( continues...) she's inhabiting, by her usefulness. They think they know her. She smirks, she flirts, she struts and snarls, and more than that she dangles the promise of Dean's salvation before Sam to make him do her bidding. Dean must not be saved, of course. Dean is vital to the plan, an instrument as precious and perfect and utterly oblivious as is his little brother. A righteous man, and breakable.

She could almost love them, in a way, these brothers. Messy, noisy, irritating puppets – but they are going to free her Lord, whether they know it or not, and that makes them shine in her eyes. Slowly she grows accustomed to her role, and the banter, the attitude, the brusque flirtation become second nature. She has always been more self-possessed than this Ruby person she has created, has always been ferociously competent and pure of heart. She has always been defined by her devotion and by her efficiency. Still – she finds herself almost enjoying the part. She is a better actor than she had ever suspected.

* * *

It would be easy to feel lonely, so far from Hell, so utterly alone. None of her kindred know the truth, now, not even the other Lilim – only her mother. And she and Lilith have never been friends. In this, they are allies. But still – she is very much alone.

* * *

Dean Winchester pretends not to hope. He fools even himself, for a while. She watches dispassionately as the year is winnowed away, and the cracks gradually appear in his facade. He has enough sense to be afraid, although he does not know just how afraid he should be. He cannot begin to imagine the reality of Hell, and of what he will suffer there. She knows. She thinks about this every time he insults her, and she thinks about the moment when he will finally break, and what this will mean. And, in her own way, she almost loves him.

* * *

Dean Winchester goes to Hell. She sees him there, screaming until the illusory membranes and sinews are sliced clean away and his voice is lost. She watches his bones shatter. She watches his eyeballs burst; watches his ribcage torn open and his heart pulled out of his chest and crushed into a pulp; watches him be remade and torn apart a thousand thousand times; watches him squirm and shudder and twitch; watches his certainty gradually eroding and his sense of self get chipped away until, at last, and so beautifully, he breaks.

Then she watches, entranced, as his green eyes grow black, watches the blood run in rivulets down his forearms as he loses himself in the brutal artistry of Alistair's work. He is unexpectedly lovely like this, with the symmetry of his features marred at last, and the hope and strength and light all leeched out of his heart. Sullied. Scarred. Lost.

Knowing what he has done, knowing what this will lead to, she could almost kiss him.

Instead she returns to the world.

* * *

Sam Winchester is a mess, and when she sees him she finds herself shocked by the changes time and the loss of his brother have made. She has, she realised, misjudged his reactions, and perhaps fatally so. The boy is no use to her like this. She bullies him, charms him, wheedles with him, but soon she realises that she needs a new strategy. It begins with taking on a new body, one with no annoying soul cluttering up the insides and making Sam Winchester uncomfortable. She has to seduce him in increments, and he has still so much compunction over so many stupid things – but it will serve her best to accept this, and work around it.

Ironically, annoyingly, the new body is as unlike Jessica as it could be; still, she tempers Dean's brusqueness and cocksure manner with more of Jessica's warmth, more of her yielding sweetness. This shell has big, cowlike eyes that brim with sincerity, and soft, clutchable curves. Gentleness will be her leverage, this time. Sam needs to feel strong. She experiments, trying to gauge the right balance, trying to figure out which of Sam's buttons to push at which moment. She learns him like a new language, knowing that her expertise is the most important thing in the (continued...)

( continues...) world.

He knows she isn't a real girl, and yet – and yet. He does not truly think of her as a demon any more. He does not remember to be afraid.

This is how she will make him hers.

* * *

She did not expect to enjoy this. She surprises herself by how involved she slowly becomes as she makes a study of Sam Winchester. She surprises herself by how much she begins to enjoy – not simply tolerate – his company. Partly it is, perhaps, because she is so very alone. But there is more to it than that, surely? She has been alone before. But now – she has surprised herself by how much she enjoys the sex. She has surprised herself by how much she enjoys the feel of his mouth upon her as he drinks her tainted blood. He is still frustratingly weak, still malleable, still too tender and tentative, but there are moments when he shines bright and pure and merciless, and then she cannot look away. Moments when he reminds her almost painfully of Lucifer.

She is beginning to hope that she can keep Sam Winchester.

* * *

It is more difficult when Dean returns, of course. But she had been braced for the possibility, and she deals with it calmly and efficiently, and trusts in what she has already wrought. She has always known she was playing a long game.

But the angel worries her. Especially once she sees him, and watches him with Dean. She has taken a calculated risk, introducing Anael into the equation, and she is satisfied that in so doing she has helped convince the Winchesters that Heaven is not to be trusted, and that she is not allied with Alistair. Uriel played his part to perfection, but Castiel – Castiel is another matter, and although he did what she expected, there is still something about him that she finds disturbing. She is enough of a zealot herself to recognise faith and doubt. It would have been easier, perhaps, if they had sent someone else to pull Dean Winchester from the pit. Anyone else. Castiel, though – she is not entirely sure whether he will play the part the way he should. The way she needs him to. He burns. And he has marked Dean Winchester as his own.

* * *

The Winchester brothers move further apart, and further still. She watches Dean struggling to deal with his guilt over what he became in Hell, and she watches Sam struggling to make himself stronger. She watches hurt and mistrust and disappointment growing between them, and it makes her smile. Sam is hers. He has always been hers, always been Lucifer's, although he knows it not. He is meant for greatness. He has a purpose. She holds him tight, offers him soft words and kisses when he needs them, offers him mockery and contempt when he needs that too. She would rather be done with disguises, would rather hold a sword to his throat – but that is not the way to make this work. So she plays at subtlety, and plants more seeds of guilt and doubt and insecurity, and pulls the boys gently, oh so very gently, apart.

* * *

Victory is intoxicating. It's building now, building to a crescendo, all the barriers collapsing before her, events conspiring to bring the world to this single, perfect moment: Sam Winchester, killing Lilith and opening the door.

Almost, it all comes to nothing. She isn't expecting to see Dean Winchester come tearing towards them, but all it takes is a thought and the door is closed and barred against him. She isn't expecting Sam to hesitate, and that, oh, that is a horror all its own – but Lilith never flinches. Lilith plays him perfectly, says just the right words, and then it's done. Done. Done, and her lord is stirring in his bonds, pulling free, rising, rising, everything coming together at last. It's too late, when Dean busts the door down. Too late for anything, and this is joy, this is rapture, this is the kind of ecstasy only angels know. Success. As Dean Winchester hurls himself towards her, she feels a rush of something almost like affection for him. For both of them. They have done this, these boys, whether they knew it or not. It would not have been possible without them.

“You're too late,” (continued...)

( continues...) Mazikeen tells Dean Winchester, and her voice is almost tender.

And she should probably have expected this, because she has studied these boys so closely, but still it's a surprise when she feels Sam seize hold of her arms, and in that split second while she hesitates, still feeling almost motherly towards them both, Dean stabs her with her own cursed blade.

“I don't care,” he says.

There is time only to feel astonished, and then to grant that, if she must make an end of it, then this is fitting. Mazikeen would have preferred a field of battle, would have preferred to have Lucifer's face be the last thing she sees – but he is coming. She can feel him moving up through the shattering layers of his prison, bouyant and exhilerated, power rushing up towards the surface of the earth, and she knows that he can feel her here, reaching out to him.

He will know who bought his freedom. That will have to be enough.

FINIS

Ohhhh, Fay.

This has now become my canon. It's so lovely when that happens.

It really is lovely, though I hope you expand the Snow Queen one too.

Yeah, you can call me E. It's fitting, despite my lack of ties to the pizza-industrial complex. Great story, yourself. Even though I don't know that show, like, at all. And I'm writing sloppy sentences like our little posse now.

And Erika, I liked your story too. But I almost never watch House, and I've NEVER watched entourage. So that interfered a bit with appreciation.

I'm sure you have less expletive-laden ways of spending your time, TB. I would say I don't hold it against you, but I wouldn't want you to get excited. ETA: It's fun, though. In an inside-baseball kind of way.I think my version is a bit less naked than canon...I tend to assume my audience has seen tits before ,for one thing.

My boring weekend is fanfic's gain:

"Hey, I'm almost at the end of the pills." It had been a long time since Vince had called anyone to hear her voice and he felt a little stupid. Which he was not used to, especially as people were beginning to come running when he smiled. That was fun, but it was already too easy...he guessed he'd rather feel stupid.

"How's your throat? Because if you need a refill, I could just connect you with the pharmacy directly."

"It's fine, but you did ask me to call and let you know how everything is going, and, you know, it's going."

"I did? I mean, not that I'm not glad to hear from you." But Cuddy didn't recognize the administrator-bot that she had been when she asked him to check in, trying to impress Gold with her efficiency and the fact that she was just as balls-to-the-wall committed to her work as he was to his.

"Really? Because I understand I helped to break your fancy specialist."

"He was already damaged when you got your hands on him. But he's doing better in his normal routine."

"Which is more than I can say for Drama...Drama's crushed, losing a fan."

"Poor Drama," Lisa smiled widely.

" I know...you know, in the old neighborhood, I wouldn't take my brother's disappointment so lightly, but I live in California now and Eric says if you're not mellow in California they make you move. So, I'm over it. Although I did have the urge to drive out there in my robe and slippers and teach you a lesson."

"You wouldn't be the first. Except subtract the robe and slippers."

"God, really?",

"House. He just wanted to drive me insane."

"So, we have something in common."

"Vince, argh! I haven't giggled since 1984.(At which point, you were, as my Mrs. Robinson-sense informs me, a zygote.) If I had any sense, I'd hang up right now."

"But?"

"But I'm tired of eating alone."

• **
  

"Eric?" One advantage of getting Ari's calls on an East Coast shoot was coming out ahead on the time difference. It gave you a fighting chance at being conscious when the agent came to work.

"Ari?" E mocked his sing-song tone.

"Cut the shit, Eric. Who's the skirt? If I can't get Vince on the phone, I know there's a woman behind that. Unless of course, Vince took his cue from recent national events and made an honest manager of you?'

"It was your wife, Ari. Vince has always been curious about whether upscale Jewish women really do give the best blow jobs. That's what we heard in Queens, by the way."

Gold sighed, as if in the grip of some powerful emotion.
"Because of time constraints, the back-up on this *fucking* freeway, and the undeniable, but completely incomprehensible fact that Vince would hate me if I ripped out your Mouseketeer's heart and ate it, I'm going to pretend I never heard that."

"You know," Eric said, reasonably. 'You're so sensitive about her you make it too fucking easy. Didn't you come across that in any of your Sun-tzu, fucking "getting to yes," books?"

"No, I didn't, Eric. Maybe it was in something I never read...The Sbarro Employee Manual, perhaps."

"Oh, I'm fuckin' wounded. Ari Gold knows I had to work for a living. Too bad I couldn't just ask my father to donate books at the University of Chicago, huh?"

"I was a motherfucking *legacy* Eric."

"I heard on TV that that's affirmative action for rich people, Ari. But to get back to your original bellow, yeah, I'm pretty sure there's somebody. And, no, I don't know who she is."

"Keep me fucking posted."

"I did catch him smiling into the mirror for no reason yesterday."

"God, give me strength."

"Tell your wife to be gentle with my boy, Ari."

"Fuck you, Murphy."

I think this is hot, but I am vain, as well as hard- up. Vince/Cuddy

It wasn't that they didn't try to make it just an ordinary second date, with boring take-out pasta and some random rented movie that their attention kept wandering from.Lisa told him a few stories about teenage Ari that were definitely going into the vault for blackmail purposes(but there were a few things she wouldn't comment about,which, considering his situation, he thought showed her to be a classy lady and a good friend besides.)
At least, that's what he told himself he was thinking about as Cuddy sat there in her red dress looking absolutely engaged by him and his many Walsh stories.She didn't seem like that much of a fangirl...could something actually be happening here? he hadn't made much of a pitch, but they were sitting around at her place pretending to watch a movie while seeing how many times they could bump into each other, accidentally-on-purpose. He began to notice how many times Lisa filled her wineglass; enough that fun was in the offing, but not so much that he was a fuckin' pig looking to violate the vulnerable lady doc.

Vince toyed with the linguini on his plate. "Don't take this the wrong way, okay, but this is the worst fuckin' pasta on the face of the earth. I'm killing Drama by eating it and he isn't even here."

"Why would I take that the wrong way? Do I look like Betty Crocker to you? But I did invite you to to dinner so I thought I'd have you for dinner...oh, shit, that came out so wrong."She sips her wine again. By Vince's count, this is the twenty-fifth time. Maybe he'd better step up his attentions a bit.

"No, you look amazing...who the fuck is Betty Crocker?"He rubs her shoulder, she leans into it.

"You really are young, aren't you? She raises her eyebrow at him, which for some reason he finds incredibly sexy. Was Drama right?

"So you told me last time...which is not usually the sort of thing I hear when I put my tongue in a woman's mouth, I've gotta say."

"It's not the usual sort of thing I say when I have a tongue in my mouth either. I usually aim for just sort of inarticulate yummy noises. Or I did, if I could remember back that far."

"I don't care about that...right now is enough for me. Isn't it enough for you?" He supposed this is easier to say when you can barely remember the face, much less the name of the person you last kissed...Tracy(or Stacy) Di Something who thought she was being very clever, offering blowjob with a side of headshot...well, it made a story to tell the guys. Vince is no prude, god knows, but that is a sad fuckin' thought to have while someone's mouth is still working away on your body.Maybe it was even harsher to say, as Tracy/Stacy sat there with pumped-up desire on her face, that he could find several reasons why she was never going to be an actress.She was pretty, but she wasn't memorable. Vince has always been memorable. Not that it was always great; it led him to many notable ass-kickings at school and at home, while the usually feisty E. backed him up.

Lisa is not usually the kind of woman who gives right now much thought. Lisa Cuddy's greatest strength is her ability to plan;to see trouble coming a mile away and plan an alternate course that will pay off at the end of the fiscal year. She is working in the profession she dreamed of in the seventh grade and succeeding wildly...that used to be enough. But as she can feel her blood heating up, and considerations such as math and fame fade away, she guides him into her bedroom and says "Yes.Oh yes."

He looks at her body with enough approval, no, that's honest-to-god pleasure, that Cuddy instantly jettisons the thought of not paying for Klaus, her trainer, anymore.
Danke schoen, Klaus, for making sure that I don't back in the room in the dark right now, she thinks, and he kisses that spot on her neck and she stops thinking.
"I always knew we'd do this," she tells him, her voice's huskiness belying her planner's persona.

"So, you're psychic, too, (continued...)