whatwas | (no subject)

Break isn't really able to articulate anything in return, to acknowledge or accept what he's said, forgive him or even think about it.

She's still stuck trying to process the pain, feeling like her heart is being ripped out of her chest. Maybe wary of him- but not able to pull away, just frozen in a sort of agonized betrayal. The saddest part is she loves him enough to stay, even if there isn't an apology. But God Almighty, it hurts her.

It's perhaps for the best Lucifer hasn't offered one yet. All his apologies come out as accusations. But he does learn, and learn quickly.

"I will never--" All of it. Everything about it. He won't let that happen again.

At least he's good at keeping promises.

She knows that. So when he promises, she trusts him utterly, nodding, putting her arms around his waist and holding him against her body.

And finally, a shuddery, unsteady apology:

"I'm sorry I made you want to leave."

"I'm sorry I made you doubt your place."

She answers, reaching up to trail a fingertip over his bottom lip.

"If you asked me to, I would- but I love you because you do not ask."

"That isn't the only reason."

He doesn't need her to confirm that. There are a lot of people who wouldn't ask her to choose. There are also a lot of people who would be much, much easier to live with, to know, to allow into the nooks and crannies of your life.

"We know better things than we did this morning."

"Nothing is the 'only reason.'"

She reminds him, stretching out, with a shuddering breath. She paws at her eyes, then her nose.

"I'll do better to be sure you know, though. From now on."

"I usually do know."

All he has to do is look, really. But yes, there are moments of doubt, of bitter jealousy.

"The room made things trickier."

"You have to remember now."

Hand resting over his stomach.

"I do."

He strokes her cheek.

"Every detail, now."

"We're making offspring. They'd shatter, having their parents do something like that."

"We're going to have a girl."

He knows things like this. He knows what she'll look like if they do keep her. He knows she will almost certainly make a painting for Break out of chocolate and vanilla pudding and her own small hands.

"And you're right. She'd never know what to do."

"It is our duty to protect her, come what may."

She informs him, in all seriousness.

"You may think what you like about me, sacrifice whatever you will or won't. But if you need to throw your life away for our children, you have to. To be felled by a mortal blow. To swallow your pride. I would never ask you for that for me, but that is parenthood- and if you can't do that, you need to end what's happening in me right now."

"And what will you tell the others?"

He doesn't want their influences, their fingerprints in his offspring's life. Besides which,

"They won't all be happy about this."

"Nothing."

She shakes her head.

"They'll be angry."

He gives her a look that's somehow amused and grave at once.

"Even if I make them all blind, they will notice."

"I'll spend it alone."

She's resolved to facing the quiet.

"No you won't. If we were going to do this with one of us being solitary, I'd be where you are."

He bites at her lightly.

"No- you have your plans."

She reminds him.

"Sam. Angels."

"And I can keep the demons working on the little problems for a year."

A few slow, lazy kisses.

"Don't argue. It's this or I have a demon bring you tea, and we both know that won't happen."

"We've never lived together for a week, never mind a year."

She reminds him.

"And you just killed me."

That drives it home. He looks at her, somewhere between horrified and remorseful.

"You know I wouldn't now."

Don't you?

"Promise?"

She needs to hear him say it.

"I promise."

It's hard to say; thinking about it, about the alternative especially and all the uncertainty, hurts.

"I will never--"

She leans up, and gives him a soft kiss on the forehead.

"And would you die for this child?"