Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I'm not the devil. I'm just a man who's delusional. I made it up. I made it allll...up"

Lucifer stared fuzzily at the ceiling.  The long fluorescent lights seemed to throb and blur as he moved down the hallway.  He tried to track the surroundings but it felt like a monumental feat of effort.   The lights pulsed past, the wheels creaked, the vibrations ran up along his spine in a pleasant tickle.   The back of his head hurt.  Had he been hit with something?

He lost the thread again.

“I made it all up,” he murmured.   His mouth curled into a sloppy smile.  He'd made it all up.  Santa said he was just a delusional patient in a mental hospital.

“Thankssss,” he slurred.  Just a mental patient.  And he was in a hospital, which was good - for a moment there, he'd really thought he was the Devil. 

Santa glowered down at him.

The blurring was making him feel a little queasy.

“I'm sick,” Lucifer said quietly.

“Well, you won't have to worry about that for long,” Santa told him, voice gruff.

“That'ss good,” Lucifer said.  He swallowed thickly.  His tongue felt too big in his mouth.  “I'm not, though.  I made it all up.”

“That's right,” Santa agreed.  “You're not the Devil.   You're just a delusional man.”

“I made it allllll up.”

The gurney came to an abrupt stop, clattering as it hit something solid and metal.   The sound – and the abrupt stop – made Lucifer's stomach flip unpleasantly.  He swallowed again.

“Hello son,” a voice said behind him.

“Daaaaaaad,” Lucifer said, a spark of recognition floating through him.  It felt like so much effort to reach out and grab it, though.   Lucifer blinked up at the ceiling, and the spark faded away. 

Santa grabbed him, the glint of a scalpel coming into view.   Was Santa threatening him?

“Tell me what you told the police!” Santa demanded.

“That I was Luuucifer,” he answered.  “But I made it all up.”

Santa shook him.  It banged the back of his head against the cart.  The bruise – he was pretty sure he HAD been hit with something – flared with pain.  It sent red tendrils of feeling spiking all through his skull.

Lucifer's eyes rolled in his head.  It was so very hard to focus on what was happening.

“What did you tell them!”  Santa demanded again. 

“Why do you want to know, Nurse Kipsy?” the man behind him – Dad? - asked. 

Santa let go of him and Lucifer blissfully slid into a state of semi-consciousness.   The conversation flowed around him.  He felt like if he stretched his fingers just a bit he'd be able to feel the vibrations of speech in the air.  He pressed his fingers down, half-expecting to feel the contact, like playing his piano's keys.

Santa took off his face, which was jarring.  Lucifer let out a low, distressed moan.

“Shut up,” the Santa-woman said.

“Okay,” he mumbled vaguely, head falling back.

She and Dad kept talking.  Lucifer thought he heard her say something about killing them both, but it hardly seemed worth the energy to protest it.  How would she even be able to find him, in this blurry world? 

The Santa-woman fiddled with the gurneys and Lucifer found himself pushed into sitting in a more-or-less upright position.  The room swam alarmingly.  He swallowed. 

“I'm sick,” he said again faintly.  He didn't want to throw up on himself but if there was much more of this spinning and jostling he didn't like his odds.

“You're delusional.   You're just a man,” the Santa-woman agreed, misunderstanding him.

“No, I know that,” Lucifer said.  “I mean, I'm-”

“Shut up!” 

Lucifer moaned unhappily.

He lost track of time for a bit, trying to keep the nausea at bay.  The Santa-woman left.   Dad tried to talk to him, but Lucifer couldn't follow what he was saying.  Someone came into the room.  At the metal noise, Lucifer forced his eyes open.  Was that a ladder?

Dad started protesting something about his belt. 

Lucifer's eyes drifted to the hallway, to the pretty bright light from the flashlights that the Detective and the hospital's security team were holding.

“LAPD!  Don't move!”  The Detective ordered in her no-nonsense police voice.  Lucifer loved that voice. 

“Detective,” he slurred, trying to smile.

“Lucifer.  Are you okay?” the Detective asked, holstering her gun.

“I'm sick,” Lucifer said.  He felt terrible. 

The Detective grabbed a kidney dish from the table and held it in front of him with one hand while she undid the straps holding him down with the other.  It felt wonderful to finally have someone understand him.

He took the bowl, swallowing, glad to have his hands back even if they only kind of felt connected to him.

His stomach flipped and trembled, but he didn't think he actually did need to throw up, now that he finally had the opportunity.

“What just happened?”  Dad said.

Lucifer looked over at him muzzily.

“The Detective beat Santa,” he explained.

“What?  Who are you?”  Dad was scowling at him. 

“I'm...” Lucifer trailed off.  It was on the tip of his tongue to remind his father that he was Lucifer, but that didn't make sense.  He wasn't Lucifer.  He'd made all that up.  He was just a delusional man.

“I'm not sure,” he said quietly.

“Lucifer?” the Detective said, concern clear in her voice.

“No,” Lucifer said.  “No, I made that all up.”

“Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?   Get me out of these damn things!” Dad demanded, jerking off the straps holding him to the gurney.

“Lucifer?” the Detective asked again.  She was looking at him with such... emotion.  Lucifer cringed away from it.  He didn't deserve her concern.

“I'm just a man,” he tried to explain.  “I'm not... I'm not...” 

Her expression tightened.

“You lied?” she asked.

Lucifer jerked back, offended deeply by the suggestion.  Viscerally, he rejected the idea.

But, then his eyes stung. 

“I think I did,” he breathed.  “I must have, right?  I'm just a man.”

The room was still swimming.  This was all too much.  Lucifer bent forward, resting his head on his knees, and willed it all to go away.

The Detective's hand settled on his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles.  It felt nice.   She must do this for her spawn, he thought. 

“I don't know what he was dosed with,” she said, but Lucifer didn't think it was directed at him.  The hand left his back and he heard her footsteps leave the room.  The loss of her hand felt horrible.   He shivered.

“Mr. Morningstar?  Can you understand me?”  a new voice asked.  Lucifer nodded into his knees.

“Okay, sir, can I get you to look up?”

He nodded into his knees again.  He was sure they could get him to if they tried.

Firm fingers found his chin and gently but inexorably lifted it up.  The lights swam in his vision.  

It was one of the nurses.  

“Could you try to follow my finger with your eyes, please?” he asked.

Lucifer tracked the motion.

“Good, that's good,” the nurse said.

“Haloperidol,” Chloe said, coming back into the room.

The nurse sucked air through his teeth in a tsking sound.

“Must've been a big dose.  He's pretty out of it.  But, it should wear off with some sleep.  We'll keep him under observation tonight.”

The Detective nodded.

“Lucifer, I need to go process this arrest.  We'll... we'll talk in the morning, okay?”

Lucifer blinked up at her.  His fingers tightened, and he realized he was holding something.  He looked down.  Why was he holding a kidney dish?  He looked at it, fascinated by the way the light caught and reflected off the metal sides.

The Detective sighed.  She patted him on the shoulder, which was pleasant, and then off she went.

Lucifer turned the dish in his hands, watching the light bend around the curved metal.

“Okay, Mr. Morningstar, let's get you settled in.  Why don't you just lie back, now, okay?”

“Okay,” Lucifer said agreeably.  He forgot to move, but a gentle hand on his shoulder pressing him back into the gurney reminded him.  He set the kidney dish down on his stomach as he laid back. 

The nurse pushed the gurney back down the hallway.  Lucifer lethargically blinked up at the lights as they passed by.  This felt familiar.  The lights were perhaps a little less blurry this time.   The vibration of the cart moving still rumbled up his spine agreeably, and he squirmed back into the sensation.

The nurse hummed under his breath as he was rolled back to his room.  Lucifer couldn't quite place the song. 

“Okay, Mr. Morningstar.  This is your stop.” 

Firm, gentle hands on his shoulders, helping him off of the cart.  The kidney dish was plucked from his fingers and returned to the gurney.  Lucifer watched the loss somewhat mournfully, but then the rest of his attention was seized with the effort of staying upright. 

Lucifer wobbled on his feet.  The nurse kept a solid arm around him and shuffled him into the room and down to sit on the bed.

The nurse helped Lucifer take his shoes off, which Lucifer thought was wonderful, since he was much too dizzy to lean down and do it himself at the moment.

“Let's get your belt and jacket off.  You'll be much more comfortable,” the nurse said.  “Really, you shouldn't have your belt at all.”

“It keeps my trousers up,” Lucifer said.

The nurse huffed a laugh, moved forward and unclasped and removed his belt.  Lucifer hoped the undressing didn't go much further than this.  He really wasn't in the mood for sex at the moment.

The nurse collected his shoes, belt, and jacket, folding the latter neatly.  It'd still have wrinkle lines, Lucifer could tell, but he appreciated the thought anyway.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Why don't you lie down, Mr. Morningstar?  You'll feel better after you get some sleep.”

“Where?”  Lucifer asked.

The nurse gave him a sympathetic, entertained look. 

“Oh,” Lucifer said after a beat.  He was already in bed.

“You know what, yes,” Lucifer agreed. “Sleep does sound like a good idea.”

“We'll check on you in a bit.  If you need anything, let us know.”

Lucifer sent him a lazy thumbs-up and settled down on the mattress.  

The nurse wheeled the laden gurney out and shut the door softly behind him.

Lucifer stared at the hand he'd used to give the nurse a thumb's up.  He had an onyx ring on his right middle finger.  He stared at it without comprehension.

He had a memory of how he had gotten the ring.  A literal gift from God.  But that didn't make any sense.  God hated him.  Or was it from before?  Or did God give it to him recently?  Before Santa?

It was so hard to think.   Lucifer bit his lip, trying to concentrate.   He bit too hard and tasted blood.

He licked at the salt of it, felt the pain distantly.

Should he be bleeding? 

Of course he should.  He was just a man. 

No, but that was only around Chloe, wasn't it?

Chloe would be long gone by now, heading back to the precinct. 

Lucifer looked at his hands and licked at his split lip.

He was just a man.  He wasn't invulnerable.  Certainly, he wasn't an angel.

Everything felt untethered and discombobulated.  His eyes pricked with tears.  He hated feeling this confused.

Lucifer brought his right hand up to his teeth, setting his incisors to the meat below his thumb's last knuckle, and bit down. 

His teeth sank into his skin too easily; like leaving a love bite on a human partner.  Their skin always felt so delicate and breakable compared to his own.

Lucifer bit less gently, gasping when he tasted blood.  He should have had to work much harder than that to cause an injury.  When Lucifer took his hand back, the bite mark was vivid and bleeding against his skin.  The pain was bright, but it was nothing against the feeling of disillusionment.

He was just a human.  Nothing special at all.

Lucifer curled up onto his side, cradled his bleeding hand against his chest, and closed his eyes.

~*~

He dreamt of Hell. 

In his dream, Lucifer walked through the pulsing, dim glow of his domain, weaving his way through its familiar rocks and columns.  Ash fell on his shoulders, filled his lungs.  His bare feet gently crushed the ash into footprints in his wake. 

In his dream, he had wings that stretched out from his back.  They should have been white but, here, they were smudged gray and black from the unending ash.  His robes and exposed, burnt skin were streaked with it. 

Lucifer ascended his throne while his demons fawned and quarreled below.   He watched them with glowing eyes, distant and powerful, adored and feared as was his due.  He folded away his heavy, stained wings and took his seat, leg casually sprawled up on the arm of the throne as he slouched into it with careless ease.  The hem of his robe slid up, revealing more of his burned, scarred flesh, sliding up past his knee, up to his thigh.  The demons watched the movement hungrily.

In endless rows, chains and doors rattled and the damned souls screamed and screeched in pain, in terror, in relief at being made to pay for their sins. 

It was his duty to see them punished.   Lucifer looked out upon the suffering, and saw that it was good.

~*~

Lucifer woke feeling groggy and achy - but much more clear-headed.

He opened his eyes and took in the boring, inoffensive, clinical surroundings, and knew exactly where he was. 

More importantly, he knew exactly who he was.

Lucifer shook his head, closing his eyes in a rueful sort of embarrassment.   Human drugs were remarkable things, when they worked.  He wondered how long Chloe had been in the building last night, for the haliwhatever to have hit him like that.

A thought struck him and he bolted upright.

Dad.

Lucifer scrambled out of bed.  He paused in front of the mirror, grimacing at his sleep-smudged eyeliner and general dishabille.  He turned the tap on the sink and wet his fingers, running them through his hair to try to tame back the curls that were coming loose.

His hand, in the mirror, caught his eye.

Lucifer slowly pulled his hand down and looked at it.

The imprint of his teeth was starkly visible against his thumb.   The wound had scabbed over, but was still very much there.

Lucifer ran his other thumb against the mark, like he could rub it off.  Pain radiated from the wound.   It looked like it hadn't healed at all.

Or.

More accurately, that it was healing at the sluggish human pace.

Lucifer stared at his hand in disbelief.  

Come to think of it, his head and back ached.  His eyes felt puffy and dry.  What on Earth?

Dread knotted in his stomach, but he set it aside for now.  Maybe Chloe was still in the building.   Maybe she hadn't gone back to the precinct and had.... what, slept here overnight?

He shook his throbbing head.

One problem at a time.   He needed to talk to God.

“Mr. Morningstar, good morning.  How are you feeling?”  One of the nurses spotted him as soon as he exited the room.

“Like a million bucks,” Lucifer said, meaning somewhat grubby and worn down.   He did love the rise and fall of colloquialisms. 

“Glad to hear it,” the nurse said.  She inhaled to say something else but Lucifer interrupted.

“God Johnson.  Is he still here?”  Lucifer asked.  He had a tickling memory of... something.   Something after the fight with... Santa?  No, a nurse dressed up like Santa.  Something important.   Something about his belt?

“His taxi should be picking him up shortly.  Mr. Morningstar, I need you to-”

Lucifer waved away whatever human bureaucratic requirement she was trying to saddle on him and sprinted for the front door.

He was tackled by security before he made it to the exit. 

Lucifer shoved at the man, but he only held Lucifer harder.   Lucifer actually put his effort into it.  He was willing to send the man into a wall and apologize for it later.

The security guard grunted, shifting his hold a little to pin Lucifer's arms more firmly to his sides.

“Are you not human?” Lucifer asked, bewildered by the lack of response.   He wriggled, trying to shake the hold without success.

“Can I get a little help here?” the guard barked out.

“On it,” a voice said from behind him.

And then, oddly, Lucifer felt someone pinch his ass.

“I beg your pardon,” Lucifer said, frowning back over his shoulder, as much as he could see around the guard's bicep. 

Oh.

Not a pinch.

A syringe.

He'd been injected with something.

Lucifer scoffed angrily, but his senses were already feeling muted, blurred.

“Oh not this again,” he grumped, the words sliding into each other messily.

He'd just close his eyes for a minute.  It really was unreasonable how heavy his eyelids had become.

~*~

When he woke this time, he was strapped to his bed.

Lucifer sighed in angry impatience.  He dropped his head back against his pillow in frustration.  An echo of pain sent a dull throb through his skull.  Was the back of his head bruised?

He looked down at his hands.   The bite-mark was still there. 

Lucifer glared at the mark.   Honestly, why was the Detective STILL in the building?

Beneath that, though, a horrible little doubt had set in.  A suspicion that the Detective wasn't here at all. 

Lucifer pushed the thought away.

He tugged at the cuffs for a moment. Then he willed them to open. 

They remained fastened tight.

“Bloody hell,” he sighed.   Velcro was apparently much more stubborn than simple metal handcuffs.  Or, maybe it was that they weren't proper locks.  Locks, by their very nature, wanted to be unlocked, the little minxes. 

Velcro had no such desire.

He tugged again, uselessly.  He sighed, already annoyed by the bill and the explanations that would accompany the action, and put his real strength behind the attempt.

Rather than ripping free of the frame, however, the straps bafflingly stayed put.  

Lucifer relaxed back into the bed, confused.  What were the links made of?

“Hello!”  Lucifer hollered towards the door.   It galled, but he accepted that he wasn't going to be getting himself out of this one.  “I'm quite done with this now, thanks!”

Ten minutes passed.   A half an hour.  An hour.

“Really,” Lucifer huffed.  “It's a good thing I'm not actually a lunatic, because the care here is appalling!”

It was another fifteen minutes after that that the door at last opened.

“Finally!”  He said, rolling his eyes.

“Mr. Morningstar, good afternoon,” the man said.  The doctor?  Doctor, yes, Lucifer remembered him from the other day.  Dr. Garrity.  “How are you feeling?”

Lucifer tugged at his restraints pointedly.

“I've been better,” he said, laying the sarcasm on thickly.

The doctor pushed his glasses further up his nose.  The fluorescent light gleamed against his bald head.

“I understand you tried to cut your stay with us a bit short?”

“Yes, thank you,” Lucifer said.  “Now that Da- that is, now that Mr. Johnson is no longer in residence, I don't see much point in staying any longer.  Although you do have marvelous drugs,” he said with a conciliatory smile.

Dr. Garrity pulled the room's sad, single chair away from it's sad, utilitarian desk, and sat down beside Lucifer's prone form, putting on a serious 'I'm a doctor' face that Lucifer recognized too well from his sessions with Linda.

Lucifer clenched his teeth and stared up at him.

“Mr. Morningstar, can you tell me how you got that bite on your hand?”

Lucifer flexed the hand in question, glancing down at it.

“I was... confused... last night.   Those lovely drugs I mentioned,” he smiled at Dr. Garrity.  The doctor didn't smile back.

“Have you ever caused yourself injury before?”  Dr. Garrity asked.

Lucifer squinted at him.   The novelty of this experience had completely worn off.   What Lucifer wanted was to find out why the Detective had stayed here overnight, then go back to Lux, take a long shower, and change into some fresh clothes.

“Doctor Garrity,” Lucifer purred, leaning forward, strengthening the eye-contact.  The doctor raised an eyebrow.  “As much as I'm enjoying your attention, you don't really want to spend your time doing this, surely?   What is it you actually desire?”

The doctor frowned down at him. 

“Mr. Morningstar, I'm going to recommend that we continue seeing to your therapy.  I need to evaluate whether or not you present a danger to yourself and others.  In a few minutes, a couple of orderlies will be by to escort you to the bathroom and showers.  Please don't give them any trouble.”

Lucifer stared at him, at the dismissive way he stood to leave. 

It hadn't worked at all.

“You're not a miracle, too, are you?” Lucifer spluttered.

Dr. Garrity gave him a long look at that, but didn't answer.  It didn't matter.  The 'no, and I think you're crazy,' was pretty easy to read anyway.  The door clicked shut behind him as he left.

“Well this is just... perfect,” Lucifer said darkly.

The orderlies arrived, and the indignities just kept coming. 

Once he was unstrapped and hauled upright, Lucifer became aware of the pressure in his bladder.  He stared at his groin accusingly but it didn't change the fact that he very badly needed to pee.

“My celestial metabolism should be taking care of this,” Lucifer muttered.  He looked at the orderly holding his left arm.  “Is the Detective still here?”

“Who?”

“LAPD.  Blonde, 34-B, scowls a lot?”

“She was here last night,” orderly-on-his-right answered.  To the other man, he added.  “She arrested Kipsy.  I don't think she came back today, man.”  He shrugged at Lucifer.

“But that doesn't make any sense,” Lucifer protested.  “I'm...”

They walked into the bathroom.  The sight of the toilets reminded him of the urgent need pressing his obnoxiously human-feeling body.  The orderlies released him and he saw to his business with a long sigh of relief.  

In the showers, he grudgingly stripped out of his socks and the rest of his suit.  One of the orderlies collected the discarded clothes, presumably to whisk them away to wherever his jacket and shoes had ended up. 

Lucifer didn't mind at all being naked in front of the orderlies, but it was disheartening all over again when his flirtations didn't have the slightest effect.

“Are you quite sure you don't want to join me?” He smirked, stepping back into the spray, tipping his head just enough to offer the long line of his throat.

The orderly shook his head.

“Thanks but no thanks,” he said, completely dismissive.  

Lucifer held onto his smile, but knew it wasn't reaching his eyes.  He leaned forward out of the water, making the orderly meet his gaze.  “What is it, then, that you do desire?”

“Mr. Morningstar, please shower.”

Again, the tone was dismissive, almost bored.  Lucifer wasn't used to that.  Not at all.  Even when the Detective failed to fall to his charms, she would still engage with him, even if it was just to roll her eyes. 

This, though? 

A cold weight settled in his stomach.

Lucifer washed his hair, his body, scrubbing hard under his eyes to remove the eye-liner.  It was expensive and water-proof, and the skin under his eyes felt rubbed raw and sensitive before he felt like he'd made any progress. 

The other orderly returned after a bit, carrying the clothing that Lucifer was presumably meant to change into.   He shut the water off, even though Lucifer wasn't quite done yet, and held out a towel to Lucifer in an unstated order.

Things were starting to feel out of his control.  He took the towel wordlessly, deciding it might be best after all to just play along for now.

The clothes were gray, soft, and pocket-less.  He was provided with white briefs that he was sure came from a bulk package.  The sweatpants stopped around his shins, too short for his long legs, and the long-sleeved top hung on him like a bag, at least a size or two too big.

Lucifer rubbed his hair with the towel, sending it into a tangled, curling, disarray, but at least he wouldn't have water dripping down his back.   He rubbed the terrycloth under his eyes again, leaving faint black smudges on the towel.  Great.  Who knew what his makeup looked like after all of that.

The orderlies escorted him back to his room.  The tile hallway was cold under his bare feet.  The soft-soled slippers they'd had on hand had been too small for him - the icing, really, on the 'nothing fits correctly' cake.

“If we leave you out of the cuffs, are you going to cause trouble?” 

Lucifer bit back his first, second, and third responses.

“I don't need to be in the cuffs,” he said instead.

The orderly gave him a long, evaluating stare, then turned and left, leaving Lucifer alone with the positively scintillating contents of the room.

“Wonderful,” he muttered.  “Could this get worse?”

He really shouldn't have tempted fate.  A few minutes later, one of the orderlies returned with a tray of food and paper cup of pills.

Lucifer looked at the wound on his hand.  It hadn't made any visible progress on the healing front.

The orderly set the tray of food on the table and handed the pills to Lucifer, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I'd rather not, if it's all the same,” Lucifer said.  The pills would probably hit him with all their intended force, and Lucifer didn't want that.  Not right now.

The orderly gave him a firm look.

“You need to take your medicine if you want to get better, Mr. Morningstar.”

He shook the cup lightly at Lucifer, encouraging him to take it.

Lucifer caught a whiff of the food sitting on his table.  It didn't look appealing in the least, but his stomach growled.  He felt... hungry.   Hunger, like an actual pang of pain in his middle.

“I don't think anything in that cup is going to fix this,” Lucifer said slowly.  He ran his injured hand over his face, fingers dragging along his stubbled cheeks as everything sank in.

He looked at the orderly bleakly, hating it when the man returned a sympathetic look.  The man offered the cup of pills forward again, and Lucifer took it without further protest, tossing the pills down and swallowing them dry. 

“Open your mouth, please,” the orderly prompted, like Lucifer was a child that needed monitoring.  He opened his mouth.  The orderly nodded, satisfied that Lucifer had actually swallowed the meds, and left Lucifer alone with his thoughts and the coagulating tray of food.

Lucifer pulled the chair back from his bedside and sat down at the desk in front of the meal.  He picked up the plastic spoon – the only utensil he'd been offered - and turned it around in his fingers for several moments.  Another pang of hunger stabbed through him, and he ate the first bite with a resigned weight pulling down his shoulders.

Somehow, some... balance, some line had finally been crossed.   Lucifer had cut his wings off long ago but he knew with a cold certainty that even if he hadn't, he'd still be without them now.

He'd Fallen.

Lucifer hadn't thought there'd been any further down to go than Hell itself, but eating the bland, plastic-y macaroni and cheese, he could admit that he'd been wrong.

He finished the food, down to the cup of green jell-o, and leaned back in his chair to regard the ceiling.

He stood and walked over to the framed mirror above the room's small sink.

The man staring back at him certainly looked human.  The skin under his eyes was dark with fatigue and remnants of smeared makeup.  His hair was an unsexy mess.  His skin looked pale and wan.

Lucifer tried to reveal his Devil face.   He tried, and tried, and tried.  He growled, frustrated, body taut with tension as nothing happened.  He willed his eyes to change, to burn with Hell's fires.  Nothing.  He punched the wall furiously with his bitten hand, and growled even louder when the skin of his knuckles split and bled.  Great.  Something else to add to his litter of wounds.

The wall was entirely undamaged, and it seemed almost smug about it.

The drugs Lucifer had swallowed were making it hard to concentrate, but this wasn't the same as last night.  He could feel the lethargy weighing down his limbs but the room wasn't spinning.  He could think.

He couldn't blame his humanity on the drugs.

Lucifer crawled into bed. 

There was nothing to do.  Nothing to be done.  He was useless.   Fallen.  Trapped, as a human, by human means. 

He stared at the wall for hours before giving in to sleep.

~*~

“Luci.   Luci.  Hey.  Wake up.” 

Lucifer made an unhappy noise and burrowed more deeply into his pillow.  The cheap thread-count scratched against his forehead.  He didn't care.

“Luci.”  It was said more firmly, and Lucifer's shoulder was grabbed and shaken.

Lucifer cracked open an eye to glower at his brother.

Amenadiel was dressed in a smart gray suit, the lines crisp and professional.   Lucifer frowned at him.

“What's she done now?” Lucifer asked.  It would either be Mother or Maze, and the sooner he pointed Amenadiel at a solution, the sooner he would leave.

Amenadiel's brow wrinkled and he stared at him, blatantly assessing in a way that normally would have made Lucifer's hackles rise.  He didn't have the energy to meet that challenge today.

“Brother, you look terrible,” Amenadiel said.  “Let's get you out of here.  Mother has an idea about how to get you to ignite the sword.”

“I can't do anything about the sword.  I couldn't ignite it before, and I certainly wouldn't be able to now.  And as far as leaving - this is a place for crazy humans,” Lucifer said, laughing without mirth.   “Where else should I be?”

“I don't understand,” Amenadiel said.  He always could be thick, Lucifer thought bitterly.

He pulled his damaged hand out from under the blanket, displaying the scabbed-over knuckles and still-healing imprint of teeth.

Amenadiel's eyes widened.  He looked from the hand, to Lucifer's face, and back.

“What happened?”  he asked.  Like he didn't know.  Like he hadn't gone through the same thing only months before.

Lucifer snarled and buried his hand under the blanket again, pointedly turning his back on his brother and making every effort to go back to sleep.

He could hear Amenadiel staring at him.

“Okay, well,” Amenadiel said slowly.  “We could still use your input.  And I'm sure you'd be much more... comfortable... at Lux.”  Amenadiel sighed.  “Dr. Linda isn't able to get you out, since she's being reviewed for that stunt she helped you pull.  If anyone asks, I'm your other therapist, Dr. Canaan.”

Lucifer didn't respond, which Amenadiel took for assent, the arrogant prick.  He knocked on the door and it opened.

“Lucifer.  Come on,” Amenadiel ordered.

Lucifer glared hotly.  

Amenadiel did have a point about Lux, though.

With monumental effort, he heaved himself out of the bed.   He followed Amenadiel through the building, not really listening as he and one of the attending doctors, not Garrity, discussed Lucifer like he wasn't there.   It was close enough to true, after all.  Lucifer's thoughts were elsewhere.

Amenadial signed something, then something else, then yet more things, and then he prompted Lucifer to sign something as well.  Humans, Lucifer thought.  Humans and their bloody paperwork.   He skimmed the document.  He was consenting to being released to “Dr. Canaan's” care. 

Lucifer signed.

A nurse pressed the folded bundle of his previously surrendered suit into his hands.  Lucifer looked at the pile of familiar clothing apathetically.  Did it really matter what he was wearing? 

Amenadiel must have seen something of the thought crossing his face because he ushered Lucifer towards the exit without having him change out of the hospital clothes.

Outside, the California sunlight seemed far too bright.  The pavement was rough under his feet and Lucifer winced as they crossed the parking lot.  Something sharp had snagged a toe.   Maybe he should have put the shoes on after all.  He looked down, grimacing in total disgust at seeing yet another bleeding wound on his person.

“You!”

Lucifer looked up at Maze's furious exclamation just in time to catch her fist across his temple. 

The world went black.

~*~

In the earliest days, the humans died at a reasonable pace.  Lucifer could spare them individual attention, if it pleased him to do so, and he often did.  In snippets and loops of individual Hells, he learned their sins and, sometimes, would tweak a punishment to more appropriately fit the crime.   Sometimes souls lacked the proper imagination to make the most use of Hell.  Sometimes, Lucifer felt cruel, and twisted the souls into agony they never could have conceived of on their own.  

Sometimes, he felt charitable, and gentled their self-inflicted suffering into something a soul could bear without breaking.

Hell was endless, but it wasn't unchanging.  As millennia passed, the souls no longer found their way to Hell one at a time.   Even with time moving differently, the dead were so numerous that they arrived in twos and threes, then dozens at a time. 

The ranks of his demons swelled.   Lucifer no longer had time to visit all of souls individually.  He didn't even try.  The demons delighted at the variety of entertainment at their disposal, and so he left them to it, intervening when they went too far. 

In each little Hell loop he did deign to visit, Lucifer learned their languages and their histories along with their sins. 

They became interesting, after a time.  Life on Earth became about more than day-to-day survival as the humans advanced.   In the framework of their Hells, Lucifer saw their architecture, heard their poetry, saw their art.   Their sins, too, became much more complicated and detailed, or abstract.  While Hell was still full of plenty of straight-forward murderers and rapists, there grew a plethora of souls whose guilt took convoluted paths.  It was sometimes almost fun to puzzle it out.

Lucifer's visits up to Earth started to become more frequent.

“It's time for you to return to Hell,” Amenadiel told him, again, and again, and again, century after century.   And Lucifer went. 

Once, he returned from a visit to Earth to find that Mazikeen, an ambitious little Lilim, had been disobedient in his absence, fiddling with a soul that Lucifer had set aside for his own attention. 

The soul's worst memory had been in an alley outside of a cathedral, failing in her attempt to stab her husband, and it had been at the perfect time of day for the light pouring through the stained glass to gleam against the walls hypnotically in the background.   Lucifer would come and lean against the wall, ignoring her as she relived damning herself, as her husband broke her wrist and beat her.   He watched, instead, the progress of the sun across the glass.

On that day, he walked in to find Mazikeen peeling the woman's skin off in long, dark strips.  She'd clearly been at it for a while.   The walls were dark with blood, the glass obstructed with it, and Lucifer's fury had made the foundations shake.

With a gesture, he returned things to how they had been.  The woman gasped in shock and disbelief at finding her body made whole once more, at the cessation of the pain.  The carving knife returned to her hand, and the memory of her husband stood by, waiting for the woman to begin the loop again.   The sunlight glittered through untainted glass. 

Mazikeen's jaw was set stubbornly, the muscle jutting on the ruined side of her face, but she had the good sense to bow her head and lower her eyes.

“Thank you, thank you, God bless you.  Thank you,” the soul babbled, and it was unbearable.   He dropped his angelic visage and let the woman see his burnt form, the fires in his eyes, and was satisfied when she recoiled in terror. 

Lucifer grabbed Mazikeen by the throat and dragged her out of the woman's Hell loop with him, closing the door behind him with a deafening 'crack'.  He threw the unruly demon against the burning rocks outside.

Mazikeen took the punishment without protest, rising to her feet from where she had been thrown, but offering no challenge to him.

“Why,” Lucifer demanded coldly.   Ash rained down on them both. 

“I did not understand your fascination,” Mazikeen said.

“And you do now?” Lucifer said, disbelief thick in his voice.

Mazikeen looked up at him through the fall of her hair.  She licked her half-ruined lips.

“Is it the way she screams?  I did not find it especially unique, but you have a more discerning ear.”

Lucifer said nothing, and Mazikeen realized the answer had been wrong.  She slunk forward.

“I was mistaken, my king.  I overstepped,” she said. “How may I make amends?”

“You're to leave this one alone,” Lucifer snapped.  Much good it would do him, he thought, anger burning brightly in his veins.   The soul would be unable to ignore him if he returned.  Lucifer wouldn't be able to simply stand and enjoy the reflected glass. 

Mazikeen bowed low in acquiescence.

But, she hesitated.  Lucifer saw it, and she flinched, knowing he'd seen it.  He tilted his head.

“You've more to say?” Lucifer said.   Mazikeen was young, but clever.  More so than most demons.  She was as violent as any of the Lilim, but creative in a way that most of them weren't.  She could think long-term.   Lucifer had been beginning to value her and hoped that he wouldn't have to destroy her.  As angry as he was, he could still recognize that it'd be a waste.

“I don't understand why this one is special,” Mazikeen said at last.  She flicked a glance to the door, then up to meet his eyes.  “She's just a human.”

Lucifer didn't answer her.  

He turned and walked away.   Mazikeen had the good sense not to follow. 

Lucifer walked through Hell, the ash crunching softly under his feet like snow, and listened to the screaming damned as he passed door after door.

It hadn't been about the human at all.   Lucifer couldn't have cared less about her punishment.   He couldn't have cared less about her.  She had just been one more human soul, and not even the artist that had created the glass.   She had just had a convenient view to the finished work.

Lucifer growled, frustration and dissatisfaction churning in his gut.  He spread his wings, shaking them loose of the ash that clung to them.  With a wingbeat, he ascended from Hell.   He wondered if Amenadiel had even departed for the Silver City yet.  Mere minutes had passed on Earth since Lucifer had left. 

It was worth a try.   Perhaps an orgy would make him feel better.

Still – the thought stayed with him for a long, long time.  That he had cared more about the glass than the human.

Lucifer never revisited her Hell loop.

~*~

Lucifer woke with Mazikeen's frowning face inches from his own.

“What's wrong with you?” she demanded.

“Wrong with me?” Lucifer repeated in sluggish disbelief, the world coming back into focus.  He was in his bed at Lux.  He didn't want to think too hard about how he'd gotten here. 

He sat up, annoyed when his vision swam, and glared across the room to where Amenadiel was lounging against the wall, watching them both.

Mazikeen snarled. 

“You look like a homeless cherub,” she said, fingers darting in to pluck at the loose gray top he was wearing.   Lucifer could feel his curling hair tickling his forehead.  He lifted a hand to smooth the curls back, and Maze struck like a snake, seizing his hand before it completed the task.

She turned his hand in her grasp, the wounds on display.   Lucifer didn't make an effort to stop her.  Maze had knocked him out with a single punch.  This wasn't more damning than that.

Maze dropped his hand with a dark, unhappy growl.  She paced away from his bed, stride jerky, tension clearly coiled in her limbs.   With a flick, she had her karambit blades in hand and spun them with irritation.

“We should have left,” she said.  “As soon as you knew you were vulnerable here, we should have gone home.  We never should have stayed this long.”

Lucifer crossed his legs, settled an elbow on his knee and propped his chin in his hand, watching her with a detached interest.   His head hurt.  His hand ached.  The cut on his foot throbbed.  He was hungry again, and thirsty, and his bladder was making insistent demands again. 

Lucifer felt consumingly weary.   Just the idea of seeing to all of the maintenance and upkeep of having a human body was exhausting.  He didn’t have the extra energy to spend on placating the pissed off demon and he grit his teeth to endure what would hopefully be a brief tirade.

“I need to fix things with Linda,” Maze said, shooting Lucifer another poisonous glare.  “You'll clearly be of no help, even though this is all your fault.”  Swish, swish, swish, went her blades.  “But hey, on the bright side,” Maze said, and in a flash, she was back at the bedside, the tip of her blade forcing his chin up.   She smiled at him without a hint of warmth.   “You're stuck with me now.”

“Maze!”  Amenadiel reprimanded.   She shot him an equally hating glance, and turned her attention back to Lucifer.

“You think I don't know?  About your plan to go back to the Silver City?”   The blade dug a little deeper into his chin and Lucifer winced, more at the words and their implication than at the pain.  Maze shook her head in disgust.

“Unbelievable,” she stated, sheathing her blades with a loud 'snickt', and stomped out of the room.

He heard the elevator doors open and close.  If there'd been a door to slam, he was sure she'd've slammed it. 

Lucifer wiped at the trickle of blood threading down his throat. 

“You told her?” Lucifer asked.

Amenadiel cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I thought she already knew.”

“Perfect,” Lucifer said, scrubbing his hands down his cheeks.

Amenadiel detached himself from the wall and wandered out into the penthouse.   Lucifer watched him go without much interest.   He should probably get up but he was having a difficult time attaching any actual desire to the action.

He was still contemplating it when Amenadiel came back.  He'd made coffee.  He offered the mug to Lucifer.

“It'll help you feel better,” Amenadiel said.  Lucifer doubted it, but he did take the drink.

On the first sip, he burnt his tongue, and he very nearly threw the mug across the room in anger.

“This is ridiculous,” he hissed.  “How do they live like this?”

Amenadiel shrugged.

“It's... manageable, once you get used to it.”

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?”  Lucifer accused.  He tried another sip of the coffee.  It was still too hot. 

“Not really,” Amenadiel said. 

The elevator dinged softly.   Lucifer braced himself for round 2 of Maze's abuse, and looked up in surprise when, instead, the Detective's voice called out.

“Lucifer?” 

Lucifer dredged himself out of bed, handing the steaming coffee cup to Amenadiel in passing.  The Detective stood in front of his bar.  She was dressed for work; her hair tied back in a neat ponytail, her shoes a practical pair of low-heeled boots. 

She caught sight of him, and her frown deepened.

“Lucifer, are you...?”  Her eyes raked over him.  Lucifer imagined he must be quite a sight.

“Yes, apologies for the, ah, appearance,” he said, waving a dismissive hand over his clothes.

“You're bleeding,” Chloe said.  She reached towards his neck, and Lucifer pulled back.  He pressed his fingers to the little nick Maze had left him with.  His skin was sticky with drying blood, but it was barely a scratch.

“It's nothing,” he said. 

“Lucifer, what happened?”

“A small misunderstanding.  You needn't concern yourself,” he said.  Chloe didn't look convinced in the slightest.

“Actually, Detective,”  he said.  “I was just about to shower and change.  Did you need something?”

“I swung by the hospital this morning to check on you.  They told me you'd been released.”

“Ah, yes, so I was.”   He reached past her and poured himself a glass of scotch.  The action was rote, almost automatic.  

“I wanted to talk to you,” Chloe said, eyeing the glass with disapproval, but at least not commenting on it. 

“Oh?”

“Something you said, last night, when we were arresting nurse Kipsy.”

“Oh,” Lucifer repeated.  The evening was a blur of fuzzy memories.  There was something important in there that he knew he was forgetting.  Santa, and Dad who wasn't Dad after -

“The belt!”  Lucifer said, loud and abrupt, and Chloe jumped.

“What?”

“Earl Johnson's belt buckle.   Where is it?”

“Lucifer, what are you talking about?”

“Detective,” Lucifer set his glass down untouched and put his hands on her shoulders.   She gave him a warning look.  She didn't like being penned in.  He kept his grip gentle, but firm, trying to stress his seriousness.  “Mr. Johnson's belt buckle.  It's... difficult to explain, but it's really quite important.  Do you know where it ended up?”

“All of his belongings would have been returned to him,”  she said, eyes searching his face for an explanation.  Lucifer let his hands drop.  

Well.  That was a wrinkle.

“Luci?”  Amenadiel stepped out from his bedroom to join them. 

“Dr. Canaan,” Chloe greeted, flat and unfriendly.

Amenadiel's eyes widened and he got his 'I'm going to lie like a dog' face on.  It took Lucifer a moment to suss out why. 

The Detective knew Amenadiel.   The psychiatric hospital must have told Chloe he'd been released to a Dr. Canaan.  Since Chloe knew Linda was Lucifer's therapist, of course she'd asked for more information.

“Right,” Lucifer said.  “You have fun with that one.  I'll be back in a moment.”

Lucifer shuffled off to his bathroom, entirely willing to let Amenadiel deal with the Detective’s ire by himself.

Confronted with the mirror, he understood why Chloe had reacted as she had to the sight of him.  The bruise along his temple and around his eye was the size of Maze's fist, puffy and red in the first stages of bruising.  It'd be a proper black eye by the end of the day.   He had smears of blood down his throat, some of it soaked into the neck of his baggy shirt.  His hair was fully back to its natural, untamed curls and in riotous disarray.  He looked precisely as tired as he felt.

Lucifer sighed and turned the taps on to run a very hot shower. 

That he had to turn the heat down to avoid burning his delicate human skin once he stepped in was just...

Well.

Lucifer went through the familiar motions of cleaning himself.  Other than the heaviness of his limbs, it really wasn't so different.   He washed his hair, his fingers occasionally snagging in the tangled curls.  

When he stepped out of the shower, even though it had been a quick one and not his normal lengthy bask, he felt... better.  

Begrudgingly, he thought about the quote, about the proximity of cleanliness to divinity.

Lucifer would've liked to have taken the time to properly straighten his hair, but he figured leaving Amenadiel alone with the Detective much longer probably wouldn't be a good idea.  He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back out. 

Clothes first, or confrontation?  Clothes, or confrontation?   Confrontation, he decided.   The Detective would be easier to maneuver if she was trying not to look at his exposed skin.  It seemed only fair that he got to use her prudishness to his advantage for once.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he could hear the two of them still arguing. 

“He should be getting professional help,” the Detective was saying. 

“I'm fully qualified,” Amenadiel lied.  Lucifer filled in the blanks in the conversation and couldn't decide which side he had less patience for.  

They both turned to look at him when he sauntered in.

“Luci,” Amenadiel started.

“Save it,” he snapped.  Chloe's eyebrows rose.  Her gaze followed a drop of water running down Lucifer’s chest but, with admirable restraint, snapped back up to his face almost immediately.  He addressed her next.  “I'm not crazy.  I've been inflicted with a regrettable bout of humanity, but that's neither here nor there.  Where can I find Earl Johnson?”

“Why?”  Chloe returned.

“I should very much like to talk to him,” Lucifer said.

“Why is his belt important?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so let's skip the step where I tell you the truth and you stare at me like I've grown another head.”

The Detective's jaw set and her regard turned frosty.

“You told me that you made it all up,” Chloe said.   The memory surfaced, blurred and incomplete, but enough of it poked through to make Lucifer wince.

“I was drugged to the gills,” he said.  “And thought that Santa Claus himself had kidnapped me.  I lost track of who I was.”

The glare softened with pity.  It rankled, but he could work with it.

“Detective, please.   It's important.”  

She glanced down at his chest again, then back up, flushing slightly and looking away from him completely.  But, her shoulders were still set in immovable lines.  Distraction not achieved. 

“I'll help you with this,” she said, returning eye contact.  “But you have to promise me you'll go talk to Linda - your actual, qualified therapist.”  She gave Amenadiel another glare.

“Yes, fine,” Lucifer agreed easily.  He needed to talk to Linda anyway.   Maze had said something about 'fixing things,' and that probably didn't bode well.  He would need to find Maze too, while he was at it, and tell her he'd never intended to stay in Heaven.  That should get her to stop being mad at him.

The Detective gave him a long, considering look.  At last, though, she relented, and made a quick call to get Earl Johnson's location.

~*~

In an unexpected bit of luck, Earl Johnson had not left town yet.  As it turned out, giving away most of your money while compromised by a celestial artifact made it difficult to scrape together air fare.  He was staying in a Motel 8 in LA while he worked on getting funds from his lingering oil tycoon connections.

Earl opened the door to his small, depressing accommodations.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

“Yes, hello,” Lucifer purred.  “I'm not sure if you remember me.  We were almost both murdered by a nurse dressed up as Santa?”

A flash of recognition.

“Oh, you.  It was 'Lucifer,' right?”  He gave an uneasy laugh.  He gave Amenadiel a confused look, then turned back to Lucifer.  “Is this... was there something about the investigation?”

“Not as such.  I wanted to ask you – what was the last thing you remembered, before you became 'God?'”

Earl chewed on his lip, but shrugged.

“I was in New Mexico for work, walking through this Navajo gift shop.  I saw this cool belt buckle, picked it up,” he waved a hand.  “Next thing I knew, I was waking up strapped to a gurney.” 

Lucifer nodded.

“Do you still have that belt buckle with you?”

Earl opened the door, inviting them inside.

“Yeah,” he drawled.  “Apparently I gave away most of my other 'earthly possessions.'” He shook his head in disbelief.  “It's in my suitcase.  Hospital gave it back with the rest of my clothes.”  He plucked at the flannel he was wearing.  He sighed.  “What a mess.”

“Well, I'd like to help with that.  I believe the belt buckle may be a piece that I'm looking for.  A family relic, of sorts.  I'd like to buy it off of you,” Lucifer said.

Earl's eyebrow rose. 

“It something special?”

“Perhaps,” Lucifer agreed.  “And it's probably my family's fault in found its way here at all.   So, name your price.”

Earl unzipped his suitcase.  There was a single pair of clothes and, resting neatly on top, the belt buckle.   He picked it up and offered it to Lucifer.

“Hell,” he said, handing it over.  “Whatever you think is fair.   I bought it for not more than twenty, I think.”

Lucifer withdrew a slender checkbook from his breast pocket.  He wrote a number down, considered it, then added a couple more zeroes to the figure. 

“This should help make some amends,” Lucifer said, passing him the check.

Earl's eyes widened, then narrowed, reading the number.

“Oh, it's not a joke,” Lucifer said, seeing the skepticism.  “And it won't bounce either.  I'm a devil of my word.” 

Earl carefully folded the check and put it in his pocket.

“I'm not sure I understand what just happened here,” he said. “But I hope that buckle's actually worth it to you.  Otherwise, son, you may've left the hospital a mite too soon.”

Lucifer laughed.

“So I keep hearing.   Ta now,” he said.  He gave Earl a genuine smile, gathered Amenadiel, and left.

Walking back to the car, he turned the belt buckle over in his hands.

“Luci?”

“The piece is here,” Lucifer said. 

“What?”

“Something that... something Uriel said.”  It still hurt to say the name.  “Before he... he said 'the piece is here.'  I thought it was nonsense, but... look.”  He handed the buckle to Amenadiel.

Amenadiel squinted at it, not seeing what Lucifer had seen.

Lucifer rolled his eyes.

“It clearly has divine power, and it seems the right size and shape for the blade, doesn't it?”

Amenadiel's gaze sharpened.

“You think the Flaming Sword was missing a piece?”  He hefted the belt buckle consideringly.

“That I do, brother.  That I do.”   He took the piece back from Amenadiel and put it safely in his pocket.   It ruined the line of the suit, but sacrifices must be made. 

After all, Earl Johnson hadn't needed to be an actual angel to heal.  Maybe Lucifer could still cut open the gates and shove Mom back into Heaven without his divinity.

There would almost be something poetic in it, he thought.   Heaven being conquered by its twice-fallen son.   

Lucifer returned to the car with a spring in his step, ignoring the twinges of pain from his wounded foot. 

~*~

LA traffic was not the best place to learn that his reflexes also weren't what they once were.  Thrice, he avoided a collision only at the last possible moment.

Amenadiel wisely said nothing when Lucifer gave in and put on his seatbelt.  Nor did he comment when Lucifer tempered his speed to something only a bit above the limit.

If he'd asked, Lucifer would have said it was because he couldn't count on his ability to tempt the traffic cops into looking the other way anymore.

If he'd asked.

Naturally, because God literally hated him, his mother was waiting for them at Lux when they returned.

The Goddess of Creation was sitting at his bar, halfway through what looked like a glass of red wine.  She had to have gone to the cellar for it.  Lucifer didn't usually keep wine in his penthouse.

“My sons,” she said warmly.  The smile dripped off her face when she got a good look at Lucifer.   She stood from the bar stool and walked to him, hand outstretched, telegraphing her intent to touch his bruised face.  Lucifer drew back before she reached him.

“Have you been quarreling?” she accused, looking between him and Amenadiel.

Amenadiel held up his hands, palms forward, pleading innocence.

“A disagreement with Mazikeen,” Lucifer said smoothly.  “It's of no concern.”

Mom's lip curled in obvious distaste for the demon, but she did, thankfully, let it go.

“We have news,” Amenadiel said.  “Lucifer, show her.”

Lucifer gave Amenadiel a flat look at being ordered about.  He handed the buckle to his mother as he walked past.  The blade was in the safe in his bedroom.

“What is...?  I don't understand,” she said behind him.

Lucifer took down the horrible mer-clown painting and punched in the code.   Azrael's blade felt heavy in his hand when he picked it up. 

Lucifer's heart pounded.  He rolled his shoulders and composed himself before walking back out of his bedroom.

Complete the sword.  Cut through Heaven's gate.  Shove Mom inside.  Return back to Earth.

Easy-peasy, he thought darkly. 

“Oh,” his mother said.  She'd connected the dots.  She handed the buckle back to Lucifer.

He slid it onto the blade.  It fit perfectly. 

“Oh, Lucifer,” she breathed, eyes shining.  “This must be why it wasn't working.  The sword wasn't complete.” 

She waved her hands at him encouragingly.

“Set it alight, son,” she said, smile stretching her mouth wide. 

Lucifer held up the blade. 

He could feel...something.  His fingertips felt tingly, almost numb, with the power rolling off the sword.

There wasn't an answering power within himself, though.  Nor, he knew, would there be.

“Lucifer?” his mother asked when the seconds stretched.

He lowered his hand.

The buckle slid off and clattered loudly to the floor.

For a moment, they all stared at it, and then his mother picked it up, disappointment radiating from her in waves.

“There must be another piece missing,” she said faintly.

“Or maybe a dragon needs to breathe on it,” Amenadiel said bitterly. 

“Amenadiel,” his mother snapped, giving him a disapproving look.  

Amenadiel turned his ire to Lucifer.

“Or maybe, the problem is that Lucif-”

“I think a missing piece is the most likely.”  Lucifer cut him off with a warning glare.  “After all, it would be very like Father to divide it into three parts.”

His mother nodded, turning the buckle over and over in her hands distractedly. 

“Its divine power only became extant recently, right?”  she asked.   “When Azrael's blade arrived on Earth?”  

Lucifer nodded.

“So, it stands to reason that the other piece may also have 'woken up' recently.  I have a few clients that deal with... unusual... antiquities.  I'll reach out, see if they've stumbled across anything.” 

Her smile was thin.  She was disappointed, badly, but she wasn't deterred.

“Good idea,” Lucifer said.  “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a promise to keep.”

“Where are you going?” Amenadiel asked, like he hadn't been standing right there when Lucifer bargained with the Detective for Mr. Johnson's address.

Lucifer didn't bother to reply.  He stepped into the elevator, gave them both a cheery, sarcastic wave, and exited.

~*~

Stopped at a stoplight, he stripped off his suit jacket.   In the layers, under the sun, he had started to sweat from the heat.

He closed his eyes and grit his teeth.  How much more humiliation was he meant to endure? 

The car behind him honked, and Lucifer's eyes snapped open, seeing the light had changed.

“Move, asshole!”  The man in the car behind him shouted.

Lucifer took a deep, deep breath, clenched his jaw, and drove.

~*~

Linda's door was open and, as Lucifer walked to it, a tall, dour-looking man in an off-the-rack gray suit walked out.

“We'll be in touch, Dr. Martin,” the man said over his shoulder.  “Excuse me,” he said, passing Lucifer.

Lucifer watched him walk away.  Something about it didn't feel right and, stepping into Linda's office and seeing her face, the feeling intensified.

“Lucifer,” she greeted.  She looked at her file boxes blankly. 

“Are you alright?” he asked.  “Who was that?”

“That,” she said, “Was Dr. Nigel Sklaroff, chairman of the ethics review board.  And no,” she added, finally looking up at him.  “No, I'm not alright.”

“Linda?”

Linda took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.   She tapped the stems against the notepad on her desk.

“So it turns out, breaking you out of a mental institution, using my real name, was maybe not the best idea I've ever had.”

“But... I didn't belong there.  Neither did Earl.”

“Yeah, it's not that simple,” Linda said, sighing.  “Wait – Earl?”

“Oh, yes, that.  Turns out he wasn't actually God.  He just got his hands on a divine artifact that made him think he was.”

“Right, sure, of course,” Linda said.  She put her glasses back on.  “Why not.  Oh, your hair,” she said, a flicker of a smile crossing her face as she took in the sight of him.  He'd still not straightened it and was sure he looked, as Maze had put it, like a homeless cherub.  He scowled.

“This is – does Maze know about this?  The... ethics review?”  Lucifer asked.

Linda nodded, her smile fading.

“She came by after I had my first wonderful phone call with them.  It's... not good, Lucifer.  I'm suspended.  I'm probably going to lose my license.”

Lucifer felt a hot spark of anger at the pronouncement.

Linda looked over at him and squeaked.

“I am never going to get used to that,” she said, bracing her hands on her desk.

“What?”  Lucifer asked, baffled.

“Your eyes,” she gestured at him.  Lucifer frowned.  She gave him an incredulous stare.  “The red, burning fires of what I'm assuming is Hell?” she prompted.

Lucifer's frown deepened.

“I can't do that anymore,” he said.   He turned and checked his reflection in the framed degree hanging by Linda's door.  No wrathful flames.  Just his familiar dark eyes. 

Humans, he thought ruefully.  Even though Linda had come a long way, she still mostly saw what she expected to see.  He graciously decided not to hold it against her.

“What do you mean?”  Linda asked.

“Ah, yes, well, there've been some... unexpected changes in my life, recently.”

He took a seat on Linda's couch.  

She bit her lip.  “I mean, I'm suspended,” she said, holding her hands out apologetically. 

“Oh.  Right, of course.”  Lucifer stood back up.  “I'll get that sorted first, shall I?” 

“I – Lucifer, wait, what are you -” Linda started, but Lucifer was already in motion and taking the elevator back down. 

He exited into the parking garage and was grabbed in a choke-hold and slammed back against the concrete wall.

“Hello Maze,” he wheezed.

“Did you fix it?” she demanded.  Her grip tightened and Lucifer found himself genuinely unable to draw breath.

She saw it and, snarling, released him, shoving him back hard enough that he knew he'd have new bruises.   Bloody perfect.

He rubbed his throat, coughing, and glared at her.

“Not yet,” he said.  “But I'm working on it.”

Mazikeen drew back and paced, her knives once more in hand.

“Mazikeen, stop,” he ordered, his patience worn too thin for more of this. 

Unexpectedly, she did.  She tilted her head and regarded him like he'd confused her. 

“I was never going to leave you,” Lucifer said softly.

“Bullshit,” she snapped, shaking off her confusion and baring her sharp teeth.  “Amenadiel told me your plan.”

“Amenadiel told you what I'd told him.  It was never my full plan.  Yes, I was going to take him and Mum back to Heaven, but I was never going to stay.”

Slowly, she sheathed her knives.

“You were playing your own angle,” she concluded.  He nodded.  “And you didn't tell me, because you needed me to be mad to sell it.”

“Yes,” Lucifer said, relieved.  “You see?  I was never going to leave you.”

“You used me,” Maze said.  “Like a pawn.”

“I wouldn't say that.”

“No, of course you wouldn't,” she said.  She pulled her fist back like she was going to hit him again.  He braced for it, and she gave a disgusted snort, letting her hand drop.

“It wouldn't even be any fun, beating you like this,” she said, eyeing him up and down with contempt.

“Yes, very helpful, Maze,” he said.  He let his frustration bleed through when he asked: “Why are you so mad at me?  I thought this was what you wanted!”

“For you to be human?”  she asked incredulously.

“No, not that.  Me, staying on Earth with you.”

She grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket and dragged her back inside the elevator with her.  Lucifer physically couldn't stop her, and felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the bounties she collected.  Demon vs. human wasn't at all a fair fight, especially when the demon was pissed off.

She jabbed the button for Linda's floor.  Maze didn't release her hold on him until the doors slid closed.

Lucifer straightened his jacket, shooting her a poisonous glare that she returned with equal venom.  When the elevator opened, they both walked to Linda's office with purposeful strides.

“Linda, how do I get it through his thick head that he's being an asshole?”  Maze yelled as they approached the therapist's open door.

“Me?” Lucifer spluttered.  “You're the one that keeps hitting me!  You're supposed to be loyal to me, but when I need you the most, out come the knives!”

“You don't need me at all, Lucifer!  You've made that very clear!”

Linda looked up from where she'd been packing her files into a document box.  

Lucifer took a seat on the couch and Maze, growling at him, sat as far away from him as the couch allowed.

“Linda, she's acting like a child,” Lucifer complained.  Linda's eyebrows rose, and the unimpressed look she was wearing intensified.  

“You kept your plans from me.  You used me.  You don't trust me,” Maze spat.

“That's not true!  I trusted you to react exactly as you did.”

“That isn't trust, Lucifer!”

“Well, it's hardly my fault, is it?  You get awfully emotional about these things,” he waved a hand at Maze, looking to Linda for agreement.   Linda said nothing.

“You used me,” Maze repeated.  “Did you for a second think about how your plan would affect me?”

“Of course I did!   I kept the full plan from you because I didn't want you screwing it up by killing my mum, or castrating my brother!”

“You don't care about anyone other than yourself, unless they can be of use to you,” Maze hissed, leaning across the couch to get right up in Lucifer’s face.  “Sound familiar?”

Cold, wrathful anger curled through Lucifer.

“Tread very carefully, Maze,” he said quietly.

“You are just like your parents,” she said, each word deliberate, a challenge.

Lucifer's mouth curled into a snarl, and he was about to throw a swing despite his better judgment, when Linda's voice cut through the room.

“That's enough!” She barked.  “You two are not fighting in my office!”

Lucifer exchanged a glance with Maze, and they both turned away from each other angrily.

“Someone want to tell me what this is about?”  Linda asked sharply. 

Lucifer inhaled to reply just as Maze did the same, and he exhaled, fuming, just as she also exhaled.  They both lapsed into a sulking, furious silence.

“Okay,” Linda said.  “You know what?  I'm not a practicing therapist at the moment, so I don't have to treat you two like functioning adults and lead you gently down this path.  Who wants to go first?” 

“She's mad for no reason!” Lucifer said.  Maze glowered at him darkly.

“No reason?  Really?”  She turned to Linda.  “He didn't tell me about his plan to break into Heaven.  He let me find out from Amenadiel, knowing it would hurt me, because he was counting on my reaction to sell his story.”

“And you sold it beautifully!”  Lucifer said.  “And it's not like it matters now anyway, since the sword is incomplete and oh, lest we forget, I'm human now!”

“Woah, okay, both of you, stop.”  Linda spread her hands, giving them both a look like an aggravated schoolmarm, which Lucifer didn't think was particularly fair.

“Lucifer,” she said, exasperated.  “Maze is mad at you because you used her.”

“Sure,” Lucifer agreed easily.  “But it was for the greater good of our debauchery here in LA.”

Maze turned away from him, arms crossed firmly across her chest.  Was she not even listening to him?

“Lucifer, you hurt her feelings,” Linda said.  “You made her think you were going to abandon her.”

“But... I would never do that.  Maze, I wouldn't do that.”  Maze was still turned away from him.

“You didn't consider how it would affect her.  Or, worse, that you didn't care.”  Linda said.

“But,” Lucifer could hear a pleading tone enter his voice.  “But those sorts of things never bothered her...”  Was that a glimmer of tears in Maze's eye? 

“...Before.”  He finished quietly. 

Oh.

No wonder she was so angry.  This wasn't... what Lucifer had thought it was. 

Mazikeen had been lashing out because he'd hurt her.  Badly.

“Mazikeen... I didn't realize.”  Her arms crossed her chest more tightly.  He continued, apologetically.  “I should have realized.”

His demon met his eyes, the pain in them naked.  She nodded, an acceptance of his apology. 

Lucifer would have to make this up to her, somehow. 

“Also, what are you talking about, 'you're human now'?” Linda said.

Lucifer sighed.

“Ever since my stay at the hospital, I've been... well.”  He held up his hand, showing Linda the bite mark.  It had been an entire day but the thing was still vivid.  It was absolutely unreasonable how slowly humans healed.

“Yeaah... no.   Your eyes flashed,” Linda said.

Lucifer shook his head.

“A trick of the light, perhaps.  I can't do that anymore.  Believe me, I've tried.”

“No,” Linda insisted.  “You've done it twice just today.  You did it earlier, when -”

“When I said you were like your parents,” Maze finished, her own eyes widening.  She leaned forward, staring at Lucifer.

“But...” Lucifer didn't feel any different.   Still sluggish and painfully human. 

“Try!” Maze demanded. 

He glanced over to Linda, but the doctor gestured at him to go ahead.

Lucifer willed his eyes to blaze.   He could tell from Maze's face that it wasn't working.  He scowled, trying hard.

“Are you trying?” 

“Yes, I'm trying,” he groused. 

Maze watched him for a few more seconds, then slapped him hard across the face.

“OW!”

“Maze!” Linda protested.

“Well, he did it before when he was mad.”  The demon shrugged, unrepentant.  She squinted at Lucifer.  “Try saying 'tread carefully' again.”

Lucifer licked his split lip.

“Tread.  Carefully,” he said, meaning it.  He touched his fingers to his tender mouth.

Maze frowned at him.

She sat back with a huff.

“Nothing.  So what does that mean?”  She looked at Linda.

Linda gave her an incredulous shrug.

“They don't teach 'how to restore angelic powers' in med school, you know.” 

Lucifer sighed.

“It means I may have some last, burning vestiges of power.  Amenadiel didn't become completely useless all at once, either.  It's nothing of consequence, and I'm sure it will go away too soon enough.”

He waved a dismissive hand.

“Well,” Linda said.  She gathered her files and put them in the document box.  Her office was beginning to look quite bare as she packed her things away.  “If you'll excuse me, I think I need to go find a very, very stiff martini.”

“I'll fix this, Linda,” Maze vowed.  Linda nodded, clearly not convinced but, perhaps, appreciating the words anyway. 

“Nigel Sklaroff,” Lucifer told Maze.  “He seems to be the one to deal with.  And... given my current situation, you may be the best person for the job, Maze.  My funds are at your disposal, of course, but if more... leverage... is required, I'm not sure I'd be able to be of assistance.”

“You're not going to kill him, are you?”  Linda asked, eyes wide.  She looked away.  “Not that he wouldn't deserve it, the smug, insufferable -”

“Oh, I doubt that'll be necessary.  Maze can be quite persuasive when she puts her mind to it,” Lucifer said proudly.  His smile softened.  “Mazikeen.  I do value you.”

Maze lifted her chin. 

“You had better.”  In a flash, she had her karambit in hand and pointed it at him.   “Don't pull a stunt like that again.”

“You have my word,” Lucifer said, and something in the set of Maze's shoulders finally relaxed.  She knew he wouldn't lie.

She stood, turning to leave.

“Linda,” she said.  “I got this.”

Maze closed the door behind her as she left.

“Should I be worried about that?” Linda asked him.

Lucifer shrugged dismissively.   He took a candy from the dish on the table, realizing, annoyingly, that he was once again hungry.

“Maze is very good at what she does.  I expect whatever case there is against you will be dismissed by the end of the week.”

“Huh,” Linda said.  She looked at Lucifer, then back to her door.  She smoothed her skirt down her thighs.   “Well, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll still go have that drink now.”

~*~

Later that evening, alone in his penthouse, Lucifer picked up Azrael's blade again.

Without his family's scrutiny, it was easier to open himself up and pour his emotions into the effort.  He let himself feel the pain and hurt and heartbreak that had ignited the sword previously.   

For several long minutes, he willed the blade to ignite as it had before.

Nothing happened.

He dropped the sword onto his bar with a thoughtless clatter, beyond disgusted with both the effort and himself.  He thumbed the tears away from his eyes - unwanted evidence of his confrontation with emotions he preferred to ignore.  He took several long, deep breaths to push back the lump in his throat and even out his upset, stuttered breathing. 

He poured another scotch, savoring the burning trail it left all the way down to his belly. 

He poured another.

The alcohol made him feel loose and warm.   He was properly drunk, and he flipped his middle fingers towards the ceiling with both hands.   Looking upward made him dizzy, and so he sat down heavily on his couch, grabbing the bottle of scotch on the way.

He may have lost his divinity but it was much, much easier to get drunk as a human. 

“Bonus,” he slurred.

He took another drink.

~*~

Lucifer woke feeling worse than he had either of the times he'd died.

He groaned pitifully, dragging one arm up to cover his face and block out the torturous beam of sunlight that was stabbing at his eyes.

His head pounded like wingbeats in a vacuum.  His... everything... ached.  His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Lucifer rolled over on the couch, trying to bury himself more deeply in the leather.

“Good morning, Luci,” Amenadiel said, far too close and far too cheerful.

Lucifer screwed his eyes shut and hoped, just this once, that Amenadiel would take the hint and fuck off.

“Mom thinks she has a lead on the missing piece.  We need cash.   What's your safe combination?”

Lucifer uncurled himself from the quasi-fetal position he'd huddled into.  He glared blearily at his brother – or, in the direction of his brother.  Amenadiel was a dark, blurry shape, as Lucifer still wasn't quite game enough to open his eyes fully.

He heard the glass-on-stone 'clink' of the empty bottle of scotch being collected.

“You're lucky you didn't drown in your own vomit,” Amenadiel scolded.  The blur shook its head in disapproval.

Lucifer had several scathing replies that he could make to that, but it seemed far too much effort.  His tongue had come unstuck but his mouth was terribly dry and unbelievably foul-tasting. 

Lucifer managed to get his limbs under him and stood up.  Clumsy fingers worked his buttons loose and he dropped the shirt carelessly on the way to his shower.  His trousers shortly followed, and his briefs.   Amenadiel was nearly as much of a prude as the Detective, so the shower had a two-fold purpose and should buy him some time before he had to confront whatever nonsense his mother was roping them into.

Lucifer saw to his morning's ablutions and stepped into his shower, turning the water on hot-but-not-too-hot-for-a-human.

He tipped his head up into the spray and took in mouthfuls of water, swishing and spitting to try and rid himself of the horrible taste.  He found himself swallowing almost convulsively.  He could feel every inch of the water's descent down his parched throat, and he moaned with relief.

His clothes had pressed sleep wrinkles into his skin, which was novel.   He ran his fingers over the marks with half-hearted curiosity.

The warm water beat down on his neck and shoulders, relaxing the tense muscles.  His head was still pounding but it was getting better.   Lucifer sniffed a small laugh.   Just another hour of this and he may not be longing for death.

Amenadiel gave him half that time, which was unusually generous.  The pity annoyed him but, at the moment, Lucifer would take what he could get.  

“Luci,” Amenadiel called.   “Did you drown?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes.   He shut the water off.

There was such a world of difference between the rough terrycloth towels that the hospital had had and the Turkish cotton towels he kept in his penthouse that he spent a long moment just savoring the feeling.  His skin felt more... receptive.  More sensitive, maybe, than it used to be.

Perhaps it was an upside to becoming human.

He brushed his teeth, wrapped the towel around his waist, and strode back out into his bedroom. 

Amenadiel was sitting on the edge of his bed and watched him as he entered.

“One of Mom's antiquities contacts says they have an artifact relating to a divine sword.   They want cash for it.”

“Yes, you said.”  Lucifer plucked the mer-clown off the wall and tapped in his safe combination, waving at Amenadiel to have at it as he opened it wide.   He had an impulse to snark about how flimsy the chances were that the dealer actually had the missing piece, or to complain about being used like a cash cow but, honestly, the faster Amenadiel got what he wanted, the faster he would leave Lucifer alone.

Lucifer walked into his closet.   The navy Burberry today, he thought, with a white shirt.  Nothing too dark – he was sure he was still looking pale, and dark colors wouldn't do him any favors right now.

He shivered pleasantly as he slid on silk boxers.  Well, that was a lovely sensation.  Italian wool trousers and a cleanly pressed shirt joined the mix.   He dithered over the jacket or the waistcoat before deciding on the latter, remembering how he'd sweat in the heat yesterday.  

Besides, the waistcoat emphasized his body's long lines.   He had seen the Detective's eyes linger when he'd been similarly attired, and he had plans for the day that included, hopefully, getting back in her good graces.   Lucifer wasn't above appealing to her aesthetics.   Maybe the waistcoat could help distract from his black eye.

Should he eat before he headed to the precinct?   The idea of food right now made him feel queasy, but he knew he'd have to eat sooner or later. 

“I need a bag,” Amenadiel said, entering the closet as Lucifer was sliding on a pair of black, red-soled Louboutins.  “Or something to put the money in.”

Lucifer waved a hand toward the corner of the closet.  Amenadiel selected a suitcase – a large suitcase – how much cash was he taking? - and Lucifer followed him out, frowning.   The money was no object to him, but if their mother was doing the negotiations...

Well.  He wasn't exactly overwhelmed with confidence.  His mother was wily and almost certainly keeping secrets from him, but that as an entirely different thing from understanding how clever and manipulative the average human could be – especially when money was involved.

Especially with the sort of clients Charlotte Richards had kept. 

“She doesn't do this exchange alone.  She'll end up agreeing to whatever they ask for.”

“You give her too little credit, Luci,” Amenadiel admonished. 

Lucifer had too much of a headache already for this.  He gave Amenadiel a 'fine, whatever' gesture.   His stomach twisted again with nausea.   His bones hurt.

An idea struck him – a tip passed along by the Brittanys – and he went over to his bar, withdrawing and lighting a joint from his stash of party drugs.   One of the girls had sworn up and down that it was a cure-all for hangovers. 

He settled at the bar, taking in a deep lungful and holding it.

Amenadiel gave him a disapproving look, and Lucifer extended the joint in offer.

His brother shook his head, and Lucifer slowly exhaled.

“I see you're making the most of your humanity,” Amenadiel said dryly.

“Yes, well, I've never been one to shy away from pleasure.  You could learn a thing or two.”

“Oh yeah, this,” Amenadiel made an encompassing gesture at Lucifer.  “This is the picture of pleasure.”

Lucifer gave him a dark look.

“When is this exchange happening?”

“In a few hours.”

“Good.  Give me a moment to tame this mop.  I'm going with you,” Lucifer said, giving his errant bangs a tug with his free hand.

“You know, the curls aren't a bad look for you,” Amenadiel said.  “It's been such a long time since you wore it like that.  I'm sure it's fashionable again.”

Lucifer took another long inhale, holding the sweet smoke in his lungs, exhaling as he walked past Amenadiel and into his bathroom for his straightener.  

~*~

The sprawling, beach-side restaurant had a good-sized crowd occupying their open air tables.  It was, Lucifer admitted, a nice and nondescript location for making an under-the-table exchange.

Lucifer sat, sunglasses blocking out the glare of the Californian sun, snarfing down on a delightful BLT on a buttery, toasted croissant.  He watched his mother and Charlotte's client exchange words. 

He took a large, artless bite and coughed slightly as his throat stuck.

“I'm worried about you,” Amenadiel said.

Lucifer chewed, swallowed.  He gave Amenadiel an unimpressed stare that he hoped came across through the sunglasses.

It did, evidently, because Amenadiel rolled his eyes and leaned in closer.

“You're reckless, Luci.  When you were an angel, that was one thing, but now.... you need to be more careful.”

Lucifer licked stray crumbs from his lips.

“This is certainly a different tune you're singing,” Lucifer said, chasing the scratching feeling in his throat down with a swallow of his drink.   “Remember when you outright tried to kill me?  Feels like only yesterday.”

Amenadiel looked away. 

“Things were different then.  I was different then, and my actions almost certainly led to my Fall.   But Luci, I believe Father is testing me.  Testing both of us.”

Lucifer watched his mother flirt with the dealer, and honestly couldn't decide which of his Earth-bound family he disliked more in that moment.

Amenadiel pressed on, undeterred by Lucifer's lack of response.  “It can't be Father's plan for us to live and die as mortals.  This is a test,” he insisted.

“And, what - if we're good and obedient little children, he'll change his mind?”  Lucifer scoffed.  “More likely, since I've made it plain I'll not be returning to Hell, he's... ah,” Lucifer said, realization snapping into place.  He nodded, flicking a scrap of lettuce around on his plate.  “That's why you're suddenly so concerned about me.   A human can't rule Hell.”

Amenadiel's mouth set in a firm line and he didn't answer. 

Below them, their mother put the suitcase on the table.

“She brought the money with her?”  Lucifer asked incredulously.   That hadn't been the plan.

He slapped the table, dumbfounded, when she opened it to reveal the stacks of bills inside.   Her client, a Zeke Moore, hastily closed it, glancing around furtively.   Oh yes.  Nice and subtle.

“Unbelievable,” Lucifer muttered.  “You still think I'm underestimating her?”  He shot at Amenadiel.

“She's just showing it to him.   I mean it's not like she's going to hand it to him before getting... the... piece.  Oh that's great.”  Amenadiel pinched the bridge of his nose as the Goddess did exactly that.

“And now she's letting him leave.  Marvelous.”

Lucifer took another bite of his sandwich.

“You're not going after him?”  Amenadiel exclaimed.

Lucifer shrugged and continued eating.  He'd been right about Mom, and it wasn't like he was terribly invested in completing the sword anymore.  Amenadiel sighed in frustration and walked over to confront their mother.

They exchanged words that Lucifer couldn't hear from where he was sat, but he could read the body language well enough to follow the conversation.   Doubt crept over his mother's face, and then the two of them finally exited to pursue the dealer.

Lucifer would've bet the Corvette that Zeke was long gone by then.

“Could I get another one of these?” he politely asked the waiter as he polished off the last bite of sandwich. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket.   He withdrew it with a little upwelling of anticipation, thinking it may be the Detective.  Amenadiel's name came up instead.

“What,” Lucifer answered. 

“So, we've run into a bit of a snag,” Amenadiel said.  “The dealer's dead.  Someone shot him.  The money's gone.  It looks like the piece was stolen.”

Lucifer closed his eyes.  He opened them after a breath and waved the waiter back down.

“Better make that sandwich 'to go,' actually.”

~*~

“Detective!”  Lucifer greeted cheerfully, spotting her at her desk.

Chloe looked up from her paperwork and, already frowning, the frown deepened at seeing him.

“Lucifer.  I wasn't expecting to see you...so soon.” 

“Yes, well,” he smoothed his hands down his waistcoat.  Her eyes followed but, sadly, flicked back up to his face before he got to his hips.  “I couldn't leave my partner partner-less, now could I?”

“Did you talk to Linda?”

“Of course.”

“And she... cleared you to come back to work?”  Chloe leaned forward, giving him a scrutinizing look.

“She expressed no concerns whatsoever on the topic of my return,” he said easily.  Amenadiel may be comfortable lying – far too comfortable, if you asked Lucifer- but Lucifer had always found that a careful word choice and complete honesty was always the better policy.  More fun, too. 

The wrinkle creasing her brow gave way to a small smile.

“I'm glad you're feeling better,” she said.  “You had me worried.  Back to your normal, devilish self?” she teased.

“Ah, well, no – I'm still regrettably human at the moment.  That seems to be sticking.”  He gestured at his black eye and settled into the seat across from her.

“Right,” she said slowly.   She inhaled like she intended to say more, but blew out the breath, dismissing whatever thought she'd had.  It was a long-standing and terrible habit she had of ignoring much of what Lucifer said, at least as far as it related to his origin.  She tapped her pen against her stack of files.

“Did you actually come to help?” she asked.  “I don't have an active case right now, but I have plenty of reports to finalize.  I could use you.”

“Oh, Detective, why is it that when you say that, you never mean it in a fun way?”

Chloe smiled, and it softened her features.  She really was quite lovely when she wasn't scowling.  

Well.  She was still lovely even when she was scowling, which was fortunate, as she did seem to do it so often.

Lucifer had time to kill until his mother arrived to announce her 'concern' over her client.  May as well use the few minutes to get in the Detective's good graces.

He opened a folder and Chloe made a small, surprised little sound.   He shot her a wry look.  Yes, fine, so paperwork wasn't his first choice of activities.

The file had a mugshot paper-clipped to the summary report; a not-unhandsome gentleman, perhaps fifty years old, brown skin, dark eyes, mostly dark hair.  Lucifer stared at the silver strands shot through the otherwise black hair and, with a pang, wondered how long it'd be before his own hair started turning gray.  Before he started getting wrinkles.  Before his memory started to fade, and his bones fell to arthritis, and all of the other indignities that accompanied the human aging process. 

He wondered what would happen when he died a mortal death.

What he'd told Amenadiel had been true – a human couldn't rule Hell.  One had to have celestial power to hold the throne; a human just wouldn't cut it.  The various demon factions would tear a human soul to shreds – and that was assuming one ever even made it out of its private Hell. 

He thought about Uriel.  His brother’s blood dark on his hands, the wet sound the blade had made as Lucifer stabbed it into Uriel’s body, graceless and desperate and permanent.  He thought about finding the blade in his hands again, about the step forward it took to murder his brother, again, and again, and again, while he begged and pleaded to stop. 

Would that room still be waiting for him when he died?

“Lucifer?”

Lucifer looked up.  Concern painted the Detective's face.

“Are you alright?” 

Lucifer picked up a pen and clicked it several times in rapid succession.

“You've misspelled 'Oaxaca',” he said, writing in the correction, smiling dismissively.

Chloe's eyes lingered on him but he didn't look up, pretending, instead, to pour his attention through the perfectly droll report of an uncomplicated shooting.

“Detective Decker – just the woman I was hoping to see,” his mother said, coming around the windowed corner of the bullpen.

~*~

Side-lined from accompanying his mother to Bianca Ruiz's tequila launch party, Lucifer leaned against the wall beside the side entrance of the precinct to angrily smoke.

“Mazikeen,” he said, exhaling.  “How long are you going to keep following me?”

Maze stepped out from around the corner, slouching over with confident insouciance to lean against the wall beside him.  She plucked the cigarette from his fingers and threw it, still burning, to the ground several yards away.

“Hey!” He complained.

“You shouldn't smoke anymore,” Maze said.

“Oh for the love of...” He trailed off, rolling his eyes.

“The humans die from it.  And no more drinking, either.”  She pushed into his space, running searching hands over his waistcoat, into his trouser pockets. 

“Maze!” He said, batting her away.

“Where's your flask?”

“In the breast pocket of my coat, draped over the back of a bar stool in my penthouse.”  He gave her an incredulous stare.  

She nodded firmly.

“Good.  Now – what have you been eating?”

“Maze, what on Earth?”

She growled at him.

“Until you fix this,” she pushed a hand against his chest, hard enough to bounce him back into the wall behind him.  “You need to be more careful.”

“Have you been talking to Amenadiel?”

Maze drew back.

“Why?  What else have you done?” she demanded.

“Well, I like that!”  He said indignantly.  He smoothed down his rumpled waistcoat. 

Speak of the devil's brother.  Across the parking lot, Lucifer spotted the tall, dark form of his sibling making his way into the precinct.  Amenadiel saw them and changed directions, heading over to them.

To Maze, Lucifer said: “You hardly cared this much when I first proved vulnerable.  What’s changed?”

“You still had divine power then,” she said.  “You weren’t defenseless.”

“Nor am I now,” he protested. 

“Really?  Then show me your eyes again.” 

Lucifer scowled.

“What’s this?” Amenadiel asked, eyes darting between the two of them.   Lucifer waved at Maze.

“Mazikeen seems to have stumbled upon previously nonexistent – and entirely unwanted - mother hen tendencies,” Lucifer explained.

Maze bristled.

“Ah, well, it’s good you have her watching your back,” Amenadiel said.  “I was serious this morning, Lucifer.  You could have drowned.  In your own vomit.”

“What?” Maze asked coldly.  She pushed him against the wall again, baring her teeth.

“Enough!” Lucifer barked, sweeping his arm down to remove her hand.

Maze’s frown dropped immediately, and she beamed at him, wide and pleased. 

Lucifer sighed.  He could feel it, this time – the echo of the flames in his eyes. 

“Luci?” Amenadiel hesitantly asked.  His eyes raked Lucifer up and down, like Lucifer would suddenly be wearing a T-shirt proclaiming ‘Angelic powers not entirely gone’ or some such rot.

Amenadiel straightened.  “The sword-” He started.

“I can’t ignite it,” Lucifer interrupted.

“You haven't been able to, no,” Amenadiel said placatingly.  “But I think we should try again."

~*~

Mazikeen and Amenadiel both followed him back to Lux, and no amount of protest or threats of bodily harm from Lucifer could dissuade them.

Chloe texted later that afternoon, updating him on the case.

The phone recovered from the scene apparently contained more than just Chet’s appalling music, and cyber was working on getting into it.  No need for Lucifer to come in.

“Ah,” said Lucifer, skimming the messages.  “It’s from the Detective.  I really should get back to the precinct.”

“Lucifer,” Amenadiel said.  Just that.  Just Lucifer’s name, but the amount of ‘I’m not buying your bullshit and, as your older brother, you should do what I’m asking’ that Amenadiel could cram into those three short syllables was nearly impressive.

Lucifer sighed gustily.

He picked up the blade again.

Amenadiel seemed convinced that Lucifer still had angelic power.   And, yes, sure, it seemed like he could still tap into his wrath when properly provoked, but the gulf between a couple of displays of temper and the divine power required to light the Flaming Sword was… immense.

“You were able to set it alight when it was just the blade,” Amenadiel said.  “We have even more of it now.  I think there’s something in you that you’re just not tapping into,” he accused.

Mazikeen watched them from her lazy sprawl on the couch.  She was slicing bits off an apple, piece by piece, eating them with all the absent enjoyment of someone watching a particularly entertaining show.  Lucifer knew it was at his expense and couldn’t say he much cared for it.

“Luci.  Just try.”

“As if I’m not,” Lucifer groused.  The blade’s own power was making his hand numb.  He concentrated for another few long moments, willing the flames to erupt.  Maybe it was a coincidence that his emotional pain had ignited it before.   Maybe if he just willed it to ignite, it would listen.  He slitted his eyes, keeping them open just enough to see the blurry outline of the sword, just enough that it would certainly catch his attention if it burst into flames.

The numbness in his hand crept down to his wrist.  It was as if the blade knew it belonged in angelic hands and was rejecting him. 

He set the sword down.  There was no point to this.

“This is pointless,” he voiced the thought, surreptitiously flexing his fingers to shake out the numbness.  “Even if I hadn’t Fallen, the sword is still missing a piece.”

“Which we should recover soon,” Amenadiel said, implacable.

“You don’t know that,” Lucifer said.

“You doubt your Detective?”

Lucifer scowled.

No.  No he didn't.  They would probably have the missing piece back by the end of the week.

“Luci... you're the Light Bringer.  You were meant to wield this sword.”

“Perhaps,” Lucifer allowed.  “But that was the old me, and this,” he slightly lifted the blade by the hilt, tilting it, and the buckle slid off to rattle against his marble countertop.  “Isn't as inspiring as you seem to think it is.”

Lucifer gave his brother a long, considering look.

“Why are you so invested in this?” Lucifer asked.  He reached behind the bar and pulled out a tumbler and a bottle of Laphroaig.  He gave himself a generous pour.

Amenadiel's expression was somber.

“Luci... we don't belong here.  I know it.  Mom knows it.  Surely you see it, too?”

Lucifer moved to take a sip of his drink and the tumbler was plucked from his hands.  He hadn't even seen Maze get up from the couch.  She took a disrespectfully large swallow of the whiskey and pointed the glass at Amenadiel.

“You're afraid,” she said.  “I can smell it on you.  Does Lucifer's mortality drive it home, Amenadiel the Fallen?”  She smiled, showing too many teeth.  “You haven't been forgiven.  Your family plots to overthrow your father, and you’re helping them.  And you stand just as much of a chance as Lucifer does at the moment at being, oh, hit by a bus, or shot by a stranger, or choking on a piece of food.  How will you get to Heaven then?”  Her smile became a sneer.   “Unless you break in now, of course.  What were you planning to do, once Lucifer cut open the gate?  Stand to the side, grab yourself a cocktail, and hope no one noticed you were back?”

Mazikeen's words picked apart Amenadiel's composure, and he flinched.

There had been good reason she was Hell's greatest torturer.

“I wasn't... that isn't it at all,” Amenadiel said, but doubt flickered across his face.  Not lying to Lucifer, then, so much as he'd been lying to himself.

Lucifer snorted and took the glass back from Mazikeen, finishing the remaining whiskey in a gulp before she could snatch it away again.

“But oh, Amenadiel, you shouldn't fear your mortality.  You shouldn’t fear Hell,”  Lucifer said.  The look he gave Amenadiel was unkind.  “I'm sure you've nothing to feel guilty about.  Nothing at all.”

Amenadiel pursed his lips, looking thoughtful and disturbed.  He opened his mouth.  Closed it.  Took a long breath.

“Perhaps you're right,” Amenadiel at last admitted slowly.  “Perhaps this plan is...” He trailed off and shook his head.  He made his way to the elevator and Lucifer let him go without comment.

“Let me know when the piece is recovered,” Amenadiel said, and Lucifer relented and nodded before the doors slid shut and whisked his brother away.

Mazikeen turned and gave Lucifer a pleased, wicked smirk.

“That should keep him out of your hair for a while,” she said.

He gave Mazikeen a fond look.

He moved to the bar to refill his glass – he’d barely had a taste of the whiskey – but Maze, again, stole the tumbler from him.

“Nuh-uh,” she said, setting it down firmly.  “No celestial metabolism and no self-healing liver, no booze.”  Her eyes lit up.  “Ooo, I should get you a salad.”  Her smile reflected a sadistic glee.  “With kale,” she added, just to see him wince.

Lucifer sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes.

~*~

Maze hovered in the penthouse, a constant but, after a while, unobtrusive presence.  It seemed she was serious about sticking by Lucifer’s side until he “fixed” being human.

Lucifer wondered how long it would be before she accepted that there wasn’t going to be a fix to this.  He decided not to mention it.  His demon was looking satisfied with having this renewed purpose. 

He drifted to his piano, plucking out melodies in a meandering sort of way.

His elevator ‘dinged’ and the Detective walked out.   He smiled a greeting, tapping out ‘Oops, I Did It Again’ on the keys just to get a reaction out of her.

She shook her head, closing the distance to him.

“I just had a very enlightening conversation with Charlotte Richards,” she said.  She was looking at Lucifer with an intense, searching expression.

The smile froze on Lucifer’s face.

“Oh?” he settled on. 

“Lucifer, she told me who she really is, and how you two are related.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Lucifer said.  In the corner of his eye, he saw Maze detach from the shadowed corner of the penthouse.

“No, it all makes sense.  Why you were so disgusted when I suggested you two had slept together.  Why you act so weird around her in general.”  Chloe smiled at him fondly, which hadn’t been at all the reaction Lucifer had been expecting, if he understood this conversation correctly.

“She really told you,” he said – and, then, doubt pricking at him: “What did she tell you?”

“That she’s your father’s ex,” Chloe said.

Mazikeen cackled, and Chloe jumped, whipping her head around to spot the demon as she wandered over to join them.

“Maze!  Hi. I thought you were out hunting down a bounty?”

“I was needed here,” Maze replied with a shrug.

“Oh, you’re chasing someone local?”

“Something like that,” Maze said, grinning.

Chloe nodded and turned her attention back to Lucifer, tucking a stray wisp of hair back behind her ear.

“Is it true?  About Charlotte?”

“More or less,” Lucifer agreed.  “Yes, it’s true.”

Chloe sighed.

“Why didn’t you just tell me she was your step-mom?”

“It… didn’t seem that simple to explain,” Lucifer said.  A creeping suspicion formed.  “How did all of this come about, anyway?”

“I caught Charlotte trying to steal evidence for Bianca Ruiz.”

Maze looked positively delighted.

“Did you arrest her?” the demon asked.

“I probably should have,” Chloe said ruefully.  “But we talked and, apparently, Bianca figured out that Charlotte and I were working together at the sting.  Bianca threatened Charlotte’s family.  I mean, she threatened you,” she gave Lucifer a pointed look.  “If she didn’t help.”

Maze made a disgusted sound. 

“That sounds plausible,” Lucifer said, picking his words carefully.

“I don’t know,” the Detective said.  “Something about it doesn’t feel right.  I don’t know if I can trust her.”

“You definitely can’t,” Maze said.  “That woman is a literal bitch from Hell.”

“Be that as it may,” Lucifer said, giving Maze a quelling look.  “What you can trust is that Charlotte Richards will stop and nothing to protect her children.”

“Hmmm,” Chloe said, not looking like she entirely agreed, but at least somewhat pacified.

“Well, the bright side is that it’s given us the opportunity to set up a sting.  So,” she smiled at Lucifer.  “What are you doing this evening?”

~*~

Maze insisted on accompanying him, of course.  The demon stuck close by his side, demanding entry into the observational van, demanding her own pair of headphones to listen in as Charlotte and Bianca exchanged passive-aggressive pleasantries.   Chloe raised token protests – that Maze wasn’t an official consultant, which Maze countered by stating that she’d been working with the LAPD for months, which was technically true.   Chloe tried to point out that the van was quite small and, really, they had it handled.

“You’ll barely even notice me, Decker,” Maze said flippantly, squashing her shoulder into Lucifer’s side, settling down for the long haul.

Chloe and Lucifer exchanged a look – for once, both of them on the same page – and begrudgingly allowed the demon to stay.

Chet Ruiz’s phone was verified as authentic and uncopied.  Bianca’s voice was smug, satisfied.  “Now, for your side of the bargain,” Bianca said through their headphones.

And, then, the audio feed abruptly cut off with a burst of static.

The Detective removed the headphones, wincing, as their accompanying tech stated the obvious – that they lost the feed. 

“She’s up to something,” Chloe said, scowling.

“Nooooo,” Maze said. 

“Perhaps a simple technical issue.  Let’s give it a moment, see if it fixes itself,” Lucifer said, trying to smooth over Maze’s unhelpful sarcasm.   They needed time for the Goddess to make the exchange.

“No,” Chloe said, those horribly accurate instincts of hers telling her something was amiss.  “Charlotte Richards is either screwing us over or she’s in trouble.   Guys,” she said into her mic, “Get ready to go in.”

To Lucifer and Maze, she added darkly:  “And she’d better be in trouble.”

~*~

“Give me the key,” Mazikeen demanded.

“Maze, really,” Lucifer said, approaching the drop box.

Mazikeen dipped around to stand between him and storage locker that should apparently contain the final piece of the sword.   She put her hands on her hips, scowling ferociously.

“What if it’s rigged to blow?”  Maze demanded. 

“I find that highly unlikely.”

Maze put her hand out and raised her scarred eyebrow in challenge.  Lucifer sighed and handed over the key.

Maze still didn’t open the lock box until Lucifer took several steps back.

Her body obstructed the view as she opened the slot but Lucifer could tell that, whatever lay inside, the demon wasn’t impressed.

The object Maze withdrew was…not...going to fit on the sword.

“Fantastic,” Lucifer said with disgust.

Mazikeen rotated the ancient book, the pressed metal pages squeaking and clanking as she turned through them.

She looked at Lucifer, a clear ‘now what?’ on her features.

Lucifer shrugged.

“They should be waiting for us at Lux.”  Lucifer sniffed a laugh.  “Can’t wait to see what Amenadiel makes of this little development.”

“I’d be more worried about your mother,” Mazikeen said, closing the pages of the book with a ringing clatter.  “She’s hiding something.”

“I know,” Lucifer agreed.

But, what else was there to do?  They headed back to Lux.

~*~

His mother and Amenadiel were helping themselves to Lucifer’s liquor when he and Maze stepped out of the elevator.

The Goddess’s eyes drifted from Lucifer to Maze and back again.

“I see you’ve made up with your little demon,” she said, voice thick with disdain. 

Mazikeen sauntered over, a pleased and exaggerated sway in her hips, and she dropped the artifact down on the table with a flourish and a worryingly loud ‘clang’ of metal on glass.

For a heartbeat, the Goddess only stared at it.

She looked up at Lucifer, disbelief in her eyes.

“A book?  This is what Zeke smuggled for me?”  She looked around at them all, like she was waiting for the shoe to drop and someone to produce the actual missing piece.  Angrily, she said: “Is this a joke?” 

“Well, if it were, I’d’ve chosen something funnier, like Douglas Adams or Freud,” Lucifer said.  He eyed his wet bar and its lovely varieties of scotch, but Maze shifted her weight just enough to remind him of her edict on Lucifer having any fun.  It wasn’t the right time to push it.  Better to keep the humanity cat in the bag as long as possible.

“Are you certain that this is all that was in the safety deposit box?”

There was a tension around his mother’s eyes that didn’t…

It felt more intense than this setback seemed to call for.

“Well how is a book supposed to ignite the sword!” She demanded.

Lucifer frowned.  Mazikeen shot him an ‘I told you so’ look. 

“Maybe it’s an instruction manual,” Amenadiel said, playing peacemaker.  He was avoiding looking at either Lucifer or Maze, clearly still brooding about their conversation earlier.

The Goddess flipped open the book with a sharp ‘squeak’ of aged metal. 

“In an ancient language I can’t read.  Wonderful,” she hissed and slammed the book closed.  She pushed it in front of Lucifer.  “Here,” she said, the order unspoken.

“Well, I can’t read it,” Lucifer said. 

“But you speak every language!” 

“Speak, not read,” Lucifer protested.  “I’ve always found tongues more useful than books.”

“True story,” Mazikeen interjected, smirking lasciviously.   The Goddess shot her a poisonous look.

“It’s Sumerian,” Amenadiel said, and it derailed the budding celestial catfight.  “I’ve studied it.  I can translate it.”

The words were oddly subdued but his mother didn’t seem to notice Amenadiel’s lack of excitement.

“Excellent,” she said, and cupped his face.  “My smart boy.”  

The maternal affection flickered away almost immediately.  She dropped her hands and added, the intensity returning, “How quickly can you translate it?”

Amenadiel considered the book, fingers tracing the symbols pounded into the metal sheets.

“It should only take me a few days.”

“Days?”  the Goddess said incredulously.  “I don’t have that kind of time!”

“Mum,” Lucifer said.  “Why have you got your knickers in such a twist?  You’re immortal.  Why should a few more days matter?”

Please, he didn’t say.  Please don’t lie to me.  Please just tell me the truth.

“I…” The Goddess looked away.  “I’m just anxious to see the rest of the family.”   Her fingers drummed on the glass table.  “Please,” she said to Amenadiel.  “Start translating.” 

Without another word to them, the Goddess departed.

“There’s something going on with her,” Amenadiel said.

"Oh yeah.  Big time.  Can you feel it?”  Mazikeen smiled.  “She’s running like something is chasing her.  I don’t know who’s playing Jaws, but there’s blood in the water, and it’s hers.”

“You think she’s being threatened?” Amenadiel asked.

Maze shrugged.

Amenadiel looked at Lucifer, briefly, then collected the book and took it to the bar, settling in to translate.

“Just like that?” Lucifer asked.

“The sooner we get Mom back to Heaven, the better,” Amenadiel replied, not looking up.

“Just Mum?”

Amenadiel’s fingers slowly traced the metal characters.  He didn’t answer, but the already brooding expression on his face darkened further. 

Lucifer turned away, heading to his balcony.  Mazikeen trailed after him but, thankfully, let him enjoy his cigarette in peace.

It was so strange, the things that one could get used to; the things one could learn to miss.  The smoke burned in his lungs.  The ashy taste coated his tongue, reminding him of Hell.

He tapped off the excess ash at the tip, watching wind catch it and carry it, a small gray smudge that drifted away into the California air.

Lucifer scratched at the bite on his hand.  The healing skin itched something fierce.

“Quit that,” Maze said when he scratched hard enough catch at the scabs and bring fresh, red blood welling to the surface.

“How much bloody longer is it going to take for this to heal?”  he complained. 

“If you keep making it worse?  Who knows.  Months.  Years.”

Lucifer grumpily took a long inhale, but he did stop scratching.

The last little rays of sunset painted glowing orange embers into the horizon.  For a while, they both stood quietly, arms resting on the balcony railing, watching the colors fade from the sparse clouds.  Lucifer finished his cigarette.   He sort of wanted to smoke another but figured that’d be pushing his luck with Maze.

His thoughts turned to the words they’d exchanged earlier.  Lucifer really should have noticed how Earth had softened Mazikeen.  He should have noticed before now that he wasn’t the only one forming connections with the natives.

“So,” Lucifer said.  “Did you get Linda all sorted out?”

Maze smiled, smug and well-pleased.

“Oh yeah.  That Nigel guy was a screamer.  Terrible in the sack, but, pfft, I’ve had worse.  Linda shouldn’t have any more trouble from him.”

“I’m sure the good doctor was relieved to hear it.”

“She owes me so many drinks,” Maze grinned. 

“I imagine you lot are overdue for a girls night out.  The Detective certainly seems wound tightly enough that tequila seems an appropriate measure.  Perhaps not the Ruiz brand, though.”

“Decker needs to get laid,” Maze said, shaking her head.  “Badly.  Do you know how often she has sex dreams?  Ugh, I wish you two would just bone already.”

“I take it the roommate situation is going well, then,” Lucifer said, filing away his questions about the Detective's sex dreams for a later time.

“It’s got its moments.  I’m teaching the little human how to wield knives.”

“Oh, that could be quite useful,” Lucifer said approvingly.  “That little urchin does seem woefully frail.  Are you teaching her that move with the-?” He gestured with a hooked finger, low and fast.

“Of course,” Maze said with mock offense.  “What do you take me for?”

Lucifer smiled, leaning just enough to close the small bit of space between them, letting his shoulder brush hers.  For a moment, Mazikeen stiffened.

But, then, she relaxed, and leaned back into the contact.  The press of her shoulder was warm, and soft, and welcome. 

“We’ve come a long way,” Lucifer said.  Below, the twinkling lights of Los Angeles outnumbered the visible stars thousands of times over.  The pollution turned the night sky purple and brown.  Still lovely, in its own way.

“We have, my king,” Mazikeen said, without any trace of irony.  She let her head tip to the side to rest against him.

The minutes stretched in comfortable silence.  At length, though, Lucifer took a deep breath and withdrew.   Mazikeen looked out thoughtfully at the city, lingering on the balcony as Lucifer made his way back inside.

Lucifer ignored Amenadiel as he walked past the bar and into his bedroom area, into his en-suite bathroom.   He saw to his needs and, washing his hands, he gave his healing black eye a critical look.  He was pleased to find it faded from what had been a dark purple into a sickly sort of yellow-green.  Absolutely atrocious color palate for him, but it did at least look like it'd be back to normal soon. 

Unlike his hand, which, according to Maze, could take -

Lucifer withdrew his hand from the sink, passing it under the taps to rinse off the foamy soap. 

The bite was gone. 

Not just that, the split knuckle from where he'd punched the wall was also completely healed.  Lucifer looked at the unmarked skin, dumbfounded.

He still had blood under his fingernails from scratching the wound open.  This wound shouldn't be gone already.  Not if he were human.

But Lucifer very much still felt human.  He didn't need to test it – he could feel the loggy heaviness of his body, the hunger and thirst that he'd come inside planning to address.

Lucifer braced his hands on the marble countertop.  Anger, bright and hot, washed through him, and his fingers curled into fists.

“I wish you'd make up your bloody mind,” he spat, looking upwards. 

Dad and his fucking mindgames. 

Lucifer dried his hands roughly and stalked back out of the bathroom.

Amenadiel had moved to the desk in the library.  The sword and buckle were laid out beside the book, his brother bent over the artifact with total concentration.

Amenadiel looked tired.

The thought bubbled up, unbidden, and Lucifer pushed it away.

“Lucifer?”  Mazikeen had drifted back inside.  Her voice was pitched with soft curiosity.  Lucifer could feel how tight his shoulders were with annoyance.  He forced fists to unclench and, wordlessly, held up his unmarred right hand.

Maze's mouth went slack with shock.  Her eyes darted from Lucifer's hand to his face.

At the table, Amenadiel made a small noise that drew both of their attention.   The sound became a low chuckle, and then an outright laugh.

“Something amuses, brother?” Lucifer asked coldly.

“No,” Amenadiel said, still laughing.  “It really doesn't.”

“Amenadiel,” Mazikeen started, but Amenadiel tapped the book pointedly.

“I found something,” he said.  “You were right, Luci.  Dad split the Flaming Sword into three pieces.”

“He does have a thing for threes,” Lucifer said.

“The Blade of Death,” Amenadiel gestured at Azrael's sword.  “The Medallion of Life.”   Earl Johnson's belt buckle.

Amenadiel looked up at Lucifer, something very close to hatred in his eyes.

“And the key that binds them together.   And guess who has the key?”

Lucifer waited. 

“Well, don't leave us in suspense, brother.  Who is it?”

“It says God entrusted the key to his favorite son.”  

Lucifer's brow wrinkled, running through the catalog of his siblings.  Michael, perhaps?  Or Gabriel?

Amenadiel's hand slammed down on the tome, making the metal ring loudly.

Amenadiel looked at Lucifer's healed hand.  “Of course he gave it to you.   It's always you, isn't it.”  The words weren't a question, thick as they were with angry resignation.  Amenadiel stepped around the desk, collecting the pieces, sliding the buckle onto the blade as he approached.   Mazikeen stepped closer, intent plain to get between them if Amenadiel tried something stupid.

Lucifer scoffed.  “What are you talking about?  Did you miss the part where he cast me down?  And the only keys I've got are those,” he tipped his head towards his piano.

“What else did you bring with you to Earth, Luci?”

They both looked at his hand.  At his ring.

“Your ring,” Amenadiel nodded.   “I've never seen you without it; maybe that's the key.”

“The key to completing my ensemble, maybe,” Lucifer said, annoyed to find that he'd taken a step back as Amenadiel advanced.  He fixed a firm scowl onto his face and refused to give any further ground.  

Amenadiel pushed the incomplete blade at Lucifer.   Around his neck, the necklace Amenadiel had worn since time immemorial pulled towards the sword like a magnet.

Lucifer stilled.  Beside him, Mazikeen drew in a small, sharp breath.

“Here,” Amenadiel said, plowing forward with his assumptions.  “Try and attach your ring to this.”

“Brother-”

“Just do it,” Amenadiel ordered. “And we'll confirm what we already know-”

“Brother-”

“That Father's favorite, despite everything you've done, is, and always has been, you.”

“Amenadiel, you fuckwit, look down!” Maze snapped.

Finally, Amenadiel did.   He drew in a ragged gasp, features painted with astonishment.

“Is that a key around your neck,” Lucifer said thinly.  “Or are you just happy to see me?”

Amenadiel looked up at him.  His eyes were shocked, pained.

“He entrusted it to you, brother,” Lucifer said.  

Lucifer hadn't expected the 'favorite son' to be himself – the idea was ridiculous, as had been Amenadiel's belief in it. 

Lucifer hadn't expected the favorite to be Amenadiel, though.   He'd expected Dad's favorite to at least be an archangel still in possession of their wings.

Amenadiel looped his necklace off over his head and started playing with the infernal thing, watching it pull towards the sword.  Like a switch had been flipped, all of Amenadiel's aggression drained away into a naive, childlike happiness at his newfound toy and title.

Lucifer sniffed a laugh.  Of course, he thought, realizing it wasn't about the angel at all.  It was about Dad and his endless love of manipulation.

He turned to the bar and poured a drink.   Mazikeen shifted into his line of sight and he generously poured one for her as well, handing it to the demon wordlessly.

“Would you look at that, Luci,” Amenadiel said wonderingly.  “It really is the final piece.  Unbelievable!”

Lucifer shook his head.  The sap didn't get it. 

“No, no, I believe it.  It's classic Dad.”   He gestured at Amenadiel with his glass.  “Hanging the final piece of the Flaming Sword right under our noses.”   Mazikeen snorted, and Lucifer amended:  “Well, your nose, this entire time?”

Amenadiel laughed, misunderstanding the joke.  Lucifer chuckled too, thinking of how long his Dad had spent setting up this punchline.

“I know, right?” Lucifer said to Amenadiel, leaning forward and smiling, like they were sharing the same mirth.  “It's ridiculous.  I mean, if that isn't the biggest celestial bird Dad's ever flipped.”   He shook his head and took a nice, long sip.   The scotch burned a path all the way down his throat.  It helped.

Amenadiel's smile faltered but didn't fade.

“What are you talking about?   This means that I'm the favorite son.”

Mazikeen snorted.

“Don't you get it?” she said.   At Amenadiel's blank look, she rolled her eyes.  “Amenadiel, you Fell.  You're fallen.”

The smile finally finished slipping off Amenadiel's face.

“Amenadiel,” Lucifer said.  “All it means that once again, Dad is manipulating us six ways to Sunday.  What else is new?”

Amenadiel frowned, looking from Lucifer to Maze to the necklace.  Lucifer nodded.  “The bright side, though, is that – yeah, at least we have the piece now.  Mum should be pleased.  And, hey, you have a forgiveness-free access pass back into Heaven, assuming I can light the damn thing.”

“You'll be able to light it,” Amenadiel said, addressing Lucifer but looking at the sword.  He said the words with total certainty.  

He made no move to give the pieces over to Lucifer, though.

Lucifer took another deep drink before setting his glass down on the bar.   He held out a hand in a universal 'gimme' gesture.  “Well hand it over, Brother.  Maybe it'll be more cooperative now that it's complete.”

Amenadiel withdrew, stepping away from both of them.   He slid the necklace back around his neck and set the incomplete sword down on the table.  He started heading to the elevator. 

“Amenadiel?”

“I need to think,” he said.

“I wouldn't take too long about it,” Mazikeen said.  “Your mother...”  She trailed off, shrugging.  “If you think she wouldn't go through you to get what she wants, you're wrong.”

Amenadiel hesitated.  He gave Mazikeen a long, considering look, but didn't answer.   He called the elevator and, without another word, left.

“Do you think she'd really hurt Amenadiel?” Lucifer asked.  His mother was acting desperate, yes, but her one constant was her desire to have her family.

“She's capable,” Maze said.  “But – no, probably not.  I just figured the threat should speed up his brood cycle.  Or, did you want me to go after him and get the piece?”  She looked intrigued by the prospect, but Lucifer waved it away.

“No, I don't think that'll be necessary,” he said.  “I'm sure my brother will manage to convince himself that he belongs in Heaven.  I'd give it a day, two tops, before he finds a way to justify the decision to go forward with what he thinks is the plan.”

Mazikeen's eyes lingered on him.   Perhaps that had come out more bitterly than he'd intended.

“Fancy a bite to eat, Maze?  I'm feeling peckish,” Lucifer said, changing the topic.

“Again?”  Maze clucked her tongue.  “That's, what, the third time today?  Careful.  You'll start to get fat.”

Lucifer glowered at her, and Mazikeen smirked widely.

“No,” she said, answering his question.  “I think I'll head home, check to see if the little human is practicing her lessons.”

There was a softness in Maze's eyes when she said this.  Lucifer mentally shook his head at himself, again, for missing how the demon had changed.

“You promise not to do anything stupid if I leave you here unguarded?” 

“I'm sure I'll manage to get through the night,” Lucifer replied sarcastically. 

Mazikeen nodded her acceptance of that and then she, too, left.

Lucifer glanced towards his kitchen, weighing the merits of ordering in versus just cooking something himself.  He mentally ran through the contents of his fridge. 

No, he thought.  He took out his phone and placed an order with a nearby Japanese restaurant. 

He settled at his piano while he waited. 

Lucifer let his fingers drift where they would, plucking out melodies without any particular song in mind.  His eyes lingered on his unmarked right hand.

Why had his angelic healing kicked in? 

Why could he sometimes bring forth his burning eyes and, the rest of the time, not?

For that matter, what had tipped the balance?   Why had Dad rendered him human, after all these years?

His memories of that evening in the psychiatric hospital were still cloudy and disjointed.  He was missing time.  What he remembered was tilted and muddied by the effects of quite powerful drugs.

Still, though, Lucifer couldn't think of anything he'd done that would have incited this result.

Perhaps the buckle actually was a conduit to Dad, and maybe he'd said something to Earl when they'd been together? 

Maybe he'd told Earl about his intention to shove Mom into Heaven. 

Maybe turning Lucifer human had been Dad trying to diffuse that plan.

His lip curled in anger at the idea.  It'd be just like dear old Dad - taking away Lucifer's autonomy when things weren't going exactly the way he wanted them to.

The elevator chimed softly. 

“Order for Mr. Morningstar,” a sweet, high voice called out. 

Lucifer rose from the piano to go meet the delivery girl.  

The restaurant had sent Megumi.   The adorably chubby-cheeked girl had her long, black hair pinned up artfully.  Her skirt stopped mid-thigh, showing off her long, long legs.  When Lucifer met her eyes, her smile brought out her dimples.

The look she gave him was absolutely wicked with lascivious intent.   She set the parcel of food down on his bar and sauntered over to him, already undoing the buttons of her blouse.

“Ah,” Lucifer said, holding up a halting hand.  “Perhaps not tonight, Meg,” he gently turned her down. 

Megumi enjoyed tying him up and going at him with a flogger, and she could peg like a champion.   It had been a lot of fun but Lucifer wasn't really in the mood for it – not when his invulnerability was on the fritz. 

The girl gave him a pout – an 'are you sure?' eyebrow raised.

Lucifer shook his head, smiling, and she shrugged and did her blouse back up.

Lucifer paid for the food (with a generous tip) and Meg saw herself out.

~*~

Lucifer woke to his phone vibrating on his bedside table.  He opened his eyes and regarded it with lazy interest, not quite bothering to extricate himself from his blanket cocoon quite yet.

He'd slept well and deeply and, for the first time in a while, woke up actually feeling refreshed. 

The phone fell silent, then made a soft chiming noise at the receipt of a message.  

Lucifer stretched against his sheets, reveling in the slide of silk along his naked body.  He scratched his stomach, sighed, and rolled over to pick up his phone.

The message was from the Detective.  With reliable consistency, Los Angeles had provided them with yet another murder to solve.

Lucifer sent her a quick text, asking for the address.   While he was at it, he sent a text to his brother to test the waters on how much longer he’d need to “process.”  

He set the phone down and finished getting out of bed.  He heard the little 'ding' of a quickly typed reply and smiled fondly when he saw the Detective’s picture flash on his screen.  She was so motivated, his Detective.  

For himself, he'd rather have a shower first.  He picked the phone back up and let her know he'd meet her there in an hour.  Then he firmly turned his feet towards his bathroom.

In the mirror, he evaluated his black eye.  Still faint hints of an unattractive yellowy-brown, and the skin was a bit tender when he prodded it.  But, if he hadn't been looking for it, he might not've even noticed it.  A bit of carefully applied concealer would completely cover it.

His reflection smiled back at him.  You handsome Devil, Lucifer thought, his canines peeking out as the smile widened.

He brushed his teeth, took a quick shower, dried and straightened his hair, and sat at his vanity to cover his bruise and add his eyeliner.  If he didn't dither too long in the closet, he should just about be on time to meet the Detective.

Blue on dark blue today, he decided, with the plain black Oxfords.  White and sky-blue patterned pocket square to lift up the dark colors.  

Dressed, Lucifer checked himself out in the mirror again, turning to see what the lines of the suit did for his ass.  He cocked his head.  The jacket could perhaps be a little shorter, but it could certainly be worse.

Lucifer collected his phone, flask, wallet, and keys, and headed out the door.

In the elevator down, he checked through the rest of his messages.  A handful of booty calls that he'd either missed or ignored.  A message from last night's shift manager at Lux that he tapped out a quick reply to.

Nothing from his mother or Maze.   No answer from Amenadiel.

Lucifer frowned as he stepped into the garage.

He typed another quick message to his brother.   As he hit ‘Send,’ a new message from Maze popped up.   Apparently, the Detective had difficulty wrangling a babysitter this early on a Saturday morning, and Maze had volunteered. 

Lucifer shook his head, amused not only at Maze’s affection for the ‘little human,’ but at the Detective’s evident trust in leaving her child with Hell’s most effective torturer. 

We’ve come a long way, Lucifer had said last night. 

He’d meant it.

He pocketed his phone and got into his Corvette.  This early on a Saturday, the LA traffic should only be terrible rather than maddening.   He pulled out of the garage.

~*~

In the dozen or so stoplights that caught him between Lux and the crime scene, Lucifer sent off another handful messages to Amenadiel, partly to actually check on him, but also to annoy him.

He pulled into an employee parking lot outside of the warehouse, seeing the black-and-whites and skimming the crowd for the Detective.  She was just getting out of her car as Lucifer parked. 

The Detective leaned against her bumper and waited for him before approaching the crime scene.  She smiled a quick greeting but nothing more than that.  It isn’t unfriendly, he knew.  Her attention was just on her job - her eyes already scanning and cataloging the location as they walked up to the cordoning police tape.

Lucifer checked his phone.  Still nothing from Amenadiel.  He sighed blusteringly.

“This is ridiculous,” he complained.  He could feel Chloe’s attention shift slightly back to him.  “You have experience with emotionally fragile men, don’t you?”

“You’re self-aware today,” Chloe quipped.  Lucifer frowned.

“No, I meant Dan.  Tell me – how do you stop them from overthinking everything?”

“Who’s overthinking?”  The Detective glanced over at him.

“Amenadiel,” Lucifer said.  He sighed again.  “Leave it to him to turn a compliment into something to angst over.  I mean, I still think it's blatant manipulation but my brother has always been more gullible.  He should be happy he’s Dad’s favorite.”

“Wait,” Chloe said, halting their progress and turning an incredulous look on him.  “Your dad didn’t actually tell you guys that, did he?” 

Bewilderingly, she sounded appalled.  Lucifer shrugged.  

“Well, in so many Sumerian words, yes.”

Her brow wrinkled.  She shook her head.

“You know, the more I hear about your dad, the more I understand why you’re…”  She waved at him.  “You know… you.”

Lucifer typed another message to Amenadiel and hit ‘Send’ with a firm, annoyed jab of his thumb.  He knew his brother would need time to… well, to justify moving forward with storming Heaven to himself.

But the longer this silence stretched, the more that tiny sliver of doubt started nipping at Lucifer.

What if Amenadiel changed his mind?  What if his sibling decided to be contrary and swing the other way, and did something obstructive like – like throwing the key into the ocean, or something?

Lucifer thought about his mother.  About the ‘blood in the water’ that Maze had seen.

Amenadiel might have come around to thinking the Goddess was hiding something, but Lucifer doubted Amenadiel actually accepted that she was dangerous. 

Lucifer glanced up from his phone and looked at the corpse as Ella rattled off the salient forensics findings.

“Body dump.  Weird one, too, and not just cuz of the obvious buck-naked, deep-fried head thing.  Someone also shaved this poor guy’s entire body.”

Lucifer sniffed a small, amused laugh, remembering a few particularly entertaining Hell loops.  “Maybe our poor killer’s just chaetophobic.” 

At the blank looks that received, he elaborated.  “Fear of hair.  Always fun when they turn up in Hell.  Lots of wigs involved.”

He turned his attention back to his phone.  The murder wasn’t anything special, really, and Lucifer had much bigger things on his plate.  He scowled at the continued lack of response from Amenadiel.

“It’s like he just vanished off the face of the Earth,” he muttered, worried, and annoyed that he was worried.

He listened with half an ear as Ella made noises about looking into it further, and the Detective passed along encouragement.  The bottom line was that nothing was happening with this case for the moment.

“Yes, well,” Lucifer said.  “Until you find something, I’ve got some personal business I need to tend to.” 

He turned away from the crime scene and headed back towards his car. 

He drummed his fingers on his steering wheel, indecisive. 

Maybe Linda would have some ideas about how to fix Amenadiel.  Honestly, Amenadiel should be in therapy, Lucifer thought.  His brother was way more screwed up that Lucifer was.

~*~

Dr. Linda Martin’s practice was in a tall, tasteful building full of accountants, transcriptionists, insurance agents, and other therapists.  The directory listing in the elevator nearly always made Lucifer’s skin crawl at the tedious mundanity of it all. 

The ‘in session’ light by Linda’s door was turned off but, when Lucifer tried the doorknob, he found the office locked.  Curious.

He knocked.  

A second or two passed, and then the door opened just wide enough to reveal the doctor’s blonde head.  

“Doctor,” Lucifer said, looking down at her.  She really was an adorably petite thing.

“Hi.  Lucifer.  What’s up?”  The doctor looked frazzled.   Maybe she was having another existential moment.  Lucifer didn’t have time for it right now.

“I’m wondering if you’ve seen Amenadiel.”

“Nope,” Linda said.  “Haven’t seen that family member, no.”

“Can you stop being weird and let me in?” Lucifer pushed past her and came to a dead stop.

“Mum,” he said blankly.  “What are you doing here?” 

His mother was fastening up her dress, which… what?

“Oh, you know,” his mother said dismissively.  “Girl stuff.”   She buttoned her dress closed.

He turned to look at Linda, eyebrows raised high, impressed with the little doctor.  It was on the tip of his tongue to congratulate her…

…but his eyes caught the blackened hole in the doctor’s wall, just behind where Linda stood, fidgeting nervously.

“What is that?”  he demanded.  Linda’s eyes darted to the Goddess, and Lucifer turned.

“It’s nothing,” his mother dismissed.  At Lucifer’s unwavering stare, she added.  “That spoiled brat, Chet Ruiz, stabbed me and now I’m bleeding light.  It’s no big deal.”

Blood in the water.

Maze had been right.

The implications of what the Goddess just said hit him like a physical weight.    He stepped forward, pulling up the waist of her top to see the thickly layered duct tape that was apparently holding her together.   Lucifer felt cold fear, even as his mother pushed his hands away and righted the top.

“Lucifer?” she asked, a little moue of concern crossing her face.

“That’s a huge deal,” he said, voice tight.  “Mum, if your powers are returning to this degree, then your human body won’t be able to contain it.  You’ll…”  He looked at the wall.  “You’ll burst.”

And there was no way, no way at all, that Lucifer could allow that to happen here on Earth. 

“I need to find Amenadiel.  Now.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” the Goddess said, still dismissive.   Like she wasn’t being held together with tape. 

Lucifer’s heart clenched, because he was beginning to think his mother wasn’t unaware of the devastation she would leave in her wake if her true form came spilling out. 

It was simply that she didn’t care about how many humans would die when it happened. 

Because, after all, his mother had never cared for humans. 

“I mean,” she continued.  “It’s bad enough that you’ll be worried.”

As if the biggest concern, here, was whether or not she’d be fussed over.  Lucifer shook his head. 

“Amenadiel has the missing piece of the sword,” he said bluntly.  They didn’t have time, anymore, for Amenadiel to brood his way to a decision.

His mother’s face softened with wonder. 

“You’re… you’re kidding.  Son, why didn’t you say something?  Now we can finally ignite it and cut through the Gates of Heaven.   I can see my…” She swallowed, emotion overwhelming her.  “I can see my children.”

“Yes,” Lucifer said, impatiently.  “But for now, I need to find Amenadiel and you need to stay away from humans.  You’re a ticking bomb.”   How big of a radius would it be, he wondered?   Where on Earth could he put her that would be safe?  Somewhere underground, maybe.  The wine cellar at Lux?  

He opened the door, gesturing for her to leave with him.

His mother’s eyelids flickered.  An expression of distaste crossing her face. 

“Speaking of that,” she said, glancing away.  “I… may have already harmed… someone.”  She flicked her fingers in a flippant gesture.

Lucifer looked at Linda but, other than being shaken up, she was uninjured.  Linda, though, was still looking at the burnt hole in her wall, and Lucifer’s eyes turned there with dread.

“Oh, no,” he said, putting it together.  “No, no, no, I just came from a crime scene.  The man with the burned head.  Please tell me that isn’t Chet.”

The Goddess spread her hands, a confirmation and not an apology.

Lucifer slammed the door closed, cold panic turning to anger.

“The Detective is on that case!”

“Well, not to worry.  I had a pro clean up the mess.”

“You don’t understand,” Lucifer said.  “The Detective is good.  Annoyingly good.”  

“Well, then, we just need to find Amenadiel, don’t we?”  His mother said, smiling. 

“Yes,” he said.

“And get the piece,” she encouraged.   She was thinking about getting back to Heaven – not about the devastation she’d cause if she lingered.  Lucifer could read it plainly, and his heart ached. 

“Yes,” he agreed, letting a frisson of his fear bleed through.  “Because if we don’t get you back to Heaven before the Detective gets to you…”  He gestured at the wall.  “She’s quite literally toast.”

The Goddess rolled her eyes.

“I don’t understand why you’re still so fixated with her.  I thought you understood?  She was just one of your father’s many machinations.  A way to control you.”

She put her hand on Lucifer’s face, but he drew back, clenching his jaw.

“It wasn’t real, son,” she said, voice gentle.  “It’s time to let her go.   It’s time to go home.”

Ah, Lucifer thought. 

He closed his eyes and breathed through the hurt.  He gave himself no more than a moment before he forced his eyes back open, forced a smile back on his face.

In her own way, he knew his mother did love him.   Deeply.  Fiercely. 

That didn’t make any of this any easier.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Linda watching him sharply, taking in all of his reactions.   He winced, knowing the therapist would likely make him talk about it all, but put that aside for now.

“Come,” he repeated.  “We need to get you somewhere safe.”

The Goddess tilted her head, acquiescing, and walked past Lucifer and out the door.  Lucifer lingered, shooting Linda a concerned glance.

“You’re alright?”  he asked.  “She didn’t…”

“I ducked,” Linda said wryly.  “I’m okay.  Thank you.  You should probably go deal with…”  She sucked air through her teeth, folding her hands.  “That,” she settled on diplomatically.

Lucifer caught up to his mother as she stepped into the elevator.   He stepped in beside her and pushed the button for the correct parking level. 

Dr. Martin’s practice was on the first floor of the building but the street parking was appalling.  The building had its own sublevel parking garage.  One floor down, the elevator stopped its descent and opened to allow a mousy-looking brunette in a wheelchair slide in.  Lucifer pressed closer to his mother’s side to allow room. 

The Goddess sighed in visible displeasure, looking at the human.

“Terrible design,” she sniffed.

“Excuse me?”  the girl asked.

“The bones, ligaments,” she waved a hand.  “The fragility and in-built degeneration.  It was all His idea, you know, to make humans this… weak.  It’s a hideously flawed design.” 

“…What?”

But the doors slid open, then, and the Goddess walked out without answering, her high heels clacking staccato notes on the concrete floor.

The girl looked at Lucifer, who shrugged in a ‘what can you do’ sort of way, and followed his mother out.

“…What?”  the girl repeated behind him, almost comically confused, but in a few more strides they’d left her behind and the elevator doors slid closed again.

His mother spotted the Corvette and walked over to it.  

Lucifer fired off another text message to Amenadiel, hoping that, maybe, this time, the stubborn asshole would respond.

He chewed his lip and sent a text to Maze as well.  If Amenadiel wouldn’t come to him willingly, well, it wasn’t like Lucifer didn’t know a damn good bounty hunter.

His mother fiddled with the bandage on her wrist as Lucifer started the car and exited the parking structure.

“Could you not?” he asked, merging into traffic.  “The absolute last thing I need right now is for us to get into an accident and blow up downtown LA.”

She huffed a sigh and settled back, letting her hands drop to her lap.

The scenery slid past.  Lucifer weaved through cars ranging from polished Bentleys to battered F150s.   On the sidewalk, joggers in neon spandex bobbed along.  People walked their dogs.  A homeless woman rifled through a discarded plastic bag of who-knew-what.

The idea that Lucifer would ever trade Earth for Heaven was laughable.   The Silver City was stagnant and stifling.   Even if Lucifer could look past the righteous anger he felt towards his father, Heaven was boring.   The humans all had their little loops of paradise, the same as they had their loops of torment in Hell. 

But for an angel, what was there really to do up there?   Sit and bask in divinity?  Wait, as attentive as a trained dog, for Dad to perhaps deign to spare them a shred of attention to give them an order?

It was anathema to him.

They stopped at a stoplight.  A group of teenagers loitered at the corner waiting for the crosswalk.   The wind shifted and the Corvette was bathed in a cloud of sweet weed smoke.   The signal changed.  One of the teenagers lightly tripped stepping down from the curb, and her probably-boyfriend caught her by the elbow, the both of them giggling as they crossed to the other side of the street. 

All of these little moments that only existed on Earth.  Not special enough to be remembered in the extremes of either bliss or damnation.  On Earth, as common as grains of sand.

Lucifer swallowed.  The light turned green.   He drove.

~*~

His mother’s eyes went dark and cold when Lucifer showed her to the wine cellar at Lux.

“It’s temporary,” he promised.  

The Goddess crossed her arms.

“I didn’t leave one prison to move to another,” she said. 

“Mum, it’s as much to protect you as them,” Lucifer said.  “How much more light do you want to bleed out before we get you up to Heaven, hm?”  

She turned and frostily regarded the rows of bottles.  She selected a bottle of the 2010 Chateau LaFite Rothschild Pauillac.  She looked around expectantly and Lucifer handed over the corkscrew.

“Right,” he said.  “Okay, it shouldn’t be more than a day, two tops.”

At the glare his mother gave him, he amended it to: “Give me a day.”

She popped the cork, still glowering, but Lucifer took it for a win.  A temporary win.  He checked his phone as he headed back up.  Still nothing from Amenadiel and, worse, Mazikeen was insisting that Lucifer meet her at the apartment before she headed out to collect him.

“Wonderful,” he sighed, and got back into his car.

~*~

Rather than the expected demon, the door was answered by the Detective’s little urchin.

“Lucifer!” She chirped.  “Did you slip on a banana peel, too?”

“What?”  Lucifer asked blankly.   The child gave him a serious nod. 

“I’m afraid you’re gonna need surgery.”   She grabbed Lucifer’s hand and tugged him inside. 

“Don’t fight it,” Maze’s voice called over.  Lucifer spotted her and felt his eyebrows climb.  Her head was wrapped in a sloppy bandage, her hair a chaotic mess poking through the gaps.  “The kid’s fierce,” Maze concluded approvingly. 

Trixie pulled Lucifer over to sit in the chair opposite Maze.  He sat and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his hands.  Why was the child always so sticky?

“So what changed?  Why do you need Amenadiel back now?”  Maze asked. 

“Mum’s human form is cracking at the seams.  Linda patched her up with tape, but that won’t hold for long.”

“She’s spilling divine light?”  Maze leaned forward, looking him over.  “Is Linda okay?  Are you okay?”

“Quite stressed, thank you.   And Linda’s unharmed.  Mum burnt a hole in Linda’s wall and, of more immediate concern, dropped a body that the Detective is investigating.”

“Not great,” Maze agreed.

“She can’t stay on Earth.  I need you to find Amenadiel.  We’ll get the pendant and assemble the Sword before Mum spews light everywhere.”

“You guys don’t have to talk in code, you know,” Trixie groused.  “I can handle adult stuff.”

Maze’s deft fingers started undoing the wraps.

The offspring pouted and Maze held up a forestalling hand.

“Okay, kid, here’s the deal - I’ve gotta go track down Lucifer’s brother.   Lucifer’s going to stay here with you until Mrs. Ungar arrives.”

“I’m what?” Lucifer asked.   The child grinned up at him, and Lucifer pressed back into his chair in retreat away from the look.

“Mazikeen–”

“Hey, Decker’s rules.  Little human's not allowed to be left unattended.   So,” and the grin Maze sent him heralded back to her glory days in Hell.  “Tag,” she said.  “You’re it.”

Mazikeen finished unwrapping the bandages and fluffed her wildly disordered hair.   She extended her first towards the child, and the two exchanged a complicated handshake.   Mazikeen clapped Lucifer on the shoulder as she walked past.

“Go easy on him, yeah?” Maze said to the little imp.

“Never,” the child said gleefully.

“That’s my girl!”  Maze said, her fondness plain.  To Lucifer, she said:  “I’ll text you once I have Amenadiel.” 

Lucifer gave a long-suffering sigh.   The ‘click’ of the door shutting behind Mazikeen felt altogether too final.

He exchanged a look with Beatrice.

The girl waggled a pair of plastic, pink-handled forceps at him.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to remove your tibia,” she said, her solemnity marred by the grin splitting her face.

Lucifer frowned. 

“How do you know what a tibia is?”

“Maze is teaching me,” the girl beamed.

“Of course she is,” Lucifer said, shaking his head.  “Did Maze say how long Mrs. Ungar was going to be?”

The child shrugged.

“A couple hours.”

“Marvelous.”

The child leaned close and whispered conspiratorially.  “You’re way more fun than Mrs. Ungar.”   Her nose wrinkled.  “She smells like cabbage.  And all she wants to talk about are her cats.”

“Beastly little creatures,” Lucifer said with a shudder. 

Trixie shrugged a small shoulder.

“They’re okay.  But there’s more to life than cats.”

“So very much more,” Lucifer agreed.   He withdrew his flask and took a long pull.  He offered it to Trixie, but the child gave him a look like he’d offered her a severed toe.

Lucifer shook his head and returned the flask to his breast pocket.  The child was being raised by people that followed whiskey with shots of pickle juice.  No wonder she didn’t appreciate the finer things.

The girl patted his knee.

“Okay,” she said.  “Before we take off your leg, did you want ana… ansha?”  She fumbled on the word.

“Anesthesia?”

“Yeah, that,” she beamed.

“Dearie me,” Lucifer looked skyward for patience.  The imp giggled, unrepentant.  “Why am I losing my leg?”

“You were in a horrible accident.  You stepped on a caltrop and fell on the battlefield, and then a boar went raaaaor!”  She mimed taking a bite out of his calf with her fingers.

“I see you’re learning a lot from Maze.”

“She’s the best,” the child said, simple and honest. 

Lucifer eyed the blunt, plastic tools laid out.   Assured that they were toys and that he wasn’t actually about to suffer amputation, he obligingly propped his leg up on the ottoman.

“Very well.  Have at it.” 

The girl bounced in delight and retrieved her blunt-toothed, plastic saw. 

Lucifer winced, seeing the wrinkles she was working into the Italian wool of his trouser leg, but endured it with minimal commentary.

As his leg was getting mummified with bandages, his phone buzzed.

“Detective,” he answered it gratefully.

“Lucifer, hi.  Could you meet me at the precinct?  Hector Ruiz is coming in for questioning.”

“Alas, no, at least not until Mrs. Ungar gets here.”

“…Mrs. Ungar, as in Trixie’s sitter?  Lucifer, where are you?”

“On the operating table, apparently.” 

“What?”

Lucifer waved the phone at Trixie who, seeing Chloe’s picture on his display, chirped a loud “Hi Mommy!” in greeting.  He put the phone back to his ear.

“Lucifer?  Where’s Maze?”

“I quite urgently needed her to hunt down my brother, so we swapped places.”

“You’re babysitting Trixie.”  The Detective’s voice was flat.  She seemed as surprised by this turn of events as Lucifer. 

She rallied. 

“Do you even know how to –” She stopped mid-sentence, and Lucifer could hear her taking in a deep breath.  “Lucifer, put Trixie on the phone.”

Reluctantly, he passed his phone to the child. 

“Hi Mommy,” the girl repeated.   Her brow crinkled as she listened to her mother.  She rolled her eyes.

“It’s fine, Mom,” she said, giving Lucifer a ‘parents are such rubbish’ look that he completely understood.  “He’s fun!”   A pause.   “No, I won’t.”   Another pause.  “Fine.”   A glance at Lucifer.  “Only once, but I said ‘no.’”  Another pause, and then an indignant sigh.   She pushed the phone back at him.

“Detective?”

“Ground rules.  Don’t let her play with sharp objects.  Don’t give her any substances that the FDA hasn’t approved for minors – that means no more offering her your flask, Lucifer.  Don’t let her watch anything on the TV that’s rated more than PG-13.  Actually, no, nothing over PG if you’re going to be there.  And please, no sex stories.”

Lucifer frowned.

“What do you do with the child then?  Just stare at her?”

“Just… please, please, try not to traumatize her or damage her or corrupt her until Mrs. Ungar gets there?  And not after that, either,” She added, spotting the loophole she’d left him.

“Detective, you’ve my word that the spawn will remain her normal blithely irritating self.  Ow!”  He yelped, as Trixie resumed wrapping him in bandages and, somehow, had rolled up his trouser leg enough for the tape to catch and pull on his leg hairs.

“Don’t be a wuss,” Trixie scolded, raising an imperious eyebrow.

Across the line, Chloe snorted.

“Maybe I should be more worried about you,” she said.

“You bloody well should be,” he griped.

Honestly.  The Decker women were terrors.

“I’ll join you at the precinct as soon as possible,” Lucifer said.

“I don’t doubt it,” Chloe replied, amusement still coloring her voice.  “Gotta go,” she said succinctly and disconnected the call. 

Hector Ruiz, she’d said.  Lucifer eyed his darkened phone, thoughts churning.  What if Chet had mentioned to Hector that he was going to visit Charlotte Richards last night?  Unlikely, since he’d gone there intending to stab “Charlotte,” but it wasn’t impossible.  And if the loathsome little reprobate had confided his intentions to Hector, since Chet was dead, what would stop Hector from telling the Detective everything she needed to know to connect the murder to his mother?

Lucifer chewed on his lip.  He needed to get back to the precinct and see what he could do to slow down the investigation.   He had every confidence that Mazikeen would retrieve Amenadiel before the day’s end, but what if that wasn’t soon enough?

Trixie tied off the bandage with a triumphant air of finality.

“There,” she said, satisfied, patting his shoe. 

Lucifer regarded his leg.

“Very… thorough,” he said slowly. 

“I’m hungry,” the child said, apparently bored with her game.

Lucifer gave her a considering look. 

“I have a credit card and a multitude of restaurants that owe me favors.  How would you like to make a deal?”

~*~

Lucifer walked into the precinct and nearly bumped into Chloe as he turned the corner from the lobby.

The look she gave him was somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“So I got a call from Mrs. Ungar,” she said.  “First to check that you weren't some random weirdo – and I do have to talk to Maze about hot-potato-ing my kid.   But also, apparently you bought Trixie lunch?” 

“Ah, yes.  I did.”

The Detective paused expectantly.   Lucifer frowned, not sure how he'd misstepped.  Surely she wasn't objecting to him feeding the child?

“Mrs. Ungar said there are delivery boxes for at least a dozen restaurants, Lucifer.”

“Fourteen,” he agreed.  “Yes.”

“You don't think that's a bit... much?”

“Well,” Lucifer cleared his throat.  “The waif had very well-formed – if, perhaps, eclectic - ideas about what she wanted to eat, and we did strike a deal.   Your offspring was fed and, as a bonus, you've plenty of left-overs.   Your fridge did look woefully bare.  You’re welcome.”

The Detective pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I...” She started, but blew out her breath without finishing the sentence.  She shook her head, and the look she gave Lucifer was undeniably fond.  It made an answering spark of warmth light deep in Lucifer’s chest.

“What was her end of the deal?” she asked.

“No more amputations,” he said, straight-faced.

The Detective opened her mouth.  Closed it. 

Lucifer smirked at her.  She turned on her heel and walked away.

Lucifer followed her to the forensics lab, and his humor melted away as the looming disaster reasserted itself.

Ella had her back to them as they entered and, spotting a bit of evidence on the corner of the table, Lucifer feigned a trip and swept out his hand to knock it off as he ‘caught’ himself.

It shattered with a satisfying crash, and Ella jumped and spun around at the noise.

“Ah, oopsie-daisy.  There goes that clue.  Klutzy me,” he said apologetically.   Chloe gave him a suspicious look.  He raised his eyebrows innocently.

Ella waved it off.

“Aw, don’t worry buddy.”  She leaned forward and confided: “I’m a total klutz myself.  Which is why I always make a backup.”   She held up a replica of the imprint Lucifer had just destroyed.

“Oh good,” he said tightly.  “Hope it leads us straight to Chet’s killer.”

“You found something?” Chloe asked, eyeballing the item.   Ella set it back down.

“Oh, no, this is from another crime scene.”   She slumped with disappointment.  “I’ve got a big steaming pile of nada from the Chet Ruiz crime scene.”

“How awful,” Lucifer said.  Internally, he sighed with relief. 

“Whoever dumped the body clearly knew what they were doing,” Chloe said darkly. 

“True,” Ella said.  “Very true.  I’d be impressed if it wasn’t for, you know…”   She made a passible mime and having her head burnt.   “Seriously ‘yuck’ way to go.”

“And you learned nothing useful from Hector?” Lucifer asked the Detective.

She shook her head.

“The Ruiz family had a lot of enemies, but Hector hasn’t been involved in the family business for years.  He wasn’t able to point any fingers.”

A knot of tension released itself in Lucifer’s shoulders.  Finally, something going right.

“Basically,” Ella said.  “All we know for sure is that someone had to drive there to dump the body.  So, the tech team is checking the vicinity for cameras, but it’s such a remote place, so don’t get your hopes up.”  Ella spread her hands apologetically.

“I think you’re right, Miss Lopez.   Sadly, the only witness to this one is my dear old Dad.”   And wouldn’t He be thrilled with what the Goddess was doing. 

Maybe that was why Lucifer had been rendered human?  Maybe it was a reprimand for helping his mother?  Or for not delivering her straight to Hell, as Amenadiel and… and Uriel… seemed so convinced was their Father’s intention?

“Oh, right.  Yes.  Your Dad,” Ella snapped her fingers, giving him a knowing, playful look.  Lucifer sighed.

“Your Dad…. Is always watching.  Wait a second.”  Ella brightened, and Lucifer’s heart sank.  “That gives me an idea.  Satellite imaging takes sporadic photos of, well, everything, so…”

“So there may be footage of the killer going to or from the warehouse,” Chloe finished, latching onto the idea. 

Well.  Shit.

“Exactly.  I mean, it’s a long shot, but – thank you, Lucifer!”

“You’re so welcome,” he said through gritted teeth.

A long shot.

Why did Lucifer just know that it was going to turn up results?

He sent a text to Maze, asking for an update.   To Amenadiel, he sent yet another text for him to get his ass back here already.

Lucifer doubted either would respond.  At least, though, his continued harassment of his brother might help obfuscate the fact that he’d sent Maze after him.

“You okay?”  Chloe asked. 

Lucifer stopped pacing.

“Grand,” he said. 

She frowned at him, and then down at his phone, still clutched tightly in his hand.

“Trouble at Lux?”

“Something like that.”  Specifically, the trouble was in Lux’s wine cellar.

“You’re not getting evicted again, are you?” she said, tone pitched in gentle teasing. 

Lucifer shook his head, but gave her a small, grateful smile.  Her concern was touching, and the memory of what she’d done to save his home was…

He had to get his mother off Earth.  He couldn’t bear it if something happened to the Detective.

“Or is this connected to the ‘personal business’ from this morning?”  The Detective’s eyes searched him.  “Your family giving you grief?”

She was so dangerously smart. 

Lucifer inclined his head.

“Yes,” he sighed.  “You could certainly say that.”

“I’ll let you know if Ella finds anything, if you need to take off,” she offered. 

“I may wander,” Lucifer agreed.  

If the satellite surveillance found a lead… maybe Lucifer could delay a follow-up if he found a more pressing case?

It was Los Angeles, after all, he thought.  In a city of 4 million, surely there had to be something more interesting than the naked, bleached, celestially burnt corpse of the son of a crime boss/tequila magnate?

Lucifer walked away from the forensics lab, stealing the newspaper off of someone’s desk as he passed by, heading outside.

He felt the need for a cigarette and it was rarely worth the fuss it caused when he tried to smoke in the precinct.

~*~

The Detective was not at all impressed with the casework he found.

“She was 92,” Chloe said dismissively.   The satellite imaging had found a lead, because of course it had.   Worse, the logo on the van was unique and distinctive, and the more Lucifer tried to persuade the Detective away from that conclusion, the more she dug her feet in.

“Yes,” Lucifer argued.  “And fit as a fiddle.  I mean, look at that smug face.  Look!”  He put the newspaper in front of her.  From the corner of his eye, he could see people heading towards the van and used the newsprint as a last, flimsy shield to keep them from being spotted.

“Okay, I get it,” the Detective said, batting the newspaper aside.  They both looked over at the van, and Lucifer’s heart sank at the Very Obvious, Call-The-Police scene that greeted them.

“LAPD!  Don’t Move!”  The Detective barked.  The criminals jumped, startled, and dropped the corpse to the ground between them. 

“You still think we’re wasting our time?” Chloe shot at Lucifer.

“Definitely rethinking the lasagna I had for lunch,” he muttered.  Ugh.   What would even do that to a body? 

“Oh my gosh!  This is not what it looks like,” one of the hazmat-clad figures called in a girlish voice.

“Take your hoods off.  Slowly.”  Chloe demanded.

They pushed back their goggles and lowered the masks obstructing their faces.  

Only in LA, Lucifer thought, would someone wear perfectly applied lipstick to haul a corpse.

“I know this looks bad,” the prettily made-up one said.  “But we can explain.  I’m Ava.  This is my sister Kathleen.” 

“Hi.  How ya doin’?”  the other girl added. 

Lucifer looked between them, completely off-put by the exchange.

“Friendliest serial killers ever,” he observed.

“Oh, that’s hilarious,” Kathleen said.  “We’re not killers.  God, no.  We run Dandy Lyon Cleaners.  Lyon’s our last name.”  She paused.  “Get it?”

“We take care of crime scenes, dead body removals… all the icky stuff.”  Ave gestured at the laden gurney between them. 

The other girl nodded.  “Died of a heart attack, like, two weeks ago.”

“Right,” Lucifer said.  Of course, these were the cleaners his mother had hired.  Perhaps this could still be salvaged if he could just get the Detective to cooperate.  “Well.  Perfectly good explanation.  I knew it.   Shall we, Detective?”  He tried to shepherd her away. 

The look she gave him was confused, disappointed.

The conversation devolved from there.

The Dandy Lyons proffered their explanations.   Lucifer wasn’t sure if he could tell the girl was lying about meeting her boyfriend at an out-of-the-way Jamba Juice because he knew she’d been cleaning up Chet Ruiz, or because she was bad at lying.  

He hoped it wasn’t the latter because the Detective, with her irritatingly good instincts, would certainly root it out.

Hell, even if it was the former, she’d find it.  Lucifer resisted the urge to check his phone again.  Maze would text him when she had Amenadiel. 

“Well,” Lucifer said, trying to usher things to a close.  “Completely understandable.  Alibi sorted.   We’ll leave you here with Soupy and we’ll be on our way.  Come on,” Lucifer turned to head back to the car, hoping futilely that Chloe would drop it and follow him.

“No.  Wait, wait, hold on,” she held a stalling hand up to the girls.  “Can I talk to you for a second?” she said to Lucifer, and pulled him out of earshot of the other two.

“Enough with this,” she said, radiating her displeasure.  “Why are you trying to rush our investigation?” 

Not just displeasure, he realized.   Hurt. 

“Why are you still hiding things from me?”  Her eyes were pleading.  “After all we’ve been through?”

“You know I don’t lie, Detective.”  It felt feeble even as he said it.

“But you also don’t tell the whole truth.”  She regarded him fully.  “Does this have to do with what you were upset about this morning?  With your family?”

“Yes,” he said, frustrated.  “But I can’t explain, because you wouldn’t understand.” 

He’d probably said too much already. 

“Not if you don’t talk to me.”  She shook her head.   When he didn’t answer, she waved her hand, dispelling the question.  “Never mind.”  The look she gave him was wounded, and it wounded him in return.  “I thought we were past this.  Going backwards, Lucifer… it’s not good.  For anyone.”

She walked away from him, done with the conversation. 

Lucifer floundered, torn between calling after her and explaining, and the long-ingrained habit of obfuscating the truth from her.  

He was saved from making a decision by the vibration of an incoming text message.

He checked his phone.

It was Maze.  Finally.  She’d found Amenadiel and was taking him back to Lux.

Lucifer looked across the parking lot.  The Detective had her notepad in hand and was continuing to question the Lyons. 

He slipped away, sending a response to Maze that he’d be there shortly.

The Detective’s words rolled around in his head the entire drive back.

All of the nonsense with breaking evidence and bloody newspapers.  Wouldn’t it be easier if he could just tell her why capturing “Charlotte Richards” would be pointless?

Wouldn’t it be better?

He chewed his thumb, paused at a traffic light.  The light turned green and he released the brakes, only to slam on them again when the car in front of him stopped abruptly, some pillock running their own red light in the cross lane.

The jerk forward made him bite down harder than he’d intended, and Lucifer tasted blood.

“Oh for goodness’ sake!”  He hissed in displeasure, looking at the little puncture he’d left by his cuticle.  He glared after the speeding car and mentally filed the license plate away for future vengeance. 

He swiped at the little well of blood collecting along his nailbed.   Perfect. 

Even if he wanted to tell the Detective the truth, why on Earth would she believe him?

She hadn’t believed him before, even when he’d given her evidence, tantalizingly brief though it had been. 

Now, though?  Now that he actually was human?   What could he possibly offer to her as proof?  

He shook his head, frustrated and dissatisfied.

No going backwards.

If he could get his mother dealt with, and Amenadiel… If he could get his divine powers restored… Then maybe…

Lucifer sighed.

If, if, if. 

It seemed pointless to worry about what would happen tomorrow when there were still so many ways that today could yet go wrong looming ahead of him.

He pulled into the private garage under Lux and dithered, at the elevator, on whether to go down to the cellar or up to the penthouse.

Amenadiel first, he decided.

Stepping into his apartment, he raised an eyebrow at the large, sprawled form of his brother laid out on the couch by the bar.  Mazikeen sat at the bar, drink in hand, looking pleased.

“Yes, well,” Lucifer gave her an approving nod.  “Well done, Maze.”

Lucifer prodded Amenadiel’s shoulder with the toe of his shoe.  No response, but Lucifer could see his brother’s back rising and falling slowly as he breathed.

“What’d you do to him?” Lucifer asked, amused despite the press of his worries.

“Taser.  Super effective.”   She snorted.  “You should have heard the sound he made.  It was hilarious.”

Lucifer poked his brother again.  He bent over and smacked Amenadiel’s cheek lightly, and received subvocal, unconscious noise in return.  He seemed to be in the early stages of waking up.

Lucifer skimmed his fingers down to Amenadiel’s neck, frowning with annoyance at seeing the piece missing.

“Oh, just what I bloody well need,” Lucifer complained, sighing.  He patted down Amenadiel’s pockets, not expecting much.  If he wasn’t wearing it, he wouldn’t be carrying it about in a pocket, after all.

Lucifer settled into the chair across from him, glaring at his lump of a sibling. 

Mazikeen poured and offered him a drink.  He took it gratefully.

Amenadiel groaned again, shifting slightly.   His eyes cracked opened.

“Hello, Brother,” Lucifer said.  Amenadiel’s gaze drifted over to him.  “I notice you’ve changed your look.  Where’s your pretty necklace?” 

“Oh, I’ve put it in a safe place.”

“Ah.  Keister it, did you?”

“Nope,” Mazikeen offered.  “Already checked.  Not there.”

“Lovely,” he firmly pushed away that mental image.  “Listen, Amenadiel, I need the final piece,” he said, dropping any levity.

“Right,” Amenadiel said.  He pushed himself up into a sitting position.  “So you and Mom can slice through the gates of Heaven and destroy Father.  Yeah, I know.”

And oh, but Lucifer knew that tone of voice.

Amenadiel was digging his heels in.   He was going to be stubborn and, depending on how much he’d worked himself up to it, he might refuse to listen even if Lucifer explained.

It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

“Right,” Lucifer sighed.  “Maze, darling, would you mind running down to the wine cellar and fetching Mum?  I think she’d like to hear this.”

The demon gave Amenadiel a contemptuous look but, without comment, she turned to do as Lucifer asked.

Lucifer drained his glass.  He was still obnoxiously sober and went to his bar to rectify the situation.

Amenadiel trailed after him.

“I’ve been thinking about this, deeply, and I think we’ve been looking at things the wrong way.”

“Oh?” Lucifer said, not really listening to him.  He’d let his mother deal with this.

“That necklace was a gift.  It’s not some manipulation.”

“Well, you only think that because it was gifted to you,” Lucifer said. 

“No,” Amenadiel denied, passionately.  Clearly, he had been thinking about it and had worked himself up to some asinine conclusion.   Lucifer resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because if Amenadiel thought he could convince Lucifer that Dad wasn’t manipulating them, this was going to be a very tedious fight indeed.  He didn’t have time for it.

“No, Luci!” Amenadiel continued.  “It’s all about perspective.  Father doesn’t always make things clear because he wants us to form our own beliefs.  And I strongly believe that I am to guard that piece.  Now, I may have lost my way, but that doesn’t mean I can’t rectify things now.” 

Lucifer took a breath.

“Fine,” he said.  “What if I was to tell you I never planned on destroying Dad?”

“I’d say you were full of it,” Amenadiel said immediately.   “Why else would He have turned you mortal, too?”

Lucifer pushed forward.

“You said it yourself, Brother, and long before now – I’m evil.”

Lucifer felt a dark stab of satisfaction at seeing Amenadiel flinch at that.

“So perhaps Dad simply came to realize it, too.  But it wasn’t because I was planning to fight Him.   Yes, I want to assemble the sword.  Yes, I want to cut through the gates, blah, blah, but then I was just going to kick Mum into Heaven and slam the gates behind her.   Let the two lovebirds torture each other for eternity.”

Amenadiel shook his head.

“And that’s better?” Amenadiel demanded, still infuriatingly self-righteous.

“Yes?”  Lucifer said.  If Amenadiel’s concern was about Lucifer leading another rebellion against Dad, how could this alternative not be better?

“No!”  Amenadiel said.  “Regardless of whether you’re with Mom or not, I simply can’t let Mom loose on Dad.”

Lucifer let free an exasperated sigh, but Amenadiel continued his rant.

“Now, it is finally time that I go back to being the loyal soldier that He entrusted me to be.  Mom is not going anywhere!”

“Well, I’m afraid that we do not have a choice, Brother!”  Lucifer shouted back at him and, finally, Amenadiel paused.  An flicker of uncertainty crossed his face.

“Mum’s powers are returning,” Lucifer explained.  “And it won’t be long before we can’t contain them.  I mean, she’s already killed one person, and now the Detective is…”  He swallowed, hard.   “The Detective is on her case.   So, please.   No discussion.  Mum has to go.”

“She already has,” Maze said behind him, and it took a moment for the words to register.  “Your mother’s gone.”

“What?”  Lucifer breathed. 

“She wasn’t in the wine cellar.  It looks like she left a while ago.”  With a flick of her wrist, she had her knives in hand.  “I’ll find her, Lucifer.”

He eyed the blades.

“No stabbing when you do,” he reminded her.  Maze rolled her eyes and sent them back to their sheathes, turning and returning to the elevator.

“She killed someone?” Amenadiel asked.

Lucifer nodded.

“Chet Ruiz.  He killed Zeke Moore – the antiquities dealer, remember? – One thing in that investigation lead to another, and it ended with Chet paying a late-night visit to dear Charlotte Richards with the intention of stabbing her to death in vengeance for her role in dismantling his family’s crime organization.”

Lucifer laughed humorlessly.

“Boy, must he have been surprised.”

“What happened?”

“He poked a hole in Mum, and out poured an undiluted helping of her celestial power.  Burnt him to a brittle crisp from the shoulders up.”   He sighed.  “And then Mum hired professional body removal cleaners to discretely get rid of the body, and lo and behold, the Detective found them and is presently hot on that trail.”

Lucifer drummed his fingers on the bar.

“I don’t know how much longer the human body Mum is wearing will be able to contain her.   That stab-wound is being held together with tape.  We are running out of time, brother.  If she’s still on Earth when that body gives out…”

“I can’t let you take her back to Heaven, Luci.   I can’t.   Whether you intend it or not, it would start another war, and I will not allow that to happen.   Even if it means… making a sacrifice here.”

Lucifer finished his drink.   He bit back a snarling reply and turned his back toward Amenadiel.

“There are other options,” Lucifer said, turning the tumbler in his hand around and around.   Like the pretty reflections in the cut glass could let either of them ignore how limited those options were.   Hell, or… or Azrael’s blade.

Lucifer pressed his fingers, hard, into the little wound above his nailbed. 

Amenadiel frowned.

“So, how do we find Mom?  Follow the trail of roasted humans?”

“Well, if anyone can find that wily goddess, it’s Maze,” he said distractedly.

Lucifer’s phone rang.  They both fell silent.

“Detective,” he answered, and could feel Amenadiel’s eyes following him as he stood up to pace.  “Everything all right?”

“We found a body,” she answered. 

“Another body?”

“A burned head.”

“Same burned head?”  Lucifer met Amenadiel’s eyes, and Amenadiel looked away. 

“Yes,” Chloe sighed.

“So, what, you think whoever chilled Chet killed again?”

The detective’s voice was hushed, like she was trying not to be overheard.

“Look, Lucifer, it’s a long story, but the second victim is Ava Lyon.  She’s one of the cleaners we met.  I have her sister Kathleen here, but she’s not saying anything.  She’s scared.  So I need you to come here, and I need you to do your mojo thing.”

Lucifer winced.   Even if this case hadn’t been in pursuit of his mother, he wouldn’t have been able to.  And wouldn’t that be a fun future conversation to have, explaining to the Detective why the ability she believed to be some kind of human hypnotism nonsense was suddenly beyond him. 

“Yes,” he said slowly.  “Detective, believe me when I say I want to find the killer as much as you do-”

“Hello, boys.”

Lucifer spun. 

“Mum,” Lucifer said blankly.

“What?” Chloe said in his ear, and Lucifer fumbled the phone back into place.

“I  - I’m so sorry.  My mum’s here.  I’ve got to rush.  Good luck with Kathleen.  Ciao,” he said hurriedly, disconnecting the call over the sound of her protests.

The Goddess strutted past them both and helped herself to a glass of bourbon.  

“What have you been doing?” Amenadiel asked, stepping over to stand by Lucifer side. 

“Oh,” she said dismissively.  “This and that.”

“This being firing up the celestial barbeque so that you can grill another head?”  Lucifer prompted.

“No.  I just needed to get cleaned up,” she smiled faintly, and it didn’t reach her eyes.  Cleaned up from what?  There was something… cold… in the way she was speaking.  Lucifer felt a prickle of alarm, but the Goddess didn’t seem injured.

“Get some air,” she continued.  “I was feeling a little claustrophobic.  Don’t you just hate… being kept in the dark?”

Lucifer exchanged a look with Amenadiel. 

“The good news is that you found Amenadiel.  So,” she crossed her arms.  “We have the piece?”

“Yes.  Well.  Interesting story, actually,” Lucifer said.  “Actually, why don’t you tell her, brother?”

“Oh, no no no no no, this one’s all you, brother.  I insist,” Amenadiel looked away.  The absolute coward.

“Thank you,” Lucifer said sarcastically.  “Right.  Well.  Upon careful consideration, we’ve decided this whole… Flaming Sword plan… is a crap idea.”

“Yes.  Crap.”  Amenadiel chimed in.

The Goddess looked back and forth between them, expression neutral.

“Have you ever considered finding, well, I don’t know, a – a place of your own?”

“Yeah.  Somewhere away from Dad, maybe?” 

“Yes.  Somewhere familiar… warmer… perhaps?”

“You want…You want me back in Hell?”  the Goddess asked.

“Well, no, not in Hell, per se.   In charge of Hell,” Lucifer smiled encouragingly.  “I mean, after all, it is a kingdom without a ruler.” 

“He is right,” Amenadiel added.  “I mean, there’s a great opportunity for upward mobility.”

The Goddess regarded them silently. 

“Lick of paint here or there?”  Lucifer offered.  She wasn’t buying it and he knew it.  “The columns would look great in white.”  Her stare turned frosty.   “Beige?”

She exhaled in a short, barbed breath, and shook her head.

“So it’s true.   You are working against me.”  

“Not against you-” Lucifer interjected, but she cut him off.

“You never planned on going with me to Heaven,” she said coldly.

He exchanged a look with Amenadiel, but he seemed equally shocked.

“Wait,” Lucifer said, because this… this had been something he’d kept very close to his chest.  “How did you find out?”

“I persuaded… your little doctor.” 

“Linda?  What did you do?  Mum.”  He stepped forward, fear morphing quickly into anger.

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“Mom, listen, I understand,” Amenadiel said, trying to restore the peace.  “You’re angry-”

“Oh, I’m not angry,” she said, grabbing Amenadiel in her other hand.

"Just disappointed."

And she threw them across the room.

The impact with his piano was massive, and Lucifer let loose a gut-punch sound of pain at feeling a cracked and splintered edge of the piano's... he wasn't sure - the cover, maybe?  Or the soundboard? ... pierced him, stabbing deep into his back. 

The pain stunned him.  He stared blankly upwards, unable to breathe.

"Give me the piece," his mother demanded.  It sounded like she was further away than Lucifer knew she was.  Amenadiel had, after all, landed next to him, and he could see the blur of their mother’s wrathful form beside him.

"No, Mom," his brother said, oddly calm, considering.  "You'll have to kill me."

Lucifer's vision swam but he did, briefly, meet his Mother's eyes.  She looked back at Amenadiel.

"Then I guess I'll have to find another way, won't I," she said, the words ominous, a threat.  But, then she was walking away, and the crackling, frothy feeling in Lucifer's lungs gave way to a paroxysm of coughing.

He tasted blood.

"Oh, great suggestion, Luci,” Amenadiel bitched, unaware, as he picked himself up from the wreck.   He talked over Lucifer's coughing.    “Hell as a retirement home.  Maybe if you'd thrown in water aerobics and a pottery class, she'd've gone for it.”

Lucifer felt like he was drowning.  He couldn't breathe.  He croaked some sort of sound, and felt a mouthful of blood slide messily down his chin.

“Luci?  Luci!”  

Rough hands turned him over, and the – the whatever splintered piece of his piano it was, slipped out of him, the ragged end catching and tearing his flesh on the way out.  He choked on the pain.   

Ah, he thought.  The piano cover. 

The black lacquered wood gleamed with his blood.   Lucifer surveyed the ruined instrument and thought, annoyed, I just had that tuned.

But, then, the change in position set off another round of coughing, and Lucifer couldn't think of anything else at all over his need to draw air.

Amenadiel's hands pressed to the wound but Lucifer barely felt it.  His vision was narrowing out and, while he could hear the pleading tone of Amenadiel's voice, the words were just noise; distant and unimportant.

Lucifer's forehead rested on the floor.   He clumsily tried to push himself upright but all his effort accomplished was to flop his injured hand into his line of sight.

This feels quite a lot like dying, He thought.  

And, then: Oh.

Lucifer grit his teeth, trying to suck in air.  He couldn't die.  He had to get his mother away from the Detective.  He had to get her off of Earth.

But it was just so damn hard to breathe.

It didn't matter how hard he fought.

It didn't matter that lives were at stake.

Blood dribbled from his mouth as he rasped and sucked futilely, unable to draw in air.

Until he didn't have the strength to try, anymore.

Until his scrabbling fingers went slack against his polished floor.

The pinprick of his vision darkened, and the darkness swallowed him whole.

~*~

Lucifer died.

He detached himself from the weight and pain of his physical body, and the relief was disorienting. 

Everything spun dizzyingly.   The transition between Earth and Hell was never gentle, and that had been back when he'd been an angel.  Back when he'd had wings.

Lucifer opened his eyes, braced for the sight of Hell's familiar, burning landscape. 

The brightness made him blink in surprise.

He took a deep breath – partly for the satisfaction of being able to do so again at all, but also to verify with more senses what his eyes were telling him.

No reek of brimstone.

No constant raining fall of ash.

The Silver City gleamed behind the gate of Heaven, and Lucifer stared, and stared, and stared.

Until he remembered that, whatever mistake it was that allowed him to get back here, there was a city full of angels behind that gate that had the power to get to Earth and relocate Mum.  

Lucifer approached.   He could hear the distant murmured chorus of his siblings in song, and he shoved down, hard, at the pang that sent through his heart.

He laid his hand on the gate, and pushed.

It held fast.

Lucifer frowned, confused, and pushed harder.  It was like pushing at a solid wall.

And then it occurred to him – he'd been human when he died. 

Probably, they had a different procedure for entering.

He looked around, expecting to see...

Expecting to see Uriel.

Because Uriel delivered the welcoming speech as humans arrived.

No one was there and, with a cold stab of dread, Lucifer drew his hand back.

He didn't belong in Heaven.

This... this had to be a trick.  A Hell loop. 

He didn't even remember stumbling into it, but that wasn't unusual, either.   After enough time, human souls forgot everything but the endless loop of their self-imposed torments. 

And this... this emptiness, apparently, was meant to be Lucifer's punishment.  

He swallowed.

He closed his eyes.

Of course, he thought, and laughed bitterly.  The sound rang hollow in the empty space.

As if he would ever belong anywhere but Hell when he died.

The world spun sickeningly again.  Lucifer let the dizzy feeling take him.

He opened his eyes to the familiar crags and columns of Hell. 

The ash fell thick upon him.  The smell of the smoldering rocks choked the air.  The angelic choir was replaced by the long-familiar cries of the damned. 

Lucifer nodded, mouth twisted in angry acceptance.

He walked through the corridors.  The slow crunch, crunch, crunch of ash compressing under his footsteps was as steady as a metronome.

Lucifer had no particular destination in mind. 

The totality of his defeat left him feeling... empty.

He had lost.

He had lost... everything.

He clenched his hands tightly into fists, imagining how Hell would flood with new souls when the Goddess's human body gave out. 

He could imagine the Detective being there when it happened, far too easily.  She had such an incredible knack for being in the worst place at the worst time.

Lucifer swallowed past the lump in his throat.

And then she'd be gone, of course.   Off to Heaven.  

And Lucifer would never see her again, for the rest of his endless days.

He'd never see any of them again.

Mazikeen, if she was too close when it happened, would be snuffed out.  Just... gone. 

Lucifer walked on.  Behind their doors, souls screeched and gibbered with pain.  They begged for God's forgiveness, for His mercy. 

“Dad,” he said.  “I...”  Lucifer huffed a laugh.  “I have nothing to offer.  Nothing, really, to trade, but...”

He swallowed again, painfully.

“Please.  Please, send... someone.  Anyone.  To protect them.   Mum will... she'll...”

Lucifer turned the corner and, there, down the narrow corridor of rocks, stood the door to his mother's prison.

Or...

Lucifer stared, confused.

This is where it should have been.

He could feel it.  He knew the warp and weft of Hell down to his bones, and this hall of jagged stone had always before ended in her chained door.

The place where the door had been was smooth, blank rock. 

Her prison was gone.

“What?”  Lucifer said, uncomprehendingly. 

Behind him, faintly, he heard the sound of a piano.

A quiet, familiar melody, sliding out past one of the Hell-loop doors.

Ah.

Lucifer had been wondering when this door would find him.

He turned.

Through the crack of the door, he could see the warm, honeyed light of his penthouse at Lux. 

Lucifer's hands started to shake, even as he stepped forward, slowly, as if in a dream.

Just another human soul finding its place in Hell.

Lucifer felt a tear roll down his cheek.  He could taste the salt and ash as it passed over his lips. 

He had wanted to save them so badly. 

The music stopped.

Startled, so too did Lucifer's advancement forward.

Pale fingers gripped the frame of the door, pulling it open from the inside, and then Lucifer was confronted with the simulacrum of his brother.

Knowing it wasn't real didn't make it feel any less real.

Lucifer saw Uriel and his heart ached with sorrow.

Uriel frowned at him.

“You don't belong here,” Uriel said, his voice as flat and pedantic as always.

Then he slammed the door shut in Lucifer's face.

Lucifer had just a moment to blink it surprise before the world once again took a dizzying spin.

~*~

Lucifer gasped, coughing out the warm blood still pooled in his throat.

“Luci!  Lucifer!”  Amenadiel's hands on him were frantic.  Lucifer batted him away.

“Get off me,” he grouched, wheezing.

“Brother,” Amenadiel's eyes were wide. 

Lucifer pushed himself to his feet.   He spat another mouthful of blood to the ground, gracelessly, before pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his mouth.  

“Brother, are you – you're – you died!” Amenadiel was visibly shaken. 

“Yes,” Lucifer agreed.  He took a deep, rattling breath, and blew it out.

“How are you back?”

Lucifer met Amenadiel's eyes, and shook his head. 

“I don't know,” he said. 

“And you're okay?”   Amenadiel's hands, Lucifer noticed, were stained darkly with blood.  Lucifer's blood.  When he thought about it, he could feel it soaking the back of his shirt.  The cold and tacky feeling it left on his skin was remarkably gross.

But otherwise, he felt fine.

In fact...

Lucifer flexed his hands, surreptitiously checking.

“Yes,” he said slowly.  “It appears I'm quite altogether well.”

The little wound by his thumb was gone.  His bruises, he could feel, were gone.  The heaviness in his limbs was gone.

Lucifer's body thrummed with power.  With divinity.

He walked across the broken, scattered pieces of the piano and scooped up Azrael's blade and the buckle.

“We have to stop her,” Lucifer said, carefully pocketing the pieces.  “She's coming undone.  And she clearly doesn't care who she hurts anymore.”

His eyes snapped up to Amenadiel's, remembering what his mother had said before she'd thrown them.

“Linda -”

“I'll go after Linda,” Amenadiel said firmly.   “You go check on Mom.  She'll listen to you.  But Lucifer,” Amenadiel paused, waiting until Lucifer looked at him to continue.  “Don't promise her the other piece.  I won't give it to her.”

Amenadiel stalked off to the elevator and Lucifer followed, rolling his eyes angrily.  They were both going to the garage.

The silence as they rode down was beyond uncomfortable. 

“I haven't wings, brother,” Lucifer said.  The tightness of the scars across his back were so familiar he barely felt them anymore.  “How do you expect me to resolve this situation if I can't take her to Hell?  Do you want me to just... talk her into not exploding?”

Amenadiel jaw set in a stubborn line.

“Amenadiel, tell me where you've hidden it!”  Lucifer snapped.   “You have my word; I won't use it to get her into Heaven.   That plan is... it's off the table.  Now, please, Amenadiel.   Please, trust me.”

The elevator doors opened.

Amenadiel sighed.

“I gave it to Dan.”

“You -” Lucifer  goggled at him.  “You gave a celestial artifact to the douche?  You know what, I'll yell at you about that later.  Assuming there is a later.”  He stalked past Amenadiel and into his Corvette.   He'd head to the precinct.  At the rate things were going, there would probably be more burnt heads to follow like gruesome little breadcrumbs.

His phone rang as he climbed in.  The Detective's familiar picture flashed on his screen.

Well.

That had been even faster than he'd anticipated.

“Detective,” he greeted, voice filled with false cheer.  “Any chance you've seen my mu-”

“Looking for little old me?” his mother's voice came across the line, cutting him off.   “You were right, dear, your detective is... quite good.”   She laughed, and there was an edge to it.   “She caught me,” she added in a playful whisper.

Lucifer's blood ran cold.

“Where are you,” he said.

“Santa Monica pier.  It's such a beautiful place.   So many people.”

Lucifer could hear the murmur of carnival music behind her.   The sounds of children laughing, people talking, the clink and chime of the boardwalk games.

“If you hurt anyone – Mum, if you hurt her -” Anger twisted the words into nearly a shout.

“If you and your brother had just given me what I needed... but who knows?  Maybe you still can.”  The words were quiet, and the intent was clear. 

Help her conquer Heaven, or she'd kill them all.

“Mum!”  Lucifer yelled, despair lancing through him. 

But the line disconnected.  She had nothing else to say.

Lucifer dialed the precinct.

“Yes, hello, I need to find Detective Dou – ah, Esponioza.”

“May I ask who's calling?”

“Lucifer Morningstar.”

“Oh, Lucifer, hi!”  The voice chirped, then turned flirtatious.  “Dan's out with Detective Decker.  Is there anything I can -”

Lucifer hung up.

He turned the key in the ignition and tore out of the parking garage.

What a difference angelic reflexes made, he thought, weaving through the Los Angeles traffic.

Although it still wasn't enough to make the other cars disappear.  He slammed on the brakes angrily as a truck merged out in front of him. 

He growled and cut around the truck, hopping the curb slightly to do it.  As he passed the truck, he met the driver's gaze and, somewhat pettily, let his eyes flash with Hellfire.  The woman visibly recoiled.

Lucifer continued on.

It was a nearly half hour drive from Lux to the pier.  It gave Lucifer plenty of time to fret.

And to think.

What would he do when he got there? 

The Goddess couldn't go back to Heaven. 

But... her door being gone from Hell...

It had to mean something.

Lucifer had to have been sent back for a reason.

He heard the Detective's words echo in his head - going backwards isn't good for anyone.

Not Heaven.

Not Hell.

Lucifer's heart pounded as an idea occurred to him.  Maybe... maybe, he'd found the way forward.

“Bloody Hell, I hope this works,” he said to himself, and stamped on the gas.

~*~

Santa Monica pier was, as always, a crowded throng of people, even this close to sunset.  Lucifer's long legs and determination let him cover a lot of ground quickly, and he eventually spotted Dan loitering by the carousel.   Good, that worked.  Lucifer needed to find him first anyway.

Lucifer slid the buckle onto the blade and approached.

“Hello, Daniel,” Lucifer said.

“Woah!  Woah!”  Dan jumped back and away from Lucifer.  “She kissed me!”

“Literally no idea what you're talking about,” Lucifer said impatiently.   “Just get your hands up.”

Dan's hands went to his gun holster.

“Oh now don't be silly – I'm not going to stab you!”   Honestly.   “I'm just looking for something.  Come on.  Up.  Up!”

“You're covered in blood!”  Dan accused, but he did lift up his hands.

“Yes,” Lucifer spared a brief glance down at his shirt.  It was rather ruined.  The back, he was sure, looked even worse.   “Not to worry, though; it's mine.”  He went back to skimming the sword through the space in front of Dan, looking for the piece. 

“Ah-ha!” He said triumphantly, as the front of Dan's jeans poked forward.   And, he thought ruefully, wasn't that a thing he'd never think again.

“Woah – what- woah woah woah woah!”  The other man protested as Lucifer dove his long fingers into Dan's pocket and fished for the piece.

“Ha!”  He pulled out the familiar silver pendant.   It was heavier than Lucifer had thought it would be, and he wondered how Dan hadn't noticed it. 

“What is -?” Dan started.

“It's my brother's.  He left it there for safe keeping.  Thanks for that.  You're a life saver,” he said, and tapped Dan on the chest with the flat of the blade before spinning on his heel and back into the press of people. 

His eyes scanned crowd.   Families and couples and loose children sprinting about.  He saw a little girl holding a stuffed, red, caricature of a devil and frowned at it.  Over the girl’s shoulder, he spotted a familiar blonde head.  He skittered to a stop, taking in the scene.

The Detective’s shoulders were squared, her back stiff and straight, and it contrasted sharply with the languid, easy way his mother was holding herself.   She was indulging the Detective, playing along with this show of being caught for murder. 

And the Detective, of course, had no idea how completely the Goddess was out of her weight class.

“Mum!”  Lucifer shouted across to them, and they both turned.  “I’ve got it.  Now let the Detective go.”

“Lucifer, put down the knife,” Chloe ordered.  “You can’t protect your mother anymore.”

“I’m not protecting her.  It’s you I’m trying to save.  Now, here it is, Mum.  I have the blade and the final piece.  Let the Detective go.”

“Let me go?  Really?  I’m the one holding her,” the Detective said, incredulous.  It would have been adorable if Lucifer’s heart wasn’t pounding.

The Goddess had proved herself to be unpredictable. 

“Lucifer…” Chloe’s voice caught, and she took an aborted step forward.  “What have you – are you hurt?”

She’d seen the blood on his shirt.

“Not anymore,” he insisted.  “And it’s not the time.  Mum, please.”

The Goddess frowned at him, eyes darting from the bloodstains back to his face, confusion creasing her features.

“No one’s going anywhere!”

An unwelcome new voice added itself to the mix. 

“Oh,” his mother said, unbothered.  “I think we found our mystery killer.”

“How can you be so glib?!”  The man yelled.  “You were our lawyer!  You betrayed us!”

For not the first time, Lucifer wished his mother had occupied instead the body of an office temp, or a sanitation worker.  Charlotte Richards was perhaps a more appropriate choice, but her clientele was violent and volatile, and exactly what Lucifer didn’t need right now. 

The man pointed a gun at “Charlotte” and Lucifer’s mouth went dry.

“Put the gun down, Hector,” the Detective said, her own firearm brought up to bear in a blink.

Hector didn’t waver.

“Thank you for leading me to her, Detective. You promised to approach this fairly, and you did. But now I have to make things right for my family.”

This was spiraling out of control fast.

“Ah!  A little wrinkle!”  Lucifer said.  His mother was between himself and Hector.  There was no way he’d be able to shield her.  “If you shoot her, we’re all dead, okay?”

Hector gave him an incredulous look.

“Look,” he said.  “It’s difficult to explain, but believe me when I say that there are many, many, lives at stake here.  So, please, just put the gun down, ey?”

Lucifer tried to catch Hector’s eye.  If he could distract the man with pulling out his desires, it might give the Detective time and opportunity to disarm him and at least neutralize that threat.

Hector’s attention shifted.  Movement behind Lucifer.  Detective Espinoza, with his shiny badge and gun, appearing at the worst possible moment.

Hector refocused his aim on his mother and fired the gun.

“No!”  Lucifer cried.  He sprinted forward, like he could outrun a bullet, desperate to stop the inevitable from happening.

Except… the inevitable didn’t happen.

The world fell quiet.  The skittering movements of the onlookers ducking for cover slowed to a molasses crawl.  Birds flapped their wings in long, drawn-out beats.

Time had slowed.

“Amenadiel,” he breathed.  “You son of a bitch.”

“Amenadiel,” his mother echoed.  She stepped forward across the pier and plucked the bullet out of the air.  She twisted it in her fingers.  

Lucifer looked at her.  One way or another, these would be his last moments with his mother.

Lucifer slide the final piece into the sword, letting himself feel the imminent heartbreak.   He could feel the blade respond.  With a soft whumpf of igniting flame, the blade tripled in length, shimmering with celestial power.

The Goddess dropped the bullet and turned to him.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” Lucifer said around the lump in his throat.  “I’m afraid this ends now.   You’ve hurt so many people.   It has to stop.”

She took a step towards him.

“You know that everything I’ve done,”  she said.  “I’ve done for… for us.  For our family.”   Her eyes were imploring.

“For us?”  he repeated.  “Mum, you killed me.”

Her mouth went slack with shock.

“What?”  She pushed into his space, ignoring the sword, and ran her hands over his chest.  The blood was tacky, not quite completely dry.  She met his eyes, horrified.

“How?”

“You threw me into a piano, Mum,” he said.  His mouth twisted. “I was having a vulnerability issue at the time.  And you knew Amenadiel was fallen.   It's just a coincidence that he landed better.”

Her hand ghosted up to touch his cheek.  He could read regret in her expression.

He pulled back.  The sword was heavy in his hands, and both of their attentions were drawn back to it.

She huffed a small, humorless laugh.

“Look at you.  My Light Bringer.”   Tears broke and rolled down her cheeks.  “Your father brought you back, didn’t He.”

It wasn’t a question. 

She swallowed. 

“Then I’m glad.  I’m glad.  Now, we can get back to Heaven.   We can go home.”

“I’m not leaving, Mum.”

Her lip trembled.

“Then give me the sword, Lucifer.  Just give it to me, and I’ll do the rest.  Please, son.  I just… I just want a chance to start over.”

“But… Going home?   That’s not starting over, Mum.  That’s… that’s going backwards.  And that’s not good for anyone.”

He raised the sword.   She flinched, but didn’t step away. 

“So it’s time to move forward, Mum.”   His throat was tight, and he realized that he, too, was crying.  “Even if it means I’ll never see you again.”

Because despite all of it… despite all of the hurt she had caused…

She still loved him.  She was still his mother.

And Lucifer still loved her.

The sword thrummed with power and Lucifer poured all of his pain and desire into it.  All of his intent, and his need, and he brought the sword slashing down.

He felt pressure against the blade as it ripped through the material of existence.  The world parted easily, really.  Like sliding a razor through silk.

The black, gaping maw bled brightly around the edges.

“Bloody Hell, it worked,” he said, astonished, almost sick with relief.  He looked at the sword approvingly.  “I guess it can cut through anything.  Even the world itself.”

“What is that?”  His mother asked, voice trembling.

“It’s… it’s nothing,” Lucifer said.  His heart hurt – an early, shaky tremor of grief.  A precursor to the loss he’d set in motion.

“Nothing?” 

“At least for now,” he said.   He gestured at the blackness.  “This is the real way to move forward, Mum.  To create a whole new world.  Your own world.  Without Father.  Without Hell.”

“But what about you?  Amenadiel?”  Her voice broke.  “What about my children?”

“Amenadiel is right, Mum.  If we go back to Heaven, there will be a war.  And in war, there are always casualties.”

Her glistening eyes dropped to his bloodstained shift.   He inclined his head. 

“I’m sorry, Lucifer.”

“I know, Mum.”  He took a breath and gestured to the gently pulsing rip in the world.  “Now, please.  Let there be light.”

She gave a small, shaky laugh, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.  She reached forward and cupped his face in both her hands.  Lucifer leaned into the touch, and he forgave her.

“My angel.  I will miss you,” she exhaled, and Lucifer could hear the pain in her voice. “I will miss you so much.”

There were so many things that Lucifer wanted to tell her.  

He wasn’t ready to lose her.

And then she stretched out her hand to the blackness.  Her eyes slid shut, and she let go of Charlotte Richards’ body.  

The golden light poured from her and through the maw - slowly at first, and then all at once.

And she was gone.   Charlotte’s body dropped to the pier with a quiet ‘thump.’

Lucifer swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

He removed the key from the sword and shoved both the blade and the buckle into the darkness after her.  There was power in both.  They didn’t belong on Earth and, perhaps, his mother could use them where she was going.

The maw closed.  The wound in the world cauterized itself and vanished.

Lucifer stared at the crumpled form of Charlotte Richards. 

He sank to his knees on the hard, wooden pier, and breathed through the grief.

Around him, the world sped back into motion.

The carnival music was obscene, in this moment, and Lucifer was almost glad when it was broken by the report of the Detective’s gun.

Hector’s body dropped.

Lucifer didn’t even look up.

“Charlotte!”

Dan rushed into Lucifer’s line of sight.  He crouched beside Charlotte’s body, hands skimming to look for the wound, to check her pulse.

“I’m sorry, Daniel,” Lucifer said blankly.  “She didn’t-”

His mother coughed.  She dragged in a ragged breath and sat up.

“Mum?”  A baffled, small kernel of hope bloomed in him. 

“‘Mom’?”  she echoed.  She recoiled away from Dan, staring at the both of them.   “My kids are…ten.”

“Right,” Lucifer said, and that hope died.  “Of course.  Charlotte.”

Lucifer pushed himself to his feet. 

“What is… what’s going on?  Why am I at the pier?” 

“You were shot at,” Lucifer said.  He looked away from her, unable to bear that familiar face.  “Perhaps you hit your head when you took cover.” 

Lucifer picked up the bullet that his mother had plucked from the air, discretely pocketing it.   He was glad she'd curiously pulled the bullet out of its trajectory - with as many people as there were milling around, who knew where the bullet would have gone otherwise.

“I was..?” 

“It’s okay.  I’ve got you,” Daniel said.

“Who are you?” 

Lucifer couldn’t stand it anymore.  He walked away, leaving Daniel to deal with Charlotte.

“Lucifer.”

The Detective’s voice called him to a stop.

She had holstered her gun.  The pier’s security had arrived in a rush and uniformed police were trickling in to cordon off the scene.  Hector’s body lay on the ground.

“That’ll be a lot of paperwork,” Lucifer observed. 

“Lucifer, are you okay?  What happened?  Where’s the knife?”

“It’s gone,” Lucifer said. 

“Are you okay?”  she asked again.  Her voice was gentle.  Her hands, when she reached for him, were gentle, and in that moment, it was too much like his mother.  It was too painful.

Lucifer pulled back.  He turned and started walking away, but the Detective’s hand on his elbow halted him again.

“Your back – Lucifer!”

Her fingers pushed through the hole in his jacket, through the hole in his shirt, and ran her fingers along his skin where the bit of piano cover had stabbed through his ribs.

Her fingers skated over his scars, and he jolted away from the contact.  He spun to face her again, protecting his back.

“I’m fine!”  He insisted. 

His voice sounded rough, terrible. 

He drew in a shaky breath.

“I’m uninjured, Detective.  I assure you.”

“Maybe,” she said.  Her eyes searched his face, and he looked away.  “But you’re not fine, Lucifer.   Talk to me.  Please.  What happened?” 

Lucifer looked across the pier to Dan and Charlotte, briefly, before his eyes skittered away.  He walked over to the pier railing and leaned against it, looking out across the sand and the waves and the setting sun. 

Chloe settled next to him, a quiet, solid presence.

She didn’t push. 

Eventually, her phone rang and she answered it.  She rattled off the case details.  Probably the lieutenant, then.  She agreed to come in and make an official statement about discharging her weapon as soon as they finished up here.

When she concluded the call, though, she didn’t move away.

The sun set.  The last, radiant golden glow of burning light made his throat tight.

Lucifer took out his own phone.

A message from Mazikeen.  Linda was in the hospital.  Injured, but stable.   

He breathed out a sigh of relief.

He sent a text to Amenadiel.  Chloe subtly leaned closer, probably trying to read over his shoulder, but Lucifer was confident that the string of emojis he sent explaining what had happened would be incomprehensible to her.

Paramedics arrived at the scene, and forensics. 

Chloe was pulled away to talk to them, but put her hand on Lucifer’s shoulder before she left, giving him a little squeeze.  The compassion in her expression made him look away.

Hector’s body was removed.

Charlotte Richards was loaded into an ambulance and escorted away, Detective Espinoza in tow.  Nothing quite like coming back from the dead to make one wobbly and disoriented, even without the evident memory loss.

There were too many people, here, too many blinking lights and loud voices.  Lucifer wandered down to the beach to escape.

The dry sand made for difficult footing as he walked out.  The Oxfords weren’t really made for this.  He paid it no mind.

Chloe joined him after a while.

He could tell it was her without turning around, just from the way she walked up to him.

“What do you think will happen to Charlotte?”  Lucifer asked as she approached.  

They both looked out over the waves. 

“Given her law firm’s track record, probably not much.”

“Oh?”

“Ella found a blowtorch in Hector’s car.  You know, the more I think about it, the more I think Hector killed both victims.”

“You think he killed his own brother?”

“I’d’ve thought you’d be the first to agree,” she looked down at his ruined shirt.  “Things between families can get pretty heated.”

“This was…” Lucifer plucked at the stiff fabric.  He sighed.  “It was an accident.   And it’s rather beside the point, now.  I’m... I'll be fine.”

She gave him a long, considering look.

“The thing I don’t understand,” she said.  “Is that you seemed to have some kind of inkling of this from the very beginning.   Why didn’t you let me in on it?” 

Lucifer shifted his weight.  The sand scratched at his ankles.  He offered her a helpless shrug.

“At this point, Lucifer, you either trust me or you don’t.”  The Detective’s tone was gentle, but firm.

“Detective, I do trust you,” he said.  “I just…”  The words stuck in his throat. 

Chloe touched her fingers, lightly, to Lucifer’s wrist.  When he didn’t pull away, she took his hand in hers.

“I trust you, too, Lucifer.  Look, if you think I wouldn’t forgive you for your mistakes or your flaws – if you think that I don’t know who really are by now… you’re wrong.”  

Her hand was warm.  The bones felt so delicate and breakable in his hand.  

“Detective…”  He said, breathlessly.

“I don’t know what happened to you today,” she said.  “But I’m here for you, Lucifer, if you need me.”

She tugged him closer, her head tipped up, and it was such an easy thing to close the distance and allow the kiss to happen.

The contact was sweet, and emotional, and brief.  Really, nothing sexy about it at all.  Just a press of her lips to his, but it still made his heart thump heavily in his chest.

She drew back gently.

“I need to go make my statement.  And you should probably go get cleaned up.”  She tapped her fingers on his stained shirt.

“But Lucifer.  Please.  Don’t shut me out.  Okay?”

She held his eyes until he acquiesced with a nod.

He watched her walk away.

The wind blowing in from the ocean ruffled his hair. 

He stared across the water for another few moments.  The reflection of the moon licked across the waves, making little points that almost looked like starlight. 

Lucifer walked back to his car.

His shirt and jacket were filthy and stained, and the Detective was right – he really should go home and change.  Or, given the increasingly late hour, simply call it a day.

Instead, he drove to the hospital.

At the front reception, he was directed to Linda’s room in ICU.

Lucifer spotted Mazikeen before he registered the room numbers.

The demon was leaning against the wall outside the door.  She was regarding the hospital floor with a thousand-yard stare, but looked up as Lucifer approached.

Her mascara was smeared.  Her hair was unruly, and there was blood down the front of her shirt.  

The snarl she sent his way negated any perceived sign of weakness.

“Tell me that bitch is dead!”  She demanded.

She pushed herself away from the wall and stalked up to Lucifer, her karambit knives appearing in her hands with a soft snickt of displaced air.

“Tell me you ended her, or sent her back to Hell so that I can end her!”

“Mazikeen-”

“Linda barely survived,” Maze said, clenching her teeth.   “If Amenadiel hadn’t… she would have died, Lucifer.”

Maze stepped right up into his space, leaning close and hissing.  “So you tell me that your mother paid for it.”

“Maze, stop!”

She flashed her teeth at him but, obligingly, took a step back. 

“She’s gone,” Lucifer said.  “She’s… she’s gone.”

Perhaps it was the tone of his voice. 

Mazikeen took another step back.  Her eyes raked across him, frowning at the bloodstains.

“What…?”

Lucifer sighed.

“It’s a long story.  Please, Mazikeen.  Not today.”

She inhaled, a question on the tip of her tongue, but exhaled without asking.  She closed her mouth and nodded firmly.

“How is Linda doing?”  he asked.

“Sleeping, last I checked.  They had to sew her up.  She has tubes in her.   But the doctors say she’ll recover.  I will stay with her.”

She handed an object to Lucifer.  The doctor’s glasses, he realized.

“She was upset, that she’d talked.  I don’t think she understands torture.  She feels guilty for betraying you.  Fix it.”

He exchanged a long look with Maze.  Neither of them need to say how awful it would have been if this had weighed on her soul, and the wounds had been mortal.  The thought sickened him.

“I will,” Lucifer said.

Dr. Martin’s hospital room was dimly lit.  The antiseptic smell tickled his nose. 

Her arm and throat sported visible bandages.  Her face was pale and waxy in this light, and the oddity of seeing her without her glasses was nearly as jarring as the oxygen tube taped under her nose.

“Look at you,” he breathed.

He’d thought she was sleeping but, at his words, her eyes cracked open.

“Lucifer,” she said, her voice a quiet rasp.  She smiled.  “I’m okay.”

He sat heavily in the chair beside her bed.

“This is my fault.  I- I should never have gotten you involved in any of this.”

“It's not like I didn't know I was dealing with the most powerful, well...”  She gave him a teasing look.  “The most dysfunctional family in the universe.”

Lucifer's throat tightened.  He struggled, trying to find the words to apologize for this, but it seemed too large. 

“Lucifer,” Linda said, and her gaze on him was kind.  “I walked into this with my eyes wide open, chose to be your friend and face all that comes with that. The good, the bad and the crispy.”

Lucifer looked away. 

How could she say that, after what had just happened to her?

But Lucifer knew what a lie sounded like, and the doctor had been sincere in her words.

She wanted to be Lucifer’s friend, having seen the very worst of him.  Having suffered for being close to him.

She chose him anyway.

“What?” Linda prodded. 

He sighed.  “I just realized something that I need to do.”

The Detective’s words on the beach played back in his head.  He thought again about the kiss.

It was time, he realized.

Time to let her know the whole truth.  To show it to her. 

Lucifer realized that he was ready to make that leap. 

Linda’s eyes twinkled at him, perhaps, with her expertise, seeing through him and understanding what he’d just decided to do. 

He smiled at her, gently, and stood to put her glasses back on her face.

They sat askew, and she smiled at him even more.

“But... Let's focus on you, shall we?” he said. 

He reached out, and she turned her palm up to hold his hand, a grateful look passing across her face.

“I forgive you, Linda.  I know that you would never have betrayed me, had you the choice.  Whatever you told her – whatever confidences she forced from you, I don’t hold you responsible.  So please.  Please.  Accept my forgiveness.  You were not at fault.”

The doctor’s mouth trembled.  A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Thank you, Lucifer,” she said quietly. 

She cleared her throat.

“I should.   I should probably rest,” she said.

“Of course,” Lucifer agreed, politely looking away. 

Before he turned to go, though, he bent and kissed her brow. 

“A speedy recovery,” he murmured.  “I am going to need so much therapy after this.”  

She shook her head at him, but her lips were curled in a small grin.  He counted it as a victory.

~*~

Lucifer walked out of the hospital and headed towards the parking area.  The cool, night breeze tickled in through the hole in his jacket and played along his skin. 

He eyed the Detective’s profile picture on his phone for a long, long moment, before committing to the decision.  He dialed.

It was a bit anticlimactic when he was directed to voicemail, but, feeling oddly buoyed, he pressed on.

“Detective,” he said.  “Hello, it’s me.  Lucifer.  Um, I just wanted to apologize for being, well.  For being so elusive.  But I also want to say that I’m done hiding.  I trust you.  So.”

He cleared his throat.

“I’m coming over now to tell you the truth about me.  Because I think it’s time I finally opened your eyes as to why strange things sometimes happen around me.  Why my brother’s so saintly.  And Maze is so…” He smirked.  “Not.  And why I’m so, well, magnetic.”  He laughed.

“No, but… seriously.  I… I want to tell you everything.   No more going backwards.”

And he smiled.

-End-