Chapter Text
Lucifer’s couch is gone.
The Italian leather settee sits tucked carefully into an invisible pocket of the universe, concealed between two moments. His side tables and rolled-up rug join the armchairs to make the sliver of nothing just outside creation look like the back of a U-Haul truck. But it’s just a temporary storage solution. When he’s done playing with the impossible, Lucifer will always crave the comforts of home.
Back in the penthouse, those impossibilities await him. His black shoes, shined to mirrors, click against the polished floor as he inspects what he has made. The Italian marble sinks at the center of the room, and in the space left vacant by his furniture, the deep blue-green waters of a tropical lagoon glow in the uplights.
Fish? he wonders, and tries it. Shoals of salmon wriggle into existence, slipping from Lucifer’s will and into the water. He tilts his head, watching their slippery bodies dart, nose slowly wrinkling. No. With a gesture and a thought, he undoes them, and they shimmer back out of the world.
He’ll be a God who can admit when he’s wrong.
And live salmon in his date night sex lagoon — definitely wrong.
He settles for some birds — small, bright, and audacious creatures that loop overhead in twos, dipping occasionally to skim the surface of the crystal waters or hopping between the rocks that edge it. At the piano, a great lion tosses its mane, then sweeps back its coattails and begins warming up with a D minor scale.
And Lucifer looks upon all that he has made, and he sees that it is bloody brilliant.
Date nights have been different since Lucifer became God.
But he hasn’t been different, or at least he’s tried not to. The pace of his new position may be punishing, and the weight of responsibility may try to crush him at times, but it’s a balance he’s been able to maintain.
But oh, the power.
Even at rest, it runs through him like the white rapids of a river.
The sound of the elevator sliding up the shaft captures his attention. In the back of his mind, he’d known Chloe had been downstairs, in the club, stepping in and pressing the button for the top floor, but he's been practicing blocking her out. He can't give her the total privacy she deserves — not since the omniscience kicked in — but he tries to give her what he can.
Lucifer straightens as the doors open, hands in his pockets at the edge of the lagoon. She’s there in the yellow light, hair treated with a gentle wave, in a red silk dress that hugs her body. All his omniscience is no match for her gravity.
He stares until a pair of birds swoop between them. Lucifer shakes himself from his own stupor and warmly watches her take in the spectacle. “Good evening, Detective.”
"Lucifer..." she murmurs. "This is..."
"Divine?" he suggests.
Chloe takes a few steps forward, watching the birds dip and weave, curving upwards to perch on a branch of his chandelier. The oil black ceiling above them ripples, reflecting the waters of the lagoon. "...a lot," she finishes.
She moves to put her purse on the piano, and doesn’t see the lion until she’s standing right next to him. Chloe jumps. The lion inclines his head in polite greeting.
“Is that… okay for the lion?” she asks, eyeing the unnatural upright posture.
“Oh, it’s not real,” Lucifer assures her. “Tibius here is just a collaboration of matter I had lying around. Don’t worry, he’s completely non-sentient — though he does make a cracking whiskey sour.” Lucifer wanders over and his hand comes forward with a glass he hadn’t picked up. “Speaking of.”
Chloe jolts at the glass. After a few moments, she takes it. "It's... gonna take me a while to get used to all this."
"Too much?" Lucifer asks.
"No," she says. Then laughs. "Well, yes. Way too much, but... I think I like it."
"Well," Lucifer raises his glass, tamping down the pride that swells in his chest to merely a pleased smile. "Thank goodness for that."
"You do know my birthday's not for another week, though?" she asks, looking around at all the reality-bending grandeur.
Lucifer gives her a look.
She realizes and scoffs gently at herself. "Right. Omniscient. How could you forget? You probably know what day my library books are due back."
"Thursday for the two novellas, and next Monday for the autobiography," he offers with a helpful smile. He doesn't reach for the information — it's just there. It all is.
Chloe eyes him, wariness and amusement mingling on her face. He knows she's not wary of him. He Knows it, the way he knows about the library books, but he also understands it. The normal way. Knowing all things hasn't removed his ability to know things with a lighter simplicity, a gentle trust — it simply dwarfed it. He understands it's a lot to adjust to.
"That soon, huh?"
"Indeed. You'd better get reading." He offers her a toast. "After, of course, your date with the Almighty. And no — to answer your question — these are not early birthday shenanigans. This is just a normal date night."
She looks around. Tibius places his huge furry paws on the ivories and plays a run of sparkling arpeggios that glitters up the scales. "Normal, huh?"
"Well," he chuffs. "Dare I say, the new normal."
“There’s not gonna be any…” a laugh catches in her throat as she gestures around the room “…I don’t know, consequences for this, right?”
“Consequences?” The corners of Lucifer’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “For me? The Almighty God? No darling — I dare say I can finally do as I bloody well please.”
—
After dinner, the plates vanish from existence, and Lucifer suggests they slip into the lagoon.
He steps from his clothes unselfconsciously, beaming at Chloe as she watches with her lower lip drawn between her teeth. Even after everything, Lucifer still counts his ability to darken Chloe’s eyes and flush her skin as his most powerful gift. He thumbs the band of his boxer briefs, teasing along the lines of his lower stomach, slow and indulgent with the water between them. Lucifer keeps his heavy gaze on her as he drags the waistband down his thighs, the slow firelight flickering in his eyes and across his golden skin. Pride's not a sin anymore. Lucifer saw to that.
He meanders the long way around the lagoon to give her a proper show, then slips into the water. Chloe follows him to the edge. Her thighs are already pressed together down to the knee as she searches for the zipper on the side of her dress and slides it down. Lucifer watches from the water, the sight of her sweet breasts and long limbs nudging him violently to attention. The dress pools around her ankles, and with a blush, the lace panties follow. Then she's standing by the rocks where his coffee table used to be, shaking out her hair into something more natural, more her, and she bites her lip as she meets his eyes.
"Hi."
Lucifer works his throat, and his voice comes out embarrassingly ragged. "Was I the one they’re meant to worship? I suddenly can’t remember.”
She reaches around herself, holding her shoulders in a loose, coy hug, never quite as comfortable naked as he is. But her gaze drops beneath the water, appreciating how urgently he’d hardened with need at the sight of her, and her confidence buoys. Even with the infinite wisdom of omniscience, Lucifer sees not a single flaw in Chloe Decker. But he does feel the way her mind worries over the few gentle stretch marks, faded from her pregnancy. Her freckles and scars, the forty years of sun on her skin. Her humanity next to his graceful divinity.
Lucifer offers a hand, helping her down into the water. She sighs as it slips across her warm skin, sinking against him. The press of her breasts spark a shiver into a rough gasp in the back of Lucifer’s throat, and he leans into the long line of her neck.
"Lucifer..."
Chloe’s sigh is as pretty as it is hungry. Her shudder delights him, and he pulls her closer. She curls her thigh possessively around his waist, opening up her need searingly close to his own, a mere teasing distance.
"Fuck… Chloe."
"Your Holiness!"
Lucifer jerks backwards, slopping water over the rocks. Chloe releases him and her arms snap up immediately, crossing over her chest as her face floods.
"I thought we were alone!" she gasps, voicing a hint of accusation.
Lucifer turns with all the thunder of the Heavens to look behind himself. At the top of the short staircase leading up from his lower floor stands Baraqiel, one of his guards and messengers. He stands heavy with armor of leather and steel, a spear in one hand and a scroll in the other. Blonde hair falls around his ears in a graceful mop, and his face is both serious and serene, as if he wasn't idly watching a sex lagoon get used for its intended purpose.
"Didn't I tell you, not tonight?" Lucifer snaps. His excitement wilts to float regrettably against his thigh. "No guards, no work, no anything. Why haven't you taken your leave?"
"There's always work," the angel says, looking perplexed. "Far too much to leave until tomorrow. We are always working in your name, My Lord. I cannot leave."
"What happened to the word of God being absolute?" Lucifer mutters, then throws Chloe an apologetic glance before addressing the angel with a withering glare. "Very well then, work away if you must, but do it down there. I turned the guest suite into a bloody office for you lot, so use it. Upper penthouse is off limits during date night, no exceptions."
Baraqiel bows his head. "I understand, but if I could trouble you with just one—"
"No—" Lucifer grinds out "—exceptions."
His voice carries the weight of thunder. The air swells suddenly with the heavy heat of the Word, making the windows ache in their frames. Tibius stops playing and the bass notes vibrate inside the piano all on their own. Baraqiel has the good sense to shrink in on himself. "Of course, my Lord. I'm sorry, my Lord. I will do as you order."
The subservience makes his stomach turn.
The very first thing Lucifer had done as God was grant all his brothers and sisters free will. The freedom and right to choose, to say no — even to him. It's a choice he'll never regret, but it does make governing somewhat more complicated. Overpowering someone when he'd just been the Devil had felt good. There'd been at least the suggestion of a fair fight when he was still the underdog, even on the grand scale that he was. But as God... exercising his power from the top of the mountain only ever makes him feel like a bully. It makes him feel like…
His Father.
"Nope."
Lucifer’s mind clamps shut on that thought before he can dwell too deeply on it, and he pulls himself swiftly up and out of the lagoon, dripping water along the marble floor as he crosses to the cowering angel. "Come on, quick as you can, then."
And for all his power and resources, the best Lucifer can think to do as he disappears down the stairs is to reach back with his will and shift the small puddles of water on the ground so that they resemble something reading; SORRY DETECTIVE.
—
"It was a... new species of tree frog," Lucifer announces sheepishly as he comes back up the stairs in a robe forty minutes later. The lagoon is empty, which comes as no surprise, its turquoise waters vacant and shimmering beneath the chandelier. Tibius nurses an Old Fashioned and a cigarette at the piano, but Lucifer strides past him, searching for Chloe. "The result of a truly industrious coupling with a red-bellied piranha in Ecuador. God only knows how they managed that and ah... well, he'd prefer he didn't know, quite frankly. And I thought I was sexually adventurous."
He trots up the stone steps and finds her sprawled on the bed. She’s back in her dress, scrolling through her phone held above her head. Lucifer offers a weak smile. "They needed to know if I'd allow it. The repercussions of a potential carnivorous frog is a bit beyond their pay grade, so..."
Chloe stops scrolling and her eyes drift down to hover distantly, but she doesn't speak. Lucifer's chest clenches.
"You're upset."
"No," she shakes her head, then pauses a moment to make sure that’s the truth. "No, I know you've got... well, the most important job in the universe. And even before that, you know... I knew what I was getting into." She puts her phone aside and turns her head to look at him. "We were never going to be normal."
"Indeed," Lucifer lowers himself to perch on the edge of the bed. "I only wish we could be 'not normal' in private one of these days."
Chloe laughs in agreement and sits up. Her hair is beautifully mussed from laying on it, but she looks sleepy. Subdued. It's a sight he'd rather hoped he wouldn't see until morning, and right then, he knows the date is over.
"And hey," she offers a smile. It's weak, but genuine. "It's not like we’ve never been interrupted by my job."
Lucifer offers a resigned, half-hearted chuckle. This isn't the first time it's happened, and he thinks bitterly of the dinners he'd been called away from to divert an avalanche, or come up with a new butterfly off the top of his head. He'd even stooped so low as a mini-golf date, thinking unpredictability might be the key to their privacy, but the moment he'd led Chloe inside the windmill with a spark in his eyes and a tent in his pants, there they were, Turiel and Pahaliah, log book open for him to sign. A pen was thrust into his hand as his sword fell.
Mightier indeed.
They'd never been interrupted mid-coitus, thank Him, although the fact was they very rarely even got that far these days. He'd been toting around a couple of blueberries for weeks.
"I would have liked to give you a night you'd never forget," he tells her regretfully. "It's well overdue."
"Well..." Chloe slides herself close to him on the edge of the bed. She tilts her head up, pretending to think, and counts off on her fingers. "I watched a lion play the piano, skinny-dipped in an indoor lagoon, got interrupted by an angel, and had the best risotto I've ever had in my life. Now, tell me what's forgettable about that?"
"You liked the risotto?" Lucifer brightens. "I made that myself."
"From ingredients?" Chloe asks. "Or from thin air?"
"...thin air," he admits with a grimace.
If she's disappointed, it doesn't show. Instead, she turns his face towards hers for a kiss and murmurs, "Well, that's also pretty unforgettable, isn't it?"
Somehow, she always makes him feel okay. Her fingers weave between his on the bed, and she leans her head on his shoulder, her silk sliding against his. "But do you know what the best thing I saw tonight was?"
A lust-drunk grin blooms across his face. "My tremendous co—?"
"No," she shushes him with a laugh. "I saw my partner, with the weight of the universe bearing down on him, refusing to take the easy route. Even though you could have. You chose good, even when it made things harder for you."
She tilts his chin over so he's looking at her. Whatever's written across his face, it makes her smile. "I'm proud of you, Lucifer. The world is so lucky."
And just like that, she's given him a night he'll never forget.
He gathers himself after a few moments, trying for a dignified sniff. A few blinks clear his vision. "Well. I can't very well lead a life decrying the establishment, and then run things the same way myself — I mean, how would that look?"
"You wouldn't," Chloe says simply. "It's not who you are. And for the record, I had a nice night. Even if we didn't... quite..."
They turn their heads together, eyes landing on the headboard where Lucifer should currently be cuffed and choking on her panties, "...quite get to finish."
A heavy, longing sigh passes through them both.
Lucifer tries, "We could always—"
"I have an early morning," Chloe says with an apologetic smile.
The corners of his eyes pinch. "Of course."
Lucifer drags himself off the bed and ambles to the bar to pour himself a drink as Chloe gets her shoes back on and finds her purse. It's going to be a long night. He'd spotted at least fifty other items on Baraqiel's list.
"Oh," she stops at the elevator and turns back. "So did you allow it?"
"Hm? Did I allow what?"
"The frog." Chloe's eyes sparkle with interest. Until recently it's a look he's only ever seen when she's working on a particularly interesting case. The fact that he can give her that too now almost makes the whole derailed evening worth it.
"Of course." Lucifer beams as he finishes pouring his drink. "Everyone deserves a chance to flourish into who they're supposed to be. Even if that's a vicious, face-eating amphibian."
She smiles, a knowing look in her eye like she'd never doubted what he'd do. "Well, remind me to stay away from Ecuador, but... I'm glad you let it exist."
—
Laying on the bed with two guards outside the open doorway isn't the easiest atmosphere to get a hard-on, but Lucifer's had worse. In a moment of pure genius, he'd asked Turiel to check something with Baraqiel, and Baraqiel to check something with Pahaliah, and so on, in a deliberately endless round robin. With any luck, they'll be chasing their tails for just long enough for Lucifer to chase his own.
Of course, he wants the Detective. But she's almost as busy as he is these days, and with this rare slice of opportunity, time is of the essence. He's overworked, underfucked, and barely hanging on. He'd pop his cock in an electrical socket if he thought it would get him off.
But that doesn't mean she won't have a role to play. Filthy delight creeps across his face as he begins to palm himself through his trousers, and in his mind's eye Chloe slides one bra strap off her shoulder. He's desperately quick to harden. With his eyes closed, Chloe gathers her hair off her neck, and Lucifer grips her pert backside to pull her flush against him, eliciting a gasp of delight, and—
“Your lordship?” The angel on the door pops his head around. Chloe's euphoric figment dissolves into mist, and Lucifer swallows a howl of rage. “Quite a few prayers piling up, shall I sort them into categories for you, or would you like to go through them now?”
“Right—” He lifts his head, glowering around the straining tent of his silk pants and snaps, “I trust you can see I’m literally having a wank in here?”
The guard offers a slow, blank blink. “I can sort them by urgency or by topic.”
Lucifer grits his teeth. “Whichever will keep you away the longest.”
“Oh, no my Lord, I’ll need to do it here.” He gestures to the top step, as if he intends to sit down right where he stands. “I cannot leave my post.”
Lucifer’s head falls back against the pillow and for a long moment he just lays there, watching himself go flaccid in the black tile of the ceiling. “Did you guard Dad like this?”
“Of course,” the guard says. “No harm can befall He who sits on the Heavenly throne. The universe would tear apart.”
“I’m the strongest bloody creature in the universe,” Lucifer protests. “What harm could possibly—?”
“I’m sorry. The risk may be small but the result would be cataclysmic. I must abide by my duty.”
Lucifer huffs and pushes himself up on his elbows to glare at the angel. “Well, when am I supposed to get some time to my bloody self?”
“Erm… My Lord,” he frowns, like the words of Lucifer’s question don’t fit together. “You are God.”
Lucifer’s heart sinks, the meaning painfully clear. There is no such thing as time to himself anymore.
“So, those prayers…” the guard begins, and Lucifer groans, curling himself up off the bed.
“Coming.”
Just not in the way that he'd hoped.
—
"What do we have, Ella?"
"Ethel Rosenbaum," Ella lowers her camera, regarding the face-down octogenarian with pity. "Blunt-force trauma to the head."
"Any sign of the murder weapon?"
"Uh... yeah," Ella gestures to the kitchen island, and Chloe follows her eyes to find...
A toaster.
Tipped on its side, it spills burnt crumbs across the countertop. The stainless steel side of it is splattered with gore and half-dried blood.
"Oh," Chloe says lightly, finding nothing much surprises her anymore. "That's a new one."
"Yup. Definitely a creative weapon of opportunity," Ella agrees. "I mean, there's no sign of forced entry, so this poor thing was probably making afternoon tea for her assailant, none the wiser, turned her back, and then WHAMMO—" she pounds her fist into her open palm, and nods to the murder weapon, "—she was toast."
Chloe smiles, even though she probably shouldn't. "Sounds like something Lucifer would say."
"Well, I do miss his puns," Ella sighs. "Still can't believe he took a new job. As if anything could be more important than this!"
"Yeah," Chloe coughs awkwardly, "...as if."
She steps away to examine the kitchen. Two delicately painted china plates sit out and four pieces of toast split between them, golden browned from the now-murder-weapon. Pots of jam and lemon curd sit open, but Chloe notes the way the butter knife lays off to the side at an angle, as if it was dropped. "Looks like she was interrupted when the—"
"Detective!"
Chloe looks up sharply, scanning the small room. "Is Lucifer here?"
Ella glances behind her at the closed door. "I don't think so. Did he say he was coming?"
Chloe shakes her head. "I thought I heard..."
"De-TEC-tive!"
That one was definitely him. No other grown man could whine like that. Chloe narrows her eyes, casting them around the kitchen. He'd sounded close. Was he invisible? Reverse-praying directly into her mind? Speaking on the wind or using sonic vibrations to carry his voice to her specifically?
Movement on the countertop catches her eye, and she looks down just as the grill-lines on the nearest piece of bread start to bend and rearrange themselves.
Oh.
No, he's just appearing to her in a piece of toast.
"That's much more normal," she sighs under her breath, watching as various shades of burnt pigment shift and flicker until they've formed a simple yet accurate portrait that looks remarkably like...
"Lucifer," she murmurs out the corner of her mouth, deciding she will not lose her shit before she gives him a chance to explain himself. "What are you doing on that toast?"
"Could you speak up, Detective?" he chirps, burnt shades moving on the surface of the toast like a crude animation. "This reception's crummy."
Chloe's eyes roll back in her head and she releases a deep sigh.
"Hey, Detective Decker," one of the officers calls from the main living area. "I think we found something."
"Okay!" Chloe croaks. "One second. I'm just—" she snatches up the piece of bread "—examining something over here."
Then she turns, fleeing the kitchen before she can see the looks of confusion on any of their faces and mortify herself further.
"Oh dear," Lucifer tuts, getting a glimpse of the crime scene as Chloe disappears around the corner. "That poor lady's toast."
"Lucifer!" she hisses at the bread, vanishing down the hallway of the woman's small bungalow. "People are going to think I'm insane!"
"Yes, well, welcome to my world," he answers, looking impressively wry for a piece of bread. "I needed to speak to you."
"Why didn't you just call me?" Chloe asks.
Lucifer huffs, and a dusting of crumbs fall down to the carpet. "Well, your phone was on silent, so I called the precinct, they said you were busy at a crime scene, and I myself have about two minutes before Baraqiel realizes I'm not actually taking a shower in here — well, the point is, we're both so busy these days, that this—" he gestures around himself, "—seemed the most straightforward method of communication."
Chloe stares at the piece of toast in her hand. "Did it?"
"Well, it seems to work for Jesus!" he complains, then the burnt little picture of him holds up his hands. "Look, we can suss out communication preferences later, but right now, I have a very important question to ask you.”
She releases a slow breath out her nose. “What?”
“Your birthday,” he says seriously. “What would you like to do tomorrow? I'll make the arrangements tonight."
Just like that, Chloe melts. If Lucifer's bread, then she's butter. A smile spreads across her face despite herself. "Oh. That's sweet, Lucifer. Um, okay, let me think..."
"Whatever you wish," Lucifer encourages. "No request is too extravagant — in fact, I dare you to challenge me."
"I think..." she hums. “Maybe a quiet dinner. Either at yours, or out somewhere nice.”
“Yes…?” The piece of toast vibrates with anticipation.
“And afterwards, you know…” Eyelashes kiss her cheeks as she looks away, biting down on a smile. She still blushes, even after all they’ve done together. “Some alone time, just you and me.”
“Lovely,” he rumbles. A dusting of crumbs shake free and flutter down to the carpet. “Go on…”
“And… that’s all,” she smiles. “That’s all I need.”
Lucifer's face falls, the dismay showing even in his current form. “Wh— that’s all?”
“Mm-hmm.”
"But... I don't understand," he says. "You can have your birthday anywhere. Literally anywhere — even places that don't exist yet."
Chloe smiles, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "That's okay."
Lucifer fumbles, at a loss. She watches his little charred eyebrows lower as he grapples for an explanation, before his figment gets that knowing look she recognizes all too well. “Ah, I see what this is — you have decision fatigue. Overwhelmed by far too many options, aren’t you? Understandable. Well, how about I just give you a few ideas and we can narrow it down from there?" Chloe moves further down the hallway as the toast chatters away. "We could dine on a gondola down the canals of Venice, or I could make us a private, heated oasis on the geyser fields of Haukadalur Valley?”
Chloe can't help but laugh. “That’s sweet, Lucifer. But, you know, I don’t need anything big like that.”
“I know you don’t need it, but don't you want it? You no longer have to subsist on only what you need. You can have anything, go anywhere, do anything you want. Everything you want." He shakes his head, aghast. "Detective, please, be reasonable.”
“Well, that is everything I want," she says. "Just a nice quiet night with you.”
“Nowhere further afield?" he tries. "How about Mars? It doesn’t get much quieter than the vacuum of space.”
"Oh— nope." Chloe quickly shakes her head. “As much as Trixie would be very jealous, I’m... not such a fan of outer space.”
“No need for jealousy, I’ll take her to see it any time she wants.”
In another of many moments that makes Chloe question how her life came to this, she feels the need to affix the toast with a hard stare and ask Lucifer in total seriousness, “Please don’t take my daughter to Mars.”
"Very well," he sighs, as if she's doing him a great hardship. "Although you're only prolonging the inevitable. The tenacious little creature's going to find her own way there eventually, of that I have no doubt."
Maybe so, Chloe thinks to herself. She's not ruling out anything anymore.
“Well, how about the menu, then?" Lucifer pivots. "Would you like to try white rhino? I’d make one especially, of course, so we’re not contributing to extinction. In fact, I'll make two. Eat a rhino, save a rhino — how does that sound? It’s positively virtuous.”
"Lucifer." She holds him up at eye-level so she can give him a look. His toasty little shoulders slump.
"You truly don't want anything?"
“You,” she says simply. Her lips curve into a smile. “I just want you.”
Lucifer sighs — defeated, but warm. "Well, it's alright with me," he concedes. "But I fear the rhinos won't soon forget this."
—
"If a woman grabs a man's genitals, cut off her hand?"
"Scrap it."
"Alright... er, no eating weasels?"
"Ludicrously specific. Scrap it."
"No bearing false witness?"
Lucifer buries his nose in his nearly-empty glass as he wanders the penthouse, bare feet slapping on the marble. The stubborn silence stretches until Turiel sits up higher to peer at him over the yellowed pages of the stacked open books. "Your Holiness? Bearing false—?"
"That one can stay," Lucifer mutters, draining his whiskey, then redirecting to the bar to pour another one. "Give someone a thousand years and few dozen ghost writers, there's bound to be one or two good ideas."
"Okay." Turiel brightens, turning to an empty corner of the desk and making a careful note on a single piece of paper labeled 'keep'. "No... bearing... false... witness. Fantastic."
The ‘scrap’ pile stands like a monolith next to it.
"Okay..." the angel finds his place again amongst the ancient pages he was reading from. "What about... mixing fabrics in clothing?"
"Scrap it— no, wait." Lucifer turns as he pulls the stopper from his decanter. "Which fabrics?"
"Er..." Turiel's finger runs down the page.
"Because if it's cashmere and polyester, then that one can stay, actually."
"It's wool and linen, Your Holiness."
Lucifer waves a hand. "Scrap it."
He turns away, filling his glass. Turiel's hands hover hopefully over the 'keep' list. "...would you like me to change it to cashmere and pol—?"
"No, no," Lucifer sighs. He'd thought rewriting the Bible might be one of the few tasks that would bring him some sense of accomplishment, but so far all it's been able to do is remind him of what a monumentally broken system he's inheriting. He simply can't focus.
Especially when there's something far more important on his mind.
"...steals something, cut off their hand?" Turiel's voice cuts in, and Lucifer realizes he's been speaking for a while. Well, he knows it — but even omniscience doesn't compensate for his lack of interest in the task at hand.
"Your Lordship?" the angel tries again, more hesitantly this time. He cranes over his books. "Are you... okay? Is something troubling you?"
Lucifer takes a sip, eyeing the eager angel, then leans forward on the glass bar table that stands in front of him. Perhaps a sounding board wouldn't be the worst idea. "Turiel, if you and I were going on a date, what would you want to do?"
"My Lord..." his fingers lose their grip on the pen and it clatters off the desk. "I... I'm flattered, but..."
"No, no, no! Hypothetically! Imagine it's a special occasion and you have all my infinite powers at your disposal — how would you best make use of that for a memorable evening?"
"Oh. Well..." he thinks a moment as he sheepishly bends to pick up the pen, then sits silently, considering the question as if it were any other Holy decree of utmost importance. "I think I should like to sit atop the highest peak in the Silver City, and dine on the finest meal that man won't invent for another thousand years. And... and maybe watch dolphins jump in and out of the clouds."
"Yes!" Lucifer exclaims in agreement, feeling strangely vindicated. "Exactly, thank you! That is precisely the right kind of answer. Absurdly extravagant and well within my ability. So I just..." he sinks back down on his elbows and buries himself in his glass, "...don't understand why she doesn't want anything like that."
"This is about the Detective, my Lord?"
"Yes," he sighs. "I've always been able to offer her plenty... but now I can offer her literally anything with next to no effort on my part. I just can't understand why she won't accept."
"Maybe she..." Turiel narrows his eyes, floundering between his urge to help and his limited knowledge of humans, "...doesn't want anything?"
Lucifer shakes his head. "The Detective? Devoid of desire? Impossible."
"Well, did you ask her what she wanted?"
"Yes," Lucifer muses. "Though I'm not sure the answer was entirely helpful. She said all she wanted was..."
He glances at the angel over the lip of his glass, suddenly self-conscious. God's gift to women he may be, quite literally. But as the sole gift to one particular woman, he's still not sure he's quite enough. Not when he could offer so much more. "...well, never mind that." He clears his throat. "Shall we press on? What were you saying about... hands?"
Turiel folds back over the book. "It was, 'if somebody steals, cut off their hands'."
Lucifer rolls his eyes, but takes the distraction gratefully. "A slap on the wrist maybe, not the whole axe."
"So..." Turiel winces regretfully, "...scrap it?"
Lucifer toasts him with his glass. "Now you're getting the hang of it."
"There's a lot you've removed, my Lord." Turiel eyes the looming scrap pile. "We're running a little light on material. Is there anything you'd like to add?”
“Well, if it’s page count you’re worried about, I’d be happy to work up a few lewd drawings,” Lucifer offers. “For… you know. Culture.”
Turiel clears his throat. “I meant any commandments of your own?"
“...oh.”
Lucifer looks out over the dappled urban sprawl of Los Angeles, soaking in the fresh morning light, and thinks again about what kind of God he wants to be. It's a question he keeps coming back to, nowhere near as easy to answer as the kind of God he will not be. He knows he has no interest in being worshipped, nor forging silly punitive rules that nobody follows anyway. He won't be cruel or rigid or forceful. But he won't be distant or hands-off, either. He won't work in mysterious ways. And even though the thought of commanding the whole world to never hurt another living soul holds an initial appeal, it sits uncomfortably sideways against a deeper value.
"Do what ye will," Lucifer says, speaking his first true commandment like any other quiet thought on a lazy Friday morning. "And have a bloody good time while you're at it."
It seems more than adequate as a guiding hand. Hell is still there. Justice still exists — both celestial and human. In the first days after Lucifer became God, he had stared at his hands for hours, feeling the infinite, absolute power humming between them, and considered simply erasing all evil from the world. But he couldn't. He won't force anyone to do anything against their will. Not even be good.
“‘...time… while... you're... at it’." Turiel pens the commandment neatly on the 'keep' page, then lifts his head. "And if they don't?"
Lucifer frowns. "If they don't what?"
"If they don't have a good time while they’re at it?"
"...pity for them?"
"But what will be the consequence for defying you?"
Lucifer pinches the bridge of his nose. He's been doing that so much lately he's afraid he'll start getting indents. "No, there's no consequence. You've clearly worked for my father for much too long. I won't have people living in fear that they'll invite my wrath by simply…” He releases a loaded sigh. “I mean, what kind of punishment would you even suggest for that?"
Turiel drags one of the large books to rest open in front of him, referencing several verses. He raises his head. "Cut off their hands?"
"No hands!" Lucifer slams down the decanter. "No more hand stuff! Bloody Hell — no, there's no consequence. Just... do it or not, and that's that."
Turiel looks as if he’s had his tether to all meaning severed. "But… but what's the point in rules if they can just use their free will to ignore them without consequence?"
“Because a gift shouldn’t come with a trap.” Lucifer insists. “Their free will is precisely the point, and we already have more than enough in the way of consequence. Now, as you know, I’m rather fond of punishment, but from now on it’s going to have to actually fit the crime… which does away with about ninety percent of the rubbish in Dad’s version.”
“Your compassion is admirable, my Lord,” Turiel hedges. “But, might I caution against an excessively generous approach?”
“Why do you say that?”
Turiel clears his throat. “Well… only that, for example, a man who longs for one goat and receives it easily will soon long for two.”
Lucifer chuckles mildly, turning to the open balcony doors for some fresh air. "Well, why shouldn't he? Double the goats means double the..."
Hang on.
“...cheese.”
“My Lord?”
“Well, now that is interesting.” Lucifer breathes. "You've just given me an idea."
"Oh!" Turiel perks up joyfully, sliding over the 'keep' list. "Great, what is it?"
"No, not for that." Lucifer flaps his hand at the angel. “For the Detective! It’s just as you said, after all; What do you get for the man who only wants goats?”
Turiel squints. “You’re going to get the Detective a goat?”
“Oh, I’m going to do much better than that,” Lucifer says, already striding towards his bedroom. "Take five. Go out and stretch your wings or something."
"But…?"
“No buts.” Lucifer turns at the top of the stone steps, fizzing. "I'm about to perform a miracle."