InsaneJournal

Book's last comment before Lucifer stopped replying on his PADD had given the devil pause.
You're being awfully nice.
Awful was the right word, as there were few things Lucifer wanted to be known for less than being "nice." It turned out that his decision to go to the preacher's room was the absolute right decision as otherwise reputations could be damaged, and Lucifer wasn't about to let that happen.
He also wasn't about to admit that the preacher had grown on him, much like Father Frank had. He shook his head as he approached Book's room. No doubt he needed to stop talking to the religiously inclined. That would be easiest for everyone involved.
Pausing as he reached the door, he knocked obnoxiously and called out, "Special delivery!"
Book gave the command for the door to open and sat on his bed, looking disheveled and pale. His hair was undone, going in every possible direction, his face was pale and there were shadows under his eyes. His shirt was undone at the collar and he tugged at it as the door opened to admit the devil.
"Come in.. make yourself at home.. Sorry, I'm terrible host.."
Lucifer glanced at Book and then around the room. Then he held up the bottle of scotch. "This is the best we had, of scotch at least," he said cheerfully, "You look like shit, by the way."
He opened the bottle then handed it over. "Go on now, drink up. I won't be your conscience."
"It's been long enough since I had a drink, I probably couldn't tell the difference." Book took the bottle, his hand shaking as he saw the images flash before his eyes. He took a swig and felt the burn go down his throat.
"You are obnoxiously cheerful right now, you know that?"
"Who, me?" Lucifer asked, grinning.
In truth, he wasn't sure he wanted to know why Book was drinking. The man looked completely shaken and it was deeply unsettling given the preacher's usual steadfast and sturdy composure. This was potentially more than he could handle and he didn't like admitting that anything was more than he could handle.
"No, the other devil in my room." Book got to his feet, getting up to the cupboard to grab two glasses and pouring them full before passing one to Lucifer. "I hear it's bad form to drink alone."
He ran a hand over his hair and studied the devil. "Since when do you care about my reputation?"
"It's much better when you share a bottle with the devil," Lucifer replied, raising a brow. But he took a long drink, purposely delaying his response to Book's question.
"What can I say, Padre? You've grown on me in spite of yourself. And there's people here counting on you, which is a terrible idea but what can I say? That and no one needs to think I've gone completely soft."
He took another drink, glanced at the dishevelled man beside him and shrugged before asking, "So why are you drinking?"
Book sighed heavily, studying the dark haired man - devil - as he took another sip of the scotch. "Well, you're not quite as bad as your reputation either." He clinked his glass against Lucifers before gulping down the amber liquid.

"Ever have that feeling where you can't get a horrible image out of your head?"
"I've been to hell, yeah," Lucifer replied. "I mean, trapped there, that is." Obviously he'd been to hell. He'd ruled hell. Looking at his drink, he followed Book's lead and drank it down. "So what's that image you can't get rid of?"
He was in it now, and there was also something else that resembled morbid curiosity enabling the devil to ask that question.
It made sense to Book that hell would be something like that. After all, man could certainly develop his own hell. He refilled his glass. "I suppose one might say all my sins, but… all this death and suffering that I caused.. Everytime I close my eyes… haven't slept in days.."
"Right," Lucifer said. It wasn't anything that he couldn't have guessed though watching Book struggle so mightily with the weight of the guilt was certainly disconcerting. "Do you know what the funny thing about hell is, Book?" he asked, abandoning his inclination to use a nickname. "You're free to leave it at any time. Rescind the guilt, and you're gone. No one ever does, but the possibility is always there."
Book laughed. A wry mirthless laugh. "So everyone there is just punishing themselves? And where do they go if they leave? Guilt is… "

He trailed off, unable to gather his thoughts about guilt and sin at the moment. "Do you know what the worst part was? They made me watch. Replayed the footage of the ambush so I could watch each of those souls in their last moments.. "
"No idea, really. I'm not exactly privy to my father's plans. But I didn't ever bring someone to hell, they took themselves there." Punishing themselves, really, like Book had said.
"I don't have a solution," Lucifer admitted. "Just scotch. And plenty of other liquor." He couldn't think too long on the preacher's guilt because it reminded him of his own and that was best avoided.
Book was learning more about the afterlife than he'd ever expected and he'd probably have a lot of questions when he could actually think more clearly. He chuckled at the proposed solution. "That'll do for now… unless your powers include making someone forget…"
"Can't help you there, I'm afraid," Lucifer replied. The best he could do was let the man drink until he passed out, while wondering how he'd let himself end up in this situation.
"Just keep drinking, Padre." Hopefully the sleep that followed would be dreamless.