Disclaimer: I don't own it, I'm just playing with it.

Disclaimer 2: I killed Chloe for a moment for no real reason other than to get her to talk to God. Yes, I am a horrible person.

Sorry! I've been listening to Gaiman read some of his books and this came to mind for some reason. There's a short story involving Lucifer in Smoke and Mirrors. We can pretend this influenced it. Same thing applies as the first in 'A Gift' I need you to hear the parts of God as Neil Gaiman. He's got a pleasant voice, so I'm not asking too much of you to do that. Trust me.

"Oh," a low timbered explanation brought her to reality, or what she thought was reality. It didn't sound particularly surprised, but it was still something that noted that something unexpected had happened.

Her vision was blurry and she was confronted with bright whiteness overhead. It looked like it could have been the ceiling tiles of an emergency room, something that would've made sense because the last memory that readily came to mind was of a fire that burned through her chest and a drowning feeling in her lungs. She hadn't been able to catch her breath and she'd choked on blood that flooded up her throat.

She remembered a set of brown eyes that danced in her vision, a pleading voice that begged her not to leave him. Had she?

She sat up, an ache in her chest making her wonder if she was okay. Was it real? When she looked around the room she was confronted with a stark whiteness that would put a sterile hospital to shame. At least it smelled better, there wasn't the stench of medicine or sickness. No lingering smell of death, something she'd come to know on the job.

"Is this heaven?" There was a quiver in her voice, she expected more. She'd hoped to see her father, at the least. Something other than this stark white room.

"Purgatory, actually," the same voice from before corrected. "Though you are only here because I wasn't expecting you for quite a while. I figured we would sit and wait to see if any desperate measures would be made," a man came into her view. He was probably in his mid to late fifties with a wild mess of black curls around his head, streaks of gray in it that seemed to add validation to her guess at his age. There was a bit of scruff on his face, though this was more gray than black. His features were regal, a straight nose that harkened to her partner and eyes that managed to be clear despite the dark depths to them. "But since you are here, I thought perhaps you would like some company. Would you?"

"Do I know you?" There was something about his features that made her think she did, a sense of deja vu confusing her.

"Well," he smiled politely at her and offered her a hand. He had long elegant fingers, much like Lucifer's, but she could see calluses on them. Like he worked without taking the means to keep up appearances. He was dressed in an olive colored sweater, over a light blue button up, and he wore simple gray slacks with loafers that likely didn't bare a brand name to them. Everything about him seemed a far cry from her partner. But for some reason she looked at him and thought of Lucifer. "Sort of," he offered her his hand again. "We have not formally met."

She took his hand and stood, swallowing hard. For some reason she felt dwarfed by him, even though he made no move to appear threatening. "Am I dead?"

"Technically," the polite open features looked grave. "Your heart has stopped, you are no longer breathing. I believe the doctors have also pronounced your death. Though, there is still a window of time for desperate measures to be taken."

"Desperate measures?" She echoed, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't think Samael would so readily let you go," he smiled sadly. "He's stubborn, as I am sure you have noticed. Or maybe not. He tends to bend to you quite often." There was a light chuckle, "I'm quite sure he's put you before his own wants more times than even he can keep track of."

"But," she started slowly, trying to comprehend what he was talking about. "If I'm here, then there's nothing he can do. Is there?"

"You know he's an angel, don't you?" The man before her questioned. "I thought the inopportune display of his 'devil face' would have erased any doubt about what he is. I guess," he looked puzzled as he stroked the growth of hair on his face. "I guess denial can be stronger than I thought it could. I'll have to talk to someone about that."

"I know," she shook her head. "But what can he do? Unless," she swallowed, "unless you're sending me to Hell… there's nothing he can do, is there?"

"He's accused me of many things, Mrs. Decker. And I'm sure there has been many times where I have appeared unjust and unfair, even to you," he started gently. "But I cannot ignore your sacrifices. I cannot ignore what you have done for your fellow man in your years on the force. You have turned Daniel onto the right path. Made even Cain selfless enough to earn the right to die," he looked impressed. "You have taught my son how to love someone other than himself. Sending you to Hell is not something I could do. Unless I wanted to spark another rebellion. I don't, by the way. Just to clarify. The first was quite enough and I'd like to not have another."

She relaxed and looked away, "You're God then?"

"I am," his voice was soft.

"You're going to watch over my daughter, right?" She choked, the fire in her chest hot and painful. "You're not going to let her think I left her because I didn't want to," she felt tears fall down her cheeks. "It's so hard to grow up without a parent, I can't believe this happened," she began to sob.

"There you are again," there was a light chuckle and a hand fell on her shoulder. "Are you capable of selfishness, my miracle?"

"What?" She looked up at God, trying to calm her warring emotions.

"Beatrice will be fine," he assured her. "Though she will likely be glued to your for the coming weeks."

"What?"

"Ah there we are," God smiled broadly at her. "Desperate measures kicking in. This time, he didn't try bargaining with me. Quite a surprise, though you can tell him I would've readily given you back. There's still so much you can do."

She blinked, not getting any of it and before she could question him again that burning in her chest magnified by a thousand before it turned into a pull. Then she felt as if she were being dragged through water. The vision of God in the bright white room vanished and she was blinded by fluorescent light.

The stench of iodine was so strong that she couldn't help but grimace at it. It nearly covered the rich smokey cologne that she took in with another painful breath. She was being held tightly, one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders.

"Please," was choked into her ear. "Not yet, not yet."

She could taste blood in her mouth, her chest ached and the arms holding her were near to the point of bruising. "I don't know what you did," she croaked. "But you're going to need to do it again if you break something."

The arms around her tightened and she felt the chest she was pressed against spasm as Lucifer released a sob. "Thank you," he breathed and he buried his nose against the crown of her tangled hair. "Thank you," it wasn't clear who he was talking to but she could hazard a guess.

She let him hold her, feeling weak. Dying could do that, she guessed. "He said," she started carefully, "he would've given me back."

The angel holding her snorted, still caught up in his emotions. "He's still a right bastard."