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“Do you remember?” Maze asked.
“Remember what?” Lucifer’s hands were resting over the piano keys waiting for – something, he didn’t quite know what yet.
Maze plonked an old-fashioned picture frame on top of the piano, right next to his tumbler of whisky. “That.”
He glanced up from the black and white keys to the photo, then quickly looked back down. “It’s been five centuries,” he said.
“Five centuries precisely since that party, yes.”
What was she on about? What – “And? Your point, Maze?”
“Don’t play dumb.” She hoisted herself on the piano and crossed her legs. “Five centuries, Lucifer? And how much longer before you finally do something?”
“Do what?” He downed the rest of his whisky before she could steal it.
Maze sighed. “You miss them. You’ve been missing them for too long, and still you’re not doing anything. This is ridiculous.”
“And what about you, Maze? You don’t miss them?”
She frowned. “I’m waiting for you to finally do something, is all. You are the king of hell.”
“Uh huh.” Well, she could wait. She’d wait a long time.
He rose from the piano bench and took the black picture frame with him to where it had been before: his climate-controlled terrace, looking out to the vast ocean. Premium estate, for who could afford it. He could.
“Lucifer.” She came up behind him. “You're an idiot, you know that?”
“Maybe. But I’m not going to war with my father just so I can – just so – I’m not. You know what it would mean.”
“Look out, Lucifer. Look outside: they’ve managed to make their own world impossible to live in, ever for us. It’s hotter than hell out there, and the mutants who can actually survive outside the lifedomes are preparing for war. It’s not the life you wanted, Lucifer. It’s not.”
He shrugged. “They’ll pull through. Humans always do. They're always fascinating that way.”
“But they're not…” She waved a hand at the photograph.
“I’m not starting a war with dad just to get back to heaven. The risk is too high, for – the risk is too high.”
“Do you think he’d take it out on them, too?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s a risk, and I'm not taking it. And since I can’t even get any of my siblings to answer these days…”
“Still no news from the silver city then?”
“No.”
She stood by his side for a long moment, the hiss of the air filtering system the only sound in the always slightly stale air. Still better than outside, but not by much.
“All right. Look, think about it, all right? I’m fed up with your moping. Either live here, or change things.”
“You don’t want me to take you back to hell?”
“Last time we went there it was no better than here. At least here – look, just make up your mind.”
He knew what she meant, because he felt the same. At least here there’s you, and you remember. No one else remembered, down in hell or here on earth. They didn’t see each other that often and they rarely talked about the past, but at least they could, and while Lucifer knew he didn’t want to admit out loud it mattered… it did. As for Maze, she’d learned to care five centuries ago and she’d never managed to get rid of that.
He heard her leave through the pressured airlock and he could picture her striding through the outside world, her head held high and her half-rotten face the best disguise among the mutants one could wish for.
That photograph though… he liked knowing it was there, but preferred not to look at it. It was too full of memories.
He went back in to pour himself more whisky, then settled again in front of the ocean, drink in hand and bottle by his side. He was leaning against the transparent, sealed window that kept the sulphur- and methane-tainted air out, and longed for a good old-fashioned cigarette. You could still find alcohol and even replicate it these days for the right price, but the tobacco plant had been decimated by a mutant larva a couple of centuries ago. At the time, the priorities were really not about saving a plant.
He sighed. What should he do? Another stint in hell, for variety’s sake? Except now earth had lost most of its appeal, too. Mankind had focused on its own survival, and only few – and usually unpleasant – people could afford the more wanton pleasures he favoured. His old club had closed, and as for fun, music, drugs… It all still existed, but the lush decadence he craved to forget, ah, things was rarely there. There often was a tinge of despair, and sometimes even a hefty dose of religiosity to go with it. True Believers, Faithers, the Blessed, the Knowing And Known… too many groups around these days.
He didn’t want to go back to hell either, but if he were honest with himself staying here had lost its point. The few people he could friend here – the few people, really… they were not people he cared to spend a lot of time with.
He didn’t bother to look up at the stars, hidden by the thick clouds that never really disappeared. Maybe he could go visit other places in the universe his parents had created and that he’d lit. Limbo was dull, but a supernova or the heart of a budding galaxy or maybe the pulsating rhythm of a quasar could be nice. He hadn’t done that in a while.
But what about afterwards? What about the aeons ahead? He finally looked down at the picture frame, face down on the antique wood table next to him. With a sigh, he picked it up and settled in the couch. He took a swig directly from the bottle and finally looked at the first humans who’d taken him as he was; who’d made him… better? New? Different, at any rate. A good kind of different.
It had been Halloween, not that it meant anything to anyone these days. But back then… He couldn’t remember who had taken the picture, probably the bartender. There was the good doctor, her still blonde hair loose around her face, right next to Maze. Both grinned, drink in hand; one with a made-up half-rotten face and the other with a real one. The zombie ladies, they’d dubbed themselves. There, to their right – Daniel, with greenish face paint and fake bolts in his neck and dark shadows under his eyes. He was smiling too hard to be a proper Karloff Creature, but he looked happy. It had taken a long time for him to lose that constant cloud of sadness around him, and he’d always worn that little silver waffle around his neck after Charlotte’s death. And here was Ms Lopez, with her hair swept backwards from her face and somehow holding itself straight behind her head, two white streaks running from her temples, Bride of Frankenstein-style. They were so good that a lot of people had asked for their picture, and they’d proudly complied. The spawn – in an alien outfit – was here in front of them all, and he remembered her glee first when she’d spotted her mum’s all-black witch costume, then Lucifer’s matching pirate one. He remembered picking the Detective up at the precinct, and how the police station had felt so familiar, back then. He remembered everything.
In the background, a few other officers milled about, nibbling on the buffet and dancing. That picture had been taken early that evening, when no one was drunk yet and only soft drinks were served; when the children were still allowed on the floor and before the raunchier party-goers appeared. He’d made it a parent-friendly event, turning the floor above the club into a nursery, playroom, and dorm for the kids of anyone who wanted to come, and he’d hired the babysitters wit the best reputations he could find. It had been such a success he’d repeated the scheme several times a year until he closed Lux. For Halloween, the kids would first go around trick-or-treating around the block, then come in and marvel at the grown-up costumes; and after than went upstairs for a more appropriate party.
Initially , of course, he’d done it all for the Detective.
The picture taunted him, the memories called to him; or maybe it was the other way around. He wished Linda was still around, even when she hadn’t been his therapist any longer she’d still bee his friend; she’d still been around to help him navigate the moments when feelings and humanity and… and everything, sometimes, swamped him. It hadn’t happened so often after several years as her patient, and one day she’d said, “Lucifer, I think you don’t really need me anymore.”
“What? Of course I need you, Doctor! How can you expect me to never see you again?”
“I meant as your therapist, Lucifer. I’m still your friend but, as both friend and therapist, I can tell you’re doing well; and you know it, I think. I’m still around if you need me for a session of course, but I don’t believe it’s really necessary for you to come every week, now.”
“Oh,” he’d said.
At first, it had felt like a hole in his life, but after some time he’d realized she’d been right. Once in a while he’d still m ake an appointment because her office was the only right place for some things, but… she’d helped, and he’ d been happy, back then.
Happy, until time and mortality, human mortality, had run its course ; and he’d found himself adrift. Oh, he’d still made friends, and Linda had rec ommend ed a couple colleagues if he ever needed one, but it had never felt right. He’d never allowed himself to tell them the truth, and pretending he was human … he c ould do it, but it wasn’t how it was supposed to be, right ?
And so, little by little, his life had shrunk. No more Linda, no more Maze, no more precinct and no more beach house. There was Maze, and occasional visit from Amenadiel or Azrael, a few people he’d got close to – less and less of them as time went by. Years, decades, centuries later, he’d lost touch with the families he’d known along the way. It was too painful to see the Detective’s eyes in her great-great- great - grandson , too heartbreaking to find Ms Lopez’s bright curiosity and warmth in her great-great-niece. They didn’t even know who he really was, and he didn’t have it in himself to tell them.
So. He’d stopped.
Maze and him, they’d witnessed humankind build its own hell, had witnessed them destroy everything including themselves – all the while hoping that it would all get better somehow, that they’d turn themselves around. They hadn’t. Too little, too late, and now his refuge away from heaven and hell was another place he couldn’t live in any longer.
What was he to do? Oh, can you send me a sign? Can you tell me something, anything, I miss – he slapped the frame face down on t h e ta bl e. They couldn’t talk to him , and even if they could he wasn’t sure his father would allow them to. He may not believe the old man was out to get him now, but his godly plans and machinations were s till not something he wanted any part in.
What would Linda say? What would the Detective , Ms Lope z ? What would Dan, or Beatrice?
What do you want , a Linda voice said in his mind. He looked up again at the heavy cloud cover, its colours so far from the wide and clear blue he remembered back when Earth had been his favourite place in the entire universe.
He cupped his hands together and closed his eyes, concentrating. Distantly, he felt his wings popping out and stretching, felt power gather between his palms and then filling him, and then – then, spilling out of his fingers, out of himself; surrounding him, cocooning him .
It had been a long time, a very long time. He wasn’t sure he still could, but h e could still try . Try to , maybe, repair what had been broken, mend the present and change the future.
“Lucifer, what are you – no!” It was a vague echo from far away, Maze’s voice, cracking and furious and distorted.
He let go of what he’d been holding.
“Hey,” Chloe said.
Lucifer was asleep, lying down in soft,not-quite-green, presumably grass. And he was presumably asleep. He was breathing, although she’d never been quite sure he actually needed to. The slight breeze ruffled his hair, shorn close to his skull like she’d never seen it before, and a few feathers still floated around her head although the wings were not anywhere in sight; probably tucked wherever it was they went to when invisible. She’d always avoided thinking about it too much, it made her head ache.
“Hey, Lucifer.” His eyes moved under the lids, but remained closed. She studied him as he slowly swam back to consciousness – his fingers twitching, his lips parting, his breath hitching then resuming slightly faster, slightly shallower.
He looked tired. No, more than that: worn. His skin was thin and dehydrated, his nails – she turned his hands in hers – bitten and not well cared for. He’d stopped manscaping, she noticed with a smile. His stubble was longer, thicker, more uneven; as if he’d taken clippers to his hair then hadn’t cared to go on with his grooming. Or maybe shorter hair was more practical? She ran her fingers over his scalp, scratched a little like he liked. There was some white in it now, too. He looked exhausted, and the circles under his eyes were very dark.
But he was waking up now, although he wasn’t happy about it. She remembered him long ago, blissful in his sleep and yet bright-eyed and cheerful in the morning as soon as there was something to pique his interest. He could laze in bed for hours because why not, Detective, and also go from sound asleep to beaming devil faster than you could say Satan if something promising was on the horizon. Now, it was like he expected nothing good to greet him as soon as he opened his eyes.
“Hey, sleepyhead. You should look at this,” she said.
“Mm.” He sighed, long and heavy, and finally blinked and looked up, taking his time to focus his eyes. They were red and bloodshot, but once sharpened his gaze zeroed in on her immediately – only to skitter away. He started to say something a few times, and stopped before a single sound had escaped; and then he went back to staring at the sky behind her – its colors, the moons, the reddish star and its smaller companion in the distance. His free hand dug into the soft dirt, and he threaded his fingers between the stalks of smooth, soft, still not green, grass.
He turned his head and looked at it, away from her. “It’s the color of your eyes,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Where… what?”
She didn’t know either, and so she only shrugged. “It’s nice, though.”
He sat up, but she could see he was keeping a little distance between them. Oh, not much – but it was a chasm, when compared with before.
“I’m dead, right?” He nodded. “How long?” He looked down, playing with his ring. One thing that was still the same, then. “How long, Lucifer?”
“Five centuries,” he finally said. She couldn't contain her gasp – five fucking hundred years? “But you look just like when we first met,” he added with a strange emotion in his voice.
“What did I look like, at the end?” How old was I, she wanted to ask. How long did we have.
He smiled at nothing, still unable to fully face her. “Happy,” he murmured. “With laughter lines and, and, you… we could always fit. You were beautiful and strong and smart until – until. You know.” He waved a hand in the air. “We had fifty years,”, he said. “As I understand it, a long time in human terms.”
Fifty years, she thought. Then ten times that alone, or maybe not alone? Probably not. But the way he acted… “You’re not human,” she said.
“No, and I’ve missed you terribly, and I tried, you know. I tried to do as you said, I tried to live and be happy and make people happy, I watched over your child as I’d promised, I watched over so many things, but…” His fingers dug into the soil. “Only Maze remained.”
And her former roommate had never been the warm and fuzzy kind. “What about your siblings?”
“They visited, at first. I traveled, too, in hell and other places; but it was never… it was never…” He shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Your kind – humans – they’ve made the earth very much like hell, you know. I didn’t want to stay there any longer.”
She couldn't take his averted eyes any longer, and she gently put a finger under his chin to make him face her. “And what did you do, then?”
“I think…” Now he’d accepted her soft push, it was like he couldn't look away from her. “I think I changed… earth? Or maybe I destroyed it?” He shuddered. “I was so tired. I don’t know what I did. And then, I woke up here.”
“With me.”
“With you.”
“Is this really me?” He tilted his head. “Is this really me, or am I just a figment of your imagination? Are we in your dream?”
“I hadn’t considered that,” he said.
“You are not,” a deep voice rang.
Lucifer jumped to his feet – well, she assumed he moved in some way, although it seemed like he’d been sitting one second and standing between her and the stranger the next. His wings were out and raised in a definitely threatening (or at least do-not-come-one-step-closer) stance. “You,” he only said. His voice was low like the growling of the earth as it shook and groaned when an earthquake hit.
“Me, son.”
Shit. She couldn’t see him yet, and she doubted Lucifer would let her walk around him and end in what he probably thought could be dangerous for her safety, the very reality of her existence notwithstanding.
“What is this, father?”
“This, my son, is yours.”
Lucifer’s hands closed into tight fists, then he deliberately loosened them. Her eyes were drawn again to his wings, vibrating slightly with coiled energy, ready to unleash his wrath and god knew (hah, did he) – god knew Lucifer had a lot of wrath in him. But the wings… it was like they were burrowing into her brain, the only thing that mattered. Things, memories, were trickling into her mind now, as if every feather brought back a piece of her life. Trixie’s graduation, a particularly gruesome crime scene, Linda’s retirement party, Maze casually picking up a giant sequoia fallen on the road so their little family trip could go on. And, of course, Lucifer himself, giggling over a silly joke with Ella, reenacting his favorite action scenes with Dan. Looking at her, his eyes soft like they were for no one else. His face, oh, his face with a hand, her own hand, age-stained and wrinkled and blue-veined, against his cheek, his long fingers tangled with her deformed ones. “I promise,” he’d whispered. “I promise.”
She blinked, and reality (presumably reality) came back in a rush.
“Lucifer?” she said.
He shuddered, then folded his wings out of sight again. There was no one else with them now. “Detective,” he said.
“Lucifer, what…” She paused. “You stopped calling me that after my retirement.” His mouth opened and closed. “I remember, I think, but I still don't… this place, what is it?” She looked around again. “Where’s your father?”
He shrugged. “He said his piece, then left. How are you feeling?”
“I’m… I’m good. Great. Much better than I did, in the end.” He made a face. “Where are we? That’s not Kansas anymore, eh? Not even earth.”
“No.”
She turned on herself, looked at grass the color of her eyes, the moons – one as gold as Linda’s hair, the other the same rich brown as Trixie’s eyes. In the distance, she could hear an ocean whispering on a sandy beach.
“Lucifer.”
“It’s, ah.” He fidgeted a little, tugging on the sleeves of his shirt. “I… made it, apparently.”
“You made it.”
“That’s what dad said.”
“Okay.” She waited.
He looked at his feet, then the clear sky. “I tried to… I don’t know, do something. I may have created a place that’s neither heaven or hell.”
“May have?”
“I… have?” He seemed as bewildered as she felt.
“Wow.”
“… Erm.”
“What about earth?”
“Still there, he said.”
“All right.” She stared at the alien sky and moons and sun. Suns. “Well, at least it’s different from heaven.”
“Good different?”
“Well, you’re here. But only you.”
“Nope,” someone said behind her. “Hey, Decker!”
“Ella?”
“In the flesh! Well, sort of.” She laughed, and Chloe felt the heavy feeling that had plagued her since she’d found herself there dissipate.
They’d be alright, she decided. They’d be alright, she knew after more and more people appeared, old friends reunited and new friends were made.
Lucifer had made a haven for all living or once living things; and human souls and some angels and one demon – and, with time, other demons – found their way there with time, too. People would pop in to go to the beach and roughhouse in the waves, make love under the stars or dance their hearts out, then pop back out to heaven whenever they felt like it; they’d appear as adults and the time after that as their child selves, they’d wander a city or hike through the wilderness.
Much, much later, even a few souls from hell found Haven. Linda had demanded Maze take her there, and she’d made god himself admit torturing souls might not be the best way to make them repent and forgive and be forgiven, after all. Souls, and angels. The good doctor had found a way to live up to her title even after death.
They’d all celebrated the first healed, no longer damned hellizens in the Silver City before going back to their new home, and Chloe knew she’d never forget Lucifer’s face as they’d first stepped through the gates, as all his siblings had flocked to him in joy and his hand had held on to hers like it was the only thing keeping him sane.
But she would still forever prefer Haven, and she knew he did too. It was theirs.