Chapter Text
Vox and Valentino had gotten into a rather nasty spat.
Vox didn’t want to hand over all his passwords—his control, to his business partner, and combining the fury of Valentino's usual tantrums with the events of the ‘cannon incident’ to fan the flames, he was beyond pissed at Voxs defiance.
He’d gotten his body back, and was ready to return to his helm, ready to regain his respect and power he’d fostered. However, it seemed Val had other plans. With a dramatic huff and puff, Valentino threw Vox out as a (temporary) punishment. Velvette watched from the sidelines, not wanting to get involved in their stupid battle for power. She was a little conflicted however, she was well aware of all the ways Vox held their business together, as well as their team. Velvette began to dread the Valentino outbursts she’d now have to deal with.
But it’s fine, Vox would be back in no time, begging for forgiveness, and everything would go back to normal.
Right?
Charlie jumped at the opportunity to have the man that wanted to wage war with heaven stay at the place where 'redeeming souls' was their motto. Having Vox, the Media Overlord, live at the Hazbin Hotel? It was too good to pass up. Sure, Vox was dragged through the ringer by 666 News and plenty of other sinners, but Charlie couldn't be happier. Once she heard that he’d been kicked out of V-tower, Charlie followed him around with her ever-present enthusiasm until he caved and agreed to come on the condition she’d ‘shut the fuck up’.
However, they don't just let him live there, it did take the princess a beat to realise she’d be harbouring a war criminal. So, after a little meeting with Sera and Emily, it was agreed that Vox would stay and work at the hotel, this way he’d be under supervision most of the time. Of course, he didn’t have any part in that decision, but it’s a far better punishment than the alternative—Execution.
Which he had no clue he was up for. Shouldn’t there have been some sort of trial? A warning? Or a ‘hey by the way since you lowkey tried to start a war with heaven we're gonna have to kill you’.
Nevertheless, there was no point in spiraling in every ‘what if’ scenario, Vox had a bigger and far more aggravating problem to think about. His new job. He had been given the task of basically-doing-whatever-anyone-asks-him-to-do, mainly Lucifer.
He expected a torturous array of tasks and demands from Alastor, but Charlie forbade them from interacting unsupervised in relation to their display of…unresolved issues. So, that’s one less thing Vox needed to worry about.
He’d been at the hotel for a couple of months now. Vox had gotten used to the King's petty yet playful errands or chores, slowly realising that Lucifer kinda just wanted company, someone who'd keep him entertained, and the entirety of the hotel staff had an unspoken air of relief–like Lucifer finally had something to play with.
Like he was an annoying puppy no one really wanted around.
Shaking off the thought, Vox strolls down the halls of the hotel. He'd noticed that Lucifer was pretty oblivious to the feelings of others, especially of how they felt towards him. Lucifer is the sin of pride, he doesn’t feel ‘bad’ or self conscious.
Or ashamed,
or insecure,
or unwanted.
Vox stops and looks up, realizing with a begrudging huff that he’s subconsciously made his way to Lucifer's door. It had been a week since Lucifer had ‘bothered’ him. It was odd.
‘Wait no it wasn’t, it was awesome. Jesus, what is wrong with me?’ Vox thought, wincing a little. But he couldn’t shake the tinge of pity swelling within his chest. Once or twice a month, Lucifer would go a couple days of complete isolation, not leaving his room. Charlie mentioned it happens when he gets engrossed in a project, but Vox had a feeling it was something far deeper. He awkwardly tries to shuffle away before anyone sees him—
“Oh! Well good aaaaaaaffteernoooon to you!” A chipper voice echoes from behind. Voxs’ eye twitching as he lets out a grumble before responding.
“Miss Morningstar, a pleasure.” His attempt to mask his sarcasm fails, but Charlie doesn’t seem to mind the attitude, frankly no one does, at least not anymore. It’s just Vox being Vox. Besides, it looks as though she has bigger things to worry about right now.
“Are you here to check on dad too?” Charlie asks, a little smile smearing across her face. Vox jumps a little at the accusation. Before he can retort, Charlie continues. “He’s been in there for the past week.” She states, gesturing to Lucifer's room. “I’ve tried texting him, and when that didn’t work, I tried to get into his room, just to check…but there were so many little rubber ducks I could barely get the door to budge, and he was just hiding under his covers! He wouldn't even respond to me!” Charlie's pacing back and forth, flailing her hands as her panic rises. “He’s usually snapped out of it by now, he’s usually finished…whatever he’s doing! But it didn’t see, like he was doing anything…I don’t…” She slows, glossy eyes glued to her phone.
Vox would rather not be a therapist, but he’s found that a calm, happy Charlie makes for a completely normal day without any horrific, over-complicated projects that he must participate in. With a sigh, Vox rubs the space between his brows, furrowing them, causing Charlie to pause and wait in anticipation.
“Alright princess, I’ll see what I can do, but no promises. I literally trapped him in a jar and used him as a battery. Not sure how much he’d be willing to talk to me.” Vox groans–slowly gesturing to himself, giving Charlie a confused look, but she appreciates his effort nonetheless.
“Thank you Vox, really. I'm a little worried about him, and despite everything, he really seems to enjoy your company! Give yourself some credit!” Charlie beams, giving Vox a little wave as she walks back down the hallway, a newfound ‘pep’ in her step.
Sighing…again, Vox reaches for the handle, pausing, trying to think of a good opening line.
…
He’s got nothing.
Vox gives the door a good nudge, hearing the little squeaks of rubber ducks as he further shoves the door open wide enough so he can squeeze through. It closes back up with a thud, ducks flooding the once empty spot the open door managed to create.
“Jesus…” Vox mumbles, a little out of breath. The ducks are up to his ankles, covering the floor. It's even worse at the dual staircases, both now complete walls of yellow, costumed little ducks. Further scanning the room, Vox' s eyes land on the bed, a mound curled up under a blanket.
‘Bingo’ He thinks. Like trudging through mud, Vox stumbles through the rubber-duck flooded floor, making his way to the edge of Lucifer's bed, kneeling down beside it, he’s now eye level with the mysteriously-Lucifer-shaped mound.
“Good morning, sir.” Vox begins, a little more deadpanned than he’d liked, but he was a little fatigued from traversing the rubber-duck infestation. “Are you alive?” Vox's only answer is a little shift under the blanket, which surprises him. Lucifer is usually never one to remain quiet. He must be in a bad mood— but no, he’d usually let everyone know, he’d be stomping down the halls or grumbling in a corner, he’d never…hide?
A little Charlie appears on Vox's shoulder, crying and incoherently blabbering about her dad. Vox shakes off the little miss, and with a newfound resolve, proceeds to grab the edge of the blanket, lifting it slightly, just enough so he could see underneath. They locked eyes immediately, Lucifer was lying on his side, curled in a fetal position facing Vox.
He quickly lowers the blanket, a little taken back by the direct eye contact. With a deep sigh, Vox lifts the blanket again, this time enough so he could pop his head and shoulders under. Lucifer was looking down at his hands, picking at his cuticles. He didn’t have makeup on. His eyebags are prominent.
They’re darker.
Vox doesn’t say anything, just kind of…stares for a bit. He’s never been one to be at a loss for words, he’s quite the smooth talker. But there’s a vibe–one that’s a little more delicate than usual, he’d rather not make it anymore awkward than it is.
“Not in a talking mood?” Vox thinks aloud, scowling as he studies Lucifer's expression. There's nothing. Just a blank, jaded slate, staring at his fingers, still picking away. But then he shakes his head, answering Voxs’, seemingly rhetorical, question.
Lightbulbbbbbb.
Vox rests his screen on his knuckle, propping himself up with an elbow, humming softly. He ponders for a moment, staring intently at Lucifer's incessant picking.
“Are you upset about something?” Vox begins, poking Lucifer's hand, stopping the king's sore attempts to self-soothe, or loathe, he's not sure. Lucifer peers up at the TV, his usually big doe-eyes now half-lidded. Vox inhales, eyes darting away subconsciously. He couldn't handle the direct eye contact, cowardly folding from his usual cocky and blunt persona. After a beat, Lucifer nods slowly, looking back at his hands, staring into space, his body still curled up as he lay on his side.
“Can you tell me what it is?” Vox continues. Lucifer shakes his head lazily, a little frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Can I try and guess then?” Vox questions, tilting his head and cheekily squinting his eyes. He needs to lighten the mood, if only a little. Otherwise who knows how long Lucifer will be in here, and how would Vox explain this non-verbal mode to Miss ‘it starts with sorry/communicating solves everything’ Charlie Morningstar. He doubts Lucifer even understands it, that's what makes this all a little harder to tackle. But, Vox theorises that if he can make the angel laugh, or get annoyed, he could get him back to his usual self.
Lucifer nods.
“Hmm okay…okay. What would make Mr. Morningstar mad?” Vox teases, tapping his ‘chin’, dramatically looking to the side. Lucifer isn't amused, still listlessly staring. “Tough crowd today”. Vox sighs, steadying his resolve once more with a pout. “Is itttttt…. Something to do with the hotel?”.
Lucifer shakes his head.
“Alastor?”
Lucifer shakes his head.
“Bad memories from the…uh…thing (the cannon)?"
Lucifer darts his eyes back to Vox. He quirks a brow, unimpressed.
Lucifer shakes his head.
Vox lets out a snort, then continues. “...Charlie?”.
Lucifer's gaze drifts back to his hands. There's a subtle shift in his expression.
Lucifer shakes his head.
Using that clue, Vox takes a little stab in the dark.
“You?” Lucifer stiffens. Bingo.
Lucifer nods, sheepishly.
A little correct buzzer sounds off through Voxs’ speakers–little confetti holograms burst out with the sound. “There we go! So YOU’RE your own problem!” Vox gestures towards Lucifer, whose high-brow expression proves Vox has cracked his mask. The angel lets out a defeated sigh.
There's another beat. Vox stares, watching the kings’ expression carefully. He thinks over what specifically could be weighing on Lucifer's mind, but knowing him, even in the brief time they’ve spent together, it can't be just one thing. Vox rests his head in his arms as he crosses them on the mattress, slumping over, still kneeling beside the bed. It seems the king isn't really in the mood for Vox' s usual dry humour, but he's always got his fail-safe backup plan–
“Whats wrong, Lucifer?” Vox mumbles gently, slowly tracing the lines of Lucifer's hand from the spot he had previously poked.
Begging.