Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Fall was painful. The silence, deafening. With his wings torn, barely yoked to his back in weak strings of tendons and loose flesh, Samael hurtled down into the darkness.

It was a long Fall. There was absolutely nothing in the vast expanse of the sky.

No stars.

No light.

Nothing could be heard or felt but the bite of the raw winds and its thunderous whips against his body. A thin sheet of ice crystallised on his cheeks.

Where his eyes used to be, there were only two sunken holes – empty, soulless pockets. A jagged scar, that was so deeply lacerated, revealed the vertebrae of his nose and the bones of his cheeks. It stretched horizontally from one ear to the other, only breaking off to where his two eyes used to be.

He had screamed until his voice went hoarse when his Father tore off his wings and condemned him to Hell for eternity, stripping him of his angelic powers and virtues.

And Samael never screamed.

It had frightened his younger siblings, who watched on as their brother was humiliated. It had frightened his older brother, Amenadiel, who watched with tears brimming his eyes as his brother was tortured.

No longer was he the same Samael who gently placed his beloved stars in the pelt of the night sky. He had sinned. Lusted. Killed. The human world had contaminated him and as a result, contaminated his very innards. When he returned to the angelic domain, he had brought the pollution with him. Hands - stained in blood, fangs - bared into a wicked grin. He led multiple rebellions against his Father.

Samael thought his punishment was complete when his Father nearly all but ripped his wings off. Still knelt beneath His oppressing grace, Samael begged his Father that this was enough. The lesson was learnt. He would not do this again. His Father, eyes glassy, like He was watching afar, brought down Azrael’s blade so quickly upon Samael’s face, the pain had not been felt until minutes later.

Samael wailed. He crumpled, hands desperately covering his wounded eyes, as if a miracle could sew them together.

Amenadiel cried too. He cried for his brother, the unforgiving coldness of their Father, and how far Samael had Fallen. But even he could not look at Samael directly anymore, nor convince him that he still looked angelic despite the horrifying scar that tore his brother’s handsome semblance away. And so, Samael, in his final efforts to spite his Father, and in front of the whole court of angels, viciously clawed his own eyes out – until two white miniscule balls drained of veins, rolled down his bloodied lap.

And still, he was Falling. It felt like an eternity.

Centuries licked by like wild hellfire. His angelic skin, glassily porcelain when he was the Lightbringer, was now broken into sores, sizzling against the relentless winds. He tore into his scalp, and let out stunted screams – anguished cries. No longer was he His greatest creation.

And still, he was Falling.

Despite his own vexation, his ears grew far to the whisperings of his followers. And like milk is to a baby, his envy and curiosity to the beginnings of Man drove him irrevocably into sin.

And still he was Falling.

His skin had long shed into the scales of a serpent. His tongue morphed into a devious fork, eager to taste the First Woman. And tasted her he did. His arousal arched, his lust pornographic. He had wound his body around hers, but he had not found passion in the intimate embrace.

And still he was Falling.

He let out a shuddering breath. The hollow emptiness in his heart soaked through his entire body. His limbs grew weak and after a while, he lay still and stopped fighting against the winds. He had so badly wanted to cry then, and he did, but all that came out was an ugly gurgle and multiple heaves of the chest. He wanted to go back, back to the pearlescent Gates, back to his sisters and brothers, and back to the clouds he draped across the pelt, and the stars he adoringly bestrewed.

And still he was Falling.

For the first time, he was alone.

Samael wept.

“Lucifer. Lucifer.”

He rolled over, body cushioned against the swamp of bedsheets. One of his ears twitched, then slanted, pricking towards the call of his name.

“Sun’s bathing your glorious backside already. Get up – come on. Loads of fun today. And did I mention, punishment?”

A soft breath escaped him. Moments before Mazikeen had woken him, he had dreamt of the Silver City, back when he was a naïve Angel, tricking and mischievously pranking his siblings. He had almost felt the soft fluffy clouds beneath him as he rode over the palatial grounds. He saw the sunset too, where the flaming entity gradually sunk, casting a wonderful glaze of orange and mauve into the Heavens. His very own stars had just begun to glimmer in the twilight. It was beautiful.

Wearily, Lucifer reached over his bedside table, fumbling for his tinted glasses. Although he had mutilated his own eyes, they always grew back. He had screamed in rage the first few times he realised they regenerated, mauled them back out time and again, and only stopped when he finally came to acknowledge that this, alongside many other things, was his Father’s way of eternally reminding him of his damnation.

Yet although they had grown back, he was sightless. The damage was too far gone, and so he lost the gift of visibility. Not that he minded, because most of the times he felt safe in the eigengrau darkness

A sudden wave of nausea washed over him, and he immediately grabbed the bucket under his bed, dry heaving into it. Last night’s contents did not come hurling through, and only dark red blood clots, so dark they border-lined black, dribbled down. He wiped his bloodied mouth. Sighing, he dragged his fatigued body from the bed and traipsed towards the kitchen.

Mazikeen was behind the kitchen island, drying a whiskey glass with clean cloth. She peered at him and gave him one of her rare smiles, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “Morning,” she said, her casual rough tone dipping ever so softer. “Dreams?”

Lucifer leaned against the counter. Every morning he had found himself drained of energy and enthusiasm, in no mood for jokes or even light-talk sometimes. His hair was matted, and slightly tousled. He was the most dishevelled during mornings, and although he hated how grimy he might’ve looked, he never made a move to fix himself up. Usually it was Maze who would have to lean upwards and brush his hair for him.

“No,” he said. “No dreams.” Could they really be called dreams? He thought not – they were memories.

There was a plate of pancakes glazed with maple syrup to his left. Maze had drawn a devil face by neatly arranging blueberries (his favourite fruit) and whipped cream for the fangs.

He gave a soft mumble of gratitude for the food, making ragged cuts.

When he finished his breakfast, he went to pour himself a glass of whiskey, before setting it on the piano. He lit a cigarette and smoked. This was his daily routine. Breakfast, whiskey, a smoke, and the piano.

His fingers glided across the keys of the piano. He needn’t see where each key was, for it was memorised in his heart. Lucifer was able to see slightly when he used his devil-eyes, albeit everything was darker and much dimmer, and he certainly could not see colours, but he was still somewhat able to make out the silhoutte of what most things would have looked like. But when he played the piano, he chose to be blind.

Maze combed his hair.

Only recently had Lucifer decided he wanted a vacation away from Hell. And Lucifer never wanted anything. So of course, when Lucifer voiced his thoughts, Maze complied without hesitance. Needless to say, she was happy, although concealed well, that he had finally desired to go somewhere.

Maze knew that Lucifer did not like Hell. He sat comfortably on his throne and overlooked the vast city of demons scuttling beneath him, but he had felt empty – just like his Fall, nothing seemed to bring him vitality. Lucifer had tried everything down there. He slept with demons. He sung. He tortured souls. He ripped apart his own skin and bones, just for them to painfully regrow. There were times he absolutely lost himself – times where he spiralled in his own condemnation of insanity, but this only established a reign of fear for his subjects, and he didn’t feel any better about himself.

Like any follower to their King, Maze was undyingly loyal to Lucifer. Abandoned by her mother, it was Lucifer who had fished her out from the bowels of Hell. The two bonded with their shared backgrounds, paranoia of abandonment and their insecurities. Maze pledged in the Old Lilim language to serve Lucifer until the sun no longer rose in the East, and the sea no longer kissed its shores.

Most of their mornings passed just like that. Lucifer humming a gentle melody with the piano accompaniment, and Maze, polishing her hell-forged twin karambits.

The comfortable silence was inevitably broken by the chiming of the elevator bell. One of Lucifer’s staff waved at them.

“Boss, M’lady, good morning. Boss, you have a guest. Apparently, he wants a favour.”

Maze looked up. Lucifer continued to hum.

“I’ll tend to it,” Maze said, placing one hand on Lucifer’s shoulder for a moment, before she whisked into the lift with the assistant.

The doors to the elevator closed with a ding.

Chapter Text

“Lucifer! You’ve got a client.”

The thunderous bass of club music throbbed through the speakers hoisted high in the ceiling, pulsating across the dance floor and thrumming in sync with the hundreds of mortal heartbeats gathered in Lux. Women dressed scantily in leather boot heels sashayed across, hips swaying with the music, offering Lux’s clients with glasses of alcoholic toxins.

Lucifer sat in a curved booth, his arms around two well-endowed blond women. He shot a lecherous grin at Maze.

“Look who’s got their energy back,” Maze said, serving two Long Islands to the girls pressed against Lucifer.

Lucifer dragged in a puff of smoke, kissed the girl to his left, then the one to his right. The women crooned, dainty fingers tracing the sides of his face, and down to his neck and broad shoulders. Neither of them touched his tinted glasses nor the scar that marred his face. Lux partygoers knew Lucifer well enough. You wanted to enjoy the hottest night club in Los Angeles where illicit substances could be dealt easily right under the noses of law enforcement? Then you needed to know what Lucifer enjoyed, and what he didn’t. And he most certainly didn’t enjoy anyone touching his glasses or his scar, even if it was the women and men he was sleeping with.

When the moon rose and the night sky swallowed the sun, Lucifer became unrecognisable. Instead of the fatigued six-foot-three man who could barely get a hold of himself in the morning, he was now quite the party beast. He allowed himself to sink into the clutches of alcohol, snorting lines of delicate white powder, all while fondling the breasts of whoever landed on his lap.

He was Lucifer, the Fallen Archangel, Lord of Hell, blah di blah di blah after all. He raved at night and became one with the tendrils of darkness. But come morning, when the faint sun rays blessed his naked chest, he was at his weakest, most vulnerable – reminded of the Silver City in dreams that continued to haunt him.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said, slithering out of the entanglement of limbs. He adjusted his dress shirt and stalked his way over to his demon.

Maze gestured to a man around his mid-fifties who was flanked by three Russian bodyguards. “To your right is Mr. Ivanov.”

He smiled at Maze, who returned it with a slight curve in the corners of her lips. Without a word shared between them, his demon knew that Lucifer had clawed his eyes away from his face again. She never questioned why he did it, and she never begged for him to consider leaving his eyes the way they were.

There was something unique about their relationship. They weren’t just master and slave like Lucifer was to the other demons. They respected each other and accepted why the other was the way they were – but most of all, they were loyal to each other. When Lucifer needed someone to lop off his wings, Maze would do it without a second thought – although privately to herself, she would weep at severing such breathtaking divinity.

Lucifer wasn’t compelled to tear his eyes out, but on days where he felt lethargic and consumed with unbalanced anger, he found that removing the gift his Father had once given him provided a cathartic release.

And of course it was sweet Maze who knew he needed a soft nudge with directions on the ear-deafening dancefloor.

Lucifer took a swig of whiskey off the counter, then sauntered his way to the bald man. His eyes flashed red, taken as a trick of the light by many.

“Mr. Ivanov!” Lucifer exclaimed, brazenly clasping his hand with his guest’s and shaking it firmly. “How have you been?”

“Exceptionally well, Mr. Morningstar. And you, yourself?”

“Brilliant!”

“I wanted to talk to you this morning, but your –” Mr. Ivanov paused, as if he was unsure what to call Maze. One knew she wasn’t simply just a worker for Lucifer, and neither was she a lover of his. “– Assistant redirected us to return later in the evening.”

“Of course,” Lucifer lilted. “Why don’t we catch a lift, speak somewhere more private, what do you say?”

“After you, Sir.”

When they reached Lucifer’s penthouse, he waved his hand behind himself. “Care for a drink?” A wide range of glass bottles from thin to short and fat rested on the glass shelves. Lucifer popped upon a bottle of whiskey, sloshing the brown liquid into his glass.

“No thank you, I’ve recently... Abstained from alcohol.”

“That can’t be a thing! How in Father’s name can someone even do that,” Lucifer groaned. He lifted his head from one of his palms shortly after, and leaned forward, almost brushing his nose with his guest’s. “Tell me, what do you desire?”

Even though he no longer had eyes, he was glad the whole desire schtick still worked in his favour. It seemed like that did not require a line of vision. Perhaps his mojo worked because of the physical and sexual desire that rolled off his body. After all, who could resist the Devil?

“I…. I want to punish my son.”

“Oh,” Lucifer said, reeling back a little. "That’s wonderful! You’ve come to the right Devil, after all, I am the inventor of daddy issues,” he cackled. “How can I help you?”

They sat on his Italian leather sofa, and Mr. Ivanov explained his situation.

“My son, Cameron,” he began after a long and disappointed exhale. “I’ve discovered that he’s been running a side business that I’ve prohibited. He’s been hiring young ladies to act as baby-sitters, then he steals the toddlers, you see, and he…”

“He trafficks them,” Lucifer mused. “And what exactly, Mr. Ivanov, would you like me to do? You see, punishing… that’s my job. And I can’t have you stealing it. What do you say about me doing the punishing, hmm?”

“Of course, Mr. Morningstar,” Ivanov said without hesitancy. “Please keep him alive. That is all I ask.”

“Perfect,” Lucifer grinned. “And you owe me a favour now. A deal is a deal.”

Lucifer all but kicked down the aluminium door of the warehouse, knocking it down so fast the flimsy thing flew several feet. He had debated on calling Maze to come with him on this little punishing streak, but when he went down to Lux, he saw his little demon with a whip in her hands, striking the buttocks of a row of giggling men who had their slacks pulled down. He could almost hear her fiendish grin from across the room, and so he decided not to interrupt her mid-punishment.

Patting down his creased sleeves, he smiled at the cluster of shadows. He didn’t need eyes to read the room, because just as he had finished smoothing the creases, he could hear the lifting of guns and the succession of them cocking. In the middle of his forehead, he felt the dimmest heat of a laser dot.

“Oh, bloody hell, not that,” Lucifer groaned. “Do you know how much a headshot hurts, let alone from a sniper?”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t get the reaction he was hoping for. Instead, there was several guttural growls from canines leashed against a steel pole, followed by the gravelly shouting from the Russians.

“Who are you?! Who sent you?”

“Lucifer Morningstar,” he said. “A deal’s a deal. You’ll know soon enough.”

When you have one sense robbed, the other four become heightened. Lucifer heard the pull of a trigger and the gushing of a sharp wind that propelled the bullet forth before anything. Then he smelt the burning of metallic ash fizzling in the air as it cleaved a path towards him. He could almost taste it on his lips. Lucifer took a meagre step to the left, the bullet grazing away just a few hairs.

“What are you waiting for you idiots?! Shoot him!”

The heavy footsteps trampling on the floor gave away each of the Russian’s positions. The louder the thumps, the closer they were. Lucifer spun to his two, took three strides forth, grabbed the neck of a rifle before the trigger was pulled, and kicked the man on the stomach. He fell backwards, losing his footing. Lucifer took the chance after hearing the stumble of steps and smashed the man’s cranium against the wall.

Immediately afterwards, a rain of bullets was fired at him. Some missed, others ended up hitting his chest and legs. Though he was immortal, he could still feel the winding blow of the bullets wrath. Muttering something incomprehensible under his breath, he turned to his seven and pistol-whipped a man who stood subsequently shocked.

“Humans,” Lucifer said. “A millennium ago…” He landed a well-maimed fist into a bushy beard. A splintering crack surfaced from the impact and the man fell to the ground, lower jaw shattered. “I was loved.” He elbowed another in the guts. “I was respected.” Wiped the feet of another away from the ground. “I was worshipped! And what am I now? A piece of garbage with a target on my back for shooting practice? Hello? I’m blind, bloody Hell!”

By now, the others who had witnessed the one-sided fight started to drop their weapons. The snarling of the dogs quieted, replaced by submissive whimpers. Lucifer stalked forward, closing the distance between him and the young man he was asked to deal with. Only, he halted several feet away. A sour, putrid odour greeted his sensitive nasal cavities and he recoiled backwards in disgust.

“Looks like someone needs a change of pants,” he turned his chin pointedly at the man. “I wonder if your Daddy is proud of you.”

“Did my father send you?” Cameron howled in rage; his face flustered.

“He did,” Lucifer said.

“He sent a guy with a glasses kink for me? How low can that old man stoop? I’m the one who’s keeping his sorry business alive and I –”

Lucifer didn’t care for the rest. He had stopped listening by the time the word ‘kink’ babbled over the flabbergasted man. He stepped forward, grabbed the man by his collar, and thrusted him against the wall. His large hand kept Cameron pinned there, two feet above the ground.

“For Dad’s sake, can anyone come up with anything, anything, original? I’ve probably heard that six hundred and sixty-six times already.”

“L-Listen!” Cameron pleaded. “I-I’ll give you the kids. You see the one in the corner? Sh-She’s a real beauty. My men took her just over three months ago. You can keep her. For free. I’ve trained her well. J-Just don’t send me to my dad.”

With his free hand, Lucifer took his glasses off. His silver scar, the one that his Father had bestowed on his face, glistened under the moonlight. It had healed over-time, but the edges of the hideous scar were still angry red. The scar itself was a terrible thing to look at, but the two empty sockets where a pair of eyes should have belonged, gaped wide open like endless churning pits. Any minute now, one would think blood or pus would spurt from the dark cavities.

Cameron screamed.

“Yes,” Lucifer breathed. “It’s horrifying, isn’t it? Every time I dream, I see the vile disgusting holes in my head and the repulsive scar Father tore across my face. And every time I wake, I feel sick to my stomach. See, I have this urge to throw everything up, from the gallons of whiskey I drank the previous night to the very organs of my body, because there is something in me that I can’t really put a finger on, something that has been haunting me for a millennia.”

Lucifer sucked in a breath. “I’ve always thought there was something rotten around me Cameron, but do you know what I realised? That it was me.” He grinned afterwards, a horrifying all-teeth smile.

“I am the rotten thing!”

The self-loathing and pitiable ire clouding Lucifer’s consciousness eclipsed the leash he had on his emotions. The pressure of his hand around Cameron’s neck had completely cut off the young man’s airway.

“Tell me I look disgusting. Come on! Tell me I look like a disgusting monster!”

The only thing that drew Lucifer’s attention away from crushing Cameron’s windpipe was the soft whimper his sensitive ears pick up behind him. It was definitely neither a sound an egotistical nor suffering man could make.

“Bloody hell,” Lucifer whispered. He let go of Cameron and the man slid helplessly down the wall, caressing his neck from the bruising. Lucifer spared a final blind stare at him before he lifted his heel and axe-kicked the man unconscious. He then unfolded his glasses and put them back on, securing it over his eyes.

Cautiously, he turned around. There, no more than several feet behind him, was a young girl. She looked like she had been crying, given the fresh stream of tears that stained her cheeks. Both of her forearms were beaten into an ugly palette of purple and blue, and she nursed a fresh, swollen black eye. The young child was also lice-ridden, which Lucifer concluded by the constant buzzing of pests around her. Lucifer was unsure of what the mortal spawn had gone through, but he was certain that this sort of unjustifiable torture could cling onto the child’s memories for a long time to come. After all, he was well-experienced as the punisher and the punished.

Tentatively, he walked towards her. Lucifer held out both his hands, hoping the child could see that he was empty-handed, and meant no harm. The child shuffled her naked feet and sniffled quietly. Lucifer knelt on the ground. He wasn’t good with children. Angel toddlers? Ok, maybe he had a slim shot. But human spawn? Father bless him. He didn’t despise the little creatures. Yes, they were small, awkward and weak things, but he bore no hatred to them.

“Hello, urchin,” he said. “What’s your name?”

She sniffed and remained silent.

“I won’t hurt you,” he continued, almost promised. “How long have you been here?”

She was still silent, but her hiccupping eased.

“You’re safe with me.”

Another hiccup.

“I’ll protect you,” he said after a moment of silence, which surprised himself. He had never previously bonded with children, but he supposed this child needed him now. He wasn’t just going to abandon her the way his Father had done to him. No way in Hell. “I swear it.” An angel’s vow would not be broken.

He opened his arms, and the girl ran to him immediately. Lucifer let out a quiet chuckle, embracing her. “Let’s get you home.”

Chapter Text

When Lucifer said ‘home’, he meant anything but his penthouse above the electrifying nightclub. The child had refused to speak, and she had no intention of letting go of Lucifer. She was tiny, but he’ll be damned by the car-wrenching fist she had curled up on his now wrinkled shirt. He had no other choice but to carry her firmly against his chest, propped on one arm, as she dozed in and out, back to Lux.

The first of his staff to spot him was his chauffeur, who looked at Lucifer in stupefaction. For once, his staff was grateful that their boss did not have eyes, for they would’ve gotten their asses handed to them for rudely staring.

“Boss! Good evening, do you need anything?”

Lucifer paused midstride, tilting his chin towards his chauffeur’s voice. “Hello, Matteo. Are young children always like this?”

“Yes, but this one looks really hurt.”

Lucifer could hear Matteo’s frown. He was unsure of just how badly the child suffered, but judging from Matteo’s concern, he deduced that the child was in a dire state.

“Did you serve justice on the abusers?”

“If you’re asking if I punished them, I certainly did.”

Normally Lucifer jittered about his punishments and was keen to describe in vivid, gory detail to anyone who asked how it was delivered. But this time his tone betrayed no arrogance or zeal. He bid a goodnight to his chauffeur and took his private elevator up to his penthouse.

The child never let him go, and neither did he.

Lucifer sat her gently on his divan. He cupped her cheek. “Do you have a name, child?”

He felt the nod.

“Would you like to tell me?”

Another nod.

“I…” he trailed off quietly, wondering if the child was planning on writing it. Was she mute? “I can’t see. So I need you to tell me your name.”

“Beatwice,” the child spoke, her voice rash and broken.

“Beatrice,” Lucifer repeated. “What, are we in the Elizabethan era? I thought this was the twenty-first century. Do you know who gave you this name?”

Beatrice shook her head.

“And you don’t recall where you live either?”

She shook her head again.

“Would you like me to call you Beatrice?”

The child was unsure.

“Alright, well let’s give it a twist. To new beginnings,” Lucifer smiled. Yes, he was going to give this child another name that didn’t tie her down to her past. “How about Trixie? It sounds strong and resilient. I think it suits you pretty well, don’t you think, little urchin?”

The child nodded, and smiled too, which Lucifer took as a double positive.

“Wonderful,” he grinned. This must have made the child happy too, for she let out a soft giggle. “I have an assistant. Her name is Maze. She’ll be back soon to help take care of you. For now, let’s dress some of your wounds, shall we?”

“Uhhh Lucifer! What is this… offspring doing on the couch?”

There was initial shock and confusion when Maze strode boldly into his penthouse from the elevator. She was swinging her karambits around her fingers and had nearly lobbed one of the blades at the small shadowy mass sprawled on Lucifer’s divan. Trixie’s head popped up, and Maze gaped at the little creature.

“Ah! Maze, there you are,” Lucifer glided down the steps leading up to his open bedroom. He held a bottle of scotch in one hand and two glasses in the other. “I know little humans drink milk when they’re young, but obviously I don’t have a capable breastfeeding mother right now, and neither do I have a cow. The closest thing I have to milk is probably this ol’ thing.”

Lucifer sniffed the scotch and blew away some of the dust on the label. “1997 Sherry Cask, not my proudest bottle, but it should do for the little urchin.”

Maze stormed up to him and grabbed the bottle by the neck away from his open palm. “What the Hell, Lucifer?! You know what, I’m not even going to ask about the alcohol. But who is that?”

Lucifer looked at where the sharp end of the karambit was pointing. Trixie sat motionless; her little body was pushed back against the divan as if she wanted the couch to swallow her whole.

“Easy, Maze,” Lucifer gently lowered Maze’s weapon. “Ivanov saw me for a favour. I picked her up from the crime scene.”

“This isn’t a zoo, Lucifer. You don’t just go around collecting human spawn. Does this … thing not have a family to return to?”

“I don’t think so,” Lucifer said.

“What makes you say that?”

“I asked the little thing. But she couldn’t remember a single thing before the ordeal.”

Maze frowned, shooting a longer look at Trixie. It was then she noticed how battered the child was. Her hair was a complete frazzled mess. She had dark circles around her eyes, one that looked sorely blackened, and bruises as far as the eye could see. Maze’s grip tightened on her knives, and her breathing was beginning to sound laboured. There weren’t many things that could provoke the demon, and unfortunately, this was one of them. It was Lucifer’s touch on her wrist that drew her back.

“Maze, you’ve taken care of me well since we came to Earth.”

Lucifer tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He left his hand there, tracing the sharp edges of her face.

“I hate to ask you these things, but I want you to take care of her as well.”

She wanted to narrow her eyes and accuse the child of manipulating her Lord for sinking into the weaknesses of humanity, but when she looked at Trixie, she couldn’t help but think she was looking at a young Samael, untrusting, hurt, and alone.

And beyond that, she saw herself, unwanted and abandoned. There was a pang in the middle of her chest, a feeling she knew all too well. She swallowed whatever snarky remark she had and nodded.

Maze walked over to where Trixie was watching the conversation unfold. Maze stood with her hands on her hips and her blades sheathed rightfully on the leather straps of her thighs.

“What’s your name?”

Trixie stared up at her, her big eyes rounded with curiosity and awe.

“Twixie…”

After the child’s cute little lisp and the sorry state her crumpled body was in, Maze decided that she was going to take this one under her wing as well.

When the first mellow golden rays streaked across his quilt blankets and to his chest, his breathing stilled. The daybreak sunlight cascading down from his large windowpanes casted an ethereal light down to his bedroom, reminding him of a time of peace he had desperately yearned for. He turned to face the light, basking in the morning star which heralded the day’s dawn.

However, it was cut painfully short when a thick mass of looming grey clouds encroached the sky, chasing the sun into an unknown abyss.

The hairs on Lucifer’s neck stood frozen, and his skin began to feel eerily cold.

Still trapped in the realm of slumber, his memories of the Silver City were ripped away from his reach, and suddenly, he was Falling. The lashing winds sliced his skin away, revealing the redness of his too human flesh that was beginning to char. The last of what he saw was the glorious place he had adored and called home, before that too, was denied from him.

The stumps on his back where his wings used to be were now singed by the whips of the wind. He lifted his hands to feel the agonising pain on his deformed face. No longer was it smooth and flawless, but warm and wet with his own blood.

Lucifer woke with a stunted scream. He reached for the bucket and hurled. Nothing came out, and he remained like that for a while, dry heaving in between gasps.

There was a deep pain torturing him behind his ribs, and he wanted to cry it all out. But no tears came, for he had no eyes.

He touched his face with trembling hands, tracing the edges of the scar and his hollow eye sockets. He gripped the ends of his hair and tugged at it, wanting to feel some other kind of pain besides the incurable one in his chest, and buried his head in the pillow, curling up in a foetal position, wishing something could just engulf him and take him away from living.

Help me he begged, but no one answered.

“A-Are you okay?”

A soft-spoken voice lulled him away from his treacherous thoughts.

Lucifer stopped pulling at the tufts of his hair and froze in his bed. He didn’t remember bringing any hooker up to his penthouse the previous night. He laid like that for a couple of moments before it finally occurred to him.

Before doing anything else, he quickly lurched away from where the voice was coming from and wrapped an arm wrapped tightly around his face. The other hand fumbled for where he had put his glasses. When he found them, he hurriedly secured it over his eyes and turned to where Trixie was.

She was standing on the threshold of his doorway that separated his bedroom and the lounge. Lucifer determined from her meek voice that she must’ve been startled by his erratic movements and whatever sounds he was making.

He smelt strawberries and roses from where she stood. Maze must’ve helped her bathe yesterday. He found himself breaking out a small smile. Out of all the things he imagined Maze to do, washing a human child was the least expected on his list.

“Did I scare you, little one?”

“No,” Trixie said after a moment of silence.

She shuffled closer to where he sat on the bed. She was wearing a shirt five times bigger than her body, a shirt Maze must’ve yanked out from Father knows where. If Lucifer were to use his Devil Eyes, he could’ve gotten a small laugh out of it, but he was too fatigued to even move a bit.

Trixie stood a few feet away from where he was, dangerously close, considering even Maze knew to keep her distance from him during his vulnerable hours of the day. But the child didn’t know any better. Lucifer scoffed under his breath. It wasn’t like he was going to punish her for not knowing the unspoken rules of his penthouse. Before he could say anything, Trixie continued.

“I know tha’ feeling,” she whispered. Her voice was still a bit broken, and she lisped on certain words. “I-I know wha’ you’re feeling.”

Lucifer thought the child was perhaps crying when she said this. He sat up straighter, and though it hurt every limb and bone in his body, he wanted to look at least a little bit stronger than before. He patted at a spot next to him.

“Come, sit here.”

Trixie obliged.

The two of them sat side by side. Not a single word was spoken between the two of them, yet they understood each other. It was as if they had experienced the same things together. As if they were truly father and daughter.

A tiny sob broke the silence. Trixie hid her face in her hands.

Lucifer knew the little one hurt in ways that were indescribable. She had lost everything, everyone that was important to her. And she was so young she wasn’t even able to remember faces. But Lucifer knew she could remember the feeling of a home. A family. Warmth.

And so he did something that he had desperately wanted someone else to do for him during all the years he was alone.

He brought an arm around her shoulders, and pushed her against his side, hugging her tightly to him.

And Trixie, after feeling the warmth of his body next to hers, cried and cried.

Lucifer examined Trixie’s bruises with a flicker of his Devil Eyes. She had eventually quieted down, and Lucifer was able to inspect her physical wellbeing.

“Looks like we need to get you some antiseptic cream,” Lucifer said.

“Anti…sweptick,” Trixie repeated.

“Yes, little urchin, it should help prevent an infection in the cuts you’ve got. I don’t think I’ve got any here since Maze and I are pretty much immortal. Technically I’m, immortal, and when she dies she’ll just… well, die.”

He had completely lost Trixie by the middle of his sentence, but that didn’t stop Lucifer from talking. He kept blabbing on about human medicines and how humans are reliant on it in the 21st Century to extend their mortality.

“I’m hungry,” Trixie said, looking at him with puffy eyes.

Lucifer tilted his head towards the beams of sunlight from his window. “I suppose it’s midday. Maze probably already made some pancakes. Did you catch her before she left?”

“Mm mm,” Trixie shook her head.

“Go eat, I can smell it on the counter.”

Lucifer shooed the thing out of his bedroom mainly because he thought he already had enough interaction with a human spawn in the early hours of the morning, but partly because he wanted to make sure she was well fed.

While Trixie ate what Maze had prepared, Lucifer dragged himself out of bed. His whole body felt limp and numb, but nonetheless he dressed himself in a plain white dress-shirt which complemented his ivory skin-tone.

Trixie wasn’t done with her breakfast yet, so he poured himself a glass of whiskey, lit up a cigarette and played a soft melodious tune on his piano.

It didn’t take long for Trixie to become entranced with what Lucifer was playing. She wandered over to him, a pancake in hand, and scooted onto the seat next to him.

Lucifer snuffed the cigarette out. He continued to play, his fingers gliding over the smooth black and white surfaces of the keys. And when he was done, Trixie clapped her hands, an innocent and bubbly smile gracing her face.

“Did you finish the food?”

“Yep!”

“Alright. Do you want to stop by the pharmacy?”

Trixie nodded. Lucifer was sure the little squirt didn’t even know what ‘pharmarcy’ meant.

He stood up, drank the rest of his glass, and grabbed his Corvette keys. Trixie followed closely. The two of them stood awkwardly in the elevator. Lucifer was unsure of how to work around the dynamic he had with the child, but Trixie seemed to really like being near his presence.

He wasn’t familiar with human touch. Well… he was when it came to strippers and hookers, and Maze of course, with someone who didn’t see him as a sexual conquest and someone who was a mortal child? That was new to Lucifer. It made him nervous, of all things!

When they arrived on the ground floor, Matteo greeted him. His chauffeur was surprised to see Lucifer out and about in the morning. It wasn’t talked about, but Lucifer’s staff rarely expected to see him when it wasn’t the evening. Plus, it didn’t help when Lucifer looked like he just rolled out of bed. His face was slightly pale, and his hair was a ruffled mess.

“Good morning, Boss. Where are you off too?”

“Hello, Matteo. I’m taking the human spawn to the pharmacy.”

Matteo smiled, then bent down to his knees so he was eye-level with Trixie.

“Hey there, little one.”

Trixie bit her lip and hid behind one of Lucifer’s legs.

“Matteo’s a good man,” Lucifer said to her.

But Trixie didn’t budge. She clung onto Lucifer’s slacks tighter.

Matteo stood back up. “Before you take her there, she’ll need this.” He pulled out a small pair of sunglasses behind the concierge desk. “This’ll help avoid people questioning.”

Lucifer took the glasses. If Trixie wore these sunglasses, then the public wouldn’t be able to see most of her bruises on her face.

Honestly, he had wanted to drop Trixie off at his local police department. He wasn’t capable of taking care of anyone or anything, let alone a little squirt. When he voiced this idea to Trixie, she adamantly shook her head. She knew who the police were, and that if she was under their care, there was probably a high possibility in reuniting with her parents.

But she didn’t remember her parents. How long ago was it when she saw her mother? Trixie thought hard about it, but all she could vaguely recall was a presence… nothing else.

Trixie’s unresponsiveness led Lucifer to guess that whatever trauma she experienced with Cameron and his men had forced her to dissociate. She had tucked away the darkest of her memories in the quiet corners of her consciousness, as if the past before she had met Lucifer had never happened at all.

She was young, very young – maybe five, and her unwillingness to let go of Lucifer meant she wanted to stay next to her saviour more than anything. This was all but a ludicrous figment of Lucifer’s imagination. If he had said he was the saviour of Trixie out loud it would’ve made him double over in sordid laughter. The Devil? A saviour?

Regardless, a part of Lucifer didn’t want to give her up to the police. They’d probably give her up to an orphanage, and he didn’t want the urchin to go through all of that.

And then he thought of all the other children who likely underwent the same thing Trixie did when Cameron was still operating his illegal trafficking business. He reminded himself to call in a favour later in the day.

Lucifer offered Trixie the glasses.

She took it excitedly and shoved it onto her nose without any queries. Lucifer was surprised at her eagerness, unsure of why. But to Matteo it was obvious. The little girl looked up to her hero. She wanted to look just like him as well. Her new shades matched Lucifer’s tinted glasses. And she was bloody proud of it. Her previous shyness was beginning to wear off, and Matteo grinned.

“Last chance, tiny,” Lucifer said. “You want to go out?”

“Mm hmm.”

Lucifer opened the passenger door, scooped Trixie in his arms and sat her down in the seat. Matteo helped clip Trixie’s seatbelt.

“Have a good day, Boss.”

Lucifer started the engine, and with a glimmer of his Devil Eyes, they drove off.

“Urchin, what does this say?”

Lucifer shoved a bottle of unknown ingredients in front of Trixie’s face. He had gotten tired from using his Devil Eyes and decided to shut them off for a while. He enjoyed driving but needing to them for an un-Fatherly amount of time often left them strained and sore.

Trixie had her lips pursed as she squinted past her sunnies to look at what Lucifer was holding.

“W… Wha… Wart? K-Kr… Cree… Cream?”

“You certainly don’t have a wart, so this isn’t what we’re looking for.”

Lucifer frowned and shoved the bottle back onto the shelf. He grabbed a flat and round container next to it and showed Trixie it. She had trouble reading this one, and it had caught the attention of the pharmacist.

“Welcome,” the pharmacist said. She eyed the odd pair. “How can I help you?”

“We’re looking for antiseptic cream,” Lucifer said. “The cream you humans use to treat cuts and wounds.”

Whether the pharmacist heard Lucifer’s weird description or not, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she knelt to Trixie and smiled gently at the urchin.

“Are you okay, little girl? You look a bit too skinny for your age.”

Lucifer scowled. The woman had totally ignored what he said, which didn’t happen really often, but judging by her tone, she seemed to also suspect him as a kidnapper of sorts. This irritated Lucifer. Trixie hid behind one of his legs again, and Lucifer repositioned himself to fully face the kneeling pharmacist.

“Look, human. I asked where the cream is. Antiseptic cream. And though I like it when women are kneeling in front of me, this is hardly the place or time. If you really want to do that, then you can come visit my club.” He took one of his business cards from his pocket and slapped it in the woman’s hand.

The pharmacist must’ve been instantly drawn to his soothing baritone voice, because she immediately got back up, shoved the Lux business card into the back pocket of her jeans and redirected Lucifer to what he was searching for.

He bought it without a second glance and left the store before any more unwanted conversation.

As he and Trixie were walking back to the car, Trixie’s attention was caught by a rainbow of colours at a gelato store. He had only found out when he hadn’t heard the trailing of little plodding steps after him.

“What is it?” Lucifer asked.

“I’unno,” Trixie whispered. “But it looks so colourful.”

Lucifer sniffed. “Ah, ice-cream. The bane of many humans.”

Trixie stared intently at the glass window that separated her from the several tubs of ice-cream.

“C’mon. We must head back so I can put this medicine on you. And ice-cream in the morning isn’t good for your stomach.”

Trixie wouldn’t budge. She was still staring at the glass, and no matter what Lucifer said, she wasn’t swayed by it. Lucifer finally gave in when she reached her hand up and tugged his sleeve.

He hated to admit it, but somewhere deep inside his chest, an emotion he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time had started to bloom.

“Alright alright, you little runt. What do you want?”

Trixie grinned and pointed at two flavours.

“Chocolate mint and rainbow! Good choices, child,” the ice-cream vendor said as he scooped the flavours up into a cone.

Lucifer handed the ice-cream cone down to Trixie. Eyes shining with wonder, Trixie marvelled at the huge scoops of ice-cream. Then she opened her mouth and took a big bite of the chocolate mint on top.

“Yummy!” She exclaimed.

This made Lucifer smile.

He paid the ice-cream vendor a gratuitous wad of fifties.

The first few months with Trixie rolled by faster than what Lucifer had ever remembered time moving.

Over the weeks the child had somehow wormed her way into Maze’s cold-blooded demon heart. There were times when he heard Maze singing to the little urchin, lulling her into an afternoon nap. Maze began spending more time in his penthouse than she ever had. Once Trixie had grown an intense fascination with chocolate cake, and begged Maze to bake one at home. His demon reluctantly did, and when Lucifer had caught her wearing a chef’s top hat and an apron with a big juicy cartoon heart on it, he had laughed until his stomach hurt.

For the first time since he had been thrown out of Heaven, he had come to peace with himself.

Everything seemed right. It was all too sudden – he was content with himself and with his life, like he had control over it, right in his fists.

He no longer clawed at himself or grabbed his own hair so roughly that clumps of it fell out.

For now Lucifer had something to tend to. After several millenniums, he finally cared for something. Someone. Maze was a demon, a spawn of Lilith, and she was old enough to take care of herself. But Trixie was different.

She graced his penthouse with her very own angelic existence.

Within the first week, Lucifer called down a doctor who owed him a favour and deemed that his end of the deal would be Trixie having weekly appointments. In a matter of time, the bruises started healing, and gradually, so did her emotional ones.

Lucifer however didn’t want Maze to mother both the offspring and him. Even though he was broken, he took uttermost care of Trixie. He definitely saw a part of himself within her, and Maze did too. The two of them worked as a team, not as a duo of murderers or punishers, but as a duo of parents.

Ever since then, he started to take more time and effort in presenting himself. At one point he even stopped Maze from brushing his tousled hair. He straightened it himself, gelling it back each morning. Maze gave him a thumbs up when she noticed his renewed levels of energy.

With the good days, the bad staggered not so far behind.

There were days when Trixie wouldn’t want to wake up and do anything. And there were nights when she woke up screaming. Lucifer would often share his bed with hers when that happened (he tied a blindfold on his eyes so he wouldn’t give the child a fright). He would hold her until she fell back asleep, safe in his arms. When she woke from these bad nights, he’d catch her staring at him with flecks of adorable innocence in her hazel eyes.

“Ice-cream?” she would ask in a delicate voice, fully knowing that ice-cream for breakfast was banned. The bravery! How could Lucifer say no?

He dragged himself up, drove to the nearest gas station and surprised Trixie with a tub of Neapolitan ice-cream. Maze eventually found out and frankly, she wasn’t too happy. She said that this would be the very last time the urchin was allowed to eat ice-cream at 7 A.M. in bed. Lucifer did however catch one of Maze’s rare, contented smiles.

Neither of them wanted to admit the outrageous, but they both knew that Trixie made the Devil and his demon grow softer.

Chapter Text

“Is that your dad, Trixie?”

“No,” Trixie hummed. She was busy building a castle in the sandpit with her first-grader school friend, Madison. It was three in the afternoon and school had just finished. They were waiting to be picked up.

“How come? He always picks you up.”

“Well…”

“Is he nice to you?”

Trixie nodded. “Yes! He loves me. He buys me all the things I want and cooks me food that I love to eat.”

Maddie pursed her lips. “Then why isn’t he your dad?”

“I don’t know,” Trixie said. She put her plastic bucket and shovel down and frowned. “Do you think…?”

“I think you should,” Maddie said. “He’s nice to you and he clearly loves you. He’s a good dad. Maybe not as good as mine though!”

Trixie grinned. Her friend was good at convincing her. However, Trixie never took the step, too afraid that somehow, she would scare Lucifer away. She knew Lucifer had a rocky relationship with his father, and that the two of them had a falling out long, long ago.

There was one night she overheard a small bicker between Lucifer and Maze. They were hissing through clenched teeth, attempting to talk in hushed voices. Trixie was still woken by it. She wasn’t able to catch onto anything they were saying besides the stressed annoyance on words like “Dad” and “Hell”.

She knew it was Lucifer’s father who etched the scar on his face and took his sight away. There were a few times when she spotted Lucifer’s eyes – both his irises and pupils were plain white, drained of colour. It didn’t scare her, since she knew he was sensitive about it and she still loved him the same, whether he had normal human eyes or not.

Trixie knew how much Lucifer’s father had hurt him. Some nights he sat at the end of her bed late in the night when he thought she was deep asleep. The bed would quiver a little bit from his trembling shoulders and soft sniffs. He’d then press a kiss on her forehead and tell her that she meant the entire universe to him. This hurt Trixie because she hated to see Lucifer sad, and so she’d try her best to curl up next to him under the pretence that she was sleeping.

“He really can’t see, can he?” Maddie mused, pulling Trixie from her thoughts.

Trixie looked up and followed Maddie’s line of sight.

Lucifer had approached the gates of the school and accidentally knocked over a small flowerpot that was near the entrance. Trixie giggled. She knew Lucifer could be scary if he wanted to, but sometimes he was just a big klutz.

“No,” Trixie confirmed. “Something bad happened to him.” She scooped up some sand and moulded the final piece of the sandcastle. “I’ll make sure nothing will ever again.”

“Wow, Trix. You’re really mature.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she said, looking at where Lucifer was.

He was talking to a woman Trixie had seen occasionally linger around the school gates. She was a dark blond, a type she knew Lucifer usually liked. The two of them were chatting for a while. Trixie was too far to hear what they were saying and she didn’t really have any fascination eavesdropping on them.

Lucifer must have sensed her looking at him, so he gave her a small wave. She grinned, stood up and patted the sand off her pants.

“Bye bye Maddie, see you tomorrow.”

“Bye bye, Trix.”

Lucifer picked her up when she ran to him, holding Trixie firmly in one arm. He gave the woman a pleasant smile, bidding her a goodbye.

“Hello, urchin. How was your day?”

“Hi daddy,” Trixie said.

Lucifer froze in place, his feet rooted on the ground. His mouth was open, ready to say something else. He turned to blindly face Trixie, his glasses the only barrier between them. He was so surprised he closed his mouth, then opened it, and closed it again. He broke out into a big smile.

“My day was good,” she continued.

Lucifer touched his nose against Trixie’s, his way of saying he loved her. He had trouble with those words, so they had found a way around it. She had just started to loop her arms around his neck, squeezing in a hug before she realised she had forgotten her homework!

“Daddy I forgot my homework!”

Without waiting for Lucifer’s reply, she leaped out of his arms and ran back into the school.

By the time she tucked her homework into her schoolbag and was skipping back, Lucifer was flirting with the woman next to him. As soon as she was close to him, Lucifer winked at the woman and then turned his attention towards her. They held hands and walked away.

“Who was that, daddy?”

“Hm? Oh, she’s a mother of one of your school mates. She was just asking me a few questions.”

“Do you like her?” Trixie asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Ah, you know my type, don’t you, you little sly urchin?” Lucifer grinned. “Well in that case… why don’t you introduce some good-looking bimbos Daddy’s way, hm?”

Trixie bubbled with laughter. “What do I get in return?”

“You fiendish creature! I think I’ve taught you too well. Name your price urchin, ice-cream or chocolate cake?”

Trixie pondered for a moment.

“Chocolate cake!”

“Deal.”

They shook on it.

“No, no, no Maze, I didn’t say kill, just punish. With the whip or your knives. The face? Ooh, the family jewels? You’re quite the wicked villain, aren’t you? But yes definitely the family heirlooms.”

On the other end of Lucifer’s phone call, there were consecutive screams before Maze’s sultry voice smoothed over the line.

“Why can’t I kill them, Lucifer?”

“You do realise that if you kill them some other demon in Hell would end up torturing these miscreants? If you want to punish them, then you have all the time in the world to do it here, on Earth.”

Lucifer had sent Maze to hound down the remaining children trafficking organisations that were connected to Cameron’s network. It had taken them months to finally weed out the privy and secluded institutions, forcing them out from the criminal underground and into the surface of the public through an amalgamated variety of baiting, manipulating, and blunt force. Lucifer treated it like a whack-a-mole game.

Maze had at last found the final branch and was now delivering some unethical punishment to the vile humans. Lucifer should’ve been there too, but the timing coincided with when he usually picked Trixie up from school.

They always left the workers and their ringleaders heavily battered and on the verge of death, something Lucifer was very meticulous on. He didn’t want these humans dying just yet; no, it had to be until he rightfully returned to his throne in Hell. Following the bloody beatings, he’d then called in the favour Ivanov owed him, who would then tip off the location of the trafficking organisations to the LAPD.

The intense rate of purging Lucifer and Maze ran through caught the attention of several media outlets, who demanded interviews and articles with the LAPD. Who filtered out all these shady criminal institutions if it wasn’t the LAPD? Why were the traffickers beaten near death? Endless questions, all avoided by the law enforcement.

The rest wasn’t his concern. As if it was all a routine, he’d return home with Maze and the two of them would call it a pizza and movie night with Trixie, who had no idea her heroes had sought revenge on the very ones who had hurt her and all the other children.

“Oh hello,” Lucifer grinned at a woman who was leaning on the school gates. “Got to go Maze,” he said, hanging up the line.

His pace quickened towards the woman, unknowingly knocking over a pot plant in the process. He caught it and set it back into its rightful place. He had grown very accustomed to his surroundings even without sight, though small things like a damned pot plant often cockblocked him.

“Hello, vixen,” Lucifer smiled coyly at the lady, slinking up next to her.

She had her dirty blond hair tied up in a high ponytail which complemented her sharp facial features. She was wearing dark sunglasses, a cropped leather jacket and tight jeans – exactly how Lucifer liked it. Not a lot of skin showing, but boy did she have a body for it.

“Hi,” the woman said. “Are you picking your child up from school?”

“That I am. What’s a beauty like you doing here?”

“Oh I… I’m um…”

Lucifer raised a brow. There wasn’t much you could do in this area… considering they were standing right in front of a place tiny human offspring were offloaded to for ‘education’.

“Are you a teacher perhaps?” He leaned closer to her, the charming and enigmatic smile never leaving his lips. “You could definitely teach me something too, or maybe we could switch it up and I’ll teach you how to press your lips around my – ”

“I’m a teacher!” the woman spluttered. “I-I mean I’m also picking up my kid.”

“Oh,” Lucifer said. “Well if your husband ever displeases you in any way, then just let me know. I can definitely show you the time of your life.”

Lucifer turned his body away from her and to the school. He gave Trixie a little wave.

“I’ll see you around,” he said to the woman.

“No, actually you won’t – ”

Lucifer didn’t hear the rest. He was now grinning at a Trixie who was bounding towards him. A content laugh rumbled in his chest, and he picked her up in one clean swoop.

“Hello urchin, how was your day?”

What came out of Trixie’s mouth next shocked him to his very roots. Did she just call him Daddy? He stood ramrod straight with his mouth gaping open like a fool. Almost immediately his heart swelled with happiness, spreading warmth through his chest. Pride seeped through him and he gave Trixie a twirl, his smile wide and large.

Trixie was giggling the entire time until she let out a short yelp. She wriggled out of Lucifer’s arms.

“Daddy I forgot my homework!”

Trixie sped off, back into the school gates, making a beeline to her homeroom teacher who was supervising the rest of the children who hadn’t been picked up yet.

“Offspring, right?” Lucifer chuckled.

“What’s her name?” The woman next to him asked, a hint of surprise laced in her voice.

Lucifer turned to face her.

“Trixie. A hooker’s name, I know I know. But I couldn’t come up with any other name at the time.”

“Oh,” the woman said, as if she was disappointed at whatever Lucifer said.

Lucifer, being Lucifer, didn’t spare a single thought at the woman.

“And her surname?”

“Morningstar,” Lucifer declared, puffing out his chest.

Trixie was now galloping back towards him.

“It could be yours too, you know,” he gave her an alluring wink. “Once you decide to leave your mortal husband and give the Devil a chance.”

And with that, he held Trixie’s outstretched hand and the two of them walked away, chirping at each other with light-hearted banter towards his parked Corvette.

Lucifer missed the way the woman’s eyes were locked onto Trixie, as though she had witnessed something so startling it left her paralysed.

“What do you want on your pizza, Trix?”

“Pepperoni. And pineapple!”

“Awesome taste, Trix,” Maze high-fived Trixie. “Exactly like a demon.”

“You mean what an abhorrent and tasteless choice?” Lucifer interrupted, his head poking up from the banquette. “Pineapple on pizza? Raffaele Esposito would be turning in his grave.” He shuddered.

“Oh shut up you drama queen,” Maze said, shaking her head. She didn’t hide her smile.

She and Trixie were baking pizza today. Instead of their usual order in, Trixie came up with the spontaneous idea of baking their own. They had frozen pizza dough in the freezer, and Lucifer had all the toppings delivered.

Lucifer huffed in mock anger. “No one cares about me anymore, not even my own demon or child.”

Maze and Trixie exchanged a look, before both burst out laughing.

“Don’t worry daddy, I still love you the same. I made a pizza that looks like you too.”

Lucifer stood up and sauntered his way over to Trixie, his interest piqued. Lo and behold, with a glimmer of his Devil Eyes, he saw that Trixie had indeed made a devilish pizza. She had the base covered in tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese, pepperoni as the eyes, pepper slices to mimic devil horns, and triangular cuts of pineapple for pointy teeth.

“Looks just like me, except I’m a tad more handsome,” he gloated, ruffling Trixie’s hair.

The three of them ate the pizzas while watching a John Wick marathon, a request of Maze’s. When they were halfway through it, all three of them were hooked on it. Trixie, who despite her young age, was captivated by all the fighting moves. Lucifer had his eyes closed but nonetheless enjoyed the sound effects. And Maze, well, Maze enjoyed it because there was violence. She’d critique the accuracy and efficiency of some of the moves, but otherwise she was glued to the TV screen.

A flapping of wings followed by an effortless swooosh caught Lucifer’s attention.

He turned to face his open balcony. There, next to the silky billow of his curtains stood a huge mass of muscles and shadowy darkness. Trixie leaped up from her seat and rushed to it.

“Uncle Amenadiel!”

Amenadiel chuffed at his niece. He knelt and gave her a hug.

Lucifer wounded around the lounge and walked to his brother. Maze was the only one who didn’t take her eyes off the TV. She had no interest in the angel and preferred to watch the show instead.

“Hello, brother.” Lucifer put a hand on Trixie’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go back and watch the show with Maze, hm?”

Trixie gave Amenadiel another hug before running off again.

“Luci,” Amenadiel greeted, giving his brother a clasped hug around the shoulders.

“What brings you here at this time, brother?”

“I wanted to check in with you, Luci,” his brother said. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me last time.”

Lucifer poured two glasses of whiskey and offered one to Amenadiel.

“You’re right, Luci. All these – ”

“I’m what now?”

“You’re right, because I’ve been – ”

“Say it just a tad louder, brother. I can’t really hear you,” Lucifer said with a devious smile.

Only then did Amenadiel realise what his brother was going for, and he sighed.

“Don’t rub it in too much, Luci. I’ve been watching some of these humans from afar and I do need to say they’re all quite fascinating.”

“Mm hmm,” Lucifer took a gulp of his drink.

“I’ve been thinking to stay on Earth a bit longer.”

Lucifer did a spit take, showering Amenadiel with it. The latter frowned, shaking some droplets off his coat.

“You, stay here on Earth? Dad’s eldest son? Gee brother, I didn’t pin you as one of the naughty ones.”

“I’m sure Father will understand. I think he sent me down here for a reason other than persuading you to return to Hell.”

“No need to sugar-coat it brother. I know you’re quite attached to the little urchin. You wouldn’t want to leave her unattended either, do you?”

Amenadiel looked away, pondering. “No, I don’t,” he finally said.

“Perfect! Then we’re on the same side brother.” Lucifer lit a cigarette, but before he brought it to his lips, he took his glasses off and stared at his brother with his empty eyes. “Is there something else you aren’t telling me?”

“There is,” Amenadiel admitted, but he was intrigued with Lucifer’s eyes more than whatever he was going to say. “Luci, your eyes! They’ve grown back.”

“They’ve always grown back, brother.”

“I know, but you’re actually keeping them this time!”

Lucifer breathed in the cigarette. “I suppose I am. Figured the offspring might not enjoy watching me tear my eyes out every day.”

“Luci,” Amenadiel said in awe. “Do you realise what this is? You’re improving!”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it improving, brother. My pupils will never grow back. They’ll be a soulless white for all eternity. I’ve taken my sight away too many times it will no longer bestow me with it.”

“Yes, Luci, but you’re taking steps to improve your wellbeing.”

“It’s for the urchin. I… I…”

“You want to be there for her,” Amenadiel said quietly, piecing the puzzles together.

“The least I can do,” Lucifer scoffed, pushing his glasses back on. “I won’t be returning to Hell anytime soon, brother.”

Amenadiel stayed silent for a while. “I want to keep looking at humans and their lives.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, his back turned to his brother as he poured another glass. There was something Amenadiel wasn’t telling him. Oddly enough it didn’t bother him. His brother would tell eventually, or he’d just end up finding it out.

Amenadiel had always been and still is one of his favourite brothers. The two grew up together. Of course there was Michael as well, but neither of them got along with Lucifer’s twin. With Amenadiel, things felt right. Lucifer looked up to his older brother and tried to imitate the way he fought relentlessly in battle.

But as goody two shoes, neither of them was successful in garnering the attention of their Father. Lucifer ended up being the mischievous one so he could be told off by their Father more. In return, Lucifer was able to see his Father more than any of his siblings.

That was all a long time ago.

Now they were just two brothers sitting side by side in Lucifer’s private bar with Maze and Trixie continuing their movie marathon behind them.

He wished this could last forever.

Amenadiel ended up staying for half a John Wick movie before he deemed it was time to go. He put a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder and gave his brother a small smile. “If you need me Luci, I’m one pray away.”

Once upon a time Lucifer would’ve lashed out at what Amenadiel had just said. Then why weren’t you there when I needed you most? Where were you when I spent a millennium in Hell? Or when I thought the pain and loneliness was so unbearable I just wanted to end it all?

But he said none of that. He was content where he was now, and he had found a place he could call home on Earth. He didn’t feel the need to bring back the past which was just starting to become delicately sewn up together.

“Chances are I won’t be needing your help, brother,” Lucifer said. There was no sarcasm in his voice now. He watched Trixie as she gasped at whatever the movie was screening.

After Amenadiel left, Lucifer determined it bedtime for Trixie. He wouldn’t hear the complains from Maze or the little squirt.

“School tomorrow,” he reminded her. Then he looked at Maze and asked whether she could drop Trixie off at the school gates to which Maze gave a nod.

When the two of them closed the door of Trixie’s bedroom, Maze lifted an eyebrow.

“You in a rush?”

“I’m expecting to see someone.”

“Giving out new favours, I assume?”

“Not tonight. This one owes me a favour. I won’t make it too hard for her.”

He grabbed his jacket on the countertop.

“I’ll keep an eye out on Trix.”

The corners of Lucifer’s lips turned upwards. “Thank you, Maze.”

“I feel the same way you do towards her.”

The two exchanged a look, before he went down to Lux.

It took him some time to find who he was looking for. Since he wasn’t in a rush, he spent a few moments to enjoy the strobing lights and the booming of the music. Hips and crotches grinded against him and he was tempted to move his body with the rhythms of others, but he manoeuvred away from the dancing crowd, stopping only occasionally to kiss of flirt.

Patrick greeted him from the bar.

“Hey Boss, she’s waiting for you in Booth 6.”

“Patrick, good work as always.”

Lucifer approached the booth, sliding into it. He didn’t need eyes to sense the nervous jitteriness that was rolling off the lady like wavelets.

“Hello, Delilah darling.”

“Lucifer! There you are.”

“You’re beautiful as always,” he purred. “Although I’m afraid I didn’t agree to see you today for this.”

“Thank you, Lucifer. You were always nice to me.”

“Careful, darling. Anyone can be nice to you, once you fall into the trap then you start becoming a victim.”

“Jimmy Barnes was very nice. You introduced me to him.”

“I told you to work with him, not sleep with that sweaty little imp.”

“I… got confused…” She looked at him cluelessly.

Lucifer scoffed at her, and the two laughed together. “Come on, let’s go take a walk and I’ll let you know how you can fulfill your end of the bargain.”

He stood and offered her a hand. She linked her arm around his and the two of them stepped out of the hazy club.

The streets of Los Angeles were much cooler than Lux. Summer had passed not too long ago and now there was a wintery chill in the late-Autumn wind. Delilah shivered when a cool gust of wind surged through the middle of towering skyscrapers. Lucifer drew her closer in, shielding her from the cold.

“This is what I’m going to ask you to do, Delilah.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“You should be,” he said. “Because what I’m about to ask you is going to be very difficult for you.”

He turned to her, his hollow gaze penetrating through his tinted glasses and into her befuddled eyes. She sucked in a breath, her eyebrows furrowed in anxious wait.

“Pull yourself together. That’s all I’m asking. You have talent, Delilah. I would hate to see it wasted.”

All signs of tension disappeared from Delilah’s face. Shoulders slumping, she smiled gratefully at Lucifer. “I will.”

The two of them walked around the block, reminiscing the times Delilah used to sing at Lux for him.

“You’ve grown a lot, Lucifer,” Delilah said.

“Why thank you, but I need you to know that I’ve always had an impressive package.”

“Not that,” Delilah laughed. “It’s just… you’re different than before. You’ve seen light.”

“Seen? That’s funny.”

“What I mean is you have something you care about. You’ve found a will to live.”

Lucifer frowned. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“Lucifer you know exactly what I mean.” She smiled at him.

Lucifer huffed.

“Alright I suppose. Here,” he opened his arms and hugged her. “Take care, Delilah.”

Before she could reply, a car’s engine roared through the streets and shots were fired at them. He felt the force of the bullets before anything else, falling backwards unexpectedly as the bullets winded him. When he came to, Delilah was lying next to him face down with a pool of sticky red blood oozing out under her.

An inconceivable rage seethed through him like lava hissing through the crevices of molten rock. With a white fury smothering his vision, he stood up, straightened his now bullet-ridden three-piece suit and menacingly closed the distance between the assailant, whose car was now flipped from a collision with a heavy transport vehicle, and himself.

Grabbing the collar of the near lifeless man from the broken window shield, he thrusted the limp man out from the vehicle and tossed him onto the asphalt the way someone would toss out their garbage. He lifted his shoe and drove it down onto the stomach of the dying man. There was a squelching sound of blood spurting from the man’s throat. Lucifer grounded his heel on the man.

“You’re going to tell me in a very short, simple sentence exactly why you did this.”

“Or what?” The man sputtered out. “I’m dying anyway.”

“You will,” Lucifer bit out, snatching his glasses off. His eyes smouldered into a furious flaming red, revealing a promise of excruciating pain and torment that awaited the man. Lucifer’s heel grinded into his stomach with merciless force and the crushing weight mangled the man’s organs, forcing a pained cry to tear from his lips.

“O-Okay! Okay, J-Jimmy Barnes promised me good money.”

“Money?” Lucifer echoed. “These are the moments I wish I was back at Hell,” he growled and then let go of the man.

With his throat clogged with blood, the man struggled to breathe. He reached out an arm at Lucifer, fingers trembling, and heaved one more time before his eyes rolled back and his body went limp.

Lucifer put his glasses back on, then flushed out his pocket square and thoroughly rubbed off the blood stains on his fingers. Grimacing, Lucifer looked up at the heavens, a deep scowl lining his face.

“Is that what you wanted, Dad? To take away everything and everyone I love? Was my banishment to Hell for thousands of years still not a satisfactory punishment?”

Snarling, he threw his pocket square onto the ground next to the killer. He turned to look at Delilah one last time, and with shoulders slugged heavy with grief, he walked off in search for a familiar homunculus called Jimmy Barnes.

It didn’t take him long to find the balding man. Jimmy had locked himself in a studio, recording one of his singer’s to-be hits. In one swift motion, Lucifer booted the door open, sending it slamming into the wall behind it with a groan. Hands in his pockets, he prowled towards where a stunned Jimmy was standing, who cut his berating lecture to the bystanding singer short.

“Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy,” Lucifer clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Out with it now.”

“You, again? Get out of my studio, weirdo.”

“Your studio? Need I remind you that I invested in over sixty percent of the stock in your record label? Without my help you wouldn’t be standing in riches, Jimmy boy.”

Lucifer snapped his fingers at the singer and his band and pointed to the door. The four of them obediently scurried out, leaving Lucifer and Jimmy alone in the studio.

“Sit.”

Jimmy sat down on a high-back swivel stool. Lucifer had now taken off his jacket and was rolling up his dress shirt sleeves.

“You will answer my questions.”

Jimmy swallowed audibly. “Look man, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Why did you kill her?”

“Kill who?”

Lucifer reeled his arm back and struck the left side of Jimmy’s face with a hardened punch. “Wrong answer.”

“I-I didn’t kill nobody!”

Lucifer landed another solid punch on his face, making a dull impact as soon as his knuckles grazed the bottom half of Jimmy’s face. Jimmy screamed and spat out a mouthful of blood and a tooth.

“Alright, alright! Yes I killed Delilah.”

Another punch.

By now Jimmy was bleeding from the cuts on his forehead and his cheek. One of his eyes was beginning to blacken and he was squinting through the pain of it all.

“I asked you why, Jimmy boy. Come on, you’re a grown man, do we need to start exercising listening activities? I’ve got a little girl at home who knows how to listen better than you. And she’s seven.”

“I killed her… because I knew I was going to get a spike in album sales after her death,” Jimmy breathed out through his bloody nose. “Her death helped me generate royalty checks.”

“You were in it for money,” Lucifer mused, then scoffed, circling Jimmy. “Money. It’s what all you humans want. You’ll do anything for it, won’t you?”

Without waiting for Jimmy’s answer, Lucifer grabbed him by the back of his shirt, lurched him off the seat with ease, and then rammed him into the double-sided mirror. Jimmy let out a shriek of pain upon the contact of his face slamming into the ruptured glass shards.

“Don’t scream now, Jimmy, the scariest part has yet to come,” Lucifer whispered into his ear, grinning devilishly.

In the reflection of the mirror, Jimmy no longer saw Lucifer’s humanoid face. Instead, he saw a face that terrorised him to the very core - a face full of hot, blistering sores and open cavities so horribly deformed not even a mother could bring herself to truly love, stared back at him. Lucifer tore his glasses off, revealing the slitted crimson eyes of the Devil. He then grinned, flashing Jimmy rows of rotting, yellow teeth, as if they were sharpened to gnaw through human flesh.

“Scary, isn’t it?” Lucifer murmured in between Jimmy’s ear-splitting screams.

Before he could torture Jimmy’s soul any further, a tirade of stamping feet and shouting forced him to return to his human face.

“LAPD! Put him down!”

A crowd of law enforcement officers charged into the studio, guns loaded and aimed at both Lucifer and Jimmy.

“Today’s your lucky day. I do know of a place somewhere else, somewhere colder. And down there, you’re never saved, not by anyone.”

“Put him down, now!”

“Hold on, I know that voice,” Lucifer frowned.

Without another word, Lucifer let go of Jimmy’s collar, letting the man slide down the wall in a huddled bloody mess. He plucked his glasses tucked neatly in his dress-shirt and put them on, then raised his arms and spun on his heel, facing the police force with a smirk on his lips.

“Why hello you,” he said to the blond woman who stood at the very front, just a few feet away from him. “You were at the school earlier today!”

“Detective Decker,” she said. “Lucifer Morningstar, you’re under arrest.”

Chapter Text

Chloe Decker remembered how it happened so vividly that it was going to be etched into her memory for lifetimes to come.

The day was over just when it had begun.

Chloe had completed virtually none of her assignments and before she knew it, it was already six in the evening and she was working overtime. Grabbing the empty coffee mug on her desk, she made her way over to the kitchen and poured a sachet of instant coffee into her mug, then filled it to the top with water. She eyed the stack of creamers in the dispenser, wondering if she should treat herself with one. For a moment she nearly turned on her heel and walked back to her desk, but in the last second, she released a sigh, took a creamer and loaded it into her mug. She thought she’d bloody deserved one after the hectic day she was having.

She had only recently been promoted to a Junior Detective, but it seemed like all her seniors still wanted to treat her like an intern. Files were tossed to her left, right and centre, and there was always a Decker, get me this. Decker get me that. Decker why aren’t you done yet, that was due over an hour ago!

But she bit through all of it. If she wanted to become a Senior Detective she needed to undergo all the tests and trials thrown at her. Chloe was already in her early-thirties and her previous career as a movie star didn’t help build her reputation, let alone being an adult movie star.

She exhaled out her nose. While she did enjoy solving crimes and murders, she only really wanted to get this job because of the burning inspiration her late father had left behind in his wake.

Right now, all she wanted was to go home to her husband and their four year old. They took turns raising her, Dan on Mondays to Thursdays and Chloe the rest. However over the last few weeks, the two of them were running on their last straws. The oppressive presence of work weighed heavily on both of them and they always returned home sluggish. Since Dan was a senior detective, the two of them often butted heads at work if they didn’t see eye to eye, but he was quite good in the aspect of not bringing work home. She liked that about him.

Lately there was tension between them. Dan seemed to care more about the job than his family and often missed out on spending quality time with them. Chloe on the other hand was exhausted. She fought like hell for her daughter at home, especially when it came to hushing the baby’s early morning wails and the changing of diapers while Dan slept next to her. Balancing that and the work from the LAPD became all too much for her and she felt like she was either going to combust or implode or maybe both together.

It was Dan who suggested finding a sitter.

Chloe adamantly disagreed at first, stating she was fully capable in juggling her career and her duties as a mother. Even when Dan pointed out how her puffy eyebags were giving her a hollowing complexion, she still rejected the idea. It was only when she struggled to roll out of her bed, eyes swollen, lips far too pale for a living human and her hair frazzled the following morning that she finally agreed.

Tonight was supposed to be their first night handing their toddler to the babysitter. It was also supposed to be their first date night in months. To say Chloe wasn’t the least glad was an understatement. She was utterly relieved.

After finishing up work at eight, she planned to drive home, take a shower and then go to one of her and Dan’s favourite restaurants. They would finish off their date by eating ice-cream on the lounge while watching some of their favourite TV shows.

By the time she arrived home, she unlocked the front door and was greeted by her husband.

“Chlo!” Dan exclaimed, his eyes widening in unconcealed horror.

“Hey babe,” Chloe said, taking her boots off.

“Chloe, listen. Don’t panic.”

She dragged her eyes off her shoes, narrowing them while she studied her husband. It wasn’t like Dan to play a random prank on her. Her heart skipped a beat when she finally registered the worry painted on his face.

“Babe what’s wrong?”

“Don’t panic, Chloe. I promise you, I’ve got this covered.”

“What are you saying, Dan?”

Anxiety chased her up from her chest to her throat. Her stomach churned in worry, her mouth ran dry, and she was growing paler by the minute. It was clear something serious had happened to alarm Dan like this, and it frightened her.

“Did the sitter come?”

“Yes, she did. Listen, she said she was going to take Bee to her place tonight, and see how the two of them would get along, like testing the waters right? That’s what we agreed on. But an hour after she took Bee I called her and she didn’t pick up. And that’s when I started getting this nauseating gut feeling…”

Chloe’s heart lurched to her throat.

“So I looked at her profile, Chlo. On the sitter website where we hired her. She’s not the same person as the profile. Chloe, I…”

“You lost her. You lose Bee?”

“Yes Chloe,” Dan swallowed. “I’ve got units already tracking the sitter and Bee. They’re scouring downtown L.A. as we speak.”

“You lost Bee,” Chloe repeated.

Suddenly her knees gave way and she collapsed onto the ground. Fear crept into her heart like a cold, suffocating shadow, gripping onto her chest with its icy fingers. Her heart started to pound erratically, a wild deafening drumbeat in her ears and her hands were beginning to involuntarily tremble. A large pit of terror opened a fissure in her stomach and threatened to swallow her whole.

“Dan, you lost Bee. What the fuck were you thinking? How could you be so damn irresponsible?”

Dan leaned down and held her fists in his hands. He wiped away her tears and held her tightly to him. “I’m so sorry Chloe. I’m so goddamn sorry.” His voice cracked. “We’ll get her back. I’ll make sure of it.”

But his words fell on deaf ears.

Painful sobs wracked Chloe’s body and tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. She was shaking and crying in jagged gasps as she expelled the raw grief of losing her baby.

Ever since then, Chloe hadn’t been the same.

She had been quickly promoted to Senior Detective, not knowing whether the lieutenant genuinely appreciated her analytical skills or whether he had done it as an act of sympathy. She didn’t care either way.

Her seniors no longer trampled all over her or harassed her time with their investigations or cases. Instead, they walked by her desk in hushed whispers, lowering their gaze and exchanging looks with one another. She despised it and wished that for once that they would just unload their stress onto her to tidy up. After all, she was still at work, sitting on the same desk, and clearly within earshot of whatever pathetic sympathising gossip her colleagues could come up with. Everyone avoided her like the plague.

Her marriage with Dan dissolved down the drain.

It was evident that their relationship was irreversible after their daughter’s disappearance. She had gotten into one-sided screaming matches with him, blamed him until he drowned in guilt and nearly destroyed herself with anything that could take her mind off from her daughter.

Not wanting to wish her hate upon anybody, not even Dan, she voiced for their separation. He tried convincing her that their relationship was repairable, and that they could navigate the loss of their daughter together, but Chloe’s unyielding resolve disintegrated whatever he had to say.

Reluctantly, he signed the divorced papers.

Two years after the harrowing ordeal, Chloe had just begun feeling like she had her life back in control. She was able to compartmentalise her emotions when it came to her ex-husband, on the advice of her therapist. They still worked together, and she came to regard him as she would to any other colleague.

Ella Lopez, their department’s forensic scientist, brought in a ray of welcomed sunshine when she transferred to the LAPD. She could yap a mile a minute, which both fascinated and at times, overwhelmed Chloe. But most of all, Ella offered Chloe a refreshing perspective at work.

Who she probably appreciated the most was her therapist. Dr. Linda Martin was coincidentally referred to her by one of her crime suspects in a murder investigation she took lead in. Linda had helped her draw out all her emotions when it came to talking about her lost daughter. She had mapped out Chloe’s improvement step by step, outlining a weekly goal for her to fulfil.

Talking to Linda made Chloe feel like she was no longer holding her breath while drowning in a whirlpool. Linda too had lost a daughter, albeit she had given it to an adoption centre. But nonetheless, Linda was the one who understood and related to the distress of mothers who had their babies taken away from them.

Within these years, Chloe dedicated herself to work. She had the fastest closing rate in the history of their department and so all the challenging cases were automatically given to her. She averaged thirteen hours in the office daily and finished six cups of coffee a day before she called it even. There were times where she would pull all-nighters on her desk, unwilling to return to a cold and empty house.

While she was assigned a variety of murder cases, Chloe was mostly obsessed with investigating human trafficking rings, especially when it involved children. She couldn’t help but feel a magnetising force alluring her into the criminal underground of trafficking. She had intricately mapped out most of what the police department had uncovered of the institutions on a large whiteboard. Dan would often come and help her sort out recently discovered files and listen to her passionate explanation of how they might relate to the disappearance of their daughter.

She didn’t care if her colleagues told her that she was reaching for something invisible. She didn’t even care if it was Dan who was the one to tell her to give up on finding their daughter. Chloe knew he wouldn’t because there were some nights he was just as infatuated with uncovering the dirty secrets of the human trafficking network. She’d give him that much credit.

What frustrated her was that she always reached a dead end. It was as if the organisations knew to cover up their tracks, leading to an untraceable chase. Times like these she wanted to bury her head into her hands and sob.

It was only recently that the LAPD received tip-offs on certain locations of the trafficking rings. She’d go with more than half the department’s force to raid those places. And remarkably enough, the majority of the criminals were already left violently beaten. They were lucky to have all their limbs still attached.

Chloe remembered a time when she came across a particularly brutal location. There were pieces of human flesh strewed across the floor like someone had just been ran through a human blender. Fingers, arms and legs were all over the place, amputated from the bodies of criminals who were still surprisingly alive. Barely.

The stench was awful. Chloe nearly threw up the first time she witnessed something as horrific as that. Even Ella, who was usually one of the strong-stomached forensic scientists, was unable to eat meat for the next few days.

Then the tip offs became more and more frequent.

Although Chloe knew she should be feeling grateful that someone was out there flushing out these criminals, it also irritated her. How was she unable to trace these organisations? Who was the person or were the people that were successful in doing what she couldn’t? And why did they leave the criminals in a zombie apocalyptical state? The more she thought about it, the more questions arose, and she’d always end up giving herself a pounding migraine.

Having had enough of the ridiculous cat-mouse chase, Chloe called Ivanov into the precinct and sat him down in one of the LAPD’s solitary investigation rooms for questioning.

“Thank you for taking your time to come here, Mister Ivanov.”

“I figured I could help you to repent for the guilt my son has troubled me with.”

“To confirm a few things before we start, are you aware that you are the informant of the human trafficking organisations for the LAPD?”

“Yes, I am.”

Chloe organised her files in the binder and took some of the confidential papers out from their plastic sleeves, laying them out in a neat formation in front of Ivanov. They were all graphic photos of the post-crime scenes. Chloe noticed that Ivanov swallowed very visibly, his eyes darting across all the photos before he returned to his naturally calm disposition.

“What are these, Detective?”

“These,” Chloe lingered on the word, her eyes looking down at the grotesque images of minced human meat. “Are what the LAPD have found after one of your tip-offs.”

Ivanov leaned back in his chair, as if he wanted to obtain as much distance as possible to the uncensored photos.

“The LAPD have been made aware on constant occasion that I am only responsible for telling you where to find them, and not exactly what you would find.”

“I know that,” Chloe breathed, hoping her exasperation wasn’t seeping through her voice. “Let’s drop the formalities, Ivanov.”

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table.

“I’m here to ask you how you got these tip-offs.”

Ivanov’s smile carried no trace of malice. “Is the LAPD struggling?”

“What I’m struggling with is how there’s a certain group of people that just happen to be there at the right time and place, and how I’ve come up with nothing to this day.”

“Unfortunately, I’m indebted to someone I’ve pledged an oath of silence to. I’m sorry, Detective Decker, but I do not break vows.”

“You do know that if you don’t then you are liable to being arrested as an accomplice to murder?”

“An accessory after the fact,” Ivanov corrected. “If you must arrest me, I will comply. I’ve turned a blind eye to a lifetime of crimes. I am no longer young; I do not feel the urge to escape the law anymore.”

Chloe sighed. “I won’t charge you today. But when this is all over, you can expect me at your doorstep.”

“Gladly.”

She wasn’t getting anything she wanted out of this conversation, and it made her blood boil beneath her skin. She gritted her teeth and pulled out her trump card, hoping that Ivanov would fall for it and give in.

“Your son could’ve been one of these victims.”

Ivanov looked at the photos one last time.

“But he is not.”

With an exhale of frustration, Chloe bit out a thank you for your time, Mr. Ivanov., and left. Dan was witnessing the entire conversation unfold from the observation room and he matched his stride with hers.

“Nothing, huh?”

“Nada,” Chloe muttered.

“Hey, Chloe,” Dan said, touching her arm gently. She stopped mid-pace and looked at him. Tears were brimming her eyes. “We’ll get them. Not today, but soon we will.”

She looked into his eyes and gave a slight nod. One day.

When it was two-thirty in the afternoon, she stood up for a coffee break. Cacuzza was standing by the kitchen and when she spotted Chloe, gave her a look of misery.

“We ran out of coffee.”

“Oh,” Chloe frowned. “Well I suppose I’ll just go around two blocks to Brew & Bloom.”

“I love that place,” Cacuzza said. “Have you tried their double espresso?”

“Not particularly fond of that, no. I normally just opt for a latte.”

She smiled at Cacuzza and left.

Grabbing her Mustang keys off her desk, Chloe decided to drive around the block instead of walk on foot. When she pulled up to the café, she ordered her usual and sat on a stool waiting for her coffee to brew.

She never really frequented this side of Los Angeles. It was more peaceful and tamer compared to the honking of traffic congestion and the roar that came with city life. She supposed this was the residential area of L.A. and where many families chose to raise their children.

As soon as she thought of that, an aching pain seized her chest. That should’ve been her.

She had a family. A husband. A daughter.

Now she had nothing.

She bit a curse under her breath. Why did she have to think of that?

“Almond milk latte for Chloe!”

Chloe got up from her stool and smiled at the barista. “That’s me. Thank you.”

She took a sip of the coffee as she walked towards her parked car. Before she could unlock it, she spotted a familiar school on the diagonal opposite of Brew & Bloom. The bell had just rung, signalling the end of the school day for the primary children.

Linda had suggested she slowly integrate herself around children. Walk around schools, her therapist had gently encouraged her. She couldn’t do it for a very long time, and always ending up breaking down at the sight of children. But recently she had been visiting the school opposite Brew & Bloom perhaps once a week or twice if she was really missing her daughter.

Coffee in hand, she approached the school gates and watched as the children were slowly being picked up by a flow of parents or loved ones. That should’ve been you, a voice whispered to her. She had never gotten to experience picking up her daughter from school and it hurt her beyond words.

What caught her attention however was a girl in pigtails, probably around six or seven, who was playing in the sandpit with a similar aged blond girl. Chloe’s heart leaped up to her throat. She squinted through her sunglasses, taking notice in the girl’s facial features, her dark brown hair and the toothy smile. For a moment there, time froze for her, and her daughter’s name rolled silently out of her lips.

It was impossible.

The young girl looked like what Bee would have looked like if she was seven.

Chloe almost dropped her coffee in her limp hands and charged through the school gates herself to affirm her suspicions. But she was forcibly drawn out of her thoughts by the voice of a sensual purr.

“Hello, vixen.”

She turned to look at the tall man next to her. He was leaning close to her, an arm propped on the school gate, holding his towering weight. He was wearing tinted shades and an elegantly tailored navy-blue three-piece suit that flattered his handsome face. He exuded an air of wealth and charm which mingled with his Chanel perfume.

Chloe pulled her eyes away from the well-groomed man.

“Hi, are you picking your child up from school?”

“That I am. What’s a beauty like you doing here?”

His voice was smooth and inviting. If Chloe was any other woman she sure would’ve fallen for this stranger. But she wasn’t any other woman, she was Detective Decker for God’s sake. She sucked in a quiet breath.

“Oh I… I’m uhh…”

She pinched herself. So much for willing herself to sound like she wasn’t the least bit interested in him.

“Are you a teacher perhaps?”

He leaned ever closer to her until they were only a few inches apart. He was so close she could smell faint traces of whiskey from his breath. What came out of his mouth next…

“I’m a teacher!” She all but blurted out and hid her flushed cheeks by turning away from him. Oh Lord, did she just say she was a goddamned teacher? She was sure that she could’ve given the redness of a tomato a run for its money. “I-I mean, no, I’m also picking up my kid.”

Whatever the man said afterwards flew onto deaf ears.

Chloe watched as he gave a wave to the little girl she was looking at earlier. The traces of a frown began to form as her eyebrows scrunched together.

“I’ll see you around,” the man said to her, to which she huffed and replied indignantly.

“No, actually you won’t –” She was cut short when the little girl ran through the school gates and all but leaped into the man’s outstretched arms.

The small flame of hope she had sizzled out when Chloe heard the girl call the man Daddy. Still, she observed the dynamic between the father and daughter duo. It was clear that the girl loved her father, and vice versa. The huge toothy grin plastered on the girl’s face and the way the corners of the man’s lips creased into a soft smile ignited a feeling of unwelcomed jealousy in Chloe’s stomach.

When the young girl went back to school presumedly for forgotten homework, Chloe cleared her throat and asked the man for his daughter’s name. Trixie, he said. Trixie Morningstar.

She felt guilty when she found herself being disappointed. Chloe looked at the father and daughter again and noticed their similarities. The girl’s dark brown hair was almost an exact replicate of her father’s dark onyx hair. Both had fairly pale skin, although the girl’s was a tad darker, and they had the exact same soft, goofy smile.

She was so infatuated with pairing the similarities of the duo that she completely missed what the man said besides his last few words before they walked off hand-in-hand. Something along the lines like, ‘…Devil a chance’.

The bitter taste of unmet expectations lingered sourly in her mouth, stubborn and unshakable. Chloe refused to return to the precinct with the sinking sensation in her chest. She stayed outside the school gates until she lost track of time, then slowly ambled back to her car.

Linda called her at six-thirty. She picked up her phone mindlessly, eyes glued onto the various files littered across her desk.

“Hey, Linda, what’s up?”

“Chloe! You missed our appointment today. I’m just calling to check in on you – everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s good.” Chloe replied automatically, her mind occupied with work.

“Chloe, it’s not like you to miss an appointment. Was there something else that came up today for you?”

“Uh huh.”

“When do you want to reschedule our next appointment?”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m fine.”

There was a sigh from the other end of the phone call.

“They’re screening Hot Tub High School in the local movies today.”

“Yep, that sounds – wait, wait. What?!” Chloe’s attention was now garnered, and she finally tore her eyes and attention off the dizzying sheets and files spread on her desk.

“There you are, I take it that you’re busy. When do you want to reschedule the next appointment, Chloe?”

“I’m so sorry, Linda,” Chloe breathed out from her nose and squeezed her eyes in frustration at herself. “Next week same time, is that alright? And yes, I’m just a bit busy at work right now.”

“That’s alright. Then I’ll see you next –”

She wasn’t able to hear the rest of what her therapist had to say because Dan burst into her space with a look of utmost urgency. He had both of his arms raised, his legs split wide apart, and there was a smear of his favourite pudding on his chin. If this was any other occasion, Chloe would’ve laughed at how ridiculous he looked.

“There’s been a shooting incident just downtown of L.A., near a nightclub called Lux. It’s taken the life of singer Delilah. The lieutenant wants you on the case as soon as possible.”

“I’m coming,” Chloe said. “Sorry Linda, I have to go,” and she hung up the phone.

She was definitely going to apologise profusely to Linda the next time she saw her. Not only had she missed their scheduled appointment, but she just rudely hung up the phone on America’s kindest therapist. She swallowed the guilt, ran to car and started the engine.

By the time she pulled up to the crime-scene, there were already several police cars flashing red and blue lights which reflected off the pavement. A huge section of the busy street was already warded off by several officers.

Chloe approached the body in the middle of the crime scene. Ella was already there.

“Hey Decker. Look at this mess,” Ella said, clicking her tongue. “Professional singer by the name of Delilah. Shot five times. Dead upon impact.”

Chloe frowned, kneeling to observe the dead body.

Indeed there were five bullet holes ridden in the back and side of Delilah’s fur coat. Her blood had started to dry, forming a crust around the entry holes of the bullets.

Chloe then looked around the vicinity. She noticed the grandeur entrance of Lux, and the shops that neighboured it on the street. There were two stray bullet holes in one of the shops, and windows were either splintered or smashed from the impact. She then walked towards the killer’s flipped car in the middle of the road. Somehow, he had crawled out from the burning vehicle and died a few feet away from the car. He was holding a gun in his hand.

A Glock 17, Chloe mused.

She double-checked the rubbish on the ground and counted the number of bullet casings between the killer and Delilah.

There were thirteen.

Chloe grimaced. Ella had said there were five bullet holes in Delilah, and Chloe had double-checked that too. There were also two bullets that missed and were lodged in either the brick walls or shops behind were Delilah supposedly stood. That made seven in total.

So where were the other six bullets fired?

Disbelieving this, Chloe wriggled her fingers into a pair of latex gloves. She then pried the gun out of the killer’s hands and removed the magazine, emptying the chamber.

She was right. It was a standard magazine for the Glock, which held seventeen rounds. There were four bullets left.

Where were the other six?

She narrowed her eyes and slowly drew her eyes across the crime-scene. They weren’t anywhere to be found.

She jotted this in her notebook.

Slipping the gun into a plastic sleeve, she sent it away to forensics.

Chloe scrutinised the killer. His facial expression was one of full of terror and tension. His eyes were unusually wide and dilated and his mouth was open, as if he was about to scream.

Why would he feel the need to scream or feel scared? Was he afraid of death?

Chloe wrote this down in her notebook too.

“Any witnesses?” She asked, walking back to Ella.

The tiny forensic scientist nodded her head, but didn’t take her eyes off her camera. “Mm hm. Lucifer Morningstar, the owner of Lux.”

“Morningstar?” Chloe echoed.

“Yeah. You know him? Not that I’m surprised. He’s probably the sexiest man in L.A. I mean have you heard the way he talks? Like, oh my gosh. His British arse could take me any –”

“Alright Ella,” Chloe said, hushing her. “But yes, I think I might’ve just bumped into him earlier today.”

“Oh you’re so lucky,” Ella crooned. “I heard you’ve got to line up for at least an hour AND be a VIP in his club so you can get a private booth with him.”

“Come on Ella, focus.”

Chloe snapped her fingers in front of a dreamy Ella. That immediately worked, because Ella straightened up and returned to a poker face.

“Sorry Decker.”

“That’s alright. Do you know where he is?”

“Nah. Apparently he’s just disappeared into thin air. No one has found him.”

“That makes him very suspicious,” Chloe mused. “I’ll put out a BOLO notice for him.”

Dan arrived several moments later, and he walked up to Chloe and Ella. He took a look at Delilah’s corpse then raised both eyebrows. “I always liked her songs. Bit sad she went out the way she did.”

Chloe shrugged. “I never heard her songs.”

Ella gaped at her. “What do you mean you’ve never heard of Delilah? Come on, Decker. Surely you know Oh we’re flying, hearts collide?”

Dan winked and continued in harmony. “Waves of love, you can’t denyyy.”

Chloe deadpanned at the two of them. “Yeah… nah. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Dan and Ella exchanged a look, then sighed. “Alright, it doesn’t matter,” Dan said. “So who do we have on the suspicious list so far?”

“Lucifer Morningstar.”

“Oh the club guy. Always took him to be some weirdo. Ouch! Why are you elbowing me, Ella?” Dan rubbed his side, before he turned to Chloe. “Anyone else?”

“I want to talk to Jimmy Barnes. He was producing Delilah’s songs and the two of them almost married at one point. I’m sure he can make some sort of connection between the killer’s motive and Delilah.”

“Good idea. Do you want to get a warrant?”

“That’ll take too long. I just want to question him, not raid him.”

“Fair. When do we leave?”

Chloe looked at the time on her phone.

“Now.”

Dan hitched a ride in her car and she filled him on the details he had missed earlier. Eventually the conversation about work died and silence slowly began to dominate the space between them. Chloe’s foot unconsciously pressed harder on the accelerator, and her trusty Mustang thundered through into the night.

Though it had been years since the incident, Chloe wasn’t sure if she even forgave Dan. He probably knew too, because he said nothing in the silence. He sat as still as a statue, his eyes locked onto the window on his passenger side. He was tapping his right thigh, a nervous tic of his that she knew of.

Sometimes they were able to sustain casual conversations, and the two would even laugh about a joke together. Ella’s presence made things even better between the two of them than before. But there were also times like these when Chloe didn’t want to say anything and Dan was too awkward to initiate a conversation.

Finally, they reached Jimmy Barnes’s studio. Chloe pulled onto the driveway and yanked her key out of the ignition. The car next to hers was parked horizontally on three different parking slots. She’d give a ticket for such a shameless and cocky act, but before she was able to, a distinct car model caught her attention.

She’d seen the car before.

And that’s when it clicked.

She saw it parked outside the school opposite Brew & Bloom in the afternoon.

And it belonged to Trixie Morningstar’s father.

“Chloe, look.”

Dan’s voice cut through her thoughts and she looked at where he was pointing at. Several people were bolting from inside the studio. They looked as if something inside the studio had spooked them.

“That’s not right,” Chloe murmured. “Dial in for assistance.”

“Already on it,” Dan said. “This is Detective Espinoza requesting extra assistance on the corners of Smithfield Street and Orange Avenue.”

Chloe palmed her gun strapped to her hip which offered her some consolation. There was something odd about this case, she thought to herself. First Delilah’s untimely murder just when she had released a new album. Then Lucifer Morningstar’s involvement with the singer. Next the people running out of Jimmy Barnes studio.

“This case might be bigger than it seems, Dan.”

“Maybe,” Dan said beside her.

When the extra help arrived, Dan and Chloe stepped out of the car. “I have a feeling this is all related.”

“What? Delilah, Lucifer and Jimmy Barnes?”

“Yeah,” Chloe breathed.

All of a sudden, a blood-curdling scream erupted into the vast silence of the night sky. The sheer petrification in the scream made Chloe’s neck hairs rise. She found herself moving with the rest of the LAPD force before she even knew it.

They charged into the studio.

She expected to see a lot of things inside. Like maybe a murder, or a violent robbery gone wrong. But what she didn’t expect to see was the man she saw outside the school gates the same afternoon grip Jimmy Barnes by the collar, and push his face into the sharp shards of broken glass like he was mowing grass, except the grass was the mirror and the mower was Jimmy’s face.

There were spurts of blood almost everywhere in the recording studio. She couldn’t see Lucifer’s face clearly, but she was able to catch a flash of pure sadism from his reflection in the broken mirror.

“Put him down, now!” She shouted, her gun aimed at the centre of his back.

Lucifer released his hold on Jimmy, and the producer slid down the wall in a wail of pain. Chloe saw Lucifer fiddle with something he had tucked in shirt, before he whirled around, both arms raised in mock innocence.

“Why hello you,” he purred as soon as he faced her. “You were at the school earlier today!”

Heat flushed to her cheeks. Dan frowned at the comment and he threw her a look of confusion. He said nothing and shifted his gun to adjust the line of fire.

Chloe cleared her throat.

“Detective Decker,” she announced. “Lucifer Morningstar, you’re under arrest.”