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Demonic Miracles

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Lucifer had spent a good while after the events of Armangedoff, sulking, so it took him a while to get back to doing his paperwork.

“What is it today?” He asked his assistant.

“Demonic miracles performed by one Anthony J. Crowley, Sire.” The demon intoned flatly.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Right. Filter out the standard changing form, cash, clothes, crap about his bloody car and what are we left with?”

“Two hundred and seventy one reservations at The Ritz, Sire.”

Lucifer huffed. “Go on.”

“Forty one occurrences of 'please don't let my angel find out about this temptation', Sire.”

“Seriously?” Lucifer shook his head.

“Twenty one occurrences of 'please don't let my angel cry, Sire.”

“Oh now, really.” Lucifer smacked his hand to his forehead.

“Forty nine occurrences of 'I need my angel's favourite cake from the bakery and they're sold out', Sire.”

Lucifer gaped at the demon with the spreadsheet.

“One hundred and seventy two occurrences of 'shit, this milk has gone off, fix it so I can make my angel tea', Sire.”

“Right!” Lucifer snapped. “That's enough of that. Beelzebub tried dunking him in Holy Water, right?”

“Yes, Sire. It had no effect.”

Lucifer growled. “Fine. I'm going up there, clear my schedule.”

“At once, Sire.”

---

Crowley was lounging on his throne when Lucifer appeared in a puff of thick black smoke causing him to almost fall to the floor in surprise.

He'd had his nose buried in a mug of black coffee so hadn't noticed the brimstone scent that proceeded the King of Hell's arrival. Incidentally, the coffee would have been inclined to slosh out of the mug as Crowley stumbled upright, but considering the audience, it thought better of it.

“Sire!” Crowley gasped scrambling to his feet and bowing before setting the mug of coffee on his desk.

“Crowley.” Lucifer drawled. “We need to have a little chat about your recent miracles.” Lucifer actually used air quotes when he sneered the word miracles.

“Right, yes. Umm, I can explain...” Crowley backed up slightly.

“Can you though?” Lucifer asked stalking towards Crowley and then turning to claim his throne. He threw his feet up onto the desk.

Crowley deflated. “No.” He sighed. “Not really.”

Lucifer laughed. “Look, brother. It's not that I mind what you get up too with that cute little angel of yours, but you need to be more subtle about it. There are records after all. The last thing either of us needs is old Beelzebossyboots finding out you're still working for me.

Crowley nodded, embarrassed.

“Why don't you try just, ordering his cake in advance from the bakery. Making a reservation at The Ritz the way a normal person would, they must be used to you in there by now, I'm sure they'd find you a table and for fuck's sake, just miracle the damned milk into the tea instead of keeping on buying a pint for one cup and letting it go off.” Lucifer rolled his eyes at Crowley.

Crowley huffed a laugh. “Yes, okay. You have a point. Should I say thank-you for your ki...”

“Don't you dare say that fucking word!” Lucifer snarled. “You know I only let you away with this shit because you're the best at what you do. It has nothing to do with...” He waved his hand. “That word.”

“No, no.” Crowley agreed. “Quite right. Utter bastard. No redeeming features there.” He pointed to Lucifer.

Lucifer nodded. “That's more like it. Now, let's have some wine and get me some of that cake too.”