Chapter Text
There weren’t many things nowadays that were a first for Lucifer Morningstar, after being alive for a millennia or two, but he had to admit he’d never been inside FBI Headquarters in Quantico before. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised at the sheer level of security because... well... it’s the FBI, but dear Dad he hadn’t realized he’d spend so much time being searched and questioned.
Just as he got through the final metal detector check, his phone began to ring inside the plastic bucket he’d chucked it in for the x-ray.
“Sorry,” he said with a charming smile to the security officer watching him, who just sort of grunted as he reached over and pulled it out.
The name Detective was displayed on the screen. He sighed. Knowing this call was inevitable, he answered it and put the phone to his ear.
“Detective,” Lucifer called, trying to inject as much calm into his voice as possible, deciding playing dumb could be the best course of action, “I’m afraid if we have a case at the moment, I'm a little... indisposed.”
“ Uh, yeah, I heard! Please enlighten me as to why I just got off the phone with Linda telling me that you’ve flown to the other side of the country?! What the hell are you doing in Virginia?!”
He grimaced. “Ah. Yes, well there is something of an emergency that I've got to take care of. I didn’t want to worry you but don’t fret I'm sure I'll be back in no time.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few beats.
“... Is this something... celestial-related?” the Detective asked, her voice lowering to a whisper, “ Do I need to be worried about the- the safety of humanity as we know it or something like that?”
“No,” he said, but then paused, “Well actually, maybe. I’m not entirely sure. You remember our pals from the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit? I handed Dr Reid my number before they all left in case of emergencies and whatnot, and he gave me a ring last night sounding really quite frantic and saying they need my ‘expertise’, whatever that means. So, I've just popped over to do what I can.”
Again, more silence for a beat.
“ So... you don’t actually know what’s going on or why the FBI needs your help?”
“ ...Well, no I suppose I don’t,” he realized, “And I actually don’t even know if this is FBI-related, it could just be Dr Reid’s personal problems. Though I doubt that, actually.”
“ Oh... Okay. Well then, uh, be careful I guess,” she said awkwardly, “ A-and let me know if you need my help or anything.”
“ Of course,” said Lucifer, “And, erm, you too Detective. Be careful.”
As the dial tone beeped, he winced at the clunky mess their conversations had become. It was getting better, slowly, repairing after he told her about his true nature, but still pretty far from where it had been. Though, as Linda reminded him quite frequently, the truth is almost always better in the long run.
After gathering all his personal belongings and asking the same not very friendly security officer where he might find Dr Spencer Reid, Lucifer hopped inside an elevator and headed up. Once it opened again, he was met with two large glass doors that led into a bullpen, which he had been instructed to walk through. He pushed them open, stepping through and casting a glance around the room in search of the curly mop of hair and sweater vests that he seemed to remember.
“Y’know, under any other circumstances I would be pretty happy to see you. I mean, twice in one year, that’s gotta be a record or something.”
Turning towards the sound, Lucifer saw David Rossi approaching him.
“Dave,” he greeted with a smile, “Well since I have no clue what’s going on yet or why I'm here, I'll say that I am very happy to see you.”
Rossi’s brow furrowed. “You don’t know? Did the kid really not explain anything on the phone?”
“No,” said Lucifer, shaking his head, “Only that you needed me over here, and he sounded panicked enough that I thought I ought to come. That and the fact it would be an excuse to see my favorite federal agents again.”
Sending him a half-hearted smile, Rossi seemed still partially lost in thought. “I’m gonna be honest, I'm not quite sure why he was so insistent on you coming here, I mean you live on the other side of the country and there are no doubt other people closer who-”
“Rossi!” came the voice of Emily Prentiss from the other side of the bullpen, leaning over the railing, “Roundtable. You too, Morningstar!” she added as she turned away, not waiting for them and ducking inside the roundtable room.
“Lovely to see you too, Agent Prentiss,” he murmured, though amusement tugged at his lips.
“We’re all just stressed,” explained Rossi, then nodded his head forwards, “C’mon, we better go.”
He followed the older man over into a room with, sure enough, a roundtable in the middle and a large screen in front of it. Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau and who he knew must be Penelope Garcia were all seated around the table. The only person that was missing was—
“Hotch’s been taken hostage,” said Dr Reid, who was staring up at him with wide eyes.
Oh .
“...I see,” he said, not sure what else to say.
“Sorry,” Spencer apologized, “I just- since I forgot to actually say what’s wrong on the phone I thought- well I thought I should tell you as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” Lucifer nodded to himself, still more than a little confused, "And I am obviously very concerned for our dear Unit Chief and will do everything I possibly can to help you find him now that I’m here but... I must agree with Dave, I'm just a little lost as to why I am here. Surely there are agents who are far more qualified than I am to help...?”
“Uh, I- I’d say you’re here because of this,” said Penelope Garcia, clicking something on the computer in front of her, and an image was pulled up on the screen on the wall.
A picture of Aaron Hotchner, without a shirt, bound and gagged yet somehow the same stoic and calm he always seemed to be, staring determinedly into the camera, appeared on the screen. He had a black eye and a few cuts littering his face and arms- but on the left side of his chest, above where his heart would be, was the thing that made Lucifer’s eyes widen.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath.
In stark contrast to the pale of his skin, crudely carved into Hotch’s flesh was a design that looked similar to an upside-down triangle with flourishes underneath it, about the size of Lucifer’s hand.
Dr Reid cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s the-”
“The Sigil of Lucifer,” he interrupted softly, eyes unable to move from it. “I’m quite familiar...” Lucifer then sighed, rubbing his hands together. “Yes, well... I suppose you called the right person.”