The smile at the initially cute reference quickly turned to a frown as Lucifer continued speaking. “You must have hit your head pretty hard, sweetheart,” she told him gently, obviously worried about him.
“I’m pretty sure you’re concussed… do you know what today is?” she asked, shrugging out of her jacket and folding it up. One hand slipped behind the back of his neck, carefully lifting his head off the hard concrete and slipping the jacket beneath his head to cushion it.
“That would probably explain the pain… But I don’t usually feel this awful, ever, actually,” he replied a bit confused then answered her question, “Monday, end of February… I don’t know the exact date.”
There was a bit of relief as the woman slid something soft beneath his head. He hadn’t bothered using his charm on her, yet she was being rather sweet. Lucifer smiled and joked, “Promise me this won’t be as long and boring as the English Patient.”
Acting is probably the greatest therapy in the world. You can get a lot stuff out of you on the set so you don’t have to take it home with you at night. It’s the stuff between the lines, the empty space between those lines which is interesting.