Work Text:
Even hunched in on himself, sitting on the floor out in the hallway, Laura couldn’t help but notice how broad Baphomet’s shoulder’s were. A doomed god maybe, but at least he looked the part; Laura swallowed back that familiar half-realized twinge of jealousy.
"Not watching the Morrigan perform?"
"What, the same old song and dance? It's not for me anyway." Laura wasn't sure which of them he was trying to convince, but it was a pitiful attempt in any case. She slid down the wall to sit beside him, feeling impossibly tiny. What was she even doing here?
“Cigarette?” she offered, tugging the pack out of her coat pocket.
Baphomet huffed a rough laugh. “Sure.” He clicked his fingers for a light, but nearly dropped the cigarette itself - dark as it was, Laura could still mark the tremor of his hands.
She reached out to steady him without thinking, but Baphomet didn’t push her off. In fact, he didn’t say anything for a long while. Let his head fall back against the grimy wall, eyes hidden behind his shades as he took a long drag. “Thanks,” he said eventually, chasing the smoke from his lips.
“Don’t mention it.” Laura lit up a cigarette of her own, feeling stupid for hiding the lighter in her palm as if she could light her own fingers with a click, but it was habit at this point.
Sure enough, Baphomet’s grin lit up the darkness. “Still looking for your Prometheus?” he mocked her.
Laura just shrugged.
They lapsed into silence for another long while.
“Watching Lucifer burn out didn’t teach you anything?” There was definitely something darker to his voice this time, but Laura was inclined to think it was still less accusatory than he’d tried for.
She didn’t have a good answer for that anyway. What happened to Luci should have been a warning, and if Laura was sensible, she knew she’d have gone running the other way; then, if not before. But she didn’t want to be sensible. Better to burn out than fade away, she thought, and wished she’d thought to say that first. Then she said it anyway.
Baphomet laughed rather humorlessly. “Better anything than burning out so fucking fast,” he said. "I-" He took another long drag off his cigarette, looking away pointedly. “Fuck it. Fuck. I can’t fucking talk about, fucking-”
Laura reached up to put a hand on his knee, feeling awkward. It wasn’t just his hands, she realized then, his whole body was trembling. She chanced a look up at Baphomet's face, and was surprised to see his cheeks glistening with moisture in the low light. It could easily be sweat, or even the humidity down here, but Laura didn’t think it was. “Oh,”
“Fuck,” he swore again, fingertips bumping his glasses when he moved to brush them off. And Laura knew she wasn’t imagining the shaky pitch to Baphomet’s voice.
“You wanna get out of here?” she asked. As far as Laura knew, he'd never missed one of the Morrigan's performances yet, but sitting out here in a dingy, barely lit underground tunnel was hardly the same thing. The occasional wail that split the silence and echoed off the rock in bitter fragments was never going to do her justice anyway.
"Not unless that’s a come on." He smirked, but she could already tell his heart wasn't in it, "your place or mine?”
Laura rolled her eyes, refusing to take the bait, and Baphomet sobered pretty damn quick. “What the fuck.” He stubbed what was left of his cigarette out on the floor between them and rose to his feet, holding out a hand to help Laura up after him. “There’s all kinds of crap down here in the tunnels; you wanna see?"