Chapter Text
Azrael leaned over the edge of the penthouse balcony, arms braced to push herself as far out as possible, eyes closed. Lucifer, coming into the penthouse, paused at the sight, then quietly moved to the balcony. "Everything all right?" he queried lightly.
Azrael started, and Lucifer's hand shot out to grab her before she could overbalance. 'Thanks," she said, taking a shaky step back from the balcony's edge. "That could have been embarrassing."
"Not to mention messy," Lucifer agreed. "Having a rough day?"
Azrael considered her answer as she followed Lucifer into the penthouse. "Nothing particularly awful happened," she said finally. "Just... missing home is all. Missing my wings. Wanted to feel the wind on my face."
"Ah." Lucifer poured himself a drink, then gestured with the bottle. "Want some? Or something else?"
Azrael shook her head, with a faint smile. "I don't think Chloe would be amused if I showed up smelling of alcohol."
Lucifer looked over. "Is that tonight, then?"
Azrael got herself a glass of water, then folded herself into a chair. "Sure is. I'm all set to go." She gestured toward the backpack next to her chair, decorated with Azrael from The Smurfs. "The humans named a cartoon cat after me," she said, looking amused. "Of course, the cat is male and evil, but it's something."
Lucifer considered the backpack. "Good likeness," he teased. Azrael made a face at him, but he continued, "How are you paying for all this? Or are you paying?"
"I'm paying, "Azrael replied. "No stealing, that's one of the big ones."
Lucifer shook his head, dismissing the rule. "Yes, but where are you getting the money?" Azrael hesitated over her answer, and Lucifer said, with a grin, "Now you're trying to think of the most outrageous answer possible."
"It's really annoying when you do that," Azrael replied, shaking her head, though she smiled. "Nobody likes a show-off."
Lucifer laughed. "Plenty of people do, just depends what you're showing off. Seriously, though, do you need money, little sis? I've got plenty."
Azrael shook her head. "I'm doing okay, but thanks. As for where I got it... you won't laugh?"
"No promises, but I'll do my best."
Azrael curled a little more into the corner of her chair. "Uri helped me make some investments," she explained. "He saw the patterns, told me where to put the money."
"How'd you talk him into that?" Lucifer queried.
Azrael's smile held an edge of wistfulness. "I'd mentioned that having money would be useful, as much as I was here for my job, and he offered. He could be helpful when it suited him. He wasn't always... who he became." Her voice softened, grew thoughtful. "I think it was hard on him, knowing what would happen. Do you know," she added, looking up with another small smile, "The day Amenadiel took Mom to Hell, I was upset. I went walking, and came upon Uriel."
"Let me guess," Lucifer said crisply. "Uriel offered his boundless wisdom, and you felt better."
Azrael shook her head, gaze distant. "He told me he knew it was going to happen, and I hit him."
That caught Lucifer's attention. "You hit Uriel?"
"Pretty sure he let me do it, what with the whole pattern thing," Azrael admitted, with a nod. "Just the once, but it helped. Uri, well..." She risked a glance at Lucifer, but he was studying his drink. "He understood some things."
Lucifer looked up, eyebrows lifting sardonically, "I don't really remember him as the understanding sort."
"Well," Azrael began. "No. You wouldn't." She hesitated, then added, "You didn't exactly have much of an opportunity to see him lately. Except for, well, that last time."
"Yes," Lucifer said, a note of irony creeping into his voice. "And we all know how well that turned out. Do enlighten me, dear sister, how brother Uriel was so understanding."
Azrael took a deep breath, then got to her feet. She crossed to where Lucifer was standing and got a glass, filling it and then topping off Lucifer's drink as well. She took a long drink, her expression wary.
"Thought you said the Detective wouldn't approve," Lucifer observed, though he pulled his refilled glass closer, perhaps recognizing that alcohol might help this particular conversation.
Azrael retreated a few steps. "Well, that's why Dad gave us breath mints." Leaning against the back of the couch, she said lightly, "Uriel was like me, is all. Not one of the favored children. Not the firstborn. Not," she added, with a gesture of her glass toward her brother, "the firebrand, Father's favorite. We-"
"Father's favorite," Lucifer protested. "Azrael, he cast me out, sent me to Hell, and you say that?"
Azrael took another drink, her hand tightening on the glass. "Yes, I do," she replied, her voice intent. "If Uriel had rebelled against him, if I had, we would have been killed. But you? He gave you a kingdom!"
"But it was Hell!" Lucifer drained his glass and set it down on the bar, a little too hard. "And you're hardly as out of favor as you say, little sister. Angel of Death, yes?" Here he mimicked Azrael's habitual tone of voice for her former job.
"Angel of Death," Azrael agreed, voice brittle. "Yes." She tossed back her own drink. "And did it ever occur to you to ask why I got the job? Of course not." She put down her own glass with somewhat more care, then crossed her arms over her chest. Speaking slowly, her diction precise, she explained, "I was made Angel of Death after I suggested to our father that he should release you from Hell, or, barring that, take the time to go see for himself what being there was doing to you. I was polite. I was respectful. Despite that, he, in his infinite wisdom, decided that I clearly had too much spare time on my hands, and so - Angel of Death." Her voice held bitter mockery of Lucifer's mimicry.
Lucifer started forward, expression startled. "Rae-" he began.
"No," Azrael interrupted sharply. "You don't get to talk right now. You'll just use your charm, and you'll smile, and I'll remember that I like you, and I need to finish this while I can."
Lucifer subsided, lips tightening, and gestured that his sister should continue.
Azrael rubbed her forehead, then raked a hand through her hair, sending it askew. "The funny thing is that I ended up liking the job," she said quietly, studying the floor at her feet. "I don't know if that was part of Father's ineffable plan or just dumb luck. Then I lost a knife and he took it all away. You defied him again when you left Hell. You-" Her voice quivered as she turned her gaze back to Lucifer. "-you killed Uriel. I don't doubt your motivation, but that doesn't make him any less dead. Here you are with no consequences, life as usual. And you still doubt that you're favored?"
Lucifer shook his head, his expression gone grim. "You go too far," he said harshly. "You're pissed off at Dad for sending you here and you're taking it out on me." Azrael began a heated denial, but Lucifer turned sharply to her, eyes flaring red. "No," he snapped, as Azrael flinched. "Now it's my turn to talk. The reason I'm still here with, as you say, no consequences, is that dear old Dad doesn't give a shit. He wrote me off eons ago." Lucifer refilled his glass and paced toward the balcony, his movements those of a caged lion. "I shouldn't have to tell you this Azrael. You said Michael was the one who dealt with you; when was the last time our father even spoke to you? He doesn't care. You'll be lucky if he remembers to bring you back to the Silver City. He hasn't even done anything about Mum, and she led his precious humans to your blade, incited that killing spree. He just. Doesn't. Care."
Had Lucifer turned during his speech, he would have seen the emotions that crossed his sister's face. Initially shocked, she rocked back with the tide of his words, as if they carried the force of blows. Deep hurt warred with a low, simmering anger. If he had turned, he would have seen her pick up her backpack. As it was, the only thing he saw when he finally dud turn was the elevator doors closing behind her.
Lucifer considered the closed doors. He tossed back his drink, looked at the elevator again, shook his head. "Typical Azrael."
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