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Anyone who owned a bar, nightclub, pub, saloon, or other such similar establishment across the known universe, stood a better than average chance of a visit from Jack Harkness eventually. He liked these places—not just for their variety of intoxicating substances, nor the chance of meeting a willing companion for an evening (or a few days, depending on how they got on), but for the general camaraderie. Across time and space and cultures, bars were there, standing ready to drown sorrows and celebrate victories alike. For a man like Jack, so untethered from his original time and place, anything constant would always be a blessing.
All this to say that Jack would have been drawn to Lux as much as any other nightclub, but the fact that the establishment was run by a devil himself made things a little more interesting. He stepped inside the opulent building, and was grateful to escape from the Los Angeles heat and humidity radiating back off every man-made surface long after the sun had set on this July night.
As Jack settled in at the bar to order a drink, he flirted with the bartenders on autopilot. There was a pair of them on duty, objectively attractive, but all Jack could really see about them was how young and alive they were.
He downed the drink and opened a tab, before he speedily relinquished the barstool to the next patron. Jack didn't get more than a handful of steps before he heard, "That's an awful waste of a quality drink," in a polished English accent. Jack turned and found himself face-to-face with the impeccably-dressed devil. "Lucifer Morningstar, proprietor. Don't believe we've met."
"Jack Harkness, hello." To Jack, his introduction sounded the same as it always did, but it lacked its usual effect. Instead of disarming Lucifer, he seemed to scrutinize Jack even more closely, staring him down with a Doctor-like intensity.
Lucifer reached out and grabbed Jack under his chin. Lucifer tugged, turning Jack's head to the left, then to the right, then tipped it up and down as well. It wasn't the first time Jack had been inspected like this, though he was usually tossed in a prison of some kind first. "Changed your name or your face?" Lucifer asked.
"Guilty as charged," Jack replied, though the words were distorted by the tight grip Lucifer had on his face.
"Of which one?" Lucifer frowned as he released his hold on Jack.
Wincing, Jack worked his facial muscles back and forth until everything was back in its usual place. "You know, I'd normally ask for a drink first."
"You've already squandered one, as I said. Answer the question."
Normally such an order would chafe Jack, but it wasn't as though this was protected information. "Both, as it happens. Why does it matter to you?" Jack wondered if he had met Lucifer before in one of those inaccessible gaps in his past, but dismissed the idea. The look on Lucifer's face was frustration, not recognition.
"Because you're out of place," Lucifer all-but-whined, "Not only in that unseasonably warm coat, but with the aggressive pheromones."
Jack grinned. "How kind of you to notice." Truthfully, he was just a fraction impressed. No one belonging to this century ever did. Then again, if Lucifer Morningstar was who he claimed to be, that wasn't a fair comparison at all.
"That's not all. It's your—"
"General aura," Jack suggested, and Lucifer's pinched face told Jack that he was used to finishing other people's sentences, not the other way around. He seemed to recover from the slight quickly.
"No, it's your eyes," Lucifer corrected, "You can tell so much about someone by their eyes." His gaze locked on Jack's. "Jack Harkness, what is it you truly desire?"
Jack knew mind control and telepathy. It could be clumsy and clawing, lashing out like a bladed weapon. This was the kind someone like the Master preferred—maximum torment and minimum subtlety. Adam's more sinister brand left just that lingering unease as it trampled through the mind, twisting precious memories in its wake. The command emanating from Lucifer was artful. Gently coaxing at the answer, like an expert angler with a prize fish on the line, reeling it in across neurons and synapses and down to Jack's lips.
With some difficulty—no, not difficulty, reluctance; clearly Lucifer's power made it so subjects genuinely wanted to answer—Jack snapped the mental line anyway. "Usually my privacy," Jack answered honestly, even though that wasn't the answer he'd been about to give.
Lucifer's head tilted, appraising again, Jack guessed. "Usually, but not tonight."
"No," Jack agreed. "I wanted the answer to that question, just as much as you do."
Jack felt the force against his mind tick up, as Lucifer asked, "Then why stop me?"
Again the truth tumbled out. "I think I'm afraid, not of what the answer will be, but of all the answers I don't choose." Should he want someone back? Or some kind of do-over? There were too many losses, too many regrets. What if all he wanted was to die? Was that cowardly, selish, merciful? Or perhaps he'd ask for all his missing memories. If so, he hoped he liked what he would find.
The power faded as abruptly as it had begun. Jack shook himself out. Lucifer frowned at him. "If that's true, then come back in the morning."
"Why?"
At that Lucifer shooed him, waving his long fingers. "I've had a long day. Important unwinding to do. Besides, it's crowded in here."
As if to underscore the point, a young woman collided with Jack's right side. He stumbled a step and pivoted to catch her. By the time Jack steadied her on her feet again, Lucifer was gone, swept away by the crowd that Jack had all but forgotten for as long as they'd been talking.
Lucifer kept half an eye on Jack as the man got another drink, and thankfully, consumed it slower this time. He noticed that when Jack joined in the general revelry it swirled around him, leaving him set apart.
Lucifer was busy when the other man eventually left, which would have been disappointing had Jack not returned a handful of hours later. Considerately, Jack arrived before the start of the Detective's usual day, and so Lucifer had not yet been called to a murder. Jack had a greasy paper bag in one hand and a cardboard tray of coffee in the other.
"Lucifer, I brought breakfast," Jack called as he came through. Lucifer met him by the door and led the way to a table, as Jack continued, "The two shorter ones are unsweetened black coffee, and the taller one's a mocha latte, you seemed like you might like chocolate."
They sat down and Jack unpacked the bag, two thick cheesy egg sandwiches and a cup of fried potato rounds.
"I accept your coffee," Lucifer said, taking the latte, "but the rest is an insult to decent food."
Jack tossed one of the potato bits in the air and caught it in his mouth. "They're pretty good actually. Do Devils even eat?"
"Devil is not a race, you know. I'm The Devil. The one and only."
"Angels are, but you don't refer to yourself that way. And there are definitely other devils."
I'm The Devil," Lucifer repeated, beginning to regret inviting Jack in.
"I'm pretty sure they all say that." Jack picked up the cup of potato rounds and poured a few directly into his mouth.
An irritated Lucifer sipped more coffee. "Not that debating theology isn't endlessly fascinating, but would you mind getting to the point? Any minute now someone might get murdered."
Jack raised his eyebrows at that, but otherwise didn't enquire. After a minute of chewing a mouthful of sandwich, he shrugged. "I guess I'm bored. Drifting, aimless. Afraid of where I'll end up if this goes on."
"Fear is my brother's department. I don't think I can help you, Mr. Harkness."
Jack set aside his food. "Your trick, your power, whatever you call it."
"I prefer mojo."
Jack acknowledged that with a nod. "I thought it might give me some direction."
"Boredom is rarely a fatal condition. Get a hobby. Find a date," Lucifer huffed dismissively.
"Believe me, it's a little more complicated than that."
Lucifer had been prepared to say something flippant about how all mortals thought they were special, when he caught his error. There was an ancient weight to Jack's eyes. Somehow, he'd been cursed like Cain. "You're immortal. Don't bother to lie. It's not a question."
Jack shrugged that off. "Would it make a difference?"
"No, but it does help me understand why you're here." Lucifer deflated. "Your trust is flattering, but mojo, it isn't what you think."
Jack looked startled. "Don't tell me that you're just some kind of Derren Brown."
"No. That wasn't what I meant. It's real power. But the question, your heart's desire, isn't an absolute. It's not guaranteed to provide any insight. If I asked when you were hungry enough, say on your way to pick up that breakfast, you might have answered, "I want a ham-and-egg sandwich."
"Really?"
Lucifer nodded. "And that wouldn't be life-changing unless you had a strong religious prohibition."
"Or were vegan. Dammit." Lucifer watched the hope drain from the other man, as he methodically rewrapped what remained of the sandwich, blowing out the remainder of his spirit alongside a lungful of air. "Sorry to have bothered you. Enjoy the coffee."
Jack moved to get up and Lucifer set a hand on Jack's arm. "Wait. There's no reason we can't give it a go and see."
Jack settled again. "All right. Thank you."
"Not a problem." Lucifer smiled. "Just try fighting it a little less, if you would."
Jack nodded, relaxed further in his seat. "Ready."
"All right. What do you—"
The phone rang, interrupting the moment.
"I think that's yours," Jack said.
Lucifer pulled his phone out of his pocket, so it was. "Detective!" he greeted brightly.
"Hi Lucifer. I sent you an address. Check it out and let me know how soon you can get down here."
"That depends." Lucifer didn't even bother to check the text. "Can I bring a friend?"
"If she can stay out of the way, fine."
"I don't think he'll present any problem." Lucifer glanced at Jack, inviting him to comment.
"I have investigative experience," Jack offered, loudly enough to be picked up by the phone. "And I respect the jurisdictional authority of the Los Angeles Police."
A sigh came over the other end of the line. "Great, another one of you," she muttered. "Please, just get here."
"As ordered, Detective." He saluted the phone with his free hand, which drew a chuckle out of Jack. "See you soon." Lucifer disconnected the call, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and turned to Jack. "Your mystery will have to wait, a more pressing one calls."
"I understand. You did warn me, after all."
"You're an awfully good sport. Fancy solving a murder? It often cheers me up."
Jack grinned toothily, tucking his breakfast into his pockets. "Sounds like fun, as long as you'll mojo me again later."
"And if that doesn't work, I have a few other suggestions. I do love a pretty puzzle." Lucifer looked Jack over. "But I insist you make better conversation on the way there."
"Done. I have plenty of suggestions. We can discuss your detective friend."
"That won't entertain me at all. Start with how you became immortal."
"Not even the Lord of Hell would believe me." Jack shook his head.
"Try me. We're in for a long drive."
"If you insist. It all started when an English Rose dropped out of the sky..."