Lucifer sat in a small unobtrusive London café sipping Earl Gray and pretending to read Sherlock Holmes. Of course, this was all a pretense since he could hardly keep his attention fixed on the book at hand. He hadn’t seen Crowley in a very long time. Not since before the Jerusalem incident which had caused Satan to scurry to Hell and very rarely come out and he was a bit nervous. Other demons scoffed at the idea of staying on earth for so long. For going native, but Lucifer knew that ‘going native’ was one of the best things a demon could do. After all, none of the other demons would have thought about getting their greasy hands on a thermos full of holy water just in case one’s superiors might find one to be a liability. Nor would they ever consider getting another of their own kind stuck in an ansaphone. That was utterly brilliant and when Hastur had come back to Hell and told them what happened Beelzebub had said he’d deal with Crowley personally. Of course, that was before Satan had gotten wind of everything and once he had he’d laughed and told them he’d deal with Crowley when he was good and ready to.
So now, twenty years after the Armageddon that wasn’t, he was ready to discuss Crowley’s extended stay with the forces of Hell. Of course, Lucifer hadn’t been particularly pleased with his underlings after he’d found out about The Incident. For starters, he’d been in Tahiti at the time, working on his tan and discussing the proper way to do a barbecue with another tourist. There was also the annoying fact that they’d gone and passed off some lowly demon spawn as his son and God had been exceptionally angry with him because of that and hadn’t sent him an invitation to Heaven’s Christmas Party after that. Not that he went, but still She wasn’t sending him the invitation and that bothered him.
There was the screech of tires on pavement as a large black 1926 Bentley rolled to a stop a hair’s breath away from a Toyota. Honestly, couldn’t the other demon just drive the speed limit? A nervous figure in a sharp black suit and snake skin shoes got out and walked into the café. He had dark hair and really good cheek bones. However, Crowley wasn’t his usual flash bastard self, he had broken out in a cold sweat on his way there and now, as he walked towards the table that The Devil waved at him from, he felt as though his knees were turning to jelly and his feet were becoming lead.
"Sit down, Crowley." The Devil said pensively as he watched Crowley squirm after he’d sat. "I could have sent one of the others to talk to you, but I decided this needed a special touch." Saying the word ‘special’ with ominous infliction. "I’m sure you understand that by being responsible for the supposed Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, blah blah blah . . . what the fuck were those nimrods thinking when they came up with this crap? . . . that in turn makes you responsible for his misplacement."
Crowley made to say something, but was waved off importantly.
"I’m not finished yet. Hold that thought. I’ll let you know when you can speak." Satan said and then continued. "Now, this makes you rather unfavorable with the Dark Council. Moloch himself wants to boil your blood and tear out your spleen. You should feel honored, to be honest, he hasn’t wanted to give that much personal attention to punishing anyone since that retarded fool Constantine."
"Yeah, honored. Really." Murmured Crowley.
"However, the Dark Council can’t touch you. That’s why you haven’t seen hide nor tentacle of any of them for the past twenty years. To put it bluntly, you’re mine to do with as I please."
Crowley gulped audibly.
"Truthfully, I think it’s about time I appoint some new Icariim to the Dark Council anyway. Whole bunch of them are heartless, mangy, foaming at the mouth curs. Don’t know what they’re doing half the time." The Devil stared at Crowley for a moment, his green eyes practically boring through the other man-shaped being’s sunglasses. "There’s also the fact that you doused Ligur in holy water and trapped Hastur in an ansaphone for hours. However, here it is all out on the table for you. The kid is not mine, was never mine and will be dealt with in due order. Ligur, while no longer dead could have stayed that way and I’d have given about as much a care as anyone would to a cockroach dancing the Macarena on the kitchen floor during its death throws."
Crowley stared at his superior and waited for the other shoe to fall. It fell.
Lucifer grinned, "How’d you like to be the secretary and Chief Operating Officer of Lucas A Darcy & Associates?"
Crowley was just thankful he wasn’t drinking anything. "Isn’t that job already taken?" He asked cautiously.
Lucifer shook his head. "It’s been held before, but many Icariim just don’t have the stamina or the brains to hold it. It takes an imaginative sort. The kinda guy who’ll hold on to a thermos full of holy water for years just in case that kinda guy’s superiors get fed up with him. The kinda guy who’ll when all else fails, get a superior stuck in an answering machine because they know that otherwise they’re dead." Satan smirked at the dumbfounded expression on the other demon’s face. "Of course, you’d also have to go over paper work for meetings I have the next day, because I don’t think humans will be able to handle it and I can’t stand succubi long enough to not go kicking them out my office windows. So, what do you say?"
"Can I have a corner office with this promotion?" Crowley asked negotiating. He’d be blessed if he didn’t make it count.
"A corner office?" Satan looked at him thoughtfully. "I’d have figured you’d want the whole darn floor under my office. Has lovely floor to ceiling windows all the way around."
The other demon tried to hide his glee and failed miserably. "Well, if you think I deserve it?"
"Of course you do." The Devil nodded. "After all, you helping to avert the Apocalypse that should have never been is decent enough reason. Besides, it meant I didn’t have to come back from Tahiti a whole month too soon."
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