Chapter 4

By Sunday afternoon Lucifer felt significantly better. He'd spent the last two days chained to his sofa – metaphorically speaking of course. The Detective was still forcing medicine down his throat and up his nose. Although he had to admit that he liked this so-called nasal spray. It freed his blocked nose and allowed him to breathe normally. An almost heavenly feeling. No pun intended. His limbs still hurt and the coughing annoyed him immensely. But all things considered, he did feel better.

The Detective still hadn't permitted him to get up from the couch other than to relieve himself and he was gradually growing bored. And he smelled like a homeless person after two days of constantly sweating. Well, he couldn't be sure, because his smelling sense was still not functioning properly – another nasty side effect of this disease – but according to the overall disgusting sensation on his body he was sure he could be smelled a few feet upwind.

The Detective was busy in the kitchen cleaning dirty dishes that she had used to serve him soup. If he was quick, he could slip into the bathroom to take a refreshing shower. He hadn't even taken three steps, when she appeared in the living room, hands still soapy.

"What are you doing?"

"I would like to take a shower," he explained. "Surely you must have noticed by now that I reek."

"Are you feeling well enough for a shower? I don't want you fainting," she noted sceptically crossing her arms.

"A bath then," he suggested. "You can wash me."

"Go and shower," she said. "If you're well enough to make lewd comments, you're well enough to take a shower. – But don't think I'll help you if you do faint." Then she went back to the kitchen. Feeling high about this victory, he quickly took the much needed shower, thoroughly cleaning his hair in the process and relishing under the warm water. He felt eons better afterwards and even took the time to shave the stubble from his face. Looking and feeling like a newborn man, he emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, to see the Detective collecting her possessions.

"Are you leaving?" he asked astonished.

"I have to," she replied. "I have to pick up Trixie from Dan's. She hasn't seen me all weekend. And I have work tomorrow. – You're feeling better, your fever is down. You should be fine on your own now. – But call me if you're getting worse." He felt bad for having kept the Detective away from her home the entire weekend.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"No need to be."

"And thank you. I wouldn't have known what to do if it weren't for you – and Dan." With a blush he couldn't quite suppress, he remembered Detective Douche's administrations yesterday. He was pretty sure, he'd made a less than stellar impression by whining every time Dan had changed those awful cold compresses.

"That's what friends are for," Chloe said smiling at him. "We'd do it again in a heartbeat." He shifted from foot to foot unsure what to reply. The Detective's gaze fell on his bare feet. "And for Christ's sake put on some clothes! – I swear you have absolutely no sense of self-preservation!" He chuckled at that and hurried to comply.

"I'm leaving the medicine and thermometer in your bathroom!" Chloe called after him. "Make sure you check your temperature and take the medicine until your fever is completely gone!"

"No need for that. I won't take it. I'm feeling fine," he called back sitting on his bed to put on socks. Locking up he startled at seeing her towering in the doorway, hands on her hips and glowering at him furiously.

"What did you just say?" she asked in a deadly calm voice. Lucifer somehow sensed that this was possibly a rhetorical question and wisely kept quiet, looking at her with wide eyes. When she raised an eyebrow, he couldn't resist the urge to sputter, "It tastes disgusting!"

"Oh stop whining!" she interrupted him harshly. "I did not spend my weekend here to painstakingly nurse you back to health for you to just throw all caution to the wind the second my back is turned!" He opened his mouth to reply only to be cut of straight away. "You will take your medicine like a good boy." He bristled at being called boy. "Or I will make you regret that you didn't. Have I made myself perfectly clear?" Sensing that there was no other way out of this, he slowly nodded. She let him stew under her glare for a few seconds more and it took all his considerable willpower not to squirm like a child, until she finally let her hands fall to her sides and he visibly relaxed.

"All right," she said turning around and stepping back into the living room. He followed her cautiously. "I'll drop by tomorrow after work."

"It'll be a delight to see you again then."

"There's soup in your fridge."

"I know."

"Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

"And keep your hands off your liquor," she ordered throwing him another dark look. "It doesn't mix with your medication." He subtly tried to ignore that. "Lucifer!" Well to hell with that woman! Did she have to think of everything? "Promise that you won't drink alcohol until you're completely back to health."

"Fine. I promise." She did spend all her weekend with him. He owed her that much at least.

"Okay." She gathered her personal belongings and then pulled him down for a hug. "Bye."

"I'll see you tomorrow," he replied waving awkwardly. When she was gone he sat down on his couch and closed his eyes. His body already demanding rest again. Since he did not have any pressing matters to attend to, he relented and drifted off to sleep.