betterthanaplan | The Cape Rouge, Port of Fandom, early Monday morning

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The Cape Rouge, Port of Fandom, early Monday morning

Most days, Duke was fine. Better than fine, even; he'd been essentially rebooted, after all. Turned off and back on again and all his caches had cleared and -- yeah, he honestly didn't know anywhere near enough about computers to make this metaphor work. He'd been in a dry dock of sorts. All patched up and back in shipshape.

Most days.

He couldn't remember most of the dream when he woke, his heart triphammering in his chest. Just the sense of utter helplessness that had accompanied it, and the sense that the gremlin man -- Croatoan -- was lurking at the edges, smirking in delight. He sat up in bed, trying to force his breathing back under control, and hoped he hadn't woken Lucifer or Octavia.

He really liked being fine. He wanted that feeling back, dammit.

HE slid out of bed, trying not to disturb anyone, and went to go hunt down a coffee.

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Duke gave her a tiny, wry smile. "De nada."

He filled his own mug and let out a soft sigh. The silence was broken, and the old sense to try and fill it with noise was coming back.

"At least Lucifer gets enough sleep."

"Yeah," Octavia sighed, leaning a little more against the back of his shoulder now rather than his back. But still leaning. Still keeping close.

And no, it wasn't like she was going to rat Lucifer out. Especially on a hunch alone.

She took a careful sip.

Back in the bedroom, said Devil turned over in the bed, finally, his head feeling all-- unpleasantly raw with buzzing thoughts.

He sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

"Oh, bugger."

Duke made a face that was half-grimace, half-smirk. "Speak of the Devil," he mused, then raised his voice. "We have coffee. And scotch."

Octavia had nothing to add to that, because, well. It was accurate.

So she took another sip instead.

"I'll take the scotch," Lucifer called, sitting up on the bed. "I refuse to speak to the coffee."

Duke huffed softly. "Coffee and scotch in bed?" he suggested to Octavia.

Just leading the way risked losing her heat for a moment too long, in his opinion. Better to negotiate first so they could stay connected as long as possible.

Octavia gave one of her tiny shrugs. "Sure," she said. Her hand brushed one last abstract pattern against his side (for now), and then she pulled back to give him room to move.

She didn't want to get coffee spilled on her, and she wanted to be the reason she got coffee spilled on her even less.

Lucifer rubbed at his forehead. On the one hand, excellent thinking, scotch in bed would absolutely take his mind off of things.

On the other, they were bringing it to him, which left him with some unoccupied thinking time. "I can also come up there, if you'd prefer?"

There. Even the conversation would spend some of his time.

Lucifer was offering to get out of bed? Duke gave Octavia a curious eyebrow.

Was he okay?

"I'm good either way, babe," he called back.

Octavia just looked tired, in return.

"It's literally less than a minute's worth of movement either way, why are we even talking about this?"

In fact, she was now heading for the bedroom, herself.

"Just trying to figure out the ideal approach, darling," Lucifer said, watching her march in nonplussed.

Duke grabbed the bottle and his mug (he was losing the contact! Just what he hadn't wanted!) and hurried after her.

"There's an ideal approach?"

"To coffee and booze?" Octavia added, mildly incredulous, very tired.

Sliding right back onto her typical side of the bed.

"Absolutely," Lucifer said, and reached for her almost immediately.

“I bow to your superior expertise,” Duke said, offering him the bottle and an empty mug.

This was pleasantly normal. He could pretend he hadn’t just woken them all up with a nightmare.

There was a very brief moment of hesitation in response to Lucifer's reaching, because Octavia's assumption was they'd want to leave Duke his usual space in the middle.

But she also didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to... anything, really, so she gave in and scooted close enough to Lucifer that he could freely do whatever touching he felt like.

Also, she drawled, "I don't."

"I believe you don't even know how to bow," Lucifer said, but he was swiftly pouring a measure of whiskey - in as much as he could without removing his arm from where it now rested around her, more or less.

Duke felt a moment of . . . something, watching Lucifer pull Octavia into his usual spot. He squashed it as best he could and sat on the edge of the bed facing them instead, legs folded under him, coffee cradled in his hands.

“She knows how,” he said. “She just chooses not to.”

But Octavia was reaching for him, now. When there was no longer any confusing the gesture for her somehow trying to reach for the scotch.

It was just the one hand (thanks to the coffee), and casual-looking (by design) but it was there.

"I know how to kneel sometimes," she rasped, with a glance to Lucifer, "if that counts?"

"Oh, yes," Lucifer said, grabbing onto the topic change with both hands. "Very prettily, if I remember correctly."

Duke extended his foot towards Octavia, but didn’t shift from his spot at the end of the bed.

“Not surprised. She does most things prettily.”

It felt weird.

But Octavia was going to just rest her hand on his ankle, now. (Firm. It was weirdly firm, her touch, like she was holding on.) "Even that? I don't know."

"Trust me, darling, there are parts of my anatomy who have very strong feelings on this matter," Lucifer said.

He sipped his whiskey. He considered the logistics of getting them both to pile up on him.

“Sometimes it’s fun to be a pretty little thing,” Duke mused. He wiggled his toes at Octavia and sipped his coffee.

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