Gloria spread the towel evenly around the bottom of the shower stall and arranged another towel to help catch the water that was sure to sop out over the cheap tile. She had already plugged the drain with a wash cloth and her shampoo and the soap were on the corner of the towel. She carefully hung the last towel from metal rack where it would stay dry yet it was still in easy reach.

Her elaborate preparations completed, she turned on the water. She shivered as she always did when it first had contact with her skin, but after a few moments, she grew used to it and settled down on the towel, drawing her knees to her chest. She sat still for a long while, soaking in the water.

Occasionally she felt the need to release her troubles into a nice warm bath, and this sorry substitution was the closest thing her shower could provide. She could never stay long either, as the cold water always chased her out after about twenty minutes. She had learned to prolong the warmth by tempering the water to a lukewarm consistency. It wasn't as pleasant as a hot bath, or even a hot shower, but Gloria had learned to live with the various compromises she was required to make.

She sighed and went through the motions of cleaning herself. It had been almost a month since the charming man who called himself Lucifer had appeared in her apartment and swept her off her feet. It had also been almost a month since she had last see him. He had stayed with her the whole evening and far into the night, but just as she was beginning to show signs of drifting off to sleep, he had given her a kiss on the cheek and had taken his leave of her.

She'd been waiting for him to show up again, or at least to call or leave a note for her. She would have begun to doubt her sanity if she had not retained tangible proof that he existed. He had left his umbrella again, this time halfway under the loveseat. She had tripped on it in the dark, the morning after he had left, and now she seldom stirred a step out of doors without it, even if the sun was shining brightly.

It reminded her of him, and gripping the smooth wooden handle leant her a bit of the peace and safety his touch granted. She wasn't sure why she waited for him with such longing. He was the Devil after all. She was quite sure of that after his little display in the living room on the evening they had first met. She was sure that consorting with the Devil broke some tenant of her religion, but she couldn't really remember any lessons from Sunday school other than the story of Noah's Ark.

However, despite the fact that she was fairly certain that he had to be inherently evil, she still longed for his company, his voice, and most of all for the sanctity his touch granted. But he was gone, and her life had returned to normal. She plodded along each day, but her longing and frustration built, until at last she had abandoned herself to the shower, in hopes of finding at least a bit of contentment.

The water, which was generally enough to sooth her, was no longer enough, and as the water began to run cold, she pulled her knees close to herself, and huddled against the water, began silently to cry. As she worked herself further and further into emotional instability, her breathing became ragged and she had difficulty breathing, especially against the humidity of the air in the shower. Shivering against the cold water of the shower, she uncurled and turned off the faucet.

She pulled the towel off the rack and dried her face quietly before pulling the large towel around herself like a security blanket. She was preparing to stand when a familiar voice caught her completely off guard.

"You certainly take a long time in the shower."

She gasped and stuck her head out past the flimsy curtain without thinking. He was sitting on the clothes hamper with his back turned to her, idly examining the ingredients list on the back of the bottle of lotion she kept on the sink.

She was elated and relieved all at the same time. Just his presence comforted her, but she still felt the need to be close to him. Even she was still trying to get the flood of emotions under control, a draft caught her and she shivered, pulling the towel closer around her. Then she realized she was only wearing a towel.

Alarmed by her state of undress, she turned beet red, made a rather quiet distressed sound, and drew back into the shower. She shivered again, and pulled the towel closer, as if trying to make it a second skin, then finally spoke in small quiet voice.

"Can you please leave. Until I get dressed, I mean? Please," she peeped out from behind the corner of the shower curtain.

"Of course," he rose comfortably and stretched, "I'll be waiting for you in the kitchen."

As soon as he closed the door behind him, she emerged delicately and dressed swiftly, unwilling to keep him waiting. She toweled her hair dry and then bound it up in a messy French twist. She had never been good with her hair, but she was aware that she looked like a drowned rat when she first left the shower. She also hoped that tying it up would reduce the spastic curl it was sure to develop as it dried.

She didn't bother with makeup. She wasn't sure she even had any anymore. She had stopped really caring about her personal appearance when she had left the university. She wasn't really a slob. She strove to make herself presentable on most occasions; she just generally didn't care to do more than that. No one ever looked at her anyway, so she doubted it mattered.

Yet, as she stood in front of the small mirror, for a fleeting moment she almost wished she had some powder or lipstick. But she dismissed this thought as fast as it had come and demurely put on her small silver rimmed glasses and her battered wristwatch. It didn't matter anyway, after all.

True to his word, he was waiting in the kitchenette, sitting at the small table and reading his Wall Street Journal. When she entered, he folded the newspaper and straightened.

"Do you know that you don't have any coffee? Or a coffee pot for that matter? You don't even have any tea. What on earth do you drink in the morning?"

She ducked her head and answered haltingly, "Well, I generally don't have much trouble waking up, but I always have a coke in the morning."

He realized that he had made her uncomfortable and immediately compensated by complimenting her and then adding, "Don't worry about it. The next time I'm out, I'll pick up a pot and some coffee. I can be a bear sometimes when I don't have my coffee in the morning."

She was somewhat mystified by this comment and wondered why his need for coffee in the morning equated with her need for a coffeepot. Perhaps this meant he was planning on showing up more frequently in the future. She was about to ask him about this possibility when he spoke again.

"I'm just curious, why do you take such long showers? You hair is long, but it shouldn't take that much time to wash," he stood and approached her casually.

She ducked her head again and answered quietly, "Sometimes I just need to sit for a while in the water. I like taking baths, but I can't take them here. The shower is my substitute."

"Mmmm," he murmured noncommittally and gently stroked the knot of wet hair that he found at the base of her neck. Then he brought her chin up with a finger, "In any case, I dropped by to take you out to breakfast. I hope you don't have any other plans," he smiled playfully.

He held her gaze for only a few moments before she shifted her gaze down and checked her watch. His dark-eyed gaze was far too intense for her to hold and she was happy for any excuse to break it. After checking her watch, she was forced to shake her head.

"I'm sorry. I can't. It's late already and I have to go to work this morning."

He shrugged, "Very well. I'll come with you. I'm sure no one will mind, especially if I buy something."

She blinked, "How did you know that I worked at a store?" then she realized just how ridiculous her question was, "Right. You're Lucifer. I shouldn't be surprised that you know."

He smiled and then ushered her to the door and helped her into her coat. She automatically reached for the umbrella, but then he touched her arm and she decided she wouldn't need it. She was about to draw her hand back when his went over hers and pulled the umbrella, and her hand, into a light but firm grip. His hand was warm, but not unpleasantly so, and she couldn't help felling a little distressed when he broke the moment and loosed his hold of her hand and tucked the umbrella under his arm.

"You can never be too careful," he winked at her and strolled out the door. Off balance, she could do nothing more but follow him.