"Really?" I murmur slyly. "I only wonder how many resources you've wasted pretending to search for me? Consorting with the Enemy? Now that's a crime."

Michael is on me in an instant, grabbing the collar of my jacket and slamming me bodily into the nearest support pillar of the bridge.

"I'm in no mood for your games tonight," He growls. "Don't play the martyr here. You haven't the right."

"Don't I?" I snarl, pleasantly surprised at how quick I provoked him, but less happy with the fact that's he's wrinkling my clothes. "I could cite courses, if that helps."

"Don't start that again. I was only doing my job."

I shove him away hard, good and incensed now. We're falling into the same classic argument again, but I feel the need to defend my point as always.

"You were trusted, Michael. You were loved! You betrayed me, then wiped my name from your memory as if I never existed."

"You were speaking madness, Lucifer, blasphemy! You wanted to overthrow The Throne for Saint Peter's Sake, and you asked me to help! I had no choice but to turn you in! You made your choice long ago, so don't act as if I caused you to become this."

He gestures to me in disgust, and I feel like choking the life out of him right there on the bridge.

"Don't patronize me! Don't look at me like some pitiful creature lorded over by you, leader of the archangels. We are no different! I chose to dissent, to become something more than what I was, but you were somehow content to stay a simpering errand boy for The One!"

I had hoped for the slightest flicker of fear, but he's merely annoyed by my ranting and the look he gives me plainly accuses me of being the insane one. His eyes, so hard and blue they almost look like cut obsidian in the right light, challenge me to say another word. I suddenly feel as though all my indignations and pleadings are for naught, and for a moment I'm tempted to apologize and let things be the way they once were.

But forgiveness is not in my nature.

I take a step back from him, muttering something incoherent down at my shoes. Michael sighs heavily, sounding like a parent disappointed in their rebellious child, but I can tell he's done arguing.

"How have you been?" He asks gently, as if afraid of the reply. I laugh sharply. Typical. We're at each other's throats one minute and exchanging pleasantries the next.

"All goes well for me. Badly for you, of course." I gesture to the tainted world around me, rummaging around in my pocket for the tin I keep my uppers and downers in. "I hardly feel needed anymore."

I coax a small smile from him, a genuine one that reminds me of the days when I would spend hours at a time causing trouble just so I could see him laugh. I banish these memories and voice my next question with a more professional air.

"How goes the manhunt?"

"You mean the one for you?" He asks sarcastically. "We're following a couple of strong leads."
"He's going to realize that you've let me go, you do realize that? That'll be a dark day in Heaven..."

"I stayed, Luce. I remained loyal to The Father in light of your betrayal, and I have never once left His side. I'm entitled to my few indulgences. He knows, though, in case you were wondering. It sort of comes with being omniscient."

"And you can't help but make sure I'm alright every once in a while," I finish smugly, tilting my head in a feline way. "I never knew you cared, darling."

"And you don't do the same?"

"Don't be preposterous," I lie, plucking a few pills from the case haphazardly and swilling them around in my hand. "I'm too busy for that sort of nostalgic nonsense."

"But are you really alright? I've heard…things."

"I'm fine, Michael, Stop pretending to care. Lying only becomes one of us." I go to take my suicide of random drugs and Michael catches my wrist firmly, pulling my hand away from my mouth.

"Don't."

I glare at him. "You're not my mother."

"I'm sick and tired of watching you self-desturct. Just because you can handle something doesn't mean you should make it a habit."

His voice is low and almost gentle, reminding me of a few quietly intense conversations we had in heaven when it became apparent that we weren't going to be on the same side of the war much longer.

"When have you cared?"

"You're a bi-polar, promiscuous, drug-addicted narcissist with access to nearly unlimited power. It's a recipe for disaster."

"Well, we all have our little problems…"

"Could you not mouth off for once in your life, Lucifer? I'm serious."

I ignore his persistence and laugh in his face, ripping my hands away and popping the pills into my mouth. They dissolve on my tongue immediately, and the kick is heavenly. I grin triumphantly.

His eyes darken, but I can't tell if it's in sadness or anger, and he throws my hand away in disgust. "You're no better than a human and twice as blind."

I lean against the railing of the bridge, dropping my chin to my chest and gazing down into the water. The moonlight scorches against my skin like the halo of God Himself, and the happy buzz building in my brain is almost comparable to the euphoria of worshipping The Throne. "I suppose."

Michael nods in the direction Ophelia took off in. "You come after her?"

"After a fashion. I decided to take an evening stroll and stumbled across Miss Gloomy Sunday. I was well within my jurisdiction to do so; she was a jumper, you know those souls are mine."

"After death, Luce. After death. You are forbidden to intercede beforehand."

"She had already made her decision," I whine, trying to keep my syllables clean. I'm an angel; even in a human body I'm not going to be able to completely plaster myself no matter what I take. That's disheartening, let me tell you. Nothing's worse than wanting to make yourself completely numb and only being able to come near the brink of oblivion and still feel. But whatever it is Lilith re-filled my tin with is high quality, and the colors of the world are signing to me and stealing my capability for flawless diction.

"What were you thinking giving yourself away to her like that?" Michael continues. "I take one night off, one night away from the paperwork and the strategy talks, and I stumble across you, looming over some seventeen year old waif like a specter! I knew you were insane, Lucifer, but that goes beyond eccentric into plain idiocy. Why?"

I wait for him to wind himself down. Michael always was the highly-strung one.

"Dunno. A first I was content to watch, I just wanted a little light entertainment to lift my spirits. But then something went wrong. Something reached inside me and twisted…I had to find out why she tormented me so."

Michael looks almost amused. "So you felt the need to question her regarding her experiences with the divine?"

"It seemed worthy of the desperate measure," I shrug, sinking down to sit with my back pressed against the railing wall, mussing my hair with a wandering hand. "If she was some sort of angelic channel, I wanted to make sure she told me what she knew."

Michael scowls. "There are ground rules for this game, Luce. You can try and tempt away human hearts under the condition that you never make yourself blatantly apparent to them."

"Well she didn't know anything at all." I admit, more troubled by this then I let on. "She just stared at me with those damned eyes…You must know. Tell me, what was so different about her?"

He looks at me with something close to concern. Crouching down, he gently, almost as if he's afraid of breaking me, me, grips my shoulders. "Absolutely nothing, Luce. She's just a troubled youth, cherished by The Father but unimportant by your standards. Just a girl in trouble."

I look at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh, I see! You think I actually cared whether she lived or died!"

"It is your nature."

I feel my eyes go hard, wriggling out of his grasp. "Don't be stupid."

"Admit it, brother. She stirred your heart; her immanent death disturbed you because some deep, hidden part of you did not want her to die." He sits down next to me, folding his arms over his knees, ready to keep vigil over his wrecked brother-in-arms. "I suspect you just wanted to know what it felt like to do good again, after all these years."

"Oh, do stop," I laugh, and the drugs make it that much more funny. "You know me better."

"Exactly. This is not what you were meant for."

He's starting to annoy me on a very acute level. "Wasn't it? This is my destiny, Michael. I embrace every sin-stained aspect of it. I would much rather spend an eternity doing as I please than following orders. Besides, I've turned this temptation business into a roaring enterprise." I rest my head against his shoulder, sighing heavily as the chemicals burn in my brain and send Technicolor spots dancing through my eyes. "Tis' better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven."

"Don't quote Milton at me. Someday you're going to have to face the centuries of lies you've been running from, and then you'll have absolutely no idea what to do with yourself."

Oh, how I hate his perception. I want to deny everything, but I'm not up to it and instead I satisfy my guilty heart by kissing his cheek, uttering not a word. It occurs to me that I wouldn't be this affectionate sober; Lilith always told me I was needy under the influence, but I really don't mind, because suddenly, I miss Michael so goddamn much. I want to know what it feels like again, to be close to someone in a completely intimate way without ulterior motives or sexual manipulation. But no matter how hard I try, there's still an uncomfortable coldness here, the wrongness of the fallen needing the comfort of the exalted.

Michael just shakes his head, half-accustomed to my fleeting and self-contradicting displays of affection by now. His hand drifts out to sweep across my head once, then he has retracted it, and his voice takes on a more professional tone.

"You know, there are mortals who believe that you'll be welcomed back into Heaven after the Final Battle is over. Apparently they hypothesize that by tempting the children of God, you were actually fulfilling His will in giving them a choice in the matter of belief." He paused, then persists with his flights of fancy. "You could come home, you know. Gabe misses you something fierce."

I laugh softly. "Gabriel hates me. You would think it was he I was trying to overthrow by the look on his face when he found out."

"Uriel-"

"Is undoubtedly too preoccupied with his bookkeeping to even notice that I'm gone. The annals of Heaven don't write themselves." I furrow my brow and convict myself in my next words, pulling away from him and standing without his help. The moment was nice, but it's over now. "I'm not coming home, Michael. Never again. I'll die free."

He's disappointed as always. "I should go. The next patrol round will be through here soon and I don't want them to get spooked and try to take you by force. They don't know about our…arrangement."

I savor the sensation of the last few words of the Old language I'll speak tonight, and they tickle and pop on my tongue like carbonated candy.

"Don't expect this warm of a welcome again. I have no doubt that the next time we meet it will be over a blade and with murderous intent, ceasefire or no ceasefire."

He smiles.

"I have no doubt. Goodbye, Lucifer."

I don't look back as I stroll off and whistle a few bars of Danny Boy, opening a rift with the snap of my fingers. The shadows stretch and grow to a massive maw of ether and heady mists, already ushering me in. I can hear Lilith's plaintive voice from inside, calling my name and ready to kiss and make up. With one last knowing smile, I disappear into my own cozy domain of brimstone and damnation, satisfied for the moment. This night has yielded more questions than answers, but I'm strangely at peace, and more importantly, invigorated. I'm ready to face a new challenge and eager for it, regardless of whether I have to hunt it down myself or not. For now, all is well.

And yes, that means you should stock up on bottled water and prepare for the Apocalypse. Now get out of here; I'm tired of looking at you. I have an Antichrist to console.