“I wonder why Judas helped us,” Uriel mused, bouncing through topics like a toddler on a sugar rush as the medicine loosened his tongue and his grip on the present. He tried to peer around the room, twisting to look under the neighboring cot as if he expected to see Zaj hiding there. “He broke my arm on purpose, you know. To make Zucchini bring us here.”
“Zajezjahval,” Michael corrected automatically, then realized what Uriel had said. “Wait, what?”
“That’s what he whispered to me. Weird, right?” Uriel laughed as Michael filed that information away to address later. Then the black angel’s medicated gaze sharpened on Michael. “Are you alright?”
“Maybe.” Michael groaned, running his hands anxiously through his wild curls. “No, not really.”
“Being here can’t be easy for you.” Uriel spoke softly, his tone already slipping back into a drug-addled fog.
“He must despise me, and I don’t blame him. I don’t even know how I feel about seeing him. What can either of us say, after we betrayed each other?”
A soft sound from the hall caught their attention, and Michael strained his hearing until he could discern the steady click of hard soled shoes on the tile. A spike of adrenaline raced up his spine when he realized who must be headed their way, and Uriel gave him a sympathetic look. The door creaked open at his back, and Michael tensed as if waiting for a blow. The footsteps didn’t falter, rising in volume as they steadily approached, until they came to a stop at his side.
“Uriel,” a rich, smooth voice broke the hush that had fallen over the room, and Saints above, Michael’s knees went weak. How long had it been since he had heard that voice outside theconfines of his memories? “I was horrified to hear that one of my own manhandled you this way.”
Michael swallowed hard, trying to force his body to cooperate, to turn andsay something,anything, but anxiety and a lingering flare of resentment kept him frozen in place.
“To be fair,” Uriel raised his good arm and jabbed an accusatory finger at Lucifer, “I would’ve been safely up in Heaven if we hadn’t been sent to track down Jeho’s stolen property.”
Luce winced and sighed. “Circumstances are… more dire than you realize. This wasn’t a decision we came to lightly.”
“I hope not, since now they want Mags tried by fire fortreason.” Uriel frowned.
Luce made a pained sound, and Michael turned at last, terrified and bracing himself but desperate to stop Luce making a sound like that again. His knees gave another traitorous quiver when he finally saw him.
Luce hadn’t changed whatsoever in the time they had been apart; he was still as handsome and regal and purely divine as he was in the memories Michael treasured. If anything, time had only sharpened his beauty like a finely crafted blade.
“Lucifer...” He openly stared at him, reaching out as if to touch him, only to draw back his trembling hand at the raw power rolling off the other man. It was like a living shield blocking him from getting too close, and Michael tried not to feel too offended, because he knew he deserved the rebuff.
“Well,” Luce cleared his throat, ignoring Michael as if he hadn’t spoken, though the King’s own voice tight with emotion. “I am deeply sorry for that, but I can’t begrudge Mags her free will. Let’s look at that arm, shall we?”
Uriel hesitated, then shifted so his injured arm was accessible to Luce. “I’ll try not to scream,” he muttered bitterly.
“Here.” Luce snapped his fingers, and a thick piece of rope dropped into Uriel’s lap. “I’m going to sedate you, but you’ll likely burn through it before I’m done.”
“I always was a quick healer.”
“Unfortunately, that’s working against us here.” Luce frowned as he assessed the damage carefully, prodding and stroking Uriel’s bicep and feeling the way things shifted beneath the skin. “I’m going to re-break your humerus, but I’ll have to open the flesh to make sure I properly sever and reattach the fused bone and ligaments. I’ll need to use a special salve to prevent your wound from resealing while I work, so you’ll have a lovely scar when we’re finished.”
“Rebecca will love it.” Uriel grinned.
“Wonderful.”
Michael stood frozen, torn between wanting to touch Luce and cursing him inwardly for the audacity to have somehow gottenmoreattractive. Luce refused to even look at him. He gazed directly at Uriel, eyes never even shifting towards Michael, and pretended the blond wasn’t even in the room.
“Please, Lucifer,” Michael’s voice shook as he stepped closer to his former lover and winced when he hit the wall again. It was like a living thing pressing at his shoulders to keep him firmly away from Luce.
Uriel cleared his throat as Luce reached for his arm. “Mike, maybe you could step out?”
They both started at his words, Mike at the dismissal, and Luce at the blatant acknowledgement of his presence.
“I just mean,” Uriel pressed on quickly, “that I don’t want you to see me crying like a child. I have my reputation to uphold.”
As if he hadn’t seen Uriel shattered both physically and emotionally before? It was a thinly veiled attempt to spare him this humiliation, and Michael seized it gratefully.
“Yes.” He gave a quick nod, setting his hand on Uriel’s good shoulder briefly before he turned and fled the infirmary. He remembered seeing a garden as they descended the cliffside. If he followed this hall, surely he’d come across the courtyard at some point.
Uriel watched the door for a long moment after Michael pushed through it, clearly distraught. As much as he understood there were deep, untended wounds between Michael and Luce, he couldn’t help but feel protective over his stoic friend. He turned a small frown on the King, that biased part of him angry with Luce for refusing to even acknowledge the other man.
