A couple of hours slipped by, the afternoon light deepening into the gold of evening and then fading into the deep blue of night. Lucifer remained perfectly still, her head resting on her arms on the kitchen table, her gaze never leaving Cain's sleeping face. She watched the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, the occasional faint flutter of his eyelids. She was ignoring the slow, rhythmic plink… plink… of Zephon's ichor dripping from the table's edge onto the floor, a dark puddle slowly widening in the shadow under the chair.
Before she had settled into her vigil, she had carefully, meticulously, recreated the actions she had observed that morning. She had cracked eggs without destroying them, whisked them, cooked them in a pan until they were soft yellow curds, and steamed rice to fluffy perfection. It sat on the counter now, covered, a quiet offering.
He looks so comfortable in his rest, she thought, the observation simple and pure.
Lucifer smiled, a small, private thing.
If I had not extended my engagement with Zephon, I would have witnessed the precise moment he succumbed to sleep. How I envy the particles of air in this room, for they beheld his transition from wakefulness to repose.
She watched. And watched. The world outside the window darkened completely. The only sounds were Cain's soft breathing and the persistent, metronome drip of angel blood.
Then, a change. Cain made a small, muffled sound in his throat. His eyebrows furrowed. His breathing hitched. He was beginning to stir.
Oh! Lucifer's thoughts brightened with interest. He is opening his eyes.
She immediately sat up straight, composing her expression into one of pleasant attentiveness, and fixed her gaze on him.
Cain's eyes opened slowly, gummed with sleep. He rubbed at them with the heels of his hands, squinting in the dim light. His vision cleared, and he saw Lucifer sitting right beside him, beaming at him.
Oh, he thought, a wave of relief and something warmer washing through the hangover fog. She's back.
His gaze shifted, and something registered at the edge of his vision. Something large and dark on the table surface near her elbow. It took a second for his sleep-addled brain to process.
Am I still too drunk, or is there a pool of blood on the table?
He raised an eyebrow, his mouth opening to form the question.
Lucifer, seeing the direction of his look, leaned her face a little closer to his, trying to redirect his attention. Her smile was bright, maybe a touch too bright. "How was your rest? I told you I would meet you here once I was finished. Why were you vocalizing doubts about my return while you were resting?"
"It was… fine," he mumbled, his voice rough. "My head just hurts…" He pointed a shaky finger past her, directly at the dark, wet stain spreading on the wood. "Why is there blood on the table?"
Lucifer froze. In her focused observation of him, she had completely forgotten the inconvenient evidence. She slowly followed his pointing finger to the grisly remains of Zephon, a silent, bisected guest at their table. A rare, flustered embarrassment flickered across her face.
"I—uhm." Words failed her. This was a problem not easily explained with 'cultural experience.'
Her eyes glowed with a sudden, soft golden light as she looked directly into Cain's confused, sleep-bleary eyes.
And everything went black.
He made a small, muffled sound in his throat. His eyebrows furrowed. His breathing hitched. He was beginning to stir.
Oh! Lucifer's thoughts brightened with interest. He is opening his eyes.
She immediately sat up straight, composing her expression into one of pleasant attentiveness, and fixed her gaze on him.
Cain's eyes opened slowly, gummed with sleep. He rubbed at them with the heels of his hands, squinting in the dim light. His vision cleared, and he saw Lucifer sitting right beside him, beaming at him.
Oh, he thought, a wave of relief washing through him. She's back. Wait...
A strange sensation prickled at the back of his mind. Am I still too drunk, or did I just have the most intense déjà vu?
He shook his head slightly, as if to clear the odd feeling. He looked back at Lucifer. She was still beaming. He was absolutely certain, in a fading dream-logic way, that there had been blood on the table a moment ago. But now the wood surface was clean, save for a few crumbs from breakfast. It must have been a hallucination, a side effect of the high-proof alcohol and the day's insanity.
He pushed himself upright, his muscles stiff. He pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen glowed: 8:07 PM.
"When did you get back?" he asked, his voice still rough. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"One should not disturb a being during its necessary rest cycle," Lucifer stated primly. "Also, I found the process of your repose fascinating. So I observed."
Cain rolled his eyes, a familiar, fond exasperation rising. He stood up, stretching. "Well, it's late. I need to make something for dinner." He walked toward the kitchen.
Upon entering, he stopped short. On the counter sat two clean plates. On each was a neat portion of perfectly cooked scrambled eggs and a mound of fluffy white rice.
He immediately turned and rushed back to the living room doorway. "Hey, did you see—" he began.
Lucifer was suddenly standing right beside him, having moved without a sound. "I prepared that when I returned," she said, a note of pride in her voice. "I can replicate any action I witness. Even culinary ones."
Cain stared at the food, then at her, impressed despite himself. His eyes then swept around the rest of the kitchen and living room. The unwashed pan from the morning sat in the sink. A few used glasses were on the coffee table. The normal, mild mess of a solitary life.
An idea struck him, partly practical, partly a test.
"So," he said, crossing his arms, "if you can copy things you see… can you also do the cleaning up? like I did this morning?"
Lucifer tilted her head, considering. "You refer to the purification of the food vessels? The plates and utensils?"
Cain's eyes narrowed. "How did you know that's what I meant?'"
"I read the melody of your soul while you performed the task earlier," she explained, as if it were obvious.
"Like… reading my mind?" he asked, a hint of wariness returning.
"No," Lucifer clarified, shaking her head. "It is reading true intention. The core desire behind an action or a word. I cannot hear your random thoughts about… I do not know, the color of the sky or a song you remember. But I can perceive if you intend to help, or harm, or hide, or if you genuinely wish for clean plates." She gave him another beaming smile. "So do not worry. I will not leave. I am enjoying my residence here. You are a good human."
The simple, direct compliment, so utterly sincere, disarmed him completely. A real, unguarded smile spread across Cain's face. He rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. "That's… good to know. Really good."
He gestured toward the kitchen. "Well, in that case… dinner? It looks like you've already got it covered."