  what the  hell  is going on with you,  lucifer ?  i mean,  what could possibly be so terrible that you can’t even  TALK  to me ??    ’

her voice raises without breaking into a full - blown shout,  but there’s an edge of desperation to it that makes her physically cringe.  she’s frustrated ;  even more than that,  she’s  WORRIED.  &  worry manifests into something that feels a lot like fear,  because it dries her throat  &  leaves a leaden pit in her stomach every time she looks at him.  i will never lie to you.  he told her that months ago.  lying by omission isn’t better. 

it’s almost  worse.

‘    i’m sorry,  i’m  –––––––    ’      a long,  leveled breath is drawn in  &  released.  tone softens,  quietly distills as concern settles itself into the crease between furrowed brows.  three tentative steps close the literal distance between them while doing  nothing  to span the metaphorical.      ‘    i just mean  —  you can trust me.  i shouldn’t have to tell you that.  &  this  —  whatever this is  —  i want to help.    ’

the rest is unsaid,  writ in steady eye contact :

i’m not going anywhere.

‘    nice try.    ’      UNBELIEVABLE.  if she has to give him credit for anything,  it’s his determination.  she repositions on the couch,  angled so that her back presses against the armrest  &  she can face him fully.  dinner was a stilted affair,  forced civility between him  &  the still colorfully named  detective douche,  any awkward lulls in conversation reliably filled by trixie’s innocent chatter.  dan left before dessert.  there’s a nagging voice in the back of her mind that says  call him,  check in,  but the pinot grigio makes it a hell of a lot simpler to focus on what’s in front of her.

‘    wait.  so,  i say i  owe  you one  &  you  —  let me see if i’m getting this right.    ’      she’s too sober to account for the swell of laughter that builds in her chest,  the smile pulling at each corner of her mouth  &  the way a hand lifts to cover it.      ‘    out of   everything  you could ask for,  THIS  is the favor you’re calling in ?    ’

oddly endearing in its childishness,  a decisive step down from the innuendos  &  recurring attempts to get her into bed that,  at some point,  started to feel like a  TEST  of her own resolve.  it’s a shadowy line.  they toe the edge every day.  you can’t deny that there’s a connection between us.

maybe,  then,  a  test  is the whole point.  like a first date  —  not that she’d call this a date :  most of the time you know  before  the kiss,  but sometimes that’s what it takes.  a definitive yes or no.  smile fades,  eyes achingly bright,  she’s looking right at him  &  she  still  can’t figure him out,  even now,  even after getting this far  &  establishing this  TRUST  that doesn’t come easily.  she’s letting her guard down,  again.

‘   –––––––  okay.   ’

a softer tone than before.  less  self - assured.  she leans in,  smells the subtle musk of cologne  &  the sweet residue of his last drink that somehow  DOESN’T  turn her stomach.  absurd,  vexing,  like so much about him.

leans in an inch further.  she isn’t drunk this time.

she’s almost  too  clearheaded. 

there are no fireworks when their mouths finally meet,  no orchestral crescendo :  but it’s  warm.  somehow impossibly familiar.  nothing hesitant,  nothing clumsy or uncertain.  lips part  &  it’s an open invitation to keep going.  truth be told,  it’s  better  than she expected.

he won’t let her live this one down.

‘    no,  i’m  –––––––  really  not.    ’

her face is starting to feel warm,  but she’ll blame that on half a glass of wine  &  not enough central AC.  they’re still walking this tightrope that’s as maddening as it is comforting,  &  she’s running pretty low on excuses of the  WHY NOT  kind.  then it starts to feel warm  everywhere  until she has to look away,  smile into her glass,  reflect in that half - drunk,  half - sober way that either illustrates poor judgment or the only time things have any clarity.  she hasn’t decided.

‘    i don’t know what it is about you.    ’

pondered thoughtfully,  unexpectedly,  with no real prompt for the sentiment.  words often come a little easier,  with a little more  VULNERABILITY,  at times like this.  when it’s quiet.  when there’s no one around but the two of them.

‘    i mean,  you’re clearly nuts.    ’      teasing,  a turn of her head to smile instead across the finite space between her  &  him.      ‘    you are  —  INFURIATING,  on a good day.  but for some reason,  it’s like  —  most of the time you’re the only person who has my back.  the only person i can  trust.  is that crazy ?    ’