InsaneJournal

When Lucifer had shown up at Hawke’s door the night before, she hadn’t really known what to say and didn’t trust her mouth to produce the right words. Which was good, because he wasn’t there for conversation. He mumbled something about how badly she needed to pass out, and she was more than happy to do so, right on him, in the comfort of her own bed.

The next morning she poked an eye open long enough to see him retreating with the last bottle of wine. They mumbled something about having that talk later, which Marian only half remembered by the time she’d gotten her arm fixed and was feeling back up to snuff.

Now that she was sober and in her right might, Hawke wasn’t sure this was a good idea. She’d puttered around the ship for a bit, hemmed and hawed, and even daydreamed about prodding Lomea into somehow killing her so that she could avoid this. But the Enterprise was only getting smaller by the day, and she couldn’t keep avoiding him.

She didn’t even want to.

So after taking a deep breath and letting it out, she finally stepped into the Gym. It was one of his favorite haunts outside the Lounge, and since that wasn’t open yet, it was a safe enough bet.

To say he wasn’t certain why he’d gone over to Hawke’s room would be an understatement. Lucifer thought it might have something to do with the bizarre masochistic discussion she’d had with the Sith, but regardless, he’d gone over.

And so she’d had some rare Klingon Bloodwine that he took with him when he left. Would anyone expect otherwise?

But he’d been waiting for her to show up, and he’d counted on it sooner rather than later. So when she graced the gym with her presence, he nodded from where he was throwing punches at the bag, careful not to use too much strength.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re looking better and more human. How’s the arm?”

"I could have done without you ever seeing me looking like some undead thing, honestly, but it's good to feel human again." Hawke joked, then held out her arm. She moved it this way and that, then flexed her fingers into a fist. "All mended now. It's a bit tender still but I think I'll live. Should be right as rain by tomorrow."

And as long as she was ready for Lomea's stasis spell next time, she could avoid having her teacher break anything else. Which was, Hawke hoped, why Lomea'd bothered to go breaking it to begin with. Surely, that Sith Academy she'd gone to was the school of hard knocks.

Hawke walked a little closer, glancing around for a place to sit so she could watch him punch things. Despite the weird place they were in emotionally, Lucifer was still a gorgeous man. Watching him hit the bag was entertaining, and she didn't mind admitting it. She found a nearby bench used for lifting weights, and hunkered down on it. "I see you've learned how not to break the punching bags."

“I have,” Lucifer replied. “Mostly.”

He shrugged, finishing a flurry of punches before glancing over at Hawke. “So are you done letting people break your bones or is that a trend you wish to continue?”

She confused him, and that entire conversation he’d witnessed had confused him. He wasn’t certain there was a point to the discussion they apparently still needed to have. And he was pretty certain by now that sleeping with anyone on the ship was a bad idea, even if that wasn’t necessarily going to stop him in the future.

"I didn't LET her break anything," Hawke said, sounding a little exasperated. "I told you, she caught me in a spell I couldn't get out of. We'd been working with my magic and hers, and I'd overspent by the time we got there. Nor did I expect her to have a spell that could freeze someone in place, and I'm not likely to forget the vision of watching my own arm proceed on its inevitable march in the wrong direction. But yes, I do intend to practice a few tricks for next time."

She folded her arms across her chest, wondering who this Lucifer was and why it had been so much easier to talk to him the other day. Walls had been slammed up that the ship wide discussion area seemed to ignore. "Mainly I think I can dispel the effect if I can conjure my own spell without having to move my hands. Lomea is an interesting teacher but like hell am I going to continue to let her win our duels. Her ego doesn't really need any more stroking. I did learn quite a bit, which was the point."

“Right, so you were with someone who watched as you were unable to stop her from hurting you, and she hurt you anyway. Then you’re acting like she did you a favor in going through with it, because you’ve learned you don’t want that to happen again,” Lucifer said, returning to form and hitting the bag again, not missing a count as he spoke.

“Forgive me if I’m a bit put off by your attraction to this sadist.”

"Maker, have you never been involved in any risky activities in your life? Sparring and Duels often lead to injury where I'm from, and there wasn't a day that went by that a healer wasn't healing something amongst me and my friends. We're talking about MY life, here. The one where learning how to use magic properly meant someone was probably getting burned or electrocuted, or accidentally turned into virulent walking bombs. A broken arm is nothing compared to that. I hardly see what your problem is." Hawke replied, while squinting at him.

"If I don't practice my magic, if I don't hone my power, I could very likely turn into something that would be a threat to myself and everyone else on this ship. I take that quite seriously, I have my entire life. Lomea is teaching me how better to master it. And it's not as if there aren't a bunch of witches and doctors aboard to fix me if things go wrong." She got up from her bench, then, thinking she might leave him to angrily smack the punching bag over stupid things. But there was something about the way he was stringing his words together that made her squint even more, before she barked out a laugh.

"Wait! Are you - did you think I'd SLEPT with her? You think I'm attracted to her? She's a gorgeous woman, surely. She carries herself like an empress and I suppose I could see the appeal. But no, she's just acting as a mentor, of sorts. The only person I have slept with on this ship is you, Lucifer. And I'd planned on keeping it that way."

“Actually no,” Lucifer answered. “Not yet at least. But she would.” He was fairly certain of that, judging from the conversation they’d had back and forth on the network.

Frowning, he added, “So the world you come from is even more messed up than you’d let on. Either way, that's not exactly normal.” He shrugged off that discussion and finished his count, before turning away from the bag.

“I guess there's a side of you that I don't really understand,” he relented, taking a step back from his judgmental attitude.

"Well it's normal for me... which is probably why I thought it didn't bear mentioning," Hawke replied, shrugging a shoulder. Of course the reason she was so healer shy these days had everything to do with the fact that Anders had been the party healer. Bethany, before him, and both of them were gone. She'd tried to turn her own hands towards the healing arts, but it never took. That told her everything it needed to about her own temperament.

She let out a long sigh, and then nodded her head. If they were even going to make a friendship work, let alone the nascent relationship they kept dancing their feet around, there had to be open communication. She was just as guilty of that at times as he seemed to be, and she wanted to put an end to it. "Alright, that does make sense. Though I have to admit that there may very well be parts of myself that I also don't understand, or can't really adequately explain. Still, I'd like to try, if you'd let me. Even if you may not like the answers."

Lucifer nodded. They had far too much to discuss and more than he really wanted to, but Beckett had told him that sometimes you had to tell the worst bits and trust people. Which was exactly the opposite of what Lucifer wanted to do.

It scared him, and Lucifer really didn’t enjoy being terrified. But for now, Hawke had left the door open to ask her questions, and he was going to jump on that for as long as he could before she turned it around on him.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if she tried to make light of things as he ventured into vulnerability again but they’d cross that bridge if they came to it.

“What exactly did being the Champion entail?” he asked Hawke, turning to look at her.

Hawke looked momentarily relieved at the question, mainly because it was one of the safest ones he could have asked her. She recalled that he'd been curious about that before, too, and since it had become such a large part of her life, she felt it was only natural to discuss it. "Lets see if I can arrange this story in a way that makes any sense whatsoever, as it is quite long. I think... seven years worth of long? It all started when a ship captain stole something from the Qunari. And I'll have to take a moment to sidestep the question of who or what are Qunari, because that's an entire book all by itself. Suffice it to say that for the purposes of this story most of Thedas has been at war with them for years and they're religious zealots of sorts."

She paused for a bit while she made sure the story was arranged right in her head, and then nodded, "So - they showed up on our shores but not to pursue a conquest, which had many relieved. Kirkwall sheltered them in their own enclave down by the docks, and we were mostly at peace. I also happened to meet that Captain one day and she became a member of... I suppose we'll just continue to call them my party. Isabela didn't divulge the details, of course. We knew she was pursuing a relic she lost, and she was quite vague about the rest. Or... really, anything else about her. So then - a few years past and tensions rise, as they do. By then I'd already made a name for myself around the city. I'd gone into the Deep Roads and lived to tell about it, reclaimed my family title, and was an apostate Mage that everyone knew was a mage but who had somehow managed to avoid being dragged to the circle."

This was getting rambly, but it was several years of buildup. She rubbed at the side of her face with her hand momentarily, and then continued, wishing she'd thought to grab one of the bottles of water nearby. It was good to recount the tale like this, a quick summary that held very little emotional sway over her. "One night, Aveline, another friend of mine, comes to me to help her discuss a situation with the Arishok - that would be the Qunari leader. A pair of elves were being kept in sanctuary in their compound after committing an incredibly serious crime. I'd managed to earn his respect through previous dealings, but he wouldn't be swayed. We tried to arrest them, and he took it personally and decided the city should be cleansed. Also, right around then is when Isabela decided she needed to tell me she'd found the Relic. Which happened to be something sacred to the Qunari, which was the only reason they'd been trapped in Kirkwall this long. When we recovered it, she skipped town."

And then, to the final part of the tale, which she took another long breath before getting to. "As you can imagine... The Qunari sacked the city easily, being the trained force that they are. The Arishok took over the keep, and Isabela was nowhere to be found. This was not a good night for me. Nevertheless I managed to rally the Mages and the Templars. We pushed back right up to the keep, where the Arishok was sitting. He was incredibly unhappy to see me, though very happy when Isabela showed up to give the relic back. Unfortunately he decided he was going to take her into custody for her crimes and force religious conversion on her. I couldn't have that. Fenris, knowing their ways, brokered a deal involving a duel. And so... I faced with magic and a wooden staff, the leader of their forces, who as you may recall was easily three times your size, with a sword taller than me. When I defeated him, they crowned me Champion of Kirkwall. After that, it only entailed the continued efforts to keep the peace between the Mages and the Templars, who were constantly at each other's throats. It wasn't successful at all, and I ended up having to intervene."

No thanks to Anders, who had nearly started an exalted march on the city. Those had been terrifying days, and Hawke was still glad that she was far away from all of that.

Bloody hell, she could write a novel about that and he’d read it. He walked over to grab a couple bottles of water, and handed one to her.

“So that’s exhausting,” Lucifer mentioned, sitting down on the floor. “But you already knew that and you didn’t mind that question.” He’d noticed the look of relief when he’d asked it, and now he asked his second. “What were you afraid I was going to ask?”

It took the guesswork out of it, even though he did have a guess. He wasn’t entirely sure that if he was right, he wanted to know the answer. But everything was uncertain presently and he was tired of that as well. He even now found himself wanting to tell her more about himself, but he’d asked the question and would wait for that answer first.

And he would see if he could handle that.

The water bottle was an extremely welcome off and she gratefully took it from him. Once the water was in her throat, however, she nearly choked on it as he asked her his second question, which was a great deal more loaded than the first one. And she'd promised that this discussion was open, too, so she couldn't really retreat. She coughed a bit and pounded her chest, then held up a finger as she took another sip to wash the last sip down. Finally, she said, "We're really not pulling our punches today, are we?"

Hawke set the bottle off to the side of the bench, and then decided to crawl off of it and onto the floor. She didn't like the idea of being above him, where they wouldn't be at eye level. "I was scared that you were going to ask me any number of incredibly frightening questions to answer. More about Anders, perhaps, or why it really was that I was avoiding you after we'd slept together, or what my damage really was from start to finish. Something a little harder to answer truthfully without making any light of it, though I still would have. I hate the place we're in, where I feel like I have to be that other Hawke, Hawke the Champion, instead of the Hawke you'd gotten to know."

Oh. He could handle those questions. So he asked them in succession. “What more about Anders? Why were you really avoiding me after we slept together? And on that last one… That’s more than a simple question, isn’t it? So we’ll deal with that one slowly, and after those first two, I think it’s only fair that you get to ask a couple,” he offered generously.

But he didn’t remain seated across from her, instead moving to her side, the one without the healing arm, giving her the option to not look directly at him. “I’ll be honest too,” he said quietly. Or at least he’d try to be, and give her answers.

That was probably easier, neither of them having to meet each other's eyes. Always before these kinds of discussions with Lucifer had been intense and emotionally charged, him staring at her like he could cut into her soul, and her falling right for it. This felt a little more even, and she didn't mind the company by her side, either.

The questions, of course, well... it was inevitable that he would ask them to her after she'd gone and brought them up. Hawke could feel that sucking chest wound of hers opening up again, but she didn't falter. Especially in light of the fact that he was willing to answer questions, too. She took a deep breath, and then nodded her head. "From the moment I first met him it was clear there was something about him. He had a power most of us didn't. Anders did, I mean. We sought him out because he was a Grey Warden, which made his practice of magic outside the Circle nearly legal. We wanted maps to the Deep Roads. In any case, we found him running a healer's clinic, only his magic was suspicious."

"Bethany knew healing spells, but they looked different. I discovered he was healing with the help of a spirit that he'd accepted inside of him. This is... incredibly wrong, in my world. He'd willingly become the equivalent of an abomination. I should have killed him then, I'd killed other mages for similar. But... he promised me he could control it. I allowed him to join us, allowed myself to love him, even helped him with his cause. That chantry exploded under my watch, with explosives I'd helped him build." Hawke squeezed her eyes shut, but she was too exhausted from the past few days to really cry. She unscrewed her water bottle and took a long sip, then wiped her mouth dry and glanced at him. "So that's why I avoid healers. And now onto the other question."

Which... caused her to look away from him and over at the wall across from them. "Fenris won the day against Anders early on. I couldn't really help myself, and I couldn't entirely trust Anders. So... things went terribly wrong one day, for him. A woman who'd tormented him during his time as a slave came to town, and we argued over how to deal with it. When it was over, he ran off. He came back later that night to apologize, but our words were... heated. His need for revenge was eating him away inside, and I told him so. He nearly hit me, I kissed him, and it led to a bedroom scene you're entirely familiar with. But the next day, when I woke up, he already had his clothes back on. And that was it. I'd made him too emotionally vulnerable. He couldn't handle it, so he broke up with me. He never left town, he never stopped following me around, and we never talked about it until after Anders was buried and Kirkwall was far behind us. Just one night where I laid my entire soul bare for him, and then like that, the door was shut. I wanted to curl up and die, though of course I didn't."

"So when I did it again with you, I wanted to pretend it didn't matter. I thought... it would be easier to both of us. It was a huge deal that you were still there in the morning. But I was worried that if I made too much of it, you would bolt, like he did." And she still thought part of her had been right, but that was what they were here for. Now it was her turn for questions, and though he'd promised to answer anything she asked, maybe, she wasn't sure how far she could push him. "Why were you so angry about my arm?" That one seemed... mildly safe. And she was curious.

And just like that, Lucifer understood. He understood why she had avoided him, and he understood why in the midst of him sharing part of his own life, she’d tried to lighten the mood. He’d reacted angrily to that, because it seemed she was making light of his own vulnerability. But no, she had just been fearful of him leaving.

And he had left, hadn’t he? Fed her fears. So before he answered her first question, he took advantage of the moment to explain himself. “I don’t like being vulnerable any more than than you do,” he mentioned. “So I’m sorry I walked away, but when I put myself out there for you, and you teased me, I shut myself off. I didn’t even want to, really, but it happened.”

He glanced at her. “I understand now, why you did that though. You were afraid things were getting too intense. Trust me, I know about that. And I know that sometimes… who I am is too much for anyone to handle. I had a friend, my therapist actually, who saw me who I really am and it was too much for her. At least for a while.”

He shrugged, and moved onto the question about her arm. “I don’t trust that mentor of yours and I haven’t since she mentioned the Yorktown base looked so easily breakable. That’s unlikely to change any time soon, by the way. Other than that?”

Lucifer leaned forward, looking at the arm in question. “It seemed reckless and unnecessary. And recklessness isn’t a trait I enjoy seeing in people I care about.”

He paused. “I’m not Fenris. I’m here. Alright? And yes, I care about you. That places you on a very short list.”

"You're not Fenris," Hawke agreed, with a nod. And that was important. Not just because he was willing to act in a different way, but because he was his own person, with his own past and issues and personality. His own admirable qualities, too.

This was all going far better than she'd feared when she walked into the room, and Hawke felt, when she exhaled, like she was letting go of a very long breath she hadn't even known she was holding. "Alright."

And that had to be enough, on that front. Her mind had been roiling for over a week about the comparisons between them, how everyone in her life left her, how she'd never been good enough for anyone to place her first. How Lucifer had put himself through hell and torture for a woman he couldn't even be vulnerable with who seemed to be the love of his life, and how could she expect any different?

But that needed to be let go. They weren't in Lucifer's past with Chloe any more than they were currently residing in Hawke's past with everyone who had ever hurt her. She squeezed her eyes shut, and nodded again.

"I understand why you thought I was playing games, too. And... your concerns about Lomea are actually noted. I am far more wary now, but I hope to master a few things before I decide to put her aside. However... I will try to be less reckless. No one has ever asked that of me before, but I think aboard this ship I can manage it. So... who are you really, then? Because I already think that I'm too much for you to handle, and you continually prove me wrong. Perhaps I could handle you, as well. It's not fair to assume otherwise."

“Who am I really?” Lucifer repeated. He’d promised her honesty, but he wasn’t ready to give her the full image. “I’m the devil, but I was an angel. The favorite son of my father. Samael, he called me.” His voice steeled as he warned, “Don’t ever use that name. It’s not who I am, anymore.”

But how did he describe himself to someone still rather unfamiliar with the devil? “I’m a torturer,” he said. “That was my role, or as some say, my gift. All eternity, eons of providing the home for damned souls to punish themselves, earning a reputation as a monster. As evil. As this deceptive being luring unsuspecting, otherwise innocent souls to hell, because surely they’d never do these terrible deeds without my guidance. No, they wouldn’t destroy each other, harm each other, cheat and lie and kill without the devil making them do it, would they? But I have never been that,” he insisted, his voice strained and fierce. “What those bastards did that they blamed me for? They did entirely on their own accord.”

When he turned to Hawke, his eyes were glowing red, staring her down.

“You want to know who I am? This is who I am.”

And really, she was only seeing a glimpse.

He'd mentioned some of this before, but never in a way that Hawke could completely understand. Being the Devil, and who the person they called God really was. What sort of nightmares a realm like Hell was supposed to conjure up. Hawke could only draw lines between her own experience and that which he described, but this part seemed new to her. And she could tell by the tone of his voice that he hated what he'd been made to do. Hated what the world had come to think of him, and all of the rest.

Who would ever call any of that a gift? Hawke's eyebrows raised a bit, at that thought. It didn't seem like a gift. It seemed like a punishment. And then his eyes were glowing red, and she momentarily thanked the absent Maker that they weren't glowing blue. Red eyes on Thedas were no ordinary thing, either. Usually they were coupled with the use of blood magic. But he'd never lied about what his father had turned him into.

She took a breath, and then let it out, and nodded her head. Her instinct at that point was to cup his chin and move his face here and there to get a good look at them, but she wasn't sure he wanted to be touched. "My eyes have glowed like this, but only once." Was what she first thought to say.

Then, "I don't know who would call what you've been put through to be a gift. And I don't know how long Eons are, but they sound like longer than anyone should have to live, bearing this kind of weight. But you already told me you were a demon, Lucifer. There's no lie in your eyes, and I'll be damned if I'm going to run from them just because they are red instead of black. I won't sit here and say that the things we do leave no mark on us. You'd know I was lying, and you don't deserve to be patronized. If I had been put in your place, I doubt I would have come out of it unchanged."

“I’m not a demon,” Lucifer clarified. That was a distinction he needed to make. “And this isn’t my true form,” he mentioned, but he returned to his normal appearance. She’d met his gaze straight on without flinching. That was something in and of itself.

“I showed my therapist who I was once. She thought the devil thing was an extended metaphor until that point and then.... Well, she became a believer. And after a while she was mostly alright again.”

Even he spoke, he realized he had an overwhelming sense of relief. Hawke had even seemed somewhat fascinated, rather than scared or spooked or in anyway put off by that side of him. And she understood that who he’d been wasn’t who he was trying to be.

“Any other questions?” he asked, his voice quiet. Hesitant.

"I think I'm going to have to consider myself lucky that I lived the life I lived before I came here. Earth sounds... very ordinary, in comparison. And so... alright, you aren't a demon. I think I was confused because of your friend, the one that cut off your wings." It was always good to clarify, and she took a long sip of her water while she re-arranged a few things in her head.

"Do you think you'll ever be comfortable enough with me to show me your true form?" She asked, though she followed that up with a different question that was more important to her. "It doesn't bother you that I'm perfectly capable of driving a dagger into the back of the people I love?"

“Maze is, yes,” Lucifer replied. “And maybe,” he answered truthfully. “I don’t spend much time in it, myself. This is closer to who I am. Who I was…”

He shrugged, and looked at Hawke. “Should I be? I mean, you had a good reason, right? Were there multiple instances of this happening?” He wanted to know that first, before he said anything else.

"Not people I was in love with, no. Though there were times after Carver joined the Templars that I worried I would have to fight my own brother. They knew better than to send him after me, thank Andraste. But I think you already know that I am no stranger to killing people in general. Real, physical people - most of them criminals or those who attacked me first, of course. But more than just demons. And it is actually a relief that no matter what happens with me, if something were to go wrong with my magic, I could never hurt you at all." Hawke said, glancing over at him. That had been a big deal, though she added, somewhat hesitantly, "It does get annoying that I can't even scratch your back up, though."

Then she turned away, and let out a very long sigh. "But no, you never need to worry that I'll take a knife at you. Other people just... might be, that's all. Think me unworthy of trust, or too cold. After all, if I can kill someone I feel that way for, I must be composed of ice."

No one had ever accused her of it, being made of ice. It was mainly a fear of her own, one she projected onto others. Everyone but Merril, bless her and her questionable judgement, had agreed that she'd done what had to be done. "That's what they count on me for, that's the real meaning of being the Champion. Always doing what has to be done. Is it your turn to ask questions again?"

“Well I certainly don’t envy you,” Lucifer said quietly, turning to face her. “And I don’t think of you as cold. Or not worthy of my trust. If I thought of you that way, I wouldn’t be here. Trust me.” And he wouldn’t. Beckett had told him to take a chance and be vulnerable, but the only reason he was giving Hawke a chance was because he had thought he could trust her. That was saying something in and of itself.

“But I think you feel that way,” he mentioned. “Like that’s what you expect of me, because that’s how you see yourself. Even if you know you had to do those things, they’ve worn on you, haven’t they? And you didn’t exactly have anyone you could count on to confide in, so you’ve shouldered it all this time by yourself. Last words that haunted you.”

He shook his head. “That’s enough questions for now. From me, at least.” Any other questions he had could wait. He was fairly certain he was right, that she’d dealt with too much of this alone for too long.

He said 'trust me' and she had no choice but to try her hardest to do just that. There was weight to the words, like rejecting the amount of trust he'd placed in her would hurt him more than anything else she'd already done. "I want you to know..." She whispered, though she was well aware that she was dodging his other comment if only for a few moments, "That I take your trust in me very seriously. You've held out an open hand and I'm not about to strike it away. Trusting others in return isn't always easy, though you're the only person aboard who knows about Anders, and that is no small thing. But trust is always a battle of mine. It's one I'm willing to fight. I don't want to hurt you again, and I won't on purpose, ever."

She paused, then, and rubbed at her face a bit. "But you're right. I do worry that others will think that way. And it's more likely that I hate myself for what I've done and worry about my own emotional capacity. But... there wasn't anyone to confide in. Even when my mother died. Someone came to try and talk to me, but it was... well it was just awkward, really. Maybe I have shouldered all of this too long. Maybe we will need at least half a dozen more boxing sessions."

They never had discussed if she was too attached or not. If he was willing to be attached at all. But the day had been exhausting enough, and she glanced at him, "I like you, Lucifer. I care. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Can we please be alright now?"

They hadn’t discussed that, no, but Lucifer was there and he thought that said enough. So he simply nodded and said, “We can.” He wasn’t certain about their future or how long they could even last without another fight. But she still had a pull on him, one that seemed to keep drawing him back.

"Good." Hawke breathed, sounding incredibly relieved. Maker only knew if they actually had a chance as more than the vague, somewhat complicated territory they were already in. It was something she was loathe to rush into anyway, and she thought that playing it by ear was probably better for them both. For now, it was just amazing to be on good terms with him again. There had been times over the last few days when her stomach had been in knots.

Whatever pull Lucifer was feeling, she was definitely still feeling it, too.

She turned to face him, then, and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I think I'm going to go and camp outside the Lounge until they relent and let me in."

“There’s no need for that. I’m not giving up the wine I stole from you, but I have other drinks available if you’re so inclined? Just a drink?” Lucifer was sure to make it clear where his intentions ended, but if they were going to have discussions like this, surely they could drink afterward.

Maybe that was part of the problem, that the drinks were being saved for after.

Maybe it was, but Hawke was glad that this talk had taken place sober. Now that the talk was over, though, she was very much okay with the idea of sharing a drink with him. Maybe this time it wouldn't end in her crying all over him, which would be a welcome change.

"I am definitely so inclined, I just didn't want to presume." Hawke replied, smiling at him. "Though I think it's a shame that you're not going to share my last bottle with me. Hopefully you've got something nice tucked away as a consolation prize."

Lucifer smirked. “If that stuff can do what the Romulan ale did, I have to save it for special occasions. Or emergencies. But yes, I have options tucked away.”

He stood, and offered her his hand. Maybe they really could figure this out, going forward.